+Shadows in the Storm; The Siege of Korrianna Forge+

[Kizzdougs]

Wow! such a creepy mini and paint job, perfect :)

[Kriegsmacht]

oh look a creepy teenager. My annoyance brought out in miniature form(disclaimer: Not all teenagers just the ones that are annoying ). Flint I believe you have showed us true evil...oh yeah she pilots a knight too. hehe

[Forté]

Nice that you didn't just go for teenage angst black. Very stylised :tu:

[lokkorex]

Fiction is top-notch as usual, model looks creepy, but please tell me that little "censored" Will die burning alive.

 

I hate nobles.

[Flint13]

Wow, thanks for the replies everyone!

I was trying a whole lot of new things with this entry, both paint and fluff-wise, so it's always nice to hear what you think. I wasn't sure if the amount of writing would be a little too much, so let me know what you think of the length.

Too, I hope everyone is as comfortable with constructive criticism as well as praise. Always feel free let me or Jasp know if you think there's anything we could improve on!

@ JackDaw - Wow, that is some really high praise coming from you, buddy!

I did want to try something *completely* different when I painted Jacquelyn, so I stuck to a much flatter, natural pallet of color. I really wanted to accentuate her distance from everyone around her, so I thought she would look good almost a bit "washed out." She ended up looking kinda like a creepy ice ghost, so I can't complain

@ SanguiniousReborn - Thanks! I was attempting to get across the fact that she is both mentally unstable *and* a pretty evil person, so I'm glad it seemed to work. Hopefully it sounded believable without trying too hard!

@ kizzdougs - Glad to hear. She is super creepy, isn't she? My favorite is the 2nd pic where you can just barely see the white of her eye and her pupil under the shadows of her brow. Kinda like a pallet swap grudge girl

@ Kael24 - Perfect! Just what I was going for.

@ forte - Mhmm, I would *love* to paint a gothy teenager one day (b/c 9/10s of my personal wardrobe is black ) but today is not that day.

@ lokkorex - "And lo, so shall she be this tale's hated Joffrey to Legionary Sevik's amusing Tyrion. It is decreed and so shall it ever be."

[lokkorex]

Phew, glad i didn't offend you.

 

Making a daughter of nostramo angry isn't high on my priority list.

[Daemon2027]

Just read the background, that girl comes across as creepy as she looks. Looking forward to seeing how she hooks up with the Night Lords. They should get a long really well.

[Dantay VI]

That is an amazing paint job, very muted and sinister.

 

The story is excellent too, this is a girl & knight not to be messed with.

 

Is this a paint style we will see more pf, or just a one off for Jacqueline?

[Montuhotep]

Good Lord, it's all wonderful - perhaps some dried blood on her knife, though?

[Knight of the Raven]

She looks good, in a psycho serial slasher kind of way.

I'm surprised you didn't paint her like an Elsa who grew up on Nostramo, though.

LET THEM SCREAM LET THEM SCREEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAM

[Nomus Sardauk]

She looks good, in a psycho serial slasher kind of way.

I'm surprised you didn't paint her like an Elsa who grew up on Nostramo, though.

LET THEM SCREAM LET THEM SCREEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAM

Oh for Throne's sake, stop giving her ideas! :D

[Flint13]

Oh more replies! Awesome ^_^

@ Lokkorex - Nope, not at all! And you're wise to remember that

@ Demon2027 - Excellent... all going according to keikaku...

@ Dantay - Well I did want to try something hella different. She is mostly painted with Vallejo Model Color and Reaper Master and washed really heavily, which gives a *way* more muted look. I'm not sure if she was a one off... I was thinking of trying this more "realistic" look with a few more non-transhumans.

@ Paladin - Thanks! That's pretty serious praise. I was actually thinking the same thing with the knife just as I was posting her

@ Knight of the Raven - How did I *not* paint her like a creepy Elsa?

@ SanguiousReborn - Oh, so many ideas still to come

[Flint13]

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Eighth Legion Astartes; 28th Company

Saeva Nocte

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[YT]

[/YT]

"Jackals need no queens, only an alpha murderess... we are she...

A carnivorous goddess wrought red upon the galaxy...

carving a legacy from the flesh of those who have wronged us.

We are the Dawn, and we will be the death of Knight."

Darkness Falls on Severed Angels: Part 2

(Shadow Fall +32 Local Standard)

“M-zero-S, this is auxiliary of Claw Sar’keth. We are surrounded by advancing enemy Asimarr Mechanicum forces at mark 077Beta. They have full anti-armor and Knight Household support. Respond!”

Remembrancer Simeon Vasquez barked into the high-gain portable vox-comm unit stashed in the corner of the hab block. In the opposite corner, a midnight armored Astartes slowly panned an auspex unit across the narrow avenue from the hab-unit’s single window.
“No use lad,” the marine closed the auspex and turned, “The vox-executioner is still active and mobile. My bet is one of those damnable Knights has a portable unit hardwired to its running systems.” As if on cue, a bass warhorn ripped through the comparative silence, rattling everything left standing in the dingy hab unit. Not a second later, a heavy sonar pulse followed.

“They’re just down at the end of the block,” Sevik Lo pressed Vasquez to the floor of the hab causing a small dust storm as he shifted his massive armored form to glace warily from the window again.

“What about Fourth Claw? They were right behind us,” Simeon coughed out quietly. Without turning from the window, Sevik slowly raised a hand. Even over the midnight blue black of the Astartes warplate, Vasquez could see the clotted crimson washed over the gauntlet and bracer.

The Remembrancer inhaled slowly, battling the shifting dust and tint of smoke in the air, trying to keep his breathing in check. He had to pause momentarily. The sprint to this hab unit had not been a pleasant one for many reasons.

A crackled distortion flickered across the vox-band, wrenching his attention back around to the unit. He barely caught the words that slithered from the hand set.

”Confirm… Knight House activity…”

…silence…

Vasquez rolled once, hand darting out to grab the vox-set receiver.

“This is Auxillary Vasquez. Knight House activity confirmed, there are two Knights of House dan Elsan along with support units.”

The warhorn bellowed again, closer this time. Vasquez could feel the floor tremble with the tread of the advancing Titan.

The following sonar pulse was so loud it rattled his teeth against one another and cut off the first half of the reply from the handset.

“…Carnivore Goddess hears your plea… we heed.”

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The Remembrancer furrowed his brow at the set in his hand. The words that had dripped from the vox set had sounded… wrong. They were ethereal, almost sing song. High pitched… young maybe. A child? Or a woman?

“What in the void?” He glanced up to see the 8^th legionary staring intently at him.

“Lad. We need to move. Now!” Sevik rose from his crouch against the hab wall and strode across the broken threshold and into the block’s breezeway, snapping the vox transceiver into one armored gauntlet as he did so.

As Simeon darted after the 8^th legionnaire, he could just catch a glimpse of the hulking shoulders of one of the House dan Elsan Knights from the destroyed wall of an adjacent hab unit. Its heraldry loudly proclaimed its name in old Koriannite and Gothik script. “Raka’tarii; the Falconer,” sang out from the Ice and Ash emblazoned upon its shoulder scroll.

His head snapped back around as another warhorn blasted from the opposite side of the hab complex. This one was different than the Knight Titan units that had been pursuing them for days. This one was heavy and bass… but somehow bestial… hateful… hungry.

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The response from the Mechanicus units of Asimarr Quartadecima was instantaneous, the smaller units retreating from the surrounding buildings into a protective screen around the massive forms of the twin dan Elsan Knights, who stood within cover distance of one another. Their auspexes hunted, sonar pulses sounding and weapons cycling to active standby.

Sevik picked up speed and Simeon raced to keep up, boots pounding across the uneven surface of the hab’s breezeway. A low, nauseating throb began to build, seemingly from the air around him. It built in intensity exponentially until he could feel it as a bone deep vibration.

“That’s a mag-coil going live,” The marine’s warhelm whipped back as he ran, “We don’t have time, lad. MOVE!”

Simeon could barely catch even the vox boosted words over the howl of the weapon and the pulse of aggressive sonar.
Sevik’s stride lengthened even further into a full sprint, quickly pulling away from the unenhanced human. Ten meters in front of Simeon, without breaking stride, the Night Lord burst through perhaps the last intact window in the complex, a full length bay portal at the end of the hall. Clearing the intervening alley, Astartes armored boots slammed into the sub
floor of the next hab unit over.

The shriek of mag-coils was all encompassing now. Simeon couldn’t even hear the breath sawing out of his lungs. With a last burst of speed, he leapt from the window and the end of the hall… and the world ended…

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Several things happened all at once for Remebrancer Simeon Vasquez. As his feet left the floor of the habway complex, the unit behind him ceased to be. Massive mechanical legs the size of industrial compresses thundered past, obliterating the thin walled habstructure like it has never existed. As he spun in midair the Remembrancer caught vague impressions; titanic shape among the flowing river of debris. Bladed gauntlet coursing with red electricity, razored
shoulder guards and a fanged maw to devour a god.

The rest of the complex cascaded to the ground like an avalanche of plascrete and prefab boarding. With an earth trembling roar, a gargantuan black and blue Knight Titan burst from the debris storm of the collapsing structure. The howl of magnetic containment coils reached a crescendo, the titan’s right arm arced forward like an executioner’s axe.
The lance of its arm slammed into its housing mounts and fired a black rod of plasma straight into the face plate of the nearest Knight of House dan Elsan.

The smaller machine never had a chance to react. The lancet stream cored through the protective armor plate, the mechanical workings of its torso, obliterated the pilot’s compartment and blasted from between the shoulder blades of the weapon mounts in a blizzard of flash-boiled metal and plasteks. With a shriek of protesting joint servos and crushed armor plate, Raka’tarii felt to its knees.

A bellow of victory thundered from the Lancer’s vox horn as it raised a single clawed foot. Crunching down with the force of a starship’s hydraulics, it kicked the carcass of the smaller titan ingloriously onto its back and sent it skidding in a wash of sediments.

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The second dan Elsan titan rounded and sent a shot from its battle cannon arcing towards the Cerastus Lancer, only to ricochet ineffectively from its left gauntlet in a blast of coruscating red lightning. Several hundred meters distant, a massive highrise hab-structor lost a dozen floors in a fireball. The capacitors contained within the gauntlet of the plasma shield howled as they cycled to active and began to recharge.

The smaller titan had already begun to advance, kicking aside the smaller machines that surrounded it’s shin guards. With a sound like two iron continents colliding, it barreled into the larger god beast with a rending grind of metal.

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Vasquez opened his eyes to a pair of impassive red lenses.

Upon seeing his return to consciousness, Sevik turned with a grunt. He moved slightly deeper into the new set of hab units and began to work at the damaged vox unit.

“Good news?” Simeon coughed hard as he sat up and glanced after the legionary.

“Depends, Lad,” a few quick adjustments and switches thrown, “The vox executioner is no longer interfering. Looks like it was on that exed titan. On the downside, our own vox is only picking up intermittently…”

Vasquez frowned as he heard the odd cut in/out static and what sounded like whispering in his vox earbead.

“Hold… sacred void,” Sevik cursed as he scanned the readout from their own auspex unit. He punched a few settings into the mobile vox and barked, “Friendly Knight, this is ground. Auspex readings confirm there is another active Titan. Repeat, there were *three* Titans of House dan Elsan.”

Vasquez heard only scratching static for several seconds, audible only partially over the duel of the two god machines only a few hundred meters distant. Then, that same sickly, sing song voice came through, shocking in its clarity.

“Three or thirty… they will choke on the ashes of their fallen.”

Almost on cue, a third Knight of House dan Elsan rounded a hab structure and began to pick up speed to bring it into range of the ongoing Titan melee.

Sevik sat back on his heels, a curse exploding from the vox grille of his warhelm, “Kalshiel vallia shrilla la lerril!”

Simeon’s brow drew into a deep frown, “Did you just…”

“Come on, lad,” the legionary cut the question off as he rose to his feet and slipped a boltgun into his right gauntlet, “No amount of bravado is going to save that beast against two veteran pilots. As long as it’s occupying them, they won’t be hunting us.”

The Astartes reached the end of the hallway, which terminated abruptly in a shell-blasted hole, and unceremoniously dropped from view into the alley below.

Simeon grimaced and pulled a single laspistol from its holster. A deep breath and he followed Sevik Lo into the debris strewn alley.

[CaptainAsmodai]

Great job Flint!!!

[Slips]

So...Can we expect a Graphic Novel at some point?

[Brother-Chaplain Kage]

She's lovely, Flint. Very characterful and unique with the additions, but not so much as to look cluttered or overdone.

 

*Edit* As a builder more than a painter, there's a certain satisfaction in finally finding the perfect place for one of those unusual bits that's been in the box forever. Did you feel that way with the jaw bone?

 

Oh, like the new avatar. ;)

[BassWave]

The cutesy sing song voice coming from a horrific creature is a favorite trope of mine. I enjoy some good 'ol cognitive dissonance.Did you happen to be inspired by the half alien half mech from knights of sidonia in that regard? Either way, excellent work on the knight!

 

Btw, does the third knight in the story happen to be a Castigator? ;)

[Forté]

Wow. And talk about a jump with the picture quality too. That first one just screams "this is the machine of your nightmares".

[Kizzdougs]

Brilliant Flint!! You should be really proud of what you have achieved :)

[Daemon2027]

Wow flint, amazing knight. The paint job really works, the additions you have added gives character without going overboard. I also love the simplicity of the base, looks like a warzone and is not cluttered.

[JackDaw]

Damn fine work Sister Midnight, story and Knight both. As Forte said, the jump in picture quality really shows off the quality of the pantjob on the Lancer - she looks lovely. Though did you change her name from Jackal Dawn to Carnivore Goddess?

 

Great fluff as well, nice sense of urgency as well as visceral combat between large machines. The war-horn/sonic pulse was a particularly nice touch.

[Dantay VI]

Wow, I just want to echo the sentiments of those above... Sheer brilliance :)

[Flint13]

Oh wow. I'm always super pumped to see all the awesome responses waiting for me after a post ^_^

 

It really keeps my batteries charged!

 

@ CaptainAsmodai - Thanks buddy!

 

@ Slipstreams - Ah, if only I could draw... *wistful 'lover lost at sea' stare out the window*

 

@ BCK - I'm glad to hear it. And absolutely. I'm clueless as to where that jawbone came from. It's been kicking around my bits box for literally five years. But it was the *perfect* size to fit there on the leg guard.

And I like her too... Even if using a D cup blonde as my avatar creates a few hilarious conflicting emotions.

 

@ BassWave - Omg, I *just* watched that! Shizuka and the Crimson Hawkmoth were such an awesome monster. I actually have been mainlining M rated Netflix anime over the last week, so between that and Deadman Wonderland, I can totally seem some influence bleeding in ^_^

 

@ Forte - I kno rite? I used a legit photo box this time since it was such a big model. I feel like it was mostly accidental, but however it came about, it is probably my favorite pic that I've taken in my 30k career.

 

@ kizzdougs - I try to remain humble. Glad you like her

 

@ Daemon - thanks! I recalled wanted a spartan base since the knight herself had a lot going on. Glad to hear it came out as intended.

 

@ JackDaw - thanks! To explain, Jacquelyn sees herself as part of a whole when she's with Jackal Dawn. Apart, they are a psychotic teenager and an intimidating but inert warmachine. Together, she feels the individuals, Jacquelyn and the Jackal, disappear and become something more, a Carnivore Goddess of hate and vengeance (*drama*)

 

I'll admit my wacky nomenclature can be confusing though. I should probably work something more clarifying in there ^_^

 

@ Dantay - Pretty high praise, buddy. I am super psyched to hear it.

 

To everyone - The Jackal was a stupid amount of work to get together, so it is beyond gratifying to hear how much everyone seems to like her. Just keep in mind, I never mind constructive criticism on fluff, pain, converting or anything else.

 

Thanks again everyone, totally made my (agonizingly early) morning to read all these replies.

[Barabbas Sogalon]

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VIII LEGION, XXVI COMPANY, "NOCTIS INFERNAE"

"For whoever believes that great advancement and new benefits make men forget old injuries is mistaken."

- Nikolo Makiaveli, M2

"Cha togar m'fhearg gun dioladh!"

- Ancient Albian warcry, frequently heard during the Siege

INFERNAL NIGHT

(Day 29)

Darkness was a weapon. It was a reason why humanity was afraid of it. The Albians had used it since time immemorial, attacking their foes at dusk when the light shifted and men's hearts were gripped by cold fear as night began Her reign. They were the original Lords of the Night, the true and only masters of this ancient craft; the Nostramans were barely worthy the title of imposters. Such was the truth as spoken by Saevus, the Lord of Infernal Night.

Oath-Decurion Namarik Krastor thought about these words as he walked down a corridor leading to one of the launch bays aboard the Dusk Queen. An ancient and feared vessel, she had served as flagship for the 26th since they left Terra centuries ago; her sister, the Wrath of Albia, had belonged to a Terran officer in the Death Guard who met his fate on Istvaan III. The Queen's insatiable hunger for death radiated from the dark iron walls. Bloodshed was only hours away and the anticipation made Krastor grin; a rare sight on his scarred and unusually pale face that sported a dark beard ending in two short braids beneath the chin. Their so-called “allies” had already been engaged on Korrianna for some time, but now the 26th was preparing to fully join the fight with the Fires of Hell at their command. For weeks they had systematically cut the power to large sections of the northern Mechanicum stronghold, destroyed food and water supplies, and sabotaged communication by filling all channels with sound of a man being burnt alive; the terrified mortals were probably starving or freezing to death by now. Then the surroundings had been put to the torch, entire cities burning to ash together with wast areas of tundra and forests. And this was only the beginning. Still, the fact that they had to share ground with the lowlifes of Nostramo did not sit well with Krastor. They disgusted him. He remembered killing a great number of them when the Captain ordered the Company purged of their filth, many were called phosphex related “accidents”, and would not hesitate to open fire if those degenerates crossed his path. The World Eaters and Emperor's Children in their current state were no better, just another proof of how far the proud Legions of old had fallen. It made his twin hearts even heavier.

The doors to the launch bay parted and Krastor marched out on the deck, the sound of his armoured steps drowning in the noise from nearly three hundred legionaries making ready for war. Weapons were checked, blades sharpened one final time and orders given, Stormbirds and Storm Eagles underwent final preparations with incendiaries being loaded into missile pods as serfs crawled all over the deck. The Storm Eagles had been modified to fit the the Company's way of war, sacrificing transport capacity for the ability to rain phosphex bombs over the enemy. The air was heavy with the eagerness to start killing. Krastor kept walking and every legionary he passed looked up from whatever they were doing to salute him; he was number three in the Company hierarchy after all, a position he had held for well over a century. Three warriors waited for him beside a burning brazier on the iron deck, all part of 2nd Oathblades, and hammered their right fists against the chest when he approached them. Like Krastor they wore the blue-grey and crimson of the VIII, the true colours that still glowed with a sense of honour. No Midnight Clad for the 26th, the Captain used to say, leave that to the Nostraman whoresons. Duach Griogair, Efraym Ya'akovi and Silas Karradok were fellow veterans of the Unification Wars, warriors hardened through centuries of fire and blood, but none of them had seen the Old Days before the great Legions. Krastor had, as a fourteen year old rifleman in the Albian armies sent to defend the land of his ancestors from a foreign tyrant. The memories still haunted him.

“Buaidh no bas, Oath-Decurion,” said Griogair, a particularly savage character with several phosphex bombs and inferno grenades attached to the mk III plate. His voice, loaded with a heavy Northern Albian accent, sounded from behind the unofficial Sogalon-pattern helmet he had worn since serving alongside the XIV at the Bleeding Twins.

Krastor nodded in response to the traditional greeting. Vexillas were being raised among the squads, all of them black and marked with a flaming red eye in addition to unit numbers. The Burning Eye had been used by the 26th since the beginning and symbolised their original role as bringers of Terra's wrath.

Then Griogair asked the question. “Will the Captain be joining us?”

The Oath-Decurion held back his answer. He was one of the Gedryht, the inner circle, and less than an hour ago it had become clear that they were going to war without their master; Equerry Jebra would hold command as the Noctis Infernae descended on Korrianna. Captain Aliksandr Saevus was sadly a cursed man, suffering from sudden periods of grief-like madness where he completely isolated himself from the Company and left them without his leadership. Krastor did not know how many times he had been forced to drag the Captain's weeping and raging form away from the frontlines. No one knew what caused it, whether it had been there since birth or was related to the gene seed; Krastor was not one for speculations, genius and madness was after all two sides of the same coin.

“No, he won't,” he said grimly. “The dark mood has him.”

The three warriors said nothing, only nodding in understanding. The dark mood. Once it had been a way for the legionaries to explain the unexplainable, now it sounded more and more like an excuse not to call the Captain insane. It was tiring with the same uncertainty before every battle, and the past year it had just gotten worse. That Remembrancer, Saroyan or something, was probably with him now, the poor lass having to listen to his melancholic ramblings; Krastor couldn't say he envied her. But without the Lord of Infernal Night, the 26th would never have become masters at scorching the earth or managed to remain pure in a Legion ruined by lowlives. They were the only ones left to seek revenge for the Albians' humiliation at the hands of the man who called himself “Emperor”; the Dusk Raiders were extinct and the X Legion ceased to be Albians a long time ago. Terra should have belonged to the Warlords of Dusk and not only had the “Emperor” denied them their birthright after spilling their blood, but also betrayed the Terrans who had conquered a world for him by leaving them in the hands of lesser men. He was a tyrant, plain and simple, and the sons of Albia killed tyrants. Krastor hated him, hated him every time he felt the memory of the Thunder Warriors slaughtering his clan. Bitterness and hatred. Oh, yes. The entire Company knew those feelings so well and now Korrianna would suffer their wrath.

“The oath needs to be sworn.”

They gathered around the brazier on Krastor's signal and removed their left gauntlet, before drawing their dirks. Then each of them slashed the blade across the palm. Krastor balled his fist and watched the blood drops fall into the fire.

“We, the Trueborn legionaries of 2nd Oathblades, swear upon the Sigil of the Burning Eye to destroy our enemies in fire and ash, to salt their earth and to uphold the honour of the VIII Legion as we kill for our brethren who are unable to stand with us on this day. Justice comes with red hands, we are the left. This is our oath sworn in the name of Terra and Albia of Old, let the flames stand witness as it is sealed with our blood. Igni Atque Ferro.”

“Igni Atque Ferro,” the three Oathblades repeated and stabbed their dirks into the burning charcoal.

Krastor did the same, put the gauntlet back on and donned his crested helmet. It was time to open the doors to Hell. Every legionary in the launch bay snapped to attention and formed ranks with bolters or volkites held across their chests the moment Krastor started walking towards the Stormbirds, 2nd Oathblades at his back. Not that he cared, his mind was focused solely on the task at hand. He stopped a short distance from the transports to throw a look at the assembled legionaries.

“Let's find someone to burn.”

Darkness had started to shroud Thule-Psi, a fortress on the very outskirts of Asimarr Quartadecima serving as a command centre for the nearby sector. The area consisted of bastions, battery towers and air defences, small scale manufactorums, warehouses, hab blocks for the workers and several spires that appeared to be made of shiny black stone. Covered in a thin layer of polluted snow and without a single light, the fortress looked completely lifeless. The surrounding landscape was burning, enormous fires visible as a reddish light on the horizon. Four hundred legionaries, about a third of the 26th Company's strength, waited among the shadows. Distant thunder shook the ground. Thirty seconds later shells hammered into the buildings and fireballs lit up the night like erupting volcanoes. More impacts, but this time white-green flames burst to life and spread like a raging wildfire that devoured anything in its path. The snow barely had time to melt before it evaporated. In a few moments the darkness of night had been replaced by a hellish inferno; not even the finest Albian poetry could match it. Then the screaming began. The Noctis Infernae had heard them before, the tortured screams caused by tainted fire eating into flesh and bone, and the damning realization that nothing could be done to extinguish them. Countless small torches, each a human being on fire, began to appear in the streets; now they couldn't complain on the cold anymore. Their misery was ended by roaring bolters. Plumes of fire continued to blossom all over and one of the black spires collapsed, the impact like a tremor. The 26th had finally been unleashed in all its glory, but this was just the start, soon the entire stronghold would be a smoking ruin and the world tainted forever.

Greedy flames bathed the shattered streets in a combination of orange and pale green light with the black skeletons of crumbling buildings towering above. Charred bodies were everywhere, some of them still alive. Fire was a fascinating phenomenon, especially how a raging inferno affected the frail mortal minds. Some would panic and flee, chaos breaking loose as each tried to ensure their own survival; even going as far as killing those in their path. Others pathetically refused to abandon the herd as the flames closed in, defying all rationale and clinging together in the farthest corner as smoke began filling their lungs. Then it was the Tech-Thralls who did neither, only burning silently. Krastor grabbed one of the lobotomised creatures by the neck and threw it into the fire, before turning around and putting a bolter round through the head of another. His warriors finished off the ones that remained. Two Myrmidons lay broken on the ground, their robes blazing and torn bodies partly melted.

“Let there be light, and there was light. It seared the flesh from their bones,” said Ya'akovi in a priest-like voice while he gestured at the inferno surrounding them. He was one of the few non-Albians in the Company, instead having been recruited from the hell pits on the eastern edge of the Mediterranean Dustbowl.

“Keep talking like that and others might believe you are rebelling against Imperial Truth.” Krastor's words were met by cold laughter from the men.

They moved out, with Karradok taking point through the ruins. The Oathblade in mismatched armour had not said a word since Istvaan V where a Centurion from the XIX slashed his throat; the Raven never got to finish the job, a shot a volkite weapon blasting him to ash seconds later. Silas the Silent now communicated through Albian battle-signs from the time before the Legions. 2nd Oathblades were moving into the more fortified areas near the heart of the fortress and here the Company had struck hard; once mighty bastions reduced to piles of rubble while screaming Army soldiers fled from bunkers engulfed by green flames. Legionaries were everywhere, assaulting the broken defenders with blade, bolter and volkite in the middle of the inferno. Meanwhile, Sapper squads cleared out fortification using flamers and phosphex, the occupants who managed to get out fell victim to their heavy axes. It didn't matter how many toys the Mechanicum mobilized, none of them could stand against the fire. War cries in the Old Tongue pierced the air and the Burning Eye stared down on all the killing from black banners held high by the vexillari. The only thing missing now was the Captain's presence.

Krastor watched with great interest as an Army officer, whose legs had been chopped off above the knees, was dragged across the plaza and decapitated by members of 5th Oathblades. Pyres had started to appear around them, fuelled by the living bodies of mortal soldiers. The Oath-Decurion looked to his right and noticed something that made him grin; Astartes in green and black armour, flame motifs and gold detailing. The XVIII. The Salamanders. The little Firedrakes. Krastor remembered how the 26th had waited on the black sands of Istvaan V as the battered Sons of Vulkan retreated in their direction, his veins filling with the anticipation of what was about to happen, then the sight of the phosphex eating through the Salamanders' ranks. The Dragons succumbing to fire, a glorious sight indeed. Now, more of them would burn. Krastor gestured for Griogair to start the “illumination process” of their misguided cousins.

“I hope you remember Istvaan, little Firedrakes!” the Oathblade yelled after pulling the pin on a phosphex bomb.

When the leftmost group of Salamanders finally reacted, the bomb was at their feet and none escaped the fiery detonation that followed. Those standing too close were also afflicted and Krastor listened to their screams while he emptied his bolter into a marine carrying a flamer. Then he discarded the weapon and drew his Albian sabre, an elegant and lethal blade crafted by master smiths during Old Night; its twin was sadly lost, last seen in the service of the Dusk Raiders. With his other hand he gripped the serpenta he had used since first breaking past Sol and didn't waste any time putting it to use, the ray punching through the chestplate on the nearest Salamander who exploded inside his armour with fire shooting from the eye slits. It was like being back in the Urgall Depression, bringing living hell to the XVIII. Ya'akovi charged first, flamer raised and war cries leaving his vox-grill in quick succession, while Griogair and Karradok unleashed inferno grenades before joining him; though not capable of the same devastation as phosphex, the grenades still left their victims burning brightly. Krastor had just cut the throat of a Salamander blinded by flames tearing at his helmet when he became aware of a spear-wielding warrior coming towards him. Probably some ranking member back when there was a legion, the drake's mk II armour was adorned with symbols of forge and fire and one shoulder pad shaped into a golden dragon head, while the skin of some scaled beast covered the other. Phosphex had made short work of many such armours on Istvaan.

“You die here, spawn of Nostramo!” the Salamander roared, readying his weapon.

Krastor felt his blood boil at the words. “I'll make you regret saying that, cur.”

He holstered the serpenta, this was far too personal now, and went straight for the righteous bastard. The carnage around him was completely forgotten. His opponent attacked first, swinging the spear in an arc and leaving a deep scratch in the Terran's reinforced thigh armour. Krastor answered by hammering a fist into the Salamander's faceplate. The spear came up once more, this time directed at Krastor's neck, but he blocked it with Albian steel.

“It must break your hearts to see all these mortals die, knowing you can't save them from their agony, 'protector of Humanity'. Sounds like someone is failing his dead father,” Krastor growled and diverted another attack.

He heard a phosphex bomb go off not far away.

“And what about your brothers burning to death? Killed by the very element you lowlife Nocturnans claim mastery over. You have to admit it's quite amusing.”

The Salamander thrust forward, with Krastor dodging and grabbing the haft of the spear firmly before he slashed his own weapon across the other Astartes' faceplate. The spear fell to the ground and Krastor rammed his sabre through the softer midriff on the screaming warrior's armour and up into the chest, making sure to twist the blade a little.

“You'll die knowing that an Albian claimed your life.”

Krastor tore out the bloody sabre and looked at the falling corpse, sneering. The air was heavy with the stench of blood, smoke and burnt flesh. It made him feel alive. He drew the serpenta again and shot the first green armoured legionary he saw, waiting for the pistol to charge up before he fired at another one; more ash to cover the ground of Thule-Psi. A bolter thundered as Karradok coldly shot a phosphex covered warrior in back of the knees. Ya'akovi on his side ripped the helm from a wounded enemy and fired the flamer at the legionnaire’s head while cursing both the XVIII and the Emperor. When Duach Griogair had decapitated his last victim were the Salamanders on Korrianna finally extinct. Krastor spent the next seconds looking at the hell the brethren of the 26th had created, then blink-clicking a small rune inside his visor.

“What is it?” asked Equerry Jebra with a deep and humourless voice that mortals found menacing. Albian to the core, he had stood as an executioner of the Captain's will since Unification.

“We encountered some Firedrakes, brought back old memories,” said Krastor and laughed. “You should have seen the bastards.”

“Did they burn?”

“Aye, but the ones on Istvaan burned brighter.”

It was quiet over the vox for a moment.

“A shame,” said Jebra, calm as ever. “Keep on fighting, Namarik. We are not done here yet.”

The link was cut and Krastor sighed; though he and the Equerry had fought closely for centuries, did he resent taking orders from him instead of the Captain. He turned to see that the rest of the Company were pushing deeper into the fortress, flames guiding their path. This battle had barely begun.

“Oath-Decurion, we have reports of Battle-Automatas and legionaries of the XIII gathering to the north of here,” said Griogair, axe held ready in preparation for more slaughter.

It was about time the damned rulers of this empire within an empire came down from their high horse and burned like the rest. Courage and honour wouldn't help them against the Infernal Night. If the Albians couldn't have Terra, why should the Sons of Guilliman be allowed to have five hundred worlds? Five hundred orbs tainted beyond recovery was a much better fit.

“We'll go greet them, show them the... practicalities of phosphex.”

Krastor looked at his sabre and how the ancient steel was coated with the lifeblood of Astartes. He smiled, knowing that this was only the beginning of the Noctis Infernae's crusade. Korrianna was, just like Istvaan, simply a stepping stone on the road to final victory and the tyrant's downfall. Soon, the sabre would taste Traitor blood. Returning to the present, Krastor gestured for 2nd Oathblades to follow his lead.

Oath-Decurion Krastor, Noctis Infernae; Assault on Thule-Psi

Oathblade Griogair, Noctis Infernae; Assault on Thule-Psi

Oathblade Karradok, Noctis Infernae; Assault on Thule-Psi

Oathblade Ya'akovi, Noctis Infernae; Assault on Thule-Psi

[Flint13]

Freaking gorgeous buddy!

 

We look *damn* good in gray ^_^