Chains of Brotherhood

[Ring-around-the-roses]

Picture a vision of hell. A cyclopean mass of twisted metal and ferrocrete clinging to the surface of a diseased orb, itself surrounded by the gutted corpses of a hundred ships. Imagine descending through the ash-choked clouds, through the twisting morass of fighters and beasts duelling above the few towers that remained. Look over the city. See the colours of war, a sea of darkness sweeping through the city gates and pouring through tiny cracks in the wall. Let your mind adjust, the realization those cracks are yawning gulfs hundreds of metres wide, in a wall a kilometre high. Let yourself see the millions of Imperial soldiers fighting for their lives. Retreat and attack, a ceaseless flow of rioting colours, the slab sided formations of tank divisions a hundred strong crushing all in their path even as the vanguard slow, stop, burn. This is the battlefield. This is the truth of existence. This is the inevitable. A slow, grinding nightmare where the sea of colours endlessly contracts until it is in turn but a rock in the sea of darkness.

 

This is the planet Lethanon. The city is the last loyalist bastion in a planet of traitors. And it is falling. Split into five sections, each a city that in itself had housed billions. To the north, nearly cut off from the others by mountains, lay the city's spaceport. A bastion of Imperial might, it was ringed by a line of defenses that looked unbreachable. Bastions, trenches, artillery and two score regiments lay in wait, and only the thunder of the Hydra flak tanks was heard. Spreading out from the mountains, the city spread into what had been the heart of the city, a vista of architecture and business. The heart had three layers, the grim greyness where the average citizen would live, rarely seeing the blessed light of day. Above that lay the art and vistas of beauty, a entire plane hanging immobile over the grey, forever cementing the position of the many from the few. From here, the towers began, their base kilometres across, and had been connected with shiining bridges. There lay the rulers, the wealthy and influential who had built their own private domains, to prove their mastery over the air itself by being hung suspended and safe, miles above in it. To the east of this, separated by the very wall that was now broken and cracked, lay the waste heaps and spoils of the city. A city of decay, built upon its own filth and scrabbling madly at the scraps thrown from the true city, it was the dark secret of the hive. Now it was serving as the base for the forces that would tear the planet in two.

 

To the south and east lay the manufactorums that had given this city its power and ascendancy, back when such things still mattered. To the east, the heart of the Mechanicum, a sinkhole that burrowed ever farther into the planets crust , where depth equaled power, and the cost of human life was cheap. To the south were the now a attackers worst nightmare, the burnt out husks of buildings and factories changing from gulping expanse to close quarters at the opening of the door. The Mechanicum were safe, for now, the enemy throwing its armour and dregs into the manufactorum district of the hive at a staggering pace. A pace at which the Imperials had no defense.Even now they pulled back, hastily pushing Chimera's and conscripts alike in desperate blocking actions.

 

It was into this cauldron that the Angels of Death dropped. It was into this cauldron that nearly five hundred flaming bolts, carrying Mankind's purest wrath made flesh, struck.

[Ring-around-the-roses]

Brother Adrian of the Templars Ursine prayed to the Emperor as he dropped. Each of his brothers would be doing something, he knew, to prepare themselves for the inevitable. For the time when the enemy would realise their doom came from on high, and raised their barrels to the sky, in a futile attempt to stop the inevitable. Brother Praxic, his heavy bolter rattling in its safety dock, was running his fingers through the hundreds of Ork teeth adorning his armour, his murmur a prayer for safety for his squad. Sergeant Alini was reviewing a dataslate in his hands, occasionally making notes and amendments to his picture of the war-torn city below. Brother Histan and Brolon were immobile in their war-plate, thoughts unrecognisable. The chiming started, as the drop-pod entered the final stage of descent. One minute to go, and he would be in the cauldron again. He and his squad had a simple duty. He went over his understanding of the initial phase of war. He, and select squads from the brother Chapters who were fighting with them would deploy into the breaches in the city wall. They would take ground and hold it, or die in the attempt.

 

At the booming retort of the enemy anti-air defences, primarily Hydra autocannon batteries which had been claimed by the enemy, Adrian tried to occupy his mind, and block out the feeling of helplessness, and the angerr it created. Though he was an Astartes, and so could not recognize fear even if he could feel it, the thought of being snatched out of the sky without any control over his fate had never sat well with him. Like any true Astartes, he wanted to die with a blade in his hand and a field of enemies before him, not smashed into a paste upon the ground. This would discomfort him, which in turn had the potential to limit his combat effectiveness. This had come up early in his Scout training, and had been swiftly overcome through disciplinary lessons by the Chaplaincy, and the ... uncomfortable... sessions in the Librarius, where they had gone into his mind, and made him think that he was falling from the sky. Over ten thousand times. It had left a lasting impression upon him, to say the least, that early in his hypno-conditioning. So, he cast his mind to the battle at large.

 

The great mass of the conjoined effort, a force of just under four thousand Angels of Death, would land in the midst of the Imperial Guard, and lead them anew into battle. In the Manufactorum, a armoured fist of dreadnoughts would land, and push back the enemy armour through irresistible force. He had seen them gathering earlier, nearly a hundred of the veteran battle-brothers gathering for the final rites from their individual Chapters Techmarines, as well as a collective blessing from all the leaders of the Chapter. They were being led by the Abyssal Hunters most venerable dreadnought, a Contemptor who housed the body of their Master of the Forge. The Abyssal Hunters themselves would land later. He almost grimaced as he remembered them. A ragged band of Astartes, clothed in bastardised plate, surrounded by feral looking 'Auxillaries' who seemed to have regressed farther than some cults he had fought against.

 

Although the Chaplaincy would no doubt remind him of the oaths of brotherhood, and of the need for diplomacy, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of anger as thought of his too long lost brethren. That they had suffered, cut off from the Imperium for time immemorial, he could understand. But their rampant tribal worship, and irrevocable change from what a Adeptus Astartes Chapter was troubled him. That path, he had always been taught, led to naught but damnation. Which in turn reminded him of another of the five Chapters taking part in this war, the Knights of Dolor. They had demanded to be deployed right into the cauldron, and were the least co-operative of all brother Chapters, if the comments from his own brothers had been true. Reckless and foolhardy, they seemed, in his sight, to seek out trouble needlessly. A dangerous trait indeed. Of the four squads who had been delpoyed as their Chapter Master's honour guard, three had been challenged, or challenged others, to duels. Luckily, no wounds had been occurred, but it was still bad form for a Chapter who had so vehemenently protested against their dark reputation. At this thought, he switched his vox-bead to the general channel approved by all forces. He had thirty seconds to impact, and he could use the cries of his brothers to assess how hard the resistance would be. And to see how they fought, as to whether it matched their own opinions.

 

"This is Sergeant Androcles. Objective taken, securing factory Beta-Twelve-Omega. Bleed them for me brothers"

"This is Captain Fordsten to all eigth company warriors. Overide previous orders, they came from the sewers and have taken our standard. Gather to me, we will hunt them down"

Adrian frowned at this. Though losing a standard was a great dishonour, to order an entire company to retrieve at the most important stage of battle... it did not exactly commend them for levelheadedness or pragmatism. Then again, he admitted uncomfortably, if his company lost a fortress, they would probably rather dash themselves against its walls than retreat in dishonour.

"This is Chaplain Rectain. Remember the fallen of Gehemnanight" This voice was cold, and rasped as though the words were being forced out. In the background, Adrian was sure he heard screaming.

"This is Captain Fordsten. Belay my order. Follow your objectives. Let us excorcise our sins upon the soul of the enemy"

 

As Adrian switched his channel back to the closed squad-only circuit, the drop pod hit the roof of a their designated objective, and broke through a dozen floors into the sub-basement.

[BassWave]

Hmm pretty cool so far, just a few things concerning your sense of scale -

 

I feel like it is implied that there's 4 chapters in the story when you mention there are 4000 marines. Remember chapters usually don't go all in unless its absolutely important.

 

4000 marines seems excessive, especially when the planet seems already lost. And if its just normal human rebels, its even more excessive when one company would be enough. How important is this planet?

 

100 dreadnoughts? Remember each one is a relic, and some chapters hardly have any.

 

It all boils down to why is this planet so important that so much precious resources are being used to save it. Personally I would tone down the scale to a couple chapters lending 3 companies at the most each, but that's just me. Fixing you scale will greatly improve your story in my opinion :P

[Ring-around-the-roses]

The Chapters are massively in, but they still have companies that were here and there, so there are five chapters, with all available dreadnoughts landing en-masse to stop enemy armour, sorry if i didn't clear that up. Astartes versus massed armour attack would be even harder to explain, at least in my mind.

 

ps.Sorry about the massive scale, but i needed justification for something that five chapters (well four and one sneaking in) could use to justify their prescence.

 

Chapter Master Christen Lycht, Hunter Rex, was fast losing his patience. His Chapter waited for his command, and in turn he was forced to wait for his brothers to clear a safe zone for his men to deploy. He was in his personalised Thunderhawk, one of the few remaining, listening to the reports from the surface. As usual, he could feel a pounding in his skull, a low throb from his malfunctioning Omophagea gland. It had misfired early on in his training, after he had consumed the soul of the World Eater champion after defeating him in single combat. Instead absorbing a few strands of genetic data, usually harmless even if it was distasteful, the implant clearly mutated, and had totally rewired sections of his brain. For a short time, he had lived in the mind of the World Eater, suffering as he did from a unquenchable rage, remembering the feeling of killing loyalists and friends alike over the long millenium. It had taken the intervention of the Chaplaincy, Apothecarion and Librarius to root out his taint. The Librarians had used their gifts too block his mind from his own thoughts, sealing parts of his mind with massive psychic scarring. To this day, he undertook tests from the Chaplaincy to determine the extent of damage the World Eater's, and many other's memories had done to him.

 

"Sir, we await your orders" Came from the mouth of the only human to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. Antigonius Sparlain, battle-leader of the Auxillaries, and a man who was so far into madness you wouldn't know it until he slipped a knife into your ribs. Christen sighed, feeling the weight of responsibilty settle on his shoulders again, now his introspection was broken. He raised his right hand, a taloned power claw, and reverently rested it over his heart.

 

"Dear Emperor, you whose spirit guides us, have mercy on our sins. The Imperium may curse us, and accuse us of betrayal, but we know our spiris remain strong, loyal and just. I vow, as your hunter in the darkness, far from home and hold, to bring your sons back to you. Come what may, we will one day stand true and proud with all your sons. Come what may, we will abide by your will, and keep Mankind safe from all. This I vow, in the name of my Chapter" Christen raised himself from his crouch, looking at his personal chapel, trying to gather the feeling of peace he usually felt. Four by four metres, the small chapel was covered every inch by prayers and litanies he had inscribed himself. A aquila dominated the far wall, one side studded with diamonds, the other crafted out of volcanic glass to make it seem as if it sucked in the light. To his left, a series of small ledges worked into the wall, littered with tiny statues which had been carved using his claw in the rare moments of rest he had. The wall to his right was bare except for the layering of holy scripture upon it. Letting his eyes flick over it, though he could remember carving the words in in perfect clarity, he felt a small measure of peace suffuse him. Enough to last to the battle, where he could finally let his control drop, if only by a margin.

 

He strode out of the Thunderhawk, looking at his Chapter prepare for war. Massive bulk lifters, filled to the brim with supplies were being prepped for launch, while his men gathered round their sergeants for prayer. Dwarfing the Auxillaries, veteran Astartes strode through their ranks, making final checks on their respective companies of mortals. At this sight, the superhuman warriors standing side by side with mere men, Christen smiled. He had come into the Chapter when it had been going through one of their many trials, with the then Chapter Master disdainful of the mortals, using them as shields more than soldiers. He had quickly changed that when he came into power, and it was justified in his mind. The Chapter could keep hunting and purging the enemies of the Emperor, and those who would otherwise live a meaningless life, probably hunted down by traitors or aliens, now could be remembered for giving their life in the pursuit of a far more noble cause.

 

As Christen walked around the hangar, inspecting his brothers and soldiers preparing for war, his vox-bead chimed. It was the Templars Ursine Chapter Master, who had been put in charge of the first phase of the war.

"Brothers, we have secured primary objectives"

For a short while, the line went silent as each Chapter Master was consulted, the Templars Ursine being close and so could be afforded to be last in order. Christen sneered in distaste at the politics necessary for the Chapters to work together. If he had his way, they would all fight and bleed as one. No bond was as strong nor unbreakable as that forged in the fires of war. Still, the Templars Ursine were clearly the most well-liked amongst his lesser known brothers. They hadn't tried to kill him for one, which was a achievement with the stigma of Excommunicatus Traitoris levelled against the Abyssal Hunters. Another debt he owed to the Templars then, and one more link to their Chapter built. The vox crackled for a moment, then the growling voice of the Chapter Master resumed, with the added background of war this time to provide impetus to his words.

"Christen, my men are holding, but we cannot forever. We've been caught unprepared, they have traitor Astartes supporting them. We don't know how many, but we're losing ground again..."

"You want me to face a unknown enemy force, possible larger and definitely better prepared... Well, and there was I thinking this was going to be a simple excercise in diplomatic relations, with a little fun on the side. I'll be down in minutes, i don't know about the bulk of my men" He was already running, heading towards the drop pods.

"My thanks. My tenth company is holding you're main dropsite, but there is a narrow corridor of airspace which..."

"I'm drop-podding down. Find me something to blow sky high. I need to gather some squads, see you on the ground"

Christen cut the link and and shouted out to his men as he left the hangar.

"MEN, THANK THE EMPEROR, WE HAVE WORTHY OPPONENTS. PREPARE TO DROP"

The roar that followed him out was a declaration of war. The Abyssal Hunters had come, and the world would tremble in their wake.

[Ring-around-the-roses]

Adrian was clubbed in the head as soon as he exited, wreathed in steam, from the drop-pod. There was water cascading from numerous burst pipes, hitting the drop pod and creating the steam that clouded his vision. As he dropped to one knee, he saw a carpet of dead bodies. As a power-armoured knee thudded into his face and knocked him onto his back, he added Traitor Astartes to his evaluation of his immediate environs. Sergeant Alini stepped onto his chest, blocking the club swung by a crimson armoured traitor, and fired his bolt pistol into its chest. The initial burst shattered its armour, as Adrian scrabbled to bring up his bolter, but didn't go near to putting the traitor marine down. It swung again at Alini, only to stop as a burst of bolter fire destroyed its head in a messy explosion of pinpoint accuracy. Brolon was holding his bolter stock still, smoke curling from the barrel. And then, he in turn died as another traitor barreled out of the smoke from behind him and took his head with one sweep of a roaring chainaxe. A burst of fire from Praxic's heavy bolter ended that traitor before the axe had cut through Brolon's neck, and silence reigned. Adrian flicked his eyes to the chronometer in the corner of his helmet. Less than five seconds had passed, and his brother had died without even facing his foe. No doubt Praxic would be murmuring something about a bad omen, but Adrian couldn't hear anything over the harsh buzz of static in his ear. The thrice-damned traitor had broken his helmet.

 

He pulled it off and mag-locked it to his belt, before kneeling to drag Brolon's body back into the drop-pod. The automated defense system, a missile pod which would be lethal in these confines, would guard Brolon's body, but more importantly, his geneseed. He turned to Segeant Alini, who was crouching between the bodies of the two traitors. Adrian could hear the stampede of dozens of feet making there way down towards his squad. Praxic and Histan were crouching a few feet to the side of the only doorway he could see. The area was secure, and Adrian turned back to Brolon's corpse.

My brother, I shall pray to you when this battle is done. Forgive me for being weak and lax. I shall avenge you a hundredfold upon these traitors. I swear it upon the sword of Garion Vect. I swear this oath before the almighty God-Emperor of Mankind.

His oath completed, he felt his fury rising, the cold, hard pragmatism of all his brothers slipping to make way for a pulse racing surge of hate. His armour finally noticed this, and he felt combat stimulants flood his body, before his mind clamped down on his emotions. He took a few steps away and turned to cover for Histan, who walked slowly forwards to swear an oath before Brolon's body as well.Histan finished his vow just as a mob of heretics rushed down the stairs. As one, the squad readied they're wepaons. As he raised his bolter, Adrian scanned their appearance, looking for any badges or common designations. Every single one of them had 'Lethanon 18th regiment' scrawled in blood across their chestplates. And with that memorised, Adrian brought the bolter sights in line, and made his first enemy kill on Lethanon.

 

His first bolt-round punched into the leading soldier's left eye, detonating the back of his head a moment later. Two more were already dead by that time, a round buried in a females chest, and the groin blown out of a male to the left of the leader. Praxic opened fire, and half a dozen of the heretics were blown in half. Histan added his firepower next. Truthfully, Adrian knew he could of have left it to Praxic to handle, allowing him to stand in the doorway and hose the traitors down, but he wanted something to kill after getting the battle off to such a bad start. It made him feel better, as the bolter bucked in his hands and combat stims raced in his blood. It felt right to be killing these filth, and he felt a cold satisfaction as the last traitor turned to run, only for both legs to dissapear from out under him, courtesy of Sergeant Alini's bolt pistol barking a greeting to the heretics knee's.

 

Praxic walked up to the traitor, quickly tearing his jaw off before he blacked out, and then crushing his skull with a quick stamp as oblivion claimed him. Wordlessly, the squad moved up and out of the basement, weapons held ready. Judging by the amount of dead bodies that lay on the stairs now though, and the lack of sound his enhanced senses could find, he would guess that the building was now empty. He followed his sergeant slowly to the front lobby. Ingrained in his psych by the Chapter, he stated picking out killzones and places he could fortify. It was what his Chapter was famed for, and what their way of war was built on. Take ground, reinforce, destroy the attackers, mop up and move on. Few could move a force of Space Marines when they had chosen to stand their ground, and even less could move the Templars Ursine. Out of all the Chapters present, he knew with a certainty that it was his Chapter that would carry the day. Drop, break the attack, make the city unassailable. It was simple... apart from the prescence of Traitor Astartes. He didn't know who they were, and he would bet Alini didn't either, judging from the length of time he was studying them. Probably taking picts of their armour and weapons to alert their brothers. The sergeant didn't turn to face them or stop, he just walked out the door and left them to follow him. Adrian was contemplating asking why they were leaving the objective, until Alini's voice growled over the vox. He sounded furious.

 

"The mission has changed. We need to find a communications tower of some sort.The traitors... they are an old enemy of the Chapter, we fought with them a century before you were born into the Emperor's light. They left deep wounds, and the Chapter Master will want to hear of their prescence" He stopped for a moment, and ran his fingers over the area where his secondary heart resided. When he powered forwards, he quickly broke into a brisk run.

 

"We have to hurry. They know we know who they are, and will try to stop us" Alini told them as he took a series of random streets.

 

"Sergeant, where are we going. This is going towards manufactorums. There are reports of the Knights of Dolor fighting with traitors in that area" Histan voxed. Needlessly, he added "They will not appreciate our help"

 

"Histan, they are going to be busy. I've fought these traitors, and they are the deadliest enemies i have faced in my four centuries of existence. We were facing those two when they were unprepared and unready. If it had been in a straight fight, i wouldn't expect to walk out of that building. They have taken from our Chapter, this changes everything" The last word was hissed, as if speaking about the traitors put his sergeant on the edge of control. Adrian didn't have to wonder about how his brothers were taking this information. All of them were running as fast as they're enhanced bodies would allow.

[Ring-around-the-roses]

"How's the war going, brother" Even over the vox, the voice was a cold and as hard as the void. Out of all his brothers, Sebastian Vaulk, Chapter Master of the Brotherhood of the Twilight Path worried Christen Lycht the most. Vaulk's entire Chapter seemed to be made of fanatics, a fact which part of his mind laughed at, conceding that he wasn't one to talk. Still, they worried him. Moreoever, Vaulk had glared at him all through the first time all his brothers had met. That was either plain disrespect, or all but a challenge. Even as Christen crushed a heretic beneath his ceraminte boots, he felt his hackles raise.

"As well as could be expected. Are you making planetfall?" He ducked into a doorway, only to feel more autogun rounds spatter on his shoulders. This was starting to get annoying. His squad was bogged down only a hundred yards from his position, and he couldn't get to him. He didn't have time to equip his favoured method of transport, a jump pack, and so he was forced to slaughter his way through a tide of lesser mortals before he could get to grips with what he hoped were worthy prey. He licked his lips out of habit at the thought, and brought his bolter up one handed, killing a trio of heretics. This was getting stupid, he thought, as yet another squad of mortals charged him, yelling to the dark gods to protect them. He didn't even bother wasting ammunition, merely stepping into one of them, braining another with his bolter, then letting his instincts take over. Break skull to the left, foot sweeps up to crush ribcage, swerve to the right from sword thrust to the weaker neck armour. Kill two by turning power claws into a fist, crushing one, before punching forward, pummeling another. Again and again it went on. All to soon they broke, screaming and soiling themselves even as another mob.

This is going to be a long walk. It better be worth, or i'm going to start getting annoyed.

With that thought, he ran towards the enemy, a sneer written on his face beneath the blank visage of his helmet.

 

100 yards away...

 

"In the name of the Emperor, they better charge soon. I'm running out of ammo" Veteran Sergeant Chalik growled. He had been happily slaughtering his way through these heretics, his squad making they're way through what he guessed was some kind of place of worship. Certainly, their had been enough gold in the place to suggest that, as was the shining white alter at the back of the room, although there was a noticeable lack of aquila's. He put it out of his mind as another hurricane of firepower ripped its way through through displays, their contents which he couldn't even begin to identify shattered. A grunt came from the far side of the room, and he saw Brother Kanin's sign go from green to amber on his squad diagnostics. The technology incorporated in these new helms was useful, and he was grateful the Templars Ursine had seen fit to give the Abyssal Hunters enough to equip all the squads. Still, the Forgemaster had trouble linking them up to the ad-hoc network of communications the Auxillaries used, and that had been yet another blow to the relations between the two Chapter's Techmarines. They were so conservative, that was the main problem, Chalik new. The Abyssal Hunters had been forced to scavenge and twist any technology they could lay there hands on just to survive, yet their brother Chapters seemed to be unable or unwilling to cross that small bridge of understanding. He hunkered down even farther, content to wait out the firestorm. Kanin was cursing fluidly over the vox, in nearly a dozen languages. He must of have been attending what was derided amongst the veterans as 'diplomacy classes'. Due to their long absence from Imperial space, almost none of the rank-and-file knew anything about the Imperium bar what their indoctrination and training had taught them. As he reflected on how swiftly the PDF of Lethanon had turned, he admitted to himself that the information ditributed to the Auxillaries and his brother Astartes might of been tinged with just a bit of nostalgia from the Chapter's glory days. Back when they had crusaded from planet to planet, safe in the light of the Astronomican. Back, before his time, before every living Astartes time, when they hadn't been falsely labelled as traitors to the Emperor's light.

Great, now i need to kill something all over again, he brooded as he settled on his haunches, half-empty boltgun clasped to his chest.

[Ring-around-the-roses]

"Brother Christen, you know I haven't landed, and yet you have, judging by the screaming. I was in front of you when it came to landing. Why are you on the planet?" No doubt his 'brother' Chapter Master would try some idiotic lie. His blood boiled that he had to support this heretic, but every Chapter Master going back time immemorial had sworn an oath to keep his brothers as one. It was made clear to him on his ascension to Chapter Master that the oath to his brother Chapters was just as important as that to his Chapter. Like any true Astartes, and moreso since he was one of the Brotherhood of the Twilight Path, he would honour his oaths unto death. His gauntlets slowly formed fists as he stood on his personal ships bridge, looking out on the stars. They had been suppossed to drop in two hours, plenty of time for the Templars Ursine to dig in and weather the storm, and for the Knights of Dolor to assauge their predilection for pain on the enemy. Then, his Chapter would descend on wings of fire, and cleanse this world, take the attack to the enemy and rout them out on the field of battle. He would, of course, leave enough left for the Abyssal Hunters and the Gator Rex Chapters, the two brothers which he couldn't even begin to lie to himself about. The Knights of Dolor might be a little too zealous about the enemies punishment, but that could hardly be construed as the greatest sin. He himself could be accused of that, and nobody would be foolish enough to think the Brotherhood of the Twilight Path were straying from the true path. With a smug grin, he let his right hand rest lightly on the power mace that hummed gently on his belt.

 

"Sorry brother, i'm a little busy. Are you getting down here?" Sebastian Vaulk's grin morphed into a sneer.

"No, I shall stick to the plan agreed upon by all of us. We did have a clear chain of command, if I remember correctly" The answer was short in coming.

"Well, in that case" the vox was suddenly filled with a long stream of curses he recognised, last hearing them pouring from the mouth of a xenos pirate of the Eldar.

Predicatbly, he went apocolyptic.

"CHRISTEN! YOU DEBASED FILTH, I'LL HAVE YOUR HIDE FOR THIS!" He roared down the vox. He realised that his voice was echoing around the bridge of the starship, but his Chapter's serfs knew their place, serving their glorious masters. They had heard, and felt his fury before, and every human on the bridge merely hunched farther into their work stations, hoping to avoid the attention of their absolute master. Vaulk saw, in the corner of his eye, minsicule specks of reflected light. That barbaric excuse for a Chapter Master was landing his Chapter. He knew that from this distance, the specks of light would have to of have been reflected from surfaces kilometres across. Even now, the Abyssal Hunters would be making their way into the upper atmosphere, no doubt to steal his rightful glory! He'd show them, he vowed. He turned away from the bridge and strode away, treading the well worn path straight to the drop pods. He knew his elite's, his veteran Vanguard and Sternguard would be standing by the drop-pods in every ship in his mighty fleet. With a touch of a button, they could deploy, and show that fool how to fight in the Emperor's name.

"Men" His strident voice, filled with holy fury resounded across the Chapter network.

"Descend upon wings of fire and purge this world. Show our brothers the standard they must live up to"

He cut off his personal network and contacted his Master of the Forge. The Techmarines, while lacking in some of the traits that made up for a true Astartes, like zeal and righteous, cleansing rage, were a necessary evil. They did, after all, share the geneseed, and so he was glad to have them in his Chapter, preparing and repairing the Chapter's war machines. As long as they stayed their. He couldn't stand their cold, calculating method of fighting. It was almost an insult. The Master of the Forge's repeated requests to accompany his blessed machines to battle and fight at his brothers side were growing tiresome.

"Master of the Forge, are the blessed tanks ready. We must have their weight if we are to turn the tide. And we shall be the ones to turn the tide" He readied himself for the cold void of the machine. Instead, he was surprised to hear the warm voice of a brother. It nearly slowed him to a crawl in shock.

"Chapter Master, the vehicles have been blessed and the rites of awakening performed. The machine-spirits are eager to go into battle. Me and my brethren... we have adjusted our augmentations to better suit your tastes... we hope you will give us the honour of fighting with you in this battle. Let us show you our dedication to the Chapter" The voice was warm, with the roughness that could only be brought on by intense fervour. He recognised it as one which he had heard a thousand thousand times from his own throat, and that of his brothers. It was the sound of zeal. Finally the Techmarines had seen reason. He could almost feel proud of them.

"Hmm, in light of this development, I will allow you the honour of fighting beside me. Let's see what kind of changes you've made then" His mood was suddenly turning. Things were finally looking up.