The Trials of Serjar 1 - To be of use

[Serjar]

The youth crept through the cluttered interior of the hab block, gliding through the darkness, his ears straining for the slightest sound of his prey.

The damn high spirer scum had come down hive to hunt, murdering for their kicks. beating. Terrorizing.

It was “the way of things” as his clan elders had told him. The lower classes of Nostramo could do nothing but endure and hope another clan, or failing that, their neighbors, would be the target.

It was wrong. Deep down in his core the youth knew that it was wrong. All his life he had grown up in the dark hell of the hives, the constant screams of the weak as the strong preyed upon them were the sound of his life. Legends spoke of the Night Haunter, a primeval force of retribution that was terrorizing the terrorizers.

The boy deemed it wishful thinking. If the night haunter was real, he never visited this blighted pit.

But such legends could be put to use. They could give hope. They could strike fear into the hearts of evil doers.

The bastard thugs of the “Grinning Jackals” were the enforcers of the Noble House of Barjana. Sent to procure slaves and loot for their masters. They certainly seemed to enjoy their work. Particularly the abduction and beating of the young women of the district. The very young women. They often liked to “break them in” for the pleasure parlors of the high spire.

The old stub pistol was held firmly in his right hand, a compact but powerful weapon that had belonged to his father. It was a naval pattern, his father had been a machinist in the Nostraman fleet and had fabricated a stubby suppressor for the weapon. His left held a wicked serrated blade, its edge made dull and matt by the application of oil and soot. He had crafted the knife under his father’s tutelage before the “nobility” had sent the raid that took his father’s life. The youth was clad from head to foot in a worn black jump suit, his face covered in grease and grime. No telltale glint of metal, nor his pale white skin, would give his prey warning of his approach.

He crept towards his objective, the entrance to the upper tier of the old disused theatre. Laying down against the wall he gingerly held the scrap of mirror and checked both sides of the walkway.

Clear.

Creeping on his belly he slowly moved out and down the rows of dilapidated seating. From below he could hear the sounds of the men as they started tormenting their victims, crude jests and anticipatory exclamations of the virtues of their female captives rose up from the old stage and the stalls. Wimpers and cries for mercy echoed. As did the laughter of the Jackals. Soon the sobs and screams of the first girls to be “broken in” rose above the racket.

Reaching the balustrade he looked down. Ten thugs were visible. Two were guarding the entrance, another eight were entertaining themselves with the girls. They were clad in ganger leathers, their vests bearing the sigil of a leering canine head. Several had light stab vests under their ganger attire. All wore masks designed to instill fear in their captives, the sneering masks with cruel smiles a cruel parody of the human face. Most carried vicious swords and stubbers, a couple of the bigger men were armed with power mauls.

“Careful you idiots” roared a larger than usual ganger. “No marks that won’t heal! The Baron will be upset if we cut into his profits”

“Frak off Najak, we know our business, same as you does” Replied a second ganger as he fumbled to release the clasps on a terrified girl’s clothing. Her struggles and pleas obviously building his excitement further.

The youth resisted the urge to race in guns blazing. He knew every minute’s delay left these women further abused and degraded. But if he raced in now, well it would be noble, short, and very unpleasant for him. Looking at the disposition of the gangers he began working his way around the circular theater, stealthily creeping from inky shadow to inky shadow.

Suddenly he froze, his ears picking up a quiet but harsh hum of electrical equipment. He stared intently into the archway. Pistol ready and cocked. Down the hallway he saw a flash, as if from lightning or some other electrical discharge, then the humming ceased.

He waited precious moments, scanning the darkness and listening through the sounds of the ganger trash violating the girls below. There was nothing. He concluded it must have been some wandering current of the machine spirits of this old theatre, and began his stalk again.

Finally he reached the lower level, coming out of the stairway on the left side of the main entrance guarded by the two gangers.

Rather than guarding the doors, their attention was focused on the abuse of the young women. Which of these low hive scum would dare to come at 10 of the Baron’s Jackals? This was an old routine. They were simply waiting till the more senior men had had their fun. Then it would be their turn.

Neither man saw the boy stalking up their flank, the moldy ruins of terrace seating screening him from the foul carnival on the stage.

The two gangers were discussing the virtues of the playthings they were soon to torment and beat. Their hunter slowly raised the navy stubber, its sights aligning on the temple of the further guard as his knife readied in the other hand, aimed squarely at the left kidney of the closer thug.

“Remember boy, don’t go for the throat, go for the kidneys, hurts so much they can’t even make a noise, let alone scream” His father had told him.

The trigger moved under his finger, the hammer flew forward and a single round fired with a soft thunk.

The ganger’s head jerked to the side and he collapsed, as his partner turned to stare in surprise at his falling friend the youth leapt forward, the pistol falling to hang on its lanyard as his hand came around to cover the mouth of the closer ganger from behind and the vicious serrated knife stabbed once, twice, three times into the man’s kidneys. The ganger convulsed in his grip, a sharp intake of breath the only sound to escape his lips as he went rigid, and died as the youth stabbed down into the pit between his shoulder and neck severing the artery.

The boy pinned the man to the wall using his own sword and crept forward. The thugs around and on the stage were too busy enjoying the girls to notice the dispatch of two of their number. When one did look back towards the entrance all he saw was one of his fellows leaning against the wall and the other sitting on the far side of the door. He turned to the huddle of girls not yet naked and violated, and contemplated which one would be next. He never saw the shadow approaching under the seats.

Two rounds fired up between his legs into his body tore through him and he dropped like a stone.

The girls screamed in unison, attracting the attention of the gang leader, looking upon the body he jumped to the wrong conclusion.

“Get up off youz ass you piece of :cuss, stop playing the bloody fool” he roared.

At that moment the young man killed two more gangers, the pistol thudding softly, multiple rounds shredded their heads and he slipped back into the darkness of the theatre.

The ganger pack leader spun round, his stubber came up and he loosed off shots into the darkness. A figure jumped up from between the seats, Najak snapped the stubber to his shoulder and hit the target dead center as his stubber roared, the shape dropping back between the seats arms flung wide.

The youth grinned, he had taken his shots from just behind the ganger as he beat a girl of no more than 14 cycles, hoping to draw the fire of the one named Najak and sow confusion, it had worked even better than he thought, the ganger cutting down one of his own men. He took his hand off the girl’s mouth and dragged her quickly away into the dark.

“Stay down, don’t move, don’t even frakking breathe” he whispered in her ear as he dragged her through the aisle and into cover. Her eyes wild, she nodded and tried almost to become one with the floor. Changing to his second magazine he scurried off into the dark.

Meanwhile Najak, and the three remaining gangers, had reached the place his target had disappeared from view, his bellow of rage as the lume tube strapped to his stubber lit up one of his own men. The sudden light also blinded them to the darkness.

The man next to the Ganger raised his stubber to sight on the girl he had been molesting as she attempted to flee the theatre, cutting her down in a welter of blood. He swung to check the remaining girls still tied hand and foot, then swung back to sight down the barrel at another fleeing woman.

As he led his target a neat round hole appeared in his forehead, the stubber falling from his lifeless hands. Najak spun in the direction of the shot and blazed into the darkness, from the flank came shots that hit the ganger next to him as a shadow raced in leaping over the last row of chairs. Najak’s stubber clacked empty and he raced to load another magazine as his comrade activated his power maul.

Too late.

The shadow somersaulted over them, a smashing force slammed into Najak’s shoulder as the youth shot him twice slamming him to the ground. The other ganger swung his maul in a vicious swipe but failed to connect, his rising panic unmanning him.

The wicked knife slammed into his eye, his scream cut short as the serrated edge parted bone and brain alike.

Najak couldn’t feel his legs. He struggled to roll over and drag himself towards his fallen stubber. One of the slugs had severed his spine, all feeling stopping from the waist down. He felt a boot in his back, a hand pulled his head back.

He roared “You are dead you bastard, you got us, but the Baron will be down here with the whole gang. You are frakking DEAD!!!”

“Maybe so, but at least justice will be served on you, and you won’t see my death Najak” The youth replied.

He raised the pistol and aimed it at the back of Najak’s head.

As he was about to fire he saw movement, the girls who were untied were coming towards him. They had recovered knives and swords from the gangers he had dispatched. The first girl he had rescued looked at him, straight into his eyes. She shook her head, a tiny movement, then her eyes looked down at Najak. The boy shuddered at the hunger he saw there. The hunger for revenge. She whispered “he is for us”

The boy lowered his pistol, he nodded and stood to one side.

Najak looked up at him in surprise, his look of hope turning to horror as the words left the boy’s lips “Ladies first”

The girls fell upon the leader of their tormentors, cutting and hacking. Najak did not go quickly, and they exacted a fearsome price from his flesh for his sins.

When it was done the youth began stripping the bodies of the dead to find clothes for the girls who had been stripped, and untied the others. As he was about to lead them out of the theatre he again heard the electric humming.

From the darkness a deep voice unlike anything he had ever heard rumbled “Halt where you are boy!”

Lightning flashed over the surface of a giant humanoid figure, over the curves and slabs of its armor, a helm with a face guard in the shape of a skull, glowing red eyes, and all well over twice his height. A bat winged skull dominated the figure’s chest. In its hands were the biggest pistol and sword the boy had ever seen.

It took all his courage not to wet himself, not to collapse to his knees and beg. The girls behind him were too terrified to even scream.

He drew himself up to his full height, his head not even coming to the bottom of the chest plate.

“So you are the Baron, here to kill me? Bring it then, at least I might hurt you, but I won’t grovel or beg”

A rumble like thunder rolled from the mouth of the skull faced helm. It took the boy a moment to realize the immense figure was laughing at him.

The giant’s hands reached up and removed the helm. The youth saw a white face, dark eyes regarding him intently, searching his face. He felt like the giant could see into the very recesses of his mind.

“I’m not the Baron or one of his lackeys. I am something far better, and, you could say, far worse. I am a son of Curze. A warrior of the VIII Legion. A servant of the Emperor of mankind beyond the stars. And you may be of use. Tell me boy, why did you kill these men?”

The youth was surprised, he thought that would be obvious. He wondered why the giant didn’t ask him how. Trying to moisten his bone dry throat he replied “For justice. Justice for my clan whose daughters these are. Justice for our dead. Justice for these girls”

“Justice justifies you taking the law into your own hands?” The Giant replied.

“Justice is justice regardless of how it is delivered, there is no law here, look around you” The boy shouted back.

“What is your name boy?” the giant asked, a strange look in his eyes

“S-S---Serjar son of Rezo” he stammered.

“What if I told you that law is coming, that you can be a part of bringing justice to those who transgress it, not here in these hives, but beyond the skies, among the stars. That you can help build the future where the Emperor’s justice binds all and punishes those who break his laws? That you will be retribution most hard on those who prey on their fellow men?”

Serjar looked at the giant “Well I think I would like that” he replied.

“You may not survive it” Warned the giant.

“You think I will survive long here?”

The giant looked around the theatre “No, probably not. You girls, get out of here, back to your people. Tell them Serjar son of Rezo saved you. Tell them to be more like this boy. When the baron hears of this they will need to be”

He turned to Serjar “My name is Jandos, you will be of use in the Emperor’s grand scheme, if you survive the trials. Come with me and deliver the Emperor’s judgment and retribution, you will bring fear to those who reject the Emperor’s great work” he said as he walked towards the entrance.

Serjar watched the girls race ahead of the slowly striding giant. He was not going to follow them. He was going to follow this gigantic warrior. He was going to leave this place. He was going to be of use.

[Serjar]

Serjar kept his eyes front, his fellow recruits arranged in tight well-dressed ranks and files around him. He resisted the temptation to look around him in awe at the ceramite clad giants of the Night Lords.

 

He had already seen the ferocious discipline meted out to those who ignored the midnight clad warriors’ instructions. More than one of his fellows had been removed from the parade ground in the last 12 hours for infractions ranging from moving from their assigned position, looking around at their surroundings, or talking.

 

Usually violently.

 

They had been told to stand in silence and not to move, any infractions were dealt with severely. Serjar wondered if he would see those who let their curiosity, or the cramping of their muscles, or their boredom get the better of them ever again. Somehow he doubted it.

 

He withdrew into his thoughts to overcome the pain of his body, and the numbing boredom gnawing at his mind. He thought on the last of his fights against the gangers that plagued his clan in the underhive. On the search for justice for his kin and clansmen that led to that fateful day. He remembered the other fights, defending his clan from neighboring groups, or seeking out the predators from the upper hive to either keep them out of the clan’s territories, or to snipe and ambush those attempting to escape with their ill-gotten gains and prisoners. His struggle for his people had taught him that justice, as it existed in the hives, could only be applied by the willing through violence on evildoers.

 

More recently, in the last few days since Brother Sergeant Jandos had offered him to become an instrument of justice, real justice, he had come to understand that Nostramo and the systems surrounding it were much smaller parts of a greater whole. Jandos had told him of the Imperium of Mankind, an empire of science and learning, of laws and justice, that was spreading across the stars in the wake of the Emperor of Man. The Emperor was determined to unite the ancient worlds of mankind, to stamp out the rotten twisted leavings of old night. To lift his species into the new age of unity.

 

To Serjar, raised in the hells of the underhives of Nostramo, it was as if he was waking up from a nightmare. To learn the legendary Night Haunter was real, and had really been bringing law and order to Nostramo, albeit ruthless and unforgiving, was incredible enough. To learn he was one of the sons of the master of mankind, a being of god like power leading his demigod sons to claim the stars for mankind, well he still couldn’t really bring himself to believe it was real. One thing he understood, the Night Haunter used fear and punishment to bring the “nobility” of Nostramo to heel, and Serjar could not fault him for that.

 

Jandos had warned him of the trials that he would now undergo. The testing of his body and mind. His judgment and fighting prowess. He and the others would be the first recruits to the VIII Legion Astartes. The Night Lords. Jandos and his brothers had only recently arrived, scant months before, as the Emperor was drawn to the world by rumor of its pacification by his lost son Konrad Curze. Jandos was there to meet his gene father for the first time. He had seen Curze kneel before the Emperor and take his oath to his father. He and his brothers had rejoiced at their reunion with their lost gene sire.

 

In later years Serjar would think on the irony of Jandos rejoicing at that moment.

 

Curze was placed in command of the legion, and immediately began recruiting after his own fashion. He sent out his legion officers, usually experienced veteran sergeants, to investigate the population, telling them to search for youths that were fighters, not the murdering scum of the hives and underhives, but those who fought with purpose, for causes other than their own advancement or pleasure, but to protect their people, for that rarest of all things on Nostramo, for justice.

 

Jandos himself had been sent to the underhives to look for Serjar. Although the boy’s name was unknown to the high spire clans, his reputation for hunting their slaving and raiding gangs most certainly was. He was exactly what Curze was looking for for his adopted home world’s contribution to his Legion.

 

“Jandos, find this boy, if he still lives, bring him here. Not for us the noble sons of the high families, for us will be better the gutter warriors who grew up in hell but retained their sense of justice” Curze instructed him. “You and your brothers will search across the sinks and dark pits of the cities I have cowed into compliance, looking for those I observed or heard rumor of who followed my example, those are who I want for my sons, make it so” Jandos and his brothers had stalked their targets through the dark parts of the city, assessing their suitability, and more importantly, their motives. Seemingly Jandos had been highly impressed by Serjar, and Serjar was amazed to learn that he had been present for more than the last fight.

 

Finally after another 12 hours of pain, more of the youths had fallen or been driven from the parade ground, barely half remaining. They were marched, limping as they tried to force aching muscles to work, off the parade ground and into the barracks they were to call home. The first trial was over.

 

The trials continued day after day, week after week, month after month. The recruits were woken at all hours, seemingly at random, sometimes to run through the underhive pursued by their trainers, sometimes to stand as on that first trial. Sometimes to fight amongst themselves with training weapons, sometimes to hunt the criminals of Nostramo with real ones. Other times they were drilled mentally, interrogated, instructed, interrogated again until all blended into one huge trial of mind, spirit, and body without end or respite. As their trials went on, in tandem were their bodies remade, periodic surgeries and emplacement of vat grown organs and the geneseed that triggered their incorporation. The agony of rapid growth and changes, the expanding and training of their rapidly increasing mental facilities and harnessing of their enhanced physiques. As they advanced, their numbers reduced. Some failed the trials, killed in training, or rejecting their implants, or snapped mentally, unable to handle the incredible pressure. New recruit intakes arrived, Serjar and his brothers in turn took part in training them, inflicting stress to the point of destruction on their juniors, as had been done to them by the more recent Aspirants from Terra. Perhaps the last recruits from Terra the Legion would see now that Serjar and his kin were filling the new ranks of aspirants.

 

Sergeant Jandos spoke to them as they paraded again, their transformation all but complete. Gone were the youths of the underhive, now stood the genehanced ranks of neophytes, all that remained now was the implanting of the black carapace and their formal induction into the fighting ranks of the Legion as initiates.

 

“Not for us the glories of the Blood Angels and Imperial Fists, the Luna Wolves or the Emperor’s Children. Listen to me Aspirants, and listen well. We are not the ones who carry out the noble crusades, or bring the enlightenment of welcoming populations. Not for us the adulation of the masses of the Imperium. Ours is a different task. Ours is the task of punishment of those who have wandered too far from the ideals of unity, we are the harsh hand of judgment and the cold sword of justice. We are the ones who punish the evil doer, the collectors of the awful price of treason against the throne of Terra. We are the executioners of the oath breakers, of the tyrant and the oppressor. We are the ones who do what is necessary, that which the brighter sons of the Imperium cannot do. Since our Legion’s inception we are the ones who teach the wrongdoer, the oath-breaker, and the traitor the error of their ways. We make examples of them so that others will not take the same path. The laws of the Imperium are just, but that alone is not enough, the people of the Imperium must fear the consequences of transgression against the word of the Emperor. It is foolish to believe otherwise. Without fear, those in power, and those who follow them, will always act in their own interests, not in the interest of the Emperor, or of mankind. Only through the examples made of the law breakers can the mass of humanity fear the consequences of treason and lawlessness. We, we are the law, we are the Emperor’s righteous justice, and we are his revenge. We do this not for glory, but because it is right”

 

Jandos walked down the ranks of neophytes, stopping here and there to examine these new astartes. He came to a halt in front of Serjar, looking him in the eye he continued.

 

“You are now to be Night Lords, warriors of the VIII Legion Astartes. Servants of the Emperor. In his name, and in the name of our Primarch, Curze, you will be asked to do the hardest tasks, tasks that will not be rewarded with glory and honors, but tasks that are vital to the health of the Imperium. You will speed the way for our brother Legions by harrowing those who refuse unity and enlightenment, you will punish those who turn their faces from the Emperor without respite or mercy. You will bring fear to the hearts of foe and friend alike. But that fear will excise the cancers of disloyalty and greed, you will cull those unwilling or unable to enter the light of Unity, and by the examples you make of them, you will save countless lives for the service of the Emperor, for Terra, and for Mankind.”

 

Jandos turned towards the massive gates of the parade ground. As they swung open, midnight clad cataphractii armored warriors emerged, their chain glaives held at present.

 

From the darkness emerged a figure that dwarfed even the walking tanks of the Terminators. Gaunt and spectral, both of and in the shadows of the archway, pale visaged, his dark eyes examining each of the more than one thousand Initiates, soon to be battle brothers, on the parade ground, their lord and master Konrad Curze revealed himself.

 

As he did so, as one, the training sergeants and neophytes made the sign of the Aquila and knelt before him. As he did so he felt the power of his gene father’s gaze upon him. Involuntarily, as if forced, Serjar’s eyes rose to behold Curze looking at him directly. In that stare he saw recognition, as if the Night Haunter could see all he was, all he would be, all he would achieve. As he looked at his gene father he saw micro emotions pass across his face. Judgment, then pride, then so quickly he almost missed it, a trace of regret and sorrow.

 

In later years he would remember that expression on his father’s face and many would be the hours he would think on it.

 

Then Curze was speaking.

 

“My sons, my firstborn of Nostramo, today our Legion welcomes the sons of my homeworld. Today we transcend what was once a crime ridden pit, today the best sons of this world ascend, today you take the carapace and join my Terran sons in my father’s great work. From this day you will bring retribution and terror, judgment and death, to the enemies of Mankind, the Xenos, the unenlightened, and those who hide treason in their hearts. You are all of purpose. Arise!”

 

As one, pride in their hearts, the neophytes and their sergeants rose.

 

“Chief Apothecary Kayen, ensure my sons receive their carapaces, from this day they are initiates” Curze said as he watched Serjar and his brothers pass before him into the corridor leading to the apothecarion.

 

As he went under the knife, the last of the implants required for his transformation hanging over him, the black carapace that would be placed under his skin to interface with his power armor, the final step to becoming a true legionary, Serjar knew he would truly be of purpose.

[Serjar]

Serjar sat in the darkness of his compartment on the VIII legion battle barge “Bringer of Fear”. His armor before him on the arming rack. Around the room the trophies and mementos of two centuries of service to the Emperor and his legion formed outlines in the darkness.

 

How had it come to this he thought? Something rotten had entered into the legion and spread like a cancer. He looked up at the helm taken from one of the slaver lords of Dariva, a cruel visaged combat helmet taken in his first battle as a full initiate of the legion. He remembered his pride on that day as he, a fresh battle brother straight from training, had cut down one of the champions of a culture that had refused compliance and unity with Terra in order to continue their depredations on their own and neighboring systems. The example made of the defiant slavers had resulted in several nearby systems immediately requesting embassies to discuss compliance.

 

He turned his head to look at the broken blade of an archeotech variant of power weapon, its form matching that of the ancient tulwars of Terra. He remembered the infiltration of the hive sumps of the capital of Acheron IV after the Iron Warriors had called for assistance. The Hegemons of the Way were using sorcery to blunt their cousins’ attacks inflicting heavy losses on the attacking Iron Warriors. The Night Lords had slaughtered their way up through the immense city, their tactics sowing fear and confusion amongst the enemy and disrupting the psychic choirs of the Hegemons as the screams of their fellows were broadcast on the hijacked vox network of the hive. As a junior Captain Serjar had led the party storming the grand council, cutting down the bodyguards of the witch lords to administer imperial judgment on the aberrant lords of the world. He remembered with pride his elevation to the rank of full Captain for that action.

 

Each trophy triggered his eidetic memory, some filled him with pride, others reminded him of hard lessons learnt. The plasma gun of the Autarch of Kenevar, a people who had feigned compliance only to rise in rebellion the moment the Imperium’s back was turned, brought back memories of a righteous example made of a morally corrupt society. It was also for his actions on that world, holding the beachhead against overwhelming numbers of rebels and their banned automata until the main force could arrive, that saw his elevation to the ranks of the Kyroptera and his promotion to the rank of Senior Captain. The broken Imperial Fists sword filled him with sorrow as he remembered Curze breaking him and his fellows out of the holding cells they had been imprisoned in by Dorn when he detained his brother after the disastrous joint action at Cheraut and Curze’s desperate attempt to tell his fears to Fulgrim. The lesson that day was you could not trust your brothers, one Serjar was finding all too relevant.

 

He thought on when he first saw the change in his brothers. The early part of his service had been one of pride in his legion. The punishments meted out to those who refused compliance saving countless lives by shortening wars, or from stopping them occurring in the first place. But things began to change, he noticed it first in the caliber and attitude of the tithes of recruits sent from Nostramo. Over time they were less and less the fighters for justice of his youth, and more and more those he was sure he would have hunted. At first it made no difference, training and conditioning molded them into the Night Lords he recognized. But as time went on and more and more became sergeants then officers, a dark streak grew and grew among his brothers. His suspicions were confirmed by the death of his mentor Jandos, by then senior in the legion. His death in the storming of Glatos III was said, by his second in command, to have been at the hands of the gene bulked slave warriors deployed by the leaders of that benighted hell world. His second in command was Kataphar, a vicious killer and one who resented the discipline imposed on the company of the Hidden Dagger by Jandos. Apothecary Kalanian had confided to Serjar that the fragments taken from Captain Jandos had been from an Imperial bolt round. A master crafted bolt round at that. Kataphar had been promoted in the place of Jandos, and the company gained a reputation for cruelty that was almost unparalleled in the legion.

 

The deeds done of necessity, done to teach the lesson of the price of defiance or rebellion, became an end in themselves. They began to become things done for enjoyment or spite rather than to achieve a specific end. Brothers, both rank and file, and of command rank who shared his views began to die in greater and greater numbers, many in mysterious circumstances.

 

As more of his brothers, those Serjar saw as the true keepers of the legion’s spirit and purpose, met “accidents” or died unsupported, he began to use his authority as one of the Kyroptera to move them and their squads under his command. As one of the right hand men of the Primarch, his authority was almost absolute, despite the distance he saw growing between himself and his brothers. Now his title “Bringer of Silence” was changing in meaning, his arrival amongst his brothers would bring silence as conversations hushed, and strange glances were passed in his direction.

 

The lodges troubled him also. Justice had no need of secrecy, nor did loyalty. The Night Lords he remembered would scoff at such secret societies. Their role and their way was open. They knew what their Legion was for, hiding it made it less effective. He banned his men from attending the lodges, any caught doing so were transferred to other companies, or used for the most dangerous tasks, one or two he had had to deal with himself to his regret when words and reason failed. He made it very clear that no hidden groups would be tolerated under his command.

 

Things had only gotten worse when his gene father had learned of the betrayal and return of lawlessness to Nostramo. Serjar remembered Curze’s rage on learning that all he had done there had been overthrown by those who had bent knee to him. Serjar had supported his gene sire’s decision to exterminate the population of Nostramo. In hindsight he realized that had been a mistake. The destruction of Nostramo had resulted in the canker of failure nestling in the heart of his father. This seemed to result in the dreams Curze suffered becoming worse and worse. Serjar also knew of the lord of the Legion’s growing dislike, slowly turning to hatred, for the behavior of the legion. When Serjar begged him to impose authority, Curze had replied with words that had chilled him “What is the point my son, the nature of my sons has set them on a path I can do nothing to change”

 

As time went on, as the legion conducted vicious wars of compliance in the outer dark, far from the light of the Imperium, Serjar saw Curze change in ways he could not understand. The mood swings and violent rages, swinging back again to the father he worshiped for a time, only to descend back into the black pit of rage and isolation from his sons. More and more Serjar found himself on detached duty at the order of his lord. He struggled with this, his duty as Kyroptera was to be advisor to Curze, but he also had a feeling it was for his own safety that he was repeatedly sent far from the legion.

 

Even on detached duty he received news, from likeminded brothers who stayed with their companies rather than give up all hope of influencing the legion. More and more there were contacts with the Word Bearers, that vile snake Erebus had been with the legion on several occasions, as had the Warmaster’s equerries. Now word had reached the legion that Horus had rebelled, Dorn was assembling a great force, nearly seven whole legions. Given the bad blood between them, Serjar was surprised that Curze had answered the call, but pride swelled in his hearts as he thought on the chance to strike at the usurper and the mad dogs of Angron, not to mention the self-important martinets of the Emperor’s Children. Now they would learn the bloody price of treason.

 

The chronograph flashed its alarm. Serjar arose as the doors opened, legion serfs entering to clad him in the midnight blue armor of his legion. He had received the legion wide summons calling the sons of the Night Haunter back. Despite his lack of popularity with his brothers in the Kyroptera, he was sure his lord would welcome him back for this campaign.

 

Arrayed in his panoply of war, Serjar selected his honor guard. Taking their salute as they boarded the Stormbird for the flight to the Legion flagship.

 

                                                                                ----------------------

 

Unbeknownst to Serjar, the dark secret of the Night Lords was about to come to light. As he winged his way through the void, his brothers remonstrated with their father over his fate.

 

Sevatar lead the pack, his formerly close relationship with Serjar had degenerated into rivalry for accolades, then outright hatred cloaked in deceit as the legion started down a path Sevatar knew his brother could never follow.

 

“We have to purge him and his recalcitrant warriors Lord, you know he will never agree to this path we are on. He is too blinded by the light of your father to ever agree to take part in this” murmurs of assent greeted Sevatar’s pronouncement. Konrad Curze sat in silence, his eyes ranging over his sons as the debate went on.

 

Zaeron spoke up “I’d rather give him a chance, we all know he is pretty much the best at what he does, if we could make him see sense….. he’s a stubborn bastard but damn handy to have in a fight.” Some of his fellow Kyroptera nodded, Sevatar waved his hand dismissively.

 

“You are wasting your time Zaeron, he’s not going to listen. I see no reason not to ask him though, it will make the expression on his face all the more amusing when he realizes we are going to get rid of him”

 

Aphostos spoke next “We need absolute loyalty for this, despite his abilities we are talking about one man, dispose of him and send in his men in the first wave, when we open up they will be cut down by their fellow loyalists in front, and us from behind. Will take the heat off of our lads” Laughter echoed in the chamber as his fellows thought on the delicious irony of using their brothers still loyal to the Emperor as meat shields to be slaughtered by those they were betraying.

 

Sevatar spoke up again “Erebus and Maloghurst expect us to be well purged by now, this should have been done earlier, he has a powerful force, one of the biggest in the legion, I fail to understand why he’s been allowed to gather so many loyal to the throne in one place. It’s going to be a tough nut to crack and we are running out of time”

 

Curze spoke his voice hard and clear “Who commands here Sevatar? Erebus or me? I alone will choose the time and method of removing those whose loyalty to my father cannot be swayed. Not some lickspittle Word Bearer whose loyalty changes at a whim. Not even Horus has that right. Leave. Now. All of you. Rest assured I will deal with my errant son this day” Sevatar saw the dark look on his father’s face and realized they were pushing too far. Curze was becoming increasingly violent and unpredictable in his mood swings. It was definitely time to leave his master to his thoughts.

 

Sevatar and the Kyroptera filed out of the hall. Outside, he stopped Aphostos “Listen brother, give it an hour and talk to him in private, reason with him, meanwhile I’ll send some of our brothers to deal with that bastard when he arrives. Erebus warned me this might happen, that our father baulk at the last step. We’ll present him with a fait accompli” Aphostos nodded his assent, and waited as Sevatar selected three of his fellow Kyroptera to assemble their honor guard to greet their soon to be lamented brother.

 

                                                                                ----------------------

 

Serjar exited the Stormbird with his men as soon as the ramp was down. He hadn’t expected a reception committee, and his hearts sank as he saw the brothers that were there to greet him. Karatas, Kataphar, and Jezon. The three Kyroptera with the worst reputations for excess and murder. The three had brought their honor guards, though Serjar thought that term inappropriate for the followers of such murdering scum. Hit squads would be more appropriate. Removing his helmet he advanced towards the triumvirate of misery, noting the vicious grins of amusement on their faces.

 

“So, the prodigal son returns from his wanderings, what new glories do you bring to the Legion, or have you finally repented of your soft ways?” Kataphar exclaimed drawing laughs from his men “We have gained many laurels since Jandos took a bullet, he was like you, holding us back”

 

Serjar felt his blood boiling at the slander and casual dismissal of his mentor “Nice to see you too kiddo, tell me, how did you fit your head through the door to the landing bay? As I recall it is only big enough for a Spartan correct?” Sevatar watched in amusement as Kataphar turned red then an angry purple, noting that Karatas and Jezon smirked at their comrade’s embarrassment.

 

“Enough Serjar, we are here to offer you a choice” Jezon remarked “One you would do well to consider”

 

Serjar was glad he had insisted his honor guard come fully armed, his instincts were warning this was going to get ugly, how bad he wasn’t sure, but each of these men had killed fellow legionaries, of that he was very sure.

 

“Do go on…… brother…. What is this “Offer”?” he replied. “I am here to see our master Curze, not banter with my juniors” Placing his hand as close to his master crafted plasma pistol as he could without drawing attention, he blink clicked a warning to his men on their private squad network.

 

Karatas placed his hand on Serjar’s shoulder feigning a comradely approach “Well Serjar, my good and respected brother, we all know your ability in a fight, but times have changed…….”

 

Serjar listened as his brother began to make his case

 

                                                                                ----------------------

 

Finally Aphostos was granted admission to Curze’s presence. In vain he struggled to convince the lord of the VIIIth Legion to do what was required, finally after exhausting his arguments, the natural tenor of a son of Nostramo came to the fore.

 

In exasperation Aphostos questioned his gene father "Why do you let him live lord? He will never follow you on our new path. I don't trust a brother that does not enjoy killing how we do"

 

"Believe me Aphostos, if he had the opportunity he would enjoy killing you, and making it slow into the bargain. You want to know why I keep Serjar around. Do you really want to know? You may not like the answer...." Curze replied

 

"There is nothing I am afraid of hearing lord, now we are marching to the Warmaster" Aphostos proudly announced.

 

Curze hesitated, then as he spoke his voice was like ice "I keep him because.... because he reminds me of all this legion was to be. Before those scum on Nostramo betrayed me and sent me murdering filth like you"

 

Aphostos was taken aback "But Lord....."

 

"SILENCE" roared the Night Haunter "I know my doom. To show my father his leniency will result in so many biting the hand that feeds them, but you will know now, before the end, that Serjar is my true son. He will redeem my name and save the true soul of this legion!"

 

Aphostos suddenly realized he had greatly erred, before he could reach for his plasma pistol Curze tore his lightning claw through his son's chest.

 

Dying on the blades of his gene father's lightning claw, Aphostos still managed a laugh.

 

"Well, father, you will see him die, we Kyroptera have decided to remove him. Erebus willed it so...." he whispered as he expired

 

Curze dropped the body, letting it slide from his claws. He had to warn Serjar while he still could. The madness was overwhelming him now. These moments of lucidity. The times he woke from the walking nightmare of the times between, were becoming fewer and shorter. He raced for the door, he had to save his last loyal son.

 

                                                                                ----------------------

 

Serjar listened in mounting horror, all his worst fears for his Legion were being confirmed, outwardly he nodded, feigning interest in this new information. As he listened to the litany of treason expounded by his brother in arms he kept his face set in an expression of interest, keeping Karatas between himself and Kataphas and Jezon, he leaned on his chainglaive and his hand came to rest just above his pistol on his hip.

 

The three Kyroptera were giving him a choice, not framed openly, but there none the less, join the new path, walk to the warmaster’s banner, or be liquidated. Serjar would rather die. These fellow Nostraman’s had taken everything the legion had stood for and twisted it. They and their fellows had taken advantage of their father’s inner turmoil to turn him down a dark path that ran opposite to everything Curze had ever stood for. Serjar calculated the odds, his men were ready for trouble, and his seeming desire to listen to the treasonous drivel of these three vermin was lulling them into a false sense of security.

 

“Alright brother, I have heard enough, it’s plain to see what I need to do this day, I’ll give you the answer you want Karatas” He smiled.

 

Relief passed across the face of Karatas, despite his contempt for the straight laced ways of Serjar, he had been concerned about the possibility of facing one of the most successful and skilled warriors of the legion, a survivor of the first intake of Nostraman recruits to the Night Lords. Karatas returned the smile, making a signal with his hand to the other two Kyroptera, one that in the battle sign of the Legion signified “Danger past”

 

“Well brother” He began “I didn’t think it would be so easy to make you see reason!” Karatas opened his arms to embrace his brother…..

 

The plasma bolt fired from such short range tore through the Mk IV breastplate and disintegrated the power pack on Karatas’s back, the backsplash of heat singeing Serjar’s hair and eyebrows, as he and his men raced for cover behind the columns and equipment of the landing bay, firing fractionally ahead of their surprised kindred. Serjar had gained a momentary advantage for his men, but they were still sorely outnumbered.

 

His chainglaive roared into life, decapitating one of Karatas’s warriors and disemboweling a second as Serjar raced into cover, streams of energy from volkites and the clatter of bolters filling the space.

 

“Kill the traitors” roared Kataphras as he leapt into action.

 

Serjar and his men had used their momentary advantage to gun down several of the legionaries facing them, but they were some distance from their transport and already their fellow Night Lords were recovering and racing to cut them off.

 

Serjar spotted Kataphras trying to flank their position, already the alarms klaxons were screaming, he dodged to another column, a blast from his plasma pistol rewarded with a scream from one of Jezon’s hit men.

 

Despite their best efforts, he and his men were outnumbered nearly three to one. They were killing more than they were losing, but Serjar knew the arithmetic of battle, they were going to lose.

 

Well he was going to take as many of his enemies with him as he could.

 

As he burst from cover towards the position occupied by Jezon, determined to take the bastard’s head, the majority of the lights in the hangar bay went out. As shots whined past him he saw the main personnel door slide open, the gaunt apparition filling the doorway filled him with the knowledge of his own doom.

 

Curze was here.

 

It was over.

 

Kataphas roared out over the din of battle “NIGHT HAUNTER!!!!” the cry taken up by his men.

 

The firing stopped as Konrad Curze advanced, his pale face seething with rage, his cloak billowing behind him as if borne on winds no one could feel.

 

He reached Kataphas and his claws impaled the Kyroptera Captain as all stood dumbfounded. Curze leapt for the shadows, appearing and disappearing at will. Each appearance cut down more of the Night Lords hit teams, until Serjar and his surviving men stood alone with their gene father in the charnel house of the landing bay.

 

As his lord approached Serjar knelt, after all he had heard he could not bear to look upon his father.

 

“Rise Serjar, you no longer should kneel before me” Curze intoned, his voice taking on a fatherly tone Serjar had all but forgotten.

 

“I know what you must think of me now my son….” He went on

 

“My lord, you can still stop this, this cannot come to pass, all you taught me thrown to the winds….” Serjar began.

 

“Silence my son, it is time for you to take your men and go” Curze interrupted him

 

“But my lord, we can….”

 

“No my son. You cannot save me now. It is too late for that. But you can redeem me. Go now Serjar, I give you your freedom from the hell my legion has become. I have failed you and your brothers. My weakness has brought this to pass. I should have listened to Jandos long ago. I should have listened to you and the others. But it is too late now, if there ever was a chance” Curze went on “You have gathered the true soul of my legion, take it to my father, he will have need of you. But it is too late for me, very soon, in a matter of hours, all you remember of me will be gone. There will only be the Night Haunter. I can’t stop it, believe me I have tried. Everything I have foreseen has come to pass no matter how I try to avoid it.” Curze looked around, his arms encompassing the death and destruction all around them “Even this. Go to the Carias system, it is not far from here, there you will find assistance on your road to Terra. Warn them, my father, my brother Dorn, Sanguinius, what is coming”

 

His hearts heavy with woe, Serjar rose to his feet and nodded. Gathering his men he made the sign of the Aquila to his gene sire and boarded the Stormbird, as he stood on the ramp his father Curze made, for the last time, the sign of allegiance to his father.

 

As the door closed Serjar heard his gene sire call out “Redeem me! REDEEM MY NAME! REDEEM ME!” repeated over and over, the cry of his primarch’s voice audible through the thick ceramite walls of the gunship, until it was drowned out by the roar of the thrusters as the Stormbird cut through the energy field restraining the atmosphere of the landing bay and into the void, racing for the squadron of ships under Serjar’s command.

[Serjar]

The Stormbird raced through the void towards the squadron of waiting warships. As it made its approach already the orders were being relayed from its vox to the waiting ships. Time was very short indeed. Serjar knew that he and his force must depart immediately, as soon as his former brothers of the Kyroptera were aware of their failure to assassinate him the axe would fall. It was definitely time to leave.

 

Even as the Stormbird was making its landing run, Serjar’s trusted commanders were carrying out his orders to detain those they suspected of disloyalty to Terra and the Emperor. Serjar would deal with them as quickly as possible. One simple question would be asked. Loyalty to the Emperor, or the obvious alternative.

 

As soon as the ramp dropped Serjar strode down, as apothecaries and their Legion serfs raced past to minister to the wounded amongst his honor guard from the desperate fight in the hangar of the Legion flagship. Before him he saw his second in command, the veteran line captain Stanislaus.

 

“Well that went better than expected” Stanislaus greeted him a smirk on his face

 

“What in the depths of night are you talking about” Serjar retorted “It’s a bloody disaster! Our Lord is gone insane and is leading our Legion into a rebellion led by that arrogant prick Horus. Our brothers tried to kill me, and we barely got away by the skin of our teeth! In addition we are now all going to be under the gun.”

 

“Well you made it back. That’s better than I was expecting. I told you this was a bad idea, but oh no Serjar knows best….” Stanislaus replied, despite the situation he was struggling to keep a grin off his face. “Thought you’d be dead the moment your feet hit the deck. That would have resulted in me being responsible for our lads, and you know how I hate the responsibility I already have”

 

“Damn you Stanislaus, can’t you take anything seriously?” Despite himself Serjar responded to his friend’s dark humor exactly as Stanislaus had expected, both men let wide grins of relief split their features.

 

“So the old boy finally snapped then?” Stanislaus recovered his serious mien. “Damn if we aren’t in it up to the eyeballs this time! Better tell me what happened and let’s find a way out of this mess. No sugar coating please, Mr. Positivity!”

 

As they strode from the hangar and headed towards the bridge Serjar related the events on the flagship, not mincing his words as he related the treason the Night Lords were involved in and the attempt by their brothers to kill him. As he related his salvation at the hand of their Primarch Curze, he saw sorrow pass across his brother’s features.

 

“He always was a pessimist, our gene sire. Surprised he held himself together long enough to get you out” Stanislaus paused, then went on “Listen Serjar, there is nothing you could do. He cut himself off and tried to deal with everything alone, or listened to those bastards like Sevatar and Karatas who were leading him on. As he told you, time to go”

 

Serjar looked at Stanislaus, despite his misgivings and thoughts on the missed opportunities to stop the course Curze was now on, part of him knew the Sergeant was right. Too many things would have to have gone differently for Serjar and his brothers to have made any difference. Bottling up his regret he forced it down, and nodded once to his Sergeant.

 

Under his feet Serjar felt the trembling of the hull as the main drives fired, his enhanced senses feeling the lean of the ship as the grav plates struggled to compensate for its rapid turn towards the Mandeville point where “The Bringer of Fear” and its sister ships would translate into the warp for Carias.

 

“Do you really think going there is anything but a trap?” Stanislaus questioned him.

 

“Brother, if he wanted us dead he could have done it there, and then either blasted our squadron to atoms, or more likely disposed of our men himself” Serjar replied. “It was him talking in the hangar, as he used to be, he said to go there and find help, even now I trust that last piece of advice. You know how he sees things”

 

“Indeed, but you know he’s gone now. He’s finally snapped” Stanislaus cautioned “Whatever he said to you before, he’s going to be after us like a ganger on a virgin, or he’ll send that bunch of murderers to do what that thug Kataphas and co failed to achieve”

 

Serjar placed his hand on his brother’s pauldron “I know brother, believe me, he’s gone completely mad. All we can do now is get the hell out and warn the Emperor what’s coming. Has the astropathic choir begun sending as I instructed?”

 

“Give me some credit brother, they were doing it before I passed the order to detain our errant siblings” Stanislaus looked almost hurt at the question. “However the warp is in turmoil coreward, they are trying, but hell, even the navigator is having trouble seeing the Astronomicon, he says nothing like this has been seen since before the great crusade. Lucky for us Carias isn’t too far and the way seems clear”

 

As they reached the bridge, the officer of the vox approached. The mortal showed indecision and fear, something not common amongst Legion serfs in general, and those of the Night Lords in particular. Due to the nature of the sons of Curze, their Legion serfs were usually hardened to the horrors of warfare, or dead.

 

Bowing to his commander and making the sign of the Aquila he began. “My lord Serjar, we have been receiving hails from the flagship and from lord Sevatar in particular, as per Captain Stanislaus’s orders we have refused to acknowledge. However I must report that the flagship is now broadcasting on open channel to the squadron accusing you and the other officers of the strike force of treason against Lord Curze, and the murder of Karatas, Jezon, and Kataphar, my lord, is this true?”

 

Serjar regarded the officer coldly, his steady gaze sending a tremor of terror through the mortal. “Malkhaz, what is the purpose of the Legions?” he asked the pale faced naval officer.

 

“Why….why….. to serve the Emperor and bring unity my lord” Malkhaz responded

 

“And if our first duty is to the Emperor, what should we do to those who have turned from their duty?” Sevatar went on.

 

“As the Legion has always done my lord, make an example of them, so that others will know the price of……” officer of the vox Malkhaz stopped, comprehension dawning on his features as his mind raced at the implication of his commander’s words “But my lord, you can’t mean….. it’s not possible……” he trailed off as the full implications of Serjar’s words began to sink in.

 

“Malkhaz, the Legion has turned from the Emperor, for all I know we are the last loyal contingent. Contact the other ships, I want a holo-conference with the Legion officers and ship commanders immediately” Serjar ordered.

 

Within minutes Serjar stood in the holostation of the bridge, before him the representations of his brothers and their mortal ship captains stood, the armored forms of the Astartes officers dwarfing their unaugmented ship commanders. As the squadron accelerated away from the rest of the fleet, Serjar addressed them.

 

“Brothers, by now you have heard the utterances of Sevatar. I stand here before you to tell you our worst fears for the Legion have come to pass. Our brothers have turned from the Emperor at last. The snakes have dropped their masks, and we are alone in the nest of vipers.”

 

Cries of disbelief from the mortals were the counterpoint to the grim expressions on his brother’s faces. Although Serjar and the Legion officers had frequently discussed their concerns during the frequent and long periods of detached duty from the Legion, only rough outlines had been given to the Legion serf officers who manned the ships.

 

Serjar went on.

 

“Be fully aware, we are now outcasts from the VIII Legion. There is no going back. My loyalty first and foremost is to the Emperor above all, to unity, and to the Imperial truth and the Emperor’s ideals. I know you, my brothers, are of like mind” he watched the faces of his brothers, gauging the response of each in turn as he addressed them. He continued “To the ship captains, I apologize for not being more forthright in addressing you of my concerns previously, but this was only speculation and concern before. Now it is a terrible truth. I ask you to trust in my words, but I will remind you that any attempt to divert the course of this squadron, or to attempt to communicate with or assist the main body of the fleet will be dealt with in the best traditions of the Legion” Serjar watched his words sink in, several of the faces of the mortals paling at the implied threat.

 

“My lord, you have always been true to the Imperial cause, but to imply the Night Lords have turned….” Captain Xiatao, a long serving veteran raised in the pan-pacific basin of Terra, his service extended by numerous rejuvenat treatments and widely respected for his tactical skill, began. His words were halted as Serjar held up his hand.

 

“Captain Xiatao, two points, one, you are already aware of the rebellion of the Warmaster, Angron, Fulgrim, and Mortarion. So why not our Legion? If the glory boys can fall, why not the sons of Nostramo? You have been with the Legion since it set forth from Terra, surely you have noticed the change in its character this last century? Secondly, my fellow Kyroptera attempted to kill me, before that they tried to turn me” Serjar went on, relating to the assembled officers, trans-human and mortal, the words imparted by Karatas as he tried to convince Serjar to join the Legion as it turned against the Emperor of Mankind.

 

Serjar watched the effect of his words. His brothers faces grew even grimmer than before, and he could see the anger in their eyes as they fully understood the depths to which the rest of the Legion had sunk. The mortals mostly accepted with resignation. Xiatao seemed to age in an instant, as if his rejuvenat treatments had suddenly failed. However two of the mortal captains argued back.

 

Tar-Benatar and Turirangi, the first was no surprise, the second saddened him. The Captains of the “Midnight Warning” and “The Bringer of Fear” could not have been more different. Both were yelling their defiance.

 

“Who are you to defy your Primarch, Serjar?” In his anger Tar-Benatar had forgotten to use the honorific all Legion serfs, regardless of rank, used to address even the lowest ranked Astartes “He is the head of the Legion, the Warmaster is the head of the forces of the Imperium, if they have turned against the Emperor they must have good reason. We, Astartes and unmodified both, have done all the work, the Emperor left us and returned to Terra, now he sends paper pushers to tell us what to do!”

 

Unlike Tar-Benatar, Turirangi stood in the chamber with Serjar, as captain of “The Bringer of Fear” he had loyally served Serjar for three decades.

 

“My Lord, I know your mind, but I cannot support you in this. I tolerated your attitude to your fellow Kyroptera, and your refusal to allow the lodges. But enough is enough! Our first loyalty is to the father of the legion, not to a distant Emperor who abandoned us!” Turirangi was visibly distressed and angry as he saw his service to Curze and the Night Lords collapsing, his hope of higher command being stripped away by his commander’s loyalty to Terra.

 

Serjar looked up from captain Turirangi, noting that the hololithic projection showed that Junior Captain Darius had moved slightly behind and to the left of Tar-Benatar who, in his anger, had not noticed the change in position of the towering Astartes. Darius looked at Serjar, who nodded once.

 

Darius moved quickly, his hands gripping the head of Tar-Benatar and twisting his skull violently, breaking his neck and tearing his head from his shoulders. At the same time Serjar grabbed Turirangi by the throat and lifted him from the deck. Holding his ship’s captain out at arm’s length, Serjar pronounced “Behold, the awful price of treason”

 

As Turirangi’s legs kicked and his hands scrabbled uselessly at the armored vambrace and gauntlet, Serjar slowly strangled the life from him until he heard the snapping of Turirangi’s vertebrae and the crunching of his windpipe.

 

Dropping the body on the floor, he turned again to face the projections of his fellows, and the mortal ship captains.

 

“We are committed. Any who wish to cleave to the traitors will suffer an even worse fate. Our duty is to warn Terra of our Legion’s treason. Our duty is to harry our treasonous brothers and cousins as they march to Terra, for surely they will. Our duty remains to teach those who betray the Emperor the harshest lessons. Our duty is to make the most terrible examples of those who betray Him, so that others will not do so. We will fight them to the last breath. All ships are to run at action stations, pursuit will not be long in coming. Any trouble from your crews is to be put down harshly, make examples as required.” Serjar pronounced, finishing his speech he roared “Loyalty or Death! For the Emperor!”

His brothers, and the remaining unaugmented humans, roared the words in response, then made the salutes both of unity, their right hands crashing to their chests, a loud crash echoing in the chamber from the vox speakers as the astartes mailed fists struck the breastplates of their power armor, and the sign of the Aquila as they bowed to Serjar, he returned both salutes.

 

As the hololithic projection faded, Serjar exited the chamber onto the bridge of the ship. Turning to the second in command of the human crew, Lieutenant Norvingen “Norvingen, congratulations, you are a captain now, clean up that filth in there and get us to the Mandeville point”

 

As, now Captain, Norvingen began to order the removal of his predecessor and take over the ship, Serjar appraised the tactical display. His ships were well on the way to the translation point. From the Night Lords fleet multiple ships were beginning to move in pursuit, but his position on the edge of the fleet and the order to remain at full readiness to depart had given him and his men a precious advantage. With the main fleet elements in orbit at muster stations it was taking them time to get underway in pursuit. However faster fleet elements consisting of strike cruisers and destroyers were already turning and accelerating after his fleeing squadron. Individually none were a match for the three battle barges under his command and their escorts, however the combined assembled fleet of the VIII Legiones Astartes had more strike cruisers than his force could deal with at once by a very large margin.

 

Serjar continued to watch the display, noting that the traditional fractiousness of his brothers was hindering their pursuit. Rather than an orderly coordinated deployment, the ships of the squadrons under the command of various Kyroptera were competing with, and even hindering, each other in a mad scramble to reach Serjar’s squadron and be the first to open fire.

 

Serjar turned to Stanislaus “With any luck we can give the lead elements a bloody nose on the way out”

 

“Aye Serjar, that would be likely, but we just need to make sure we concentrate on getting away. Let’s not get too carried away with vengeance just yet” Stanislaus replied “I suggest we start seeding banshee mines, they’ll probably be expecting it but it should slow them down a bit”

 

“Do it” replied Serjar “in addition have the strike cruisers “Night of Vengeance” and “Hand of Retribution” turn and fire a full spread of torpedoes timed for the detonation of the mines, a mix of cyclonics and scatter pack warheads, tell them to be quick about it and to get back on course as fast as possible, they mustn’t get too far behind”

 

From the battle barges “The Bringer of Fear”, “Skull Splitter”, and “Emperor’s Judgement”, a specialist weapon of the Night Lords legion was deployed. The banshee mines, in many ways a small autonomous void craft, were shielded from long and medium range sensors by arcane technology recovered by the Legion during the great crusade. Piloted by servitors, the lobotomized and machine augmented prisoners of their wars of compliance, each cloaked mine was fitted with multiple missile launchers whose payload consisted of multiple tactical nucleonic warheads, and each mine contained a large cyclonic suicide plasma warhead powerful enough to cause significant damage to a capital ship. In addition, each banshee mine contained the Night Lords vox override systems, capable of flooding the target’s vox system with screams, though against a Night Lords fleet that would be of limited value indeed. Dozens of these mines were launched into the void to spread out in the wake of the squadron.

 

As the pursuing strike cruisers and destroyers raced each other in pursuit and began firing at Serjar’s fleeing ships, the servitors onboard the banshee mines began tracking their targets, their cogitators feeding commands to their lobotomized brains. As the ships came within range, each mine released a swarm of nucleonic warheads and accelerated towards its chosen target and attempted to flood the vox of their victim with the screams of the dying.

 

Unused to chasing their own brothers, many of the pursuing destroyers and strike cruisers were unprepared for the hail of sub-munitions, their point defense systems struggling to react while their escorting fighters and gunships suffered heavy losses. The rain of warheads that passed through the fighter screens and barrage of defensive fire exploded against the void shields of the pursuing Night Lords ships, causing sections of the defensive fields to overload and collapse. Even as the ships began to take evasive action, the servitors piloting the mines adjusted course. Other ships reacted faster, taking violent avoiding action the moment the missiles were detected.

 

Along the front edge of the pursuing mass of ships, massive explosions lit up the void as mines were detonated. From the impacted strike cruisers and destroyers gushed streams of atmosphere as their crews were sucked into the vacuum of space, shards of their hulls spraying into the void like splinters of glass from shattered bottles. Within seconds the pursuit had become a shambles as ships were crippled or exploded and the following ships were forced to take avoiding action.

 

At the same time, the “Night of Vengeance” and “Hand of Retribution” undertook emergency turns, their hulls creaking and groaning under the strain. From their bows came waves of torpedoes, their courses spread across the full width of the front of the pursuing ships. Each ship expended as many of their torpedoes as possible in the time allowed for firing by Serjar. The “Hand of Retribution” rapidly turned back towards the rest of the Squadron and accelerated, her captain judging his timing well. The “Night of Vengeance” lingered too long to fire a third salvo, and as she turned back towards her sister ships several lance shots struck her aft, overloading her void shields and cutting through her hull, resulting in her reactors going critical and the ship disintegrated in a blinding explosion.

 

Serjar watched the chaos as his former brothers attempted to avoid the stealthy mines in their midst, as well as take avoiding action against the waves of incoming torpedoes bearing down upon them.

 

“All ships, full speed for the Mandeville point, evasive as required” He ordered over the squadron vox “push the reactors as hard as you can, if you don’t you are dead anyway”

 

A chorus of affirmations came over the inter ship vox.

 

He watched the torpedo tracks on the display, as expected few would connect with a target, but they were causing the chasing fleet to take avoiding action and gaining him a valuable lead over the enemy.

 

He stopped and thought, it was that easy? From brothers to enemy in an instant? He remembered the treasonous words of his former comrades. Yes, it was that easy. Horus and his deluded brothers were out to destroy everything Serjar had fought for. They were out to depose the Emperor and bring about a dark age of jungle law on the galaxy, tearing down the ideals of the great crusade. No more law, no more justice, no more hope of a future of science and learning. Just the base emotions of greed and a hunger for personal power, of oppression and violence towards any who challenged them. Serjar would fight them every step of the way.

 

In a sad twist of fate, it was the third and final volley torpedoes from the “Night of Vengeance” that caused the most physical damage to the pursuit. As the pursuing Night Lords ships took evasive action the explosions of those too slow to avoid the banshee mines or incoming torpedoes washed out the sensors of following ships, wreckage and the movements of sister ships created sensor blind zones which hid the third wave of torpedoes until too late. The main impact was upon the ships of the squadron subordinate to the 93^rd Company. Led by their battle barge “Grim Resolve” they bulled through the dissipating radiation blooms and wreckage of their kin of the lead elements, pushing right up behind the ships in front of them, in the confusion failing to link communications and sensors. So close behind were they that, when the lighter ships in front began violent evasive maneuvers, it was too late for “Grim Resolve” as the crew manning the auspexes saw the wave of torpedoes burst onto their sensors from the clouds of radiation, plasma, and wreckage that had been the strike cruisers “Red Handed” and “Judgment Day”

 

The first two torpedoes were carrying scatter pack warheads, these launched hundreds of tactical nucleonic charges into the void in a spreading warm of destruction, swamping the defense batteries of the squadron. Then the remaining torpedoes arrived. Two smashed into the bow of the “Grim Resolve” the first annihilating the wedge like bow armor and the second driving deep into the ship before exploding in a ball of plasma hotter than the core of a main sequence star.

 

The Grim resolve detonated. Her reactors, warp drive, and compliment of cyclonic torpedoes going critical and the resulting massive detonation slinging huge chunks of the ship into her sister ships like shrapnel.

 

The chaos was complete. The Night Lords pursuit was not going to catch them now.

 

Serjar watched the timer count down. The loss of “Night of Vengeance” was unfortunate, but the ship’s sacrifice had bought them the time they needed. Already the Navigator was in control of the ship, the Geller fields were coming on line, and the warp drives were ready to tear the hole in reality to allow his ship to enter the warp.

 

As the last of his squadron reported ready, the order was given and they tore into the realm of madness behind reality, the sea of emotion that allowed faster than light travel between the stars, and parted from their fallen brothers in spirit and in deed.

[Serjar]

The ships carrying the forces loyal to Serjar, the strike force “Harbingers of Judgment” consisting of the 18^th, 27^th, and 88^th companies, formerly of the VIIIth Legiones Astartes known as the Night Lords, ghosted through the Oort cloud surrounding the system of Carias.

 

The squadron, consisting of the battle barges “Bringer of Fear”, “Skull Splitter, and “Emperor’s Judgment”, and their escorting strike cruisers and destroyers, less the unfortunate “Night of Vengeance, had translated from the warp and were now approaching the system under full stealth protocols. Each ship utilizing the arcane stealth systems prized by their parent legion, whose secrets dated back to the dark age of technology. Onboard each ship silent running protocols were in force, systems run at minimum in order to ensure the stealth field projectors were not unduly taxed. The conditions in each ship were such that the legion serfs were on borderline of hypothermia despite being wrapped in their cold running jackets and breeches. In each crewed space a fine fog filled the air from the humans’ breathing, while a sheen of ice developed as the moisture from their breath condensed and froze on any surface it touched. The suffering of the crew mattered little to their lords, who were far more concerned with the safety and security of the fighting power of the small fleet than the suffering of mortals. Knowing the nature of the Astartes they served, the unaugmented humans knew better than to complain at their lot.

 

Serjar turned to the mortal officer of the vox, Lieutenant Malkhaz Vardosanidze, and requested he scan the vox traffic of the system.

 

“Multiple traffic my Lord, including on what appears to be Legion frequencies and Imperial Army too. Working to break encryption. As soon as we do the intelligencers will begin an appraisal” Malkhaz replied, looking up at the towering gene-forged giant as he did so.

 

Serjar nodded to the officer of the vox. As he turned back to observe the holo-display, which was rapidly being populated with data from the auspex castings of the fleet, he caught the expression on the face of Captain Stanislaus, his fellow Night Lord and comrade of over a century.

 

“Well Serjar, legion traffic? That’s probably not good” Stanislaus began “We won’t know what is there until we clear the Oort cloud, it’s blocking the auspexes from detecting anything less than system orbital data gathering”

 

“Don’t start worrying yet Stanislaus, might be a legion auxiliary ship for all we know. Or it could be from one of the legions still loyal to Terra. Either way we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it” Serjar replied. Stanislaus nodded, still his concern was apparent. Turning to the captain of the “Bringer of fear” Serjar went on “Captain Norvingen, time to exit the cloud?”

 

From within the furred hood of his cold running jacket the mortal captain replied, his breath making a cloud in the air in front of his shrouded face “About 45 minutes at current speed my Lord Serjar, I suggest stopping at the edge of the cloud for a full auspex scan of the system”

 

The former Kyroptera lord nodded his assent “Well Stanislaus, we will know soon enough….” He began

 

From the auspex monitoring crews a voice called out “Wreckage detected, hard off the port bow, scans indicate strike cruiser class….. ship appears dead but pennants are still returning a signal, ship is “Wrathful strike”…. cogitators declare……” The crewman paused, his face betraying his nervousness at the data crossing the screen in front of him.

 

“Declare what?” demanded Serjar as he approached the officer across the freezing bridge.

 

“My lord Serjar” The auspex officer turned to face the giant in midnight blue armor “The “Wrathful Strike” is listed as belonging to the XII Legion Astartes”

 

“Oh great!” Stanislaus exclaimed “The bloody World Eaters? Well I told you this was a bad idea Serjar, if Curze wanted us dead, this is a great way to do it while assuaging his conscience at not doing it himself!”

 

Serjar knew the concerns expressed by both the legion serf and his battle brother were well founded. The World Eaters were a ferocious force of psychotic killers. Unlike the Night Lords who, in the beginning at least and still those under Serjar’s command, used bloody violence to a purpose, to reduce the enemy’s will to fight by selective application of terror and butchery, and thereby induce the enemy to cease resisting as quickly as possible to avoid more of the same treatment being visited on more of their population, the World Eaters lived up to their name. They were well known for butchering anything on their target planet, leaving nothing but blood stained ruins and exterminated populations in their wake. Urged on by their primarch Angron, the XII Legion had descended into a bloody spiral of blood lust and destruction made infinitely worse by the implantation of the “Butchers Nails” in imitation of their bloody king Angron, the Red Angel. The butcher’s nails were brain implants that literally allowed only pleasure in killing, rapidly driving their recipients into a blind rage and leaving them permanently on the edge of violence towards friend and foe alike. Serjar was not surprised Angron and the World Eaters had turned traitor. All Horus had to do was promise to take off their leash.

 

Serjar looked at his battle brother “Maybe Stanislaus, but let us observe first. Who knows what is going on in the system. One traitor vessel dead in space means little, it could be they came to attack this world and suffered the consequences of their treason. We will see what the auspex shows in a few minutes”

 

The fleet approached the edge of the Oort cloud, Captain Norvingen ordered all ships to stop. Across the fleet the auspexes began registering a grim scene. Multiple Legion class ships were detected, traces of weapons discharges, wrecked and dying ships, ongoing combats filled the void in the area closest to the system’s capital world.

 

“Told you so” Stanislaus pronounced “Looks like the World Eaters are in the process of killing this system dead. We should get out while we can”

 

“No brother, look at the data. All is not as it seems” Serjar replied. He frowned as his enhanced brain processed the myriad of data in the holo-display and racing across the screens in front of them. “Look now, what do you see?”

 

Stanislaus looked again “Throne of Terra, the World Eaters are killing each other, as well as everything else! What madness is this?”

 

“That, brother, is what we need to find out. Master of the Vox, do we have access to their signals yet?” Serjar questioned the mortal Malkhaz.

 

“Coming on line now Lord” Lieutenant Malkhaz replied “Routing to the vox casters”

 

A myriad of Astartes voices rang out over the vox casters. The vocal horror of curses, threats, hatred, and rage of the World Eaters as they slaughtered each other in hundreds of actions caused the unaugmented humans of the bridge crew to turn even paler than the freezing conditions of cold running could. There was no order, no structure, no commands given, except those of brother to kill brother.

 

Stanislaus looked at Serjar “Brother, what is this? I mean the sons of Angron were always on the edge, but this is chaos! I don’t see what the point of hanging around is, Curze sent us here to die in this I am certain”

 

Serjar looked at his battle brother “This world is loyal, if these traitors want to kill each other we will assist. If we can hit them while they devour each other, our losses should be vastly reduced. The fleet will approach Carias II and hit them while they are otherwise occupied.”

 

He went on “We would be failing in our duty to Terra not to annihilate such a force. If we leave now, any World Eaters that survive this insanity will be free to rampage through the sector striking loyal systems. On the way in we will continue silent running in order to maintain the element of surprise, all ships are to continue intelligence gathering to allow us to formulate the attack pattern and priority targets”

 

As the fleet advanced sunward, the passive auspex scans and vox intercepts began to give a clearer picture of the battle taking place around the system capital. The World Eaters fleet had split into two forces, one somewhat larger than the other. Signals analysis showed the situation was repeated on the planet’s surface, where fighting raged in the capital hive and its satellite cities. There was still no idea as to the reason for the internecine strife amongst the sons of Angron. Stanislaus postulated that the turning of the Legion had finally stripped away the hair thin veneer of discipline amongst their cousins and they were fighting over the spoils. Serjar agreed to an extent, thinking on the breakdown in discipline amongst their own turncoat brothers over the preceding decades as Curze slowly turned towards the treason bought about by his brother Horus.

 

Still something nagged at Serjar. The explanation was too easy. For all their flaws, the World Eaters were Astartes, fighting over the spoils of a butchered world was beneath even them. There had to be another explanation.

 

As Serjar’s ships closed on Carias II, more data became available. The planetary satellite net was hacked, showing that the world was not yet devoid of human life. Imperial Army troops were engaged with the Astartes, the fighting confused as the human defenders fought to avoid their inevitable extinction for as long as possible.

Stanislaus looked at the hololithic projection “Well, at the very least we can perhaps save a few of those poor bastards” He suggested “If we can take out the World Eaters quickly it looks like about half the population would survive, well until more of Horus’s bastards turn up anyway”

 

Serjar was watching the display intently, apparently not listening to his second. “There brother, I think I have found it, look, the smaller fleet, it is protecting the capital, those ships are not targeting the hive, but striking at the World Eaters attacking it. The larger fleet is bombarding both civilian areas and the defenses while they engage each other as well”

 

Stanislaus nodded “Well there is something new, a bunch of World Eaters trying to protect something? Now I can die a happy man” his traditional sarcasm coming out in his pronouncement. “Look Serjar, here, that looks like Imperial Army units fighting alongside World Eaters! I must say those mortals have balls to be anywhere near those nut jobs”

 

“Indeed, though I am sure our cousins in other legions would say the same about any mortals fighting alongside us brother” Serjar grinned as he spoke “Could it be the smaller force is like us? Outcasts, and their brothers have hunted them down?”

 

“Well it is possible I guess” Stanislaus considered “but I still say they are most likely lost to those nails of theirs”

 

“Maybe, but we will target the larger fleet and the forces trying to get into the capital hive. We will work on the assumption the defenders are loyalists until proven otherwise” Serjar had made his decision.

 

“And if they aren’t?” Stanislaus replied

 

“Easy” Serjar said “We kill them too”

 

                                                ------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Serjar and the captains of the 18^th Stanislaus, 27^th, Morinar, and the 88^th  Kergorag communed via the hololithic chambers on their respective ships. Serjar and Stanislaus watched the holo projections of Morinar and Kergorag coalesce into existence as they stood in the chambers.

 

“Brothers, are your men ready?” Serjar asked, his arms folded across the breastplate of his MK IV power armor.

 

“Yes lord Serjar” They replied in unison, Kergorag went on “But what sort of mad hell have you gotten us into this time brother? That’s a hell of a lot of World Eaters in system, and our usual tactics won’t work against them. They are no more susceptible to fear than we”

 

“I know Kergorag, but their rage is a tool we can use against them, along with the advantage of surprise we should be able to lead the traitor contingent by the nose. Fear is not the only tool the Night Lords are known for, though I admit our fallen father and lost brothers may have caused the wider Imperium to forget that. Surprise, the hidden blade in the traitors back, and the sudden strike to the throat. Those too are our hallmarks brothers. We forget it at our peril”

 

The three company captains nodded in agreement

 

Serjar and Stanislaus outlined their plan. As they did so, their two fellow captains played their role and questioned each step to find any flaws or omissions. The debate was one of the core principles of Serjar’s system of leadership. His men were all experienced warriors, and the sum of his command was greater than the parts. But in the end, his was the final say.

 

“So brothers, we are agreed, you all know your parts, and the final responsibility is mine. I call the blade unsheathed, and declare the bloody nightfall cast over those who defy the Emperor!”

 

The other captains replied “For the Emperor, Loyalty or Death!”

 

As the hololith projections of Captains Morinar and Kergorag faded, Stanislaus turned to Serjar.

 

“It is a risk Serjar, they may all be traitors and turn on us the moment we open fire. And together those forces outnumber us. The surface tactics better work, or we’ll find ourselves caught in close combat with those nut jobs, and I don’t know about you, but crossing blades with a World Eater isn’t high on my to do list brother”

 

Serjar laughed “Stanislaus, I never heard of you not wanting to test your skill against any of our cousins, pray tell, you think they are better with a chain axe than you with that glaive of yours?

 

“No brother, it’s not about skill, it’s about the fact that they simply don’t give a damn about their own survival once those nails start humming, they do the most stupid things and it works. Simply because nobody else is insane enough to anticipate what they’ll do, they only care about gutting their opponent. As much as I love crossing blades, against the World Eaters I’ll put my trust in my bolt gun and volkite thanks” Stanislaus instinctively hefted his master crafted Volkite pistol as he spoke.

 

“Oh certainly I agree Stanislaus, discipline will be vital for this to work. That’s why you are in charge of the first wave of the assault” Serjar looked at his brother “As much as I respect Morinar and Kergorag, I trust you to get it right more than any other, you are, after all, a fairly good commander” Serjar winked at Stanislaus while saying last remark.

 

“Thank you very frakking much” Stanislaus gave Serjar his most withering look “I do so enjoy being killed with compliments, even if you may be understating my ability. Of course I’d rather lead the second wave and let you take the honour of the first wave, but since you do, technically, outrank me, I guess I’ll follow your orders this time out of courtesy” Stanislaus broke into his usual grin as Serjar laughed at his mock outrage. The banter between them was as old as their first combat together upon ascending to what had, at the time, seemed the heady heights of initiates to the legion.

 

“Well brother, let’s get on with it” Serjar said as they reentered the bridge to begin the purging of Carias II

 

                                                ------------------------------------------------------------------

 

As part of their combat doctrine, the Night Lords excelled in psychological warfare, part of that stemmed from their tactics in infiltrating and subverting enemy communications. As the fleet, still under cold running protocols, swept in towards the system capital, the legion serfs of the Vox command had built up a good picture of the command structures of both fleets via their vox exchanges. Target units had been tagged, the command structure identified, and the plan of attack refined as a result.

 

Serjar was proud of the accomplishments of the mortals. It was often forgotten by his brothers of the Night Lords, and his cousins in other legions, that the Emperor planned the great crusade for the benefit of humanity, not as an end in itself. The legion serfs under his command were an example of the abilities of the unaugmented, he was more and more convinced that Horus and his treasonous brothers had fallen because they forgot their purpose, to defend the species from threats that required the creation of the primarchs and their sons. The information provided by the vox analysts would give the Astartes under his command the edge this day, and he was grateful for their service.

 

The combat between the World Eaters in orbit was as befitting the nature of their legion. Close ranged and brutal. Ursus claws tied ships together as vicious boarding actions raged. Ships closed to minimum range to bombard each other into radioactive fragments. Other ships bombarded ground targets. Some were pinpoint attacks, mostly from the ships of those Serjar assumed, and fervently hoped, were loyalists. Those of the fleet deemed traitors were more indiscriminant, relentlessly bombarding the capital hive and its defences. The void shields were mostly holding, but increasingly the bombardment was finding gaps as the assaulting World Eaters drove their brothers and the human defenders inside the city.

 

On the surface the combat was a hell of close assaults and slaughter. Imperial Army units and loyal World Eaters were desperately defending against the crazed assaults of their treasonous brothers. The attackers slaughtered their way through fleeing citizens and unaugmented soldiers alike, clashing in enraged and perpetually bloody hand to hand battles with their kin as the streets ran with the blood of human and trans-human alike. Armored formations blasted into the melee from both sides, vehicles ranging from Rhino APCs to the Land Raiders and Legion Fellblades and Imperial Army Baneblades hammered the struggling infantry and each other as plumes of smoke rose into the sky from the shattered hulls of hundreds of brewed up vehicles.

 

During the planning Morinar had raised the issue of coordinating the attack with the loyalist element Stanislaus had responded “Brother, with any other legion that would probably be a good idea. But I have fought alongside the World Eaters before, by now they’ll all, friendly or enemy, be frothing at the mouth like rabid carnodons. Even if you can get through to them, they won’t listen until the killing is done. We just have to do this ourselves and stay at a reasonable distance from them until they come down from their rage. I’d suggest several kilometers where possible”

Serjar had agreed. He remembered the actions of compliance on Gareston VI and Amentar II, where the World Eaters had continued to slaughter their opponents long after the defenders had surrendered, sickening even the Night Lords primarch Curze and resisting, sometimes violently, any attempt to reign them in by forces from other legions involved.

 

The fleet made its deployments, their archeotech cloaking systems masking them from both sides. In the hangar bays, the forces assigned for planet fall boarded the Stormbird and Thunderhawk gunships, the assembled warriors of the 18^th, 27^th, and 88^th companies taking their oaths of moment under the stern gaze of their captains. As opposed to the usual tactics employed in a legion relief operation, no drop pods were being deployed. The plan of attack relied on mobility, to become bogged down in the melee on the surface was tantamount to suicide and would play directly to the strengths of the traitors in close combat.

 

As the ships under Serjar’s command took up their positions for the attack, Serjar boarded the Stormbird that would lead the second wave. Placing his helmet on his head, he linked to the battle network, and gave the order to commence the action.

 

“Loyalty or Death, for the Emperor! All units engage in 3, 2, 1, commence attack!” He ordered

Over the vox came the reply from his brother captains and men, from the unaugmented ship captains and their bridge crews, a roar of “For the Emperor” rang in his ears and those of every battle brother, and throughout the fleet it was broadcast from countless vox emitters in the compartments of every ship.

 

As the fleet uncloaked, a rain of lance fire, torpedoes, macro cannon shells, and missiles leapt from the loyalist Night Lord ships and hammered into their targets. From the hangar bays the gunships launched alongside their escorting Xiphon and Primarus Lightning fighters and Fireraptor ground attack flyers. The Stormbirds, Thunderhawks and Stormeagles raced for the surface and their deployment zones. Against any other legion it would have been a risk to approach so closely, even while cloaked, due to the risk of detection. However Serjar and his captains had correctly surmised that the World Eaters were so taken up in their internecine butchery that they would be taken unawares.

 

The World Eaters ships, loyalist and traitor alike, were taken completely by surprise. The initial bombardment crippling traitor ships already involved in desperate battle with their brothers or destroying them outright as the Night Lords overwhelmed their vox networks with the screams of the dead and dying, cutting off the fleet’s communication with their surface elements. The loyalist World Eaters were quick to take advantage, their previously defensive tactics rapidly changing to the offensive as their kin reeled under the attack, and the battle in space became a nightmare of energy beams, exploding ships, and furious boarding actions.

 

Stanislaus led the first wave, the gunships cutting through furious dogfights between World Eaters flyers, his escorting fighters sticking to their orders to engage only those targets that made to attack the transport elements. Descending through the atmosphere on wings of fire from the heat of orbital reentry, the gunships deployed the consolidated elements of Legion Outrider bike squads and jet bike Sky Hunter squadrons from across the three companies. In support came squadrons of Land Speeders and Javelin Speeders, the fast and maneuverable anti-grav skimmers unleashing a hail of missiles into the rear of the World Eaters attacking the hive as the midnight blue bikes and jet bikes conducted hit and fade attacks, the rattle of twin linked bolters and sun bright balls of plasma cutting down the surprised traitors as they turned to face this new threat. The Sky Hunter squadrons roared in on their jet bikes, heavy bolters and heavy plasma raining down on the enraged and surprised foe.

 

Like a turning tide, the forces of the World Eaters turned, rushing to close with the Night Lords, leaving their battle brothers already assaulting the hive defenses unsupported. Stanislaus ordered his men to fall back in the face of the tidal wave of white and blue stained red by blood, which would surely overwhelm his force if it could connect.

 

Incoherent roars came from the World Eaters as they charged in pursuit, their infantry pounding across the plains outside the city, too enraged to even board their Rhino APCs. Stanislaus could see a forest of chainaxes were raised in bloody anticipation of slaughter. Jump equipped assault squads bounded over their brothers, racing to close the gap with the retreating Night Lords bikers, themselves coming under attack from the midnight clad speeders and jet bikes.

 

Supporting gunships began strafing the World Eaters, the Fireraptors chewing lines of destruction through the pursuing horde of white, missiles and bombs, rad weapons and the ever dreaded phosphex blanketed the World Eaters from the Lightning fighters, but still they came on, their casualties fallen and unnoticed, often stamped into the ground by their brothers. Even by the standards of the World Eaters that was unusual, and Stanislaus wondered what evil had overtaken his cousins to make them behave so towards their own kin.

 

The Storm Eagles and Thunderhawks targeted pursuing land raider tanks and the World Eater Felblade and Glaive super heavy’s. Sicaran tanks returned fire with their accelerator autocannons, their rapid tracking systems locking on to the Night Lords strike craft and sending several tumbling to the ground, their explosions immolating more racing warriors of both sides. In turn the strafing flyers turned on the threat and ruby lines of lascannon fire punctured the hulls of the Sicarans, their ammunition cooking off and frequently blowing their distinctive turrets into the air.

 

Stanislaus and his men raced towards their fall back point, desperately keeping just ahead of the pursuing World Eaters without losing contact, dodging and jinking through a rain of fire from the surviving tanks that raced after them. In addition, XII Legion basilisks previously bombarding the hive had been retasked, without fire control from forward observers they were a danger to friend and foe alike, but in the state the World Eaters were now in that was irrelevant. It was almost as if they cared not whose blood flowed.

 

Stanislaus received the proximity update on his helmet preysight display. “All first wave elements, commence wheel to the right, heading NNE, permission to turbo boost granted”

 

The formations of night lord bikes, jet bikes, and speeders suddenly turned to the right and accelerated away from their pursuers, and the World Eaters turned to chase them.

 

Serjar observed from the hills, Stanislaus had done his job well as always.

 

“Steady lads” He ordered over the vox “Wait for my command”

 

From the city came a flood of loyalist World Eaters, at least he hoped they were, accompanied by Imperial Army units, falling on the rear of the traitors as they overwhelmed the storming parties and slaughtered them in brutal hand to hand combat. The Imperial Army formations, ragged and bloody from the defence of the hive, advanced in disciplined fire and movement, their las guns and supporting heavy weapons volley firing into the formations of World Eaters now retreating in front of them, the sheer weight of fire exacting a heavy toll. But in return their advance was punished in places as traitor Astartes charged into units that pursued too quickly, rending the unaugmented soldiers limb from limb.

 

When the largest part of the enemy force had entered the carefully prepared kill zone, Serjar stood from concealment.

 

“Now my boys, now’s the time, all units open fire!” He roared into the vox.

 

From concealed positions and defilade, the main body of the Night Lords opened fire, Legion heavy support squads fired over the heads of the tactical squads a barrage of heavy fire from autocannons, lascannons, missile launchers and plasma cannons. The hail of fire felling hundreds of their traitor cousins. Supporting Predator tanks, Sicarans, and the two Fellblades under his command rained their shells into the flank of the World Eater advance. Enough firepower to break almost any formation was unleashed, bodies flew through the air from explosions, World Eaters were cut in half and dismembered, or simply blasted into their component atoms by plasma blasts brighter than a star.

 

And still the World Eaters came on, the deaths of their brothers seeming only to speed them to higher and higher states of rage and blood lust. The World eaters turned back towards the hills from which the bombardment came, like a great school of oceanic carnivores scenting blood in the water the ragged formation reacted at once and surged through the incoming fire towards their prey.

 

Next was the turn of the tactical squads, weapons ready they rose from the ground to unleash hell from their massed bolters. The tactic, known as the fury of the legion amongst the Astartes, was one of massed fire. Expending their ready ammunition in furious controlled bursts, the tacticals rained a battle’s worth of bolt shells into the oncoming wave of berserk World Eaters in a matter of minutes. The carnage was immense, bolt shells hammering into the World Eaters, their mass reactive rounds blowing bloody craters in the oncoming warriors, felling them in rows.

 

The Night Lords mobile elements under Stanislaus turned and rained death into the right flank of the World Eaters, their fire driving like a spear into the flanks of a wounded carnosaur, cutting bloody channels into the mass of the World Eaters.

 

And it still was not enough.

 

“Draw Swords!” Serjar Ordered over the vox net.

The Night Lords tactical squads cast aside their empty bolters, there was no time to replenish ammunition from their transports. Drawing their chain swords and axes, they followed their chain glaive and power sword wielding Captains and sergeants as they countercharged the oncoming traitors, both groups colliding in a deafening crash of armor upon armor and weapon upon weapon.

 

Serjar charged at the head of his honor guard. Knowing the likelihood of close combat, he had arrayed himself in his artificer armor. He had debated removing the legion symbols, and ordering his men to do so. However he had made the determination to keep them for himself and the men under his command. If his gene sire and brothers wanted to shame the legion by their treachery against the Emperor and Terra, he and his men would uphold the ideals of the legion and strike fear into the hearts of the traitors. His midnight blue armor crackled with the sub layer projections of lightning arcs, the bat wings and skull on his breastplate and the wings on his helmet a contrasting red. His one change was the Imperial Eagle that had been added over his legion symbol by the chapter artificers, proudly announcing his loyalty to the master of mankind. Alongside him came his command squad, arrayed in Cataphractii terminator armor, the command squad had effectively become walking tanks, immune to all but the heaviest weapons.

 

As he charged towards his enemy, what he saw on some of his opponents’ armor rang alarm bells in his mind, strange eight pointed stars and harsh angular runes adorned those foes and it hurt his eyes to look too long upon such marks. Serjar pushed through the discomfort and raised his chain glaive as he slammed into the closest World Eater. His chain glaive blocked the brutal overhand swing of a chainaxe, sparks flying as the spinning teeth of the weapon juddered off the adamantium shaft of his weapon, he swung the haft of the weapon around connecting with the stomach armor of his foe, slamming him back into his following comrades, Serjar quickly reversed his stroke, the whirring teeth of the business end of the chain glaive ripping through the Mk III armor of the warrior, bisecting him from armpit to armpit in a welter of blood and gore, before biting into the next World Eater and sending him falling to the ground. Around him his command squad waded into the oncoming blood drenched warriors of the XII Legion, their combi bolters raining shots into the melee, power mauls, swords, and axes smashing and cutting open the World Eaters in droves, while the incredibly heavy armor of the Night Lords Cataphractii was scored with numerous blows.

 

Serjar went into his battle trance, a state of mind where the movements of the foe seemed to slow, where his experience of two centuries of warfare showed him the dance of warrior and blade that sent him spinning and wheeling and cutting through the oncoming madmen, around him limbs and heads flew from the World Eaters as he cut them down, pieces of armor spiraled through the air from shattered breastplates, pauldrons, helmets, and vambraces. He cut the legs from a charging son of Angron, stamping the warrior’s head to a bloody mess of bone and brains as the legless warrior hit the ground, all while turning and decapitating two more warriors in a continuation of his two handed sweep of the chain glaive.

 

Tactical data was scrolling through his visual feed via the preysight. His men were winning, but losses were mounting, the World Eaters were in their element now, this bloody melee their meat and drink, and man for man they outmatched Serjar’s warriors in this bloody arena of war. Stanislaus was right, they simply didn’t care. None of the World Eaters were showing any attempt at blocking or defensive weapons play. Serjar saw a World Eater charge onto the chain sword of a Night Lord tactical, impaling himself on the spinning teeth of the blade in order to reach his foe and cut him down in turn with his chainaxe. World Eaters were fighting on despite wounds that would lay another Astartes low in a sus-an healing coma.

 

Stanislaus’s voice came over the vox “Serjar, you need to pull the men back, the other lot are cutting their way towards you” He warned.

 

Serjar, swinging his chain glaive to gut a world eater in front of him, replied “Brother, we can crush them between our force and theirs, if we pull back now these mad bastards will be able to turn all their attention on those loyalists”

 

“Brother, you are assuming those supposed loyalists will stop killing when they see midnight blue instead of blood and white” Stanislaus cautioned “From what I see over here, they wouldn’t stop for anything, I must insist sir, pull back now, keep to a safe distance and see if they calm down once they kill everything in front of them”

 

Serjar grunted his assent, narrowly avoiding a swipe from the power sword of a World Eaters captain, the warrior’s helmet was missing, and Serjar looked into his opponent’s eyes, the warrior’s face was contorted in rage and he was roaring out “Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull…..”

 

“Shut the frakk up!” Serjar roared, his mailed fist punching repeatedly into the World Eater captain’s exposed face. The other warrior reeled back and Serjar dispatched him with an overhand blow.

 

“All units, hit and fade, execute immediately” He commanded over the vox, a chorus of confirmations ringing in his ears from the vox feed. Serjar primed and threw a blind grenade into his foes, the weapon detonated in a blinding flash scattering particles of sensor confusing multi frequency chaff into the air.

 

All along the line of battle the loyalist Night Lords mirrored his actions, turning and racing away from their stunned and temporarily blinded foes, most escaping but some cut down by warriors too demented to succumb to the blind grenade effects.

 

Serjar leading, the command squad boarded their waiting Spartan Land Raider, which, along with the accompanying Rhinos of the tac squads, rapidly reversed away from the staggering warriors of the XII.

 

The oncoming loyalist force of World Eaters rampaged through their stunned kin as the Night Lords retreated to a safe distance where they stopped and watched the grisly drama play out.

 

The two forces of World Eaters tore at each other with hatred only a blood feud among brothers could produce, the force which Serjar fervently hoped was loyal grinding their opponents into the blood stained ground as the traitors, severely depleted by the Night Lords, fought tooth and nail to their inevitable destruction.

 

In the end it came down to two warriors. By their headgear and armor Serjar knew they were the force leaders, one was arrayed in Mk IV armor, the other in Mk.II, from the traitor and loyalist force respectively they roared out their challenge to each other. They came together in a mighty clash of weapons, the warrior in Mk.II armor carried a chainaxe and wielded a power fist in his off hand as he smashed traitor World Eaters out of his way, gutting them or crushing them like tin cans as he struggled to reach his foe. The warrior in Mk.IV armor swung a mighty eviscerator, the huge two handed chain sword ripping apart the honor guard of the first warrior.

 

Serjar watched as the World Eaters, both traitor and loyal, cleared away from their champions, making space for this duel of genehanced gladiators. Each warrior a bloody mirror of the other. The loyalist captain rained blows from his chainaxe while waiting for the opportunity to strike with the massive power fist on his left hand. His opponent dodged and blocked his blows, striking out with brutal swings of his eviscerator which were, in turn, dodged or deflected by his target. Numerous rents and cuts appeared in each warrior’s armor, the worst rapidly encrusted with blood as their enhanced bodies Larramen organs caused the wounds to clot immediately. Finally the warrior in Mk.II armor forced his opponent to overreach, a decapitating swing of the eviscerator taking the captain’s helmet crest off, in return the warrior smashed his foe with a vicious uppercut, the power fist crushing the other warrior’s breastplate in an electric flash as the power field contacted the ceramite armor. Around him, his men finished off the last of the traitors, viciously hacking at those who had fallen to vent their rage.

 

Silence descended on the battle field. The two forces, one in white and one in the darkest blue, eyed each other across the sea of dead. Neither side made to move.

 

“Now we come to it Stanislaus” Serjar talked to his friend over the vox “All units, hold fire, no threatening moves. That means you in particular Kergorag, keep those killers of yours from doing anything stupid please”

 

In his ears he heard Kergorag laugh in response “Yes Sir, but you really take the fun out of the day” Serjar heard Kergorag’s orders to his company to “do as you are frakking told for once” and the humorous retorts of his sergeants’ affirmations.

 

Before him the remaining World Eaters stood, their armor blood stained and covered in the rockcrete dust of the city they had been defending. Slowly they formed into their squads and advanced towards the Night Lords.

 

“Serjar, you better make a decision quick, this doesn’t look good” Stanislaus warned “There are a lot of them, and we don’t need any more losses if we can avoid it brother”

 

“Trust me brother, I know what I’m doing. Well except for that time on Redion III….” Serjar replied, needling his brother officer.

 

“Thanks, feel so much better now….” Stanislaus responded ironically. Serjar could hear the amusement in his friend’s voice. His first battle as a sergeant was on that world, nothing had gone according to plan, with heavy losses as the planetary government, feigning compliance, had turned on the Imperium. The battle had been long and bloody and both Serjar and Stanislaus had come close to death on many occasions.

 

The World Eaters came to a halt, the warriors exuding a sense of pent up rage and blood lust. Serjar watched as their Captain strode forward and stopped midway between the two forces.

 

“Who commands here?” The words were roared out, both a challenge and a question.

 

Serjar advanced and stood before the World Eater “I Serjar, Kyroptera lord, bringer of silence, haunter of the dark void. I command here. And who are you World Eater?”

 

“Enough with your worthless titles Night Lord!” The words were spat out by the captain “Tell me now, who do you serve?” The World Eater was primed for violence, Serjar’s genehanced senses picked up the traces of enhanced adrenaline and muscle stimulants on his counterpart’s breath, the scent of the Larramen cells from his wounds, and he saw the micro tremors of the World Eater’s power armor as the warrior held back from attacking.

 

“The Emperor and His Imperium cousin. Now tell me who do you serve?” Serjar replied and braced for combat.

 

The warrior before him visibly relaxed, but only a fraction. “Ah, the Emperor” Serjar heard both pride and sorrow in the World Eater’s tones “Our Lord and Master on Terra. I did not think to find anyone cleaving to him now that Horus has turned and butchered my brothers at Istvaan. My men and I are outcasts Serjar. Our genefather, curse the day we did not kill him, has turned his back on the Emperor. My men and I are from the destroyer fleets. We refused the nails on his reunion with the legion, he sent us out in exile, and now our brothers hunt us down.”

 

The warrior thrust his chainaxe head first into the bloody mud at his feet.

 

“Your name” Serjar asked.

 

The warrior before him removed his helmet, his face was a rich brown, his features a blend of the peoples of the North Merica hives, Serjar realized he was looking at a Terran, one of the original War Hounds as the XII was originally known.

 

“Captain Makhus Kain, War Hound, lost son of an unwanted father” the warrior said “I regret my poor greeting cousin, but trust is in short supply these days” He extended his hand in the old warrior greeting of Terra, Serjar clasped it and replied “Well cousin, we are in the same boat. We are the last loyal Night Lords I know of. The rot of Horus runs deep in the Legions and Curze has fallen to it as Angron before him”

 

“Speak not that name again Serjar, not in my presence” Makhus warned “Nor that of my men, we will find him and kill him, no matter what the cost. I thank you for your assistance this day cousin, I never thought to be happy to see one of Curze’s crows. Will you join us in this? The road leads to death, but that was always the fate of our kind. There will be many glorious kills on the way.”

 

Serjar laughed “I never thought to be happy to see a World Eater either. I have a counter proposal Makhus, we are going to Terra. We have to warn them that our legion has turned, join us and show the Imperium that you are still loyal. We will likely achieve far more if we can hook up with those who stayed true. Besides, hard as you fought today, you won’t get close to the forces Horus has gathered”

 

A long pause followed before Makhus replied “I’ll follow you Serjar, I owe you that much for saving my arse, and those of my men. But one thing you must promise”

 

“Name it” Serjar said

 

“When we meet my traitorous kin, my men exact vengeance” Makhus pronounced.

 

“As you will it. Be my brother in this, our duty, and you can kill all the traitors you want” Serjar answered.

 

Makhus nodded “Then there is one thing more, if you desire to be my brother, an ancient Terran tradition…” as he spoke, Captain Makhus removed his right gauntlet, raising his exposed hand he made a cut across his palm and handed the combat blade to Serjar expectantly.

 

Serjar understood, removing his own gauntlet he made a similar cut, after which Makhus clasped his hand with his own, their blood mingling in a ceremony as old as mankind.

 

“We are brothers now, by blood and by war, for the Emperor and in his name Brother” Makhus intoned, a solemn cast to his features.

 

“For the Emperor brother, loyalty or death!” Serjar replied.

 

[Serjar]

The fleet of the “Harbingers of Judgment”, now accompanied by their newfound allies, the former sons of Angron, forged their passage through the warp. The tides of emotion making up the realm of the Empyrean howled in mighty gales, the slaughter of souls on a scale unseen by humanity feeding towering storm clouds in the nether realm. The navigators, the sanctioned mutant humans who could see the warp through their third eye, counseled Serjar that such storms had not been seen in living memory, and their concern at the dimming of the astronomicon on Terra was readily apparent. It was the advice of navigator Orphelion, currently steering the fleet through the towering storms that threatened the ships on all sides, that it would be necessary to find a safe system for repair and replenishment of the fleet.

 

Serjar had agreed.

 

He thought back on the salvage operations that his Night Lords, and their new found World Eater allies, had conducted on Carias II in the wake of the bloody fight against the traitorous sons of Angron. He stopped himself, cursing at referring to the men under Captain Makhus’s command as “World Eaters”, they were “War Hounds” now. Makhus had warned him quite clearly never to refer to him or his men as World Eaters again.

 

While losses had been within acceptable parameters, roughly twenty percent over half of whom would make a full recovery, the expenditure of ammunition in the ambush of the traitors of the World Eaters had been prodigious, mainly because of the need to inflict the maximum possible casualties at range. Damage to armor and equipment was also heavy amongst those who had engaged in the violent melee at the end of the action. The battlefield was scoured for useable equipment and ammunition, the Loyalist Night Lords and World….. War Hounds, he corrected himself again, had begun to salvage all they could, first from their own dead, and then from the dead of their foe.

 

His memories of the aftermath came to the fore as he remembered….

 

There were no wounded enemy to process. Serjar was of the opinion that there was only one punishment for treason, and his men, and those of Makhus, were in full agreement. Serjar had ordered that prisoners were only to be taken for intelligence gathering, and the behavior of the World Eaters had shown that any attempt to extract information from them would be a waste of valuable time. The few World Eaters who had survived Makhus and his men venting their rage had been madmen, crying out incoherently, almost speaking in tongues. They were of no use for intelligence purposes and had been put down like rabid canines.

 

As he and his men had scavenged from the dead, more and more of the strange symbols were found. His men were uneasy at the sight of the sigils engraved on many of the suits of armor adorning the World Eater corpses. During the battle Serjar had experienced physical discomfort when he first observed these strange decorations on his foes, and while that feeling had lessened, it was still there.

His concerns had risen when Brother Shalva approached accompanied by his Sergeant and Captain Kergorag of the 88^th Company. He knew of Shalva, a former Codicier of the Librarius, returned to line duties after the edict of Nikea had banned psychic warfare from the legions. Serjar took in at once the concern on the face of Shalva as he made his way through the carpet of the dead, the young Night Lord had been one of the last psykers to pass through training before the edict. Despite his youth he had been predicted to go far in the Librarius, and had handled his return to line duties with a professionalism and stoicism unusual amongst his kin.

 

“Well Kergorag, you look like you have all seen a ghost, what brings you to this side of the field? Your men should be processing the breaches in the walls and the glacis before the hive.” Serjar greeted his brother.

 

“My lord Serjar, brother Shalva has raised concerns about salvaging armor from the enemy, well at least the ones who bear those, those additions to their armor” Kergorag replied. Serjar observed his trusted friend was uncomfortable, torn between concern and disbelief at the news he was bringing.

 

Serjar turned to Shalva “Speak up Brother, what have you said that upsets such a worthy as Kergorag?”

 

Shalva paused, Serjar could see the younger Astartes was trying to find the right words.

 

“Out with it lad, bad news gets worse with waiting, and as Kergorag will tell you I don’t exactly have a good supply of patience” Serjar ordered.

 

“Lord Serjar, as you know I was a member of the legion librarius, tasked with using our psychic abilities until the decree absolute at Nikea, resulting in my…..” Shalva began his speech

 

Serjar folded his arms and let out a deep breath, then raising an arm interrupted the young Astartes “Yes, yes, all well and good battle brother, but I can do without the history lesson thank you. If something has got you so worried, I strongly suggest you tell me at once so we can deal with it in a timely manner. Don’t you think?”

 

Shalva swallowed, then went on “Yes sir, well it is the bodies, the ones with the sigils. They are dangerous my Lord”

 

“Dangerous how? They’re pretty dead now brother” Serjar laughed as he spoke

 

“The discomfort of looking at them sir, that’s what makes them dangerous. Haven’t you felt it?” Shalva asked.

 

Serjar felt a gnawing feeling of concern at the words and the expression of urgency on Brother Shalva’s face. “Yes, in a word. What does it signify brother?”

 

“Sir, we all know the warp has, well, inhabitants. Some type of xenos that swim in its depths. We’ve all seen them during translation, and heard the stories from the mortal crews. Well, these symbols are tainted. They are warp craft. I’m not sure what they signify, but I can feel the taint upon them. Something has infected those warriors who defaced their armor, something from the warp. I strongly suggest we take nothing from the dead who bear those markings, lest we be contaminated in turn”

 

“Witchcraft? You are telling me our fallen kin are dabbling in warp sorcery?” Serjar questioned.

 

“I don’t know lord, I have not seen these sigils before, but I feel the taint of the warp from them. I don’t need to use my powers to feel that. I haven’t broken the edict” Shalva explained.

 

Serjar considered, he needed as much of the scavenged armor and equipment as possible, no more supplies would be reaching his force from the usual sources. Who knew how long it would be before they made planetfall at a friendly world? But, he thought, perhaps this is how it started with Horus. Everyone knew the warp could taint a man if he let it touch him. Turn him down a path to madness. It was worse for psykers, hence the edict. He turned to Kergorag “Well done Captain, I thank you and your men for bringing this to my attention. Pass on the order, no armor, ammunition, or equipment is to be taken from bodies that bear any symbology that does not meet Imperial guidelines, such bodies and equipment are to be separated and rendered unusable”

 

As a result, the total of salvage had been reduced by over thirty percent, the offending items and corpses had been burnt on the advice of former Codicier Shalva and the two ex-lexicanums in the strike force.

 

The combined force of Night Lords and War Hounds had then left, instructing the surviving planetary garrison of Imperial Army to defend as best they could. Serjar remembered well the look on General Besalayev’s face as he refused the mortal’s request to remain. Serjar knew it was a death sentence for the human soldiers, but his mission was to warn Terra, not to become bogged down in some heroic last stand on the fringe of the Imperium.

 

And now they were heading for Azerunium, a depot world coreward in the Ultima segmentum. Serjar hoped to find it still in Imperial hands, and resupply and refit before striking out towards the Solar Segmentum and Terra.

 

Snapping out of his reverie Serjar came back to the present, the memories fading as he cast his eyes around the bridge of the battle barge “Bringer of Fear”. Stanislaus approached him, the Night Lord captain accompanied by the chief astropath of the ship’s psychic choir.

 

“Yes brother?” Serjar greeted Stanislaus as they saluted each other with the Imperial Aquila.

 

“Serjar, the astropaths have received messages from Azerunium, and it isn’t good” Stanislaus replied.

 

“What is good news these days Stanislaus? Our Imperium is tearing itself apart” Serjar said as he turned to the astropath “Well, tell me Ezar, what tidings do you bring”

 

“Distress calls lord Serjar, cries for aid. The astropathic message speaks of a traitor assault on Azerunium, believed to be by elements of the Emperor’s Children” Ezar went on, describing a series of desperate messages, some still being interpreted. Astropathic communication was more art than science. Images and emotions cast into the void by psychic choirs, sometimes clear, sometimes a confusion of conflicting information. In this case most of the castings were clear, fueled by fear they burned through the warp to the waiting minds of Serjar’s fleet astropaths.

 

“Great, well that means we will have to fight for our supper” Serjar pronounced “Stanislaus, what is our estimated transit time to Azerunium?”

 

“Another two days Serjar” Came the reply “Those messages seem to have been sent at least two weeks previous. By the time we get there, the peacock sons of Fulgrim might be well gone. After picking the place clean I might add”

 

“Indeed, but maybe not. Let’s drop in on the Phonecian’s brats and if they are still there we can rob their corpses after we deal with them” Serjar said, his face grim.

 

“Better hope they haven’t stripped the place to the bone brother, it is a long haul to the next possible resupply, our warriors will be OK, but we need supplies for the mortals” Stanislaus warned.

 

“Indeed, but rations and water are easier to find than legion stores brother. We will burn that bridge when we come to it” Serjar answered his second in command.

 

Soon after Serjar conducted a holo-conference with his captains, now increased to four by the addition of Makhus and his War Hounds. As the images of his battle brothers shimmered and flickered, the communication between ships disrupted by the Geller fields holding the chaos of the warp at bay, the warriors discussed the tactics required to deal with the Emperor’s Children.

 

Kergorag spoke up “They’ve always been braggarts, I have never believed they are as good as they like to think” His disgust for the arrogance of the sons of Fulgrim apparent.

 

Surprisingly it was Makhus who voiced his disagreement, Serjar would have thought the blunt, aggressive War Hound would have been in full agreement “Be careful brother” He intoned “They are arrogant because they are very very good at what they do. Underestimate them at your peril. The Children take perfection in the martial arts of war to the extreme. Much the same way my brethren take to violence and sharp pointy objects” He laughed at his own quip then continued “Their vanity and pride mask a true killer’s soul. My men excel at close quarters, yours at terror, infiltration, and hit and run warfare. They may not quite match us in our specialties, but to make up for it they are rather good at everything”

 

Serjar was inclined to agree, having fought alongside the Emperor’s Children in the early part of his service. While not specializing in any particular aspect of war, they strove to master all to a high degree. This coming fight, if the Emperor’s Children were still on the world, would test him and his brothers to the limit. Serjar proposed to keep to their respective strengths. The War Hounds would pin the Emperor’s Children, and try to grind them down at close range, while the Night Lords would conduct mobile operations to divide the enemy into manageable portions. Refinement of the plan would be made upon actual assessment of the battlespace on entering the system.

 

After two days further transit through the warp, the fleet translated back into realspace, the battle barges “Bringer of Fear”, “Skull Splitter”, and “Emperor’s Judgment” and their escorts, now joined by Captain Makhus’s battle barge “Razor’s Edge” and the battered strike cruisers and destroyers of his small squadron, tore their way into reality as they punched their way through the veil between the rational universe and the chaos of the warp. Tendrils of impossible energy writhed around the ships like questing limbs of a deep ocean cephalopod trying to pull them back into the warp before dissipating as the tear in reality snapped closed.

 

As per agreed strike force protocols the ships of Sejar’s force began silent running, moving ahead of the War Hounds ships which held back to avoid early detection. The Night Lords approached the Oort cloud casting their passive sensors wide to detect communications from within the system. They quickly found they were not the only force trying to retake the world.

 

Signals traffic from the III Legion, the Emperor’s Children was apparent, and so too was legion communications from forces of the IV Legion, the Iron Warriors. It soon became apparent the forces were heavily engaged on the orbital platforms surrounding the depot world, and the fortresses defending the main hive and depot on the only fully inhabited world of the system, the capital world of Azerunium IV, the agri world of Memphae, the third planet from the sun, had already fallen to the Iron Warriors force.

 

“At least this time we won’t have to muck about trying to decide who’s who” Stanislaus remarked.

 

Serjar scanned the data scrolling across the hololithic display and nodded in agreement. This time it was clear, the Iron Warriors were calling sending out astropathic requests for aid from any Throne loyal forces in the vicinity, while the Emperor’s Children were calling for assistance from those loyal to the Warmaster. The Iron Warriors were in the process of attacking the intricate fortifications of the depot world, built by their rivals from the VII Legion, the Imperial Fists.

 

Surprisingly the assault seemed to be stalled. Knowing what he did of the Iron Warriors superiority in siege warfare that was not a good sign.

 

“Surprising to see our cousins having so much trouble getting in brother, that’s their bread and butter” Serjar remarked to Stanislaus.

 

“Well the Fists built this place, they don’t do fortresses by halve measures Serjar. Though I imagine whoever is commanding the Iron Warriors down there is frothing at the mouth right now. You know how those two legions feel about each other” Stanislaus replied.

 

Serjar nodded. Turning to the hololithic projection of Captain Makhus he spoke “They get on about as well as your boys and the Sons of Sanguinius I’m told, eh Makhus?”

 

In reply Makhus laughed “We don’t get on I admit, but that’s because our rough and ready natures offend the golden-haired sons of the Angel, that and they are jealous because we get into the fight before they have stopped brushing their hair. They are second only to Fulgrim’s whelps in gazing into the mirror, but at least they are loyal with it! Well except for Amit that is, I swear that bugger was swapped at birth and ended up in the wrong legion, you’d swear he was one of us ha ha!” then his dark features became deadly serious “Whatever is holding up the Iron Warriors, let alone making them call for assistance, is going to be unpleasant Serjar. I suggest we are going to have to revise that plan of ours”

 

“You don’t say brother” Serjar replied dryly “This time Morinar is right, we need to talk to our cousins and find out how we can assist them rather than going it alone” He nodded at the projection of Morinar who nodded in return, his suggestion accepted this time. “However I suggest we come closer first, we may gain more intelligence that way, and there may be III legion ships still in system, Makhus, as you can’t cloak, you’ll be the bait to draw them out”

 

The fleet spun coreward, the "Razor's Edge" and it's escorts covered by the cloaked Night Lords ships of Serjar’s strike force. Near the 7th world from the system star the remainder of the Emperor’s Children fleet struck. Two battle barges, identified by their pennants as "Dawn of Purity" and "Perfect Blade" burst from the debris field of the planetary rings around the gas giant. Preceded by their escorting strike cruisers and destroyers they raced in to attack what their auspexes showed as a single battle barge and consorts.

 

The Night Lords ships, still cloaked to the sensor sweeps of the enemy auspexes, raced to the flank threatened by the oncoming ships. Serjar waited for the Emperor's Children to fight with their usual panache at void warfare. His foes were well known for their ability to manoeuvre and strike from long range. Despite the numerical superiority of his force, he knew full well that his enemy would punish any mistake by inflicting severe damage on his fleet unless he could ambush them.

 

Norvingen, the mortal ship captain, and his tactical crew were refining their projection of predicted enemy movements. It was expected that the Emperor's Children would repeatedly hit and run against the World Eaters ships they saw on their scanners before closing to range of macro cannons to pound their enemy prior to boarding. The ships under Serjar’s command were spread out to avoid presenting too great a target to a spread of torpedoes or a lucky strike. At the point Serjar expected his opponent to fire and turn, the unexpected occurred.

 

"What the hell are they doing?" Serjar called out as the tactical hololith projection showed the Emperor’s Children squadron racing racing towards the War Hounds ships. "Makhus, I'd have expected them to open fire, you have weapons free and can fire at will"

 

"Brother, it has just occurred to me, they think we are on their side, all they see are" Makhus paused, forcing the next words out through clenched teeth "all.....all... they see are traitors like themselves. They see World Eaters" he finished, the disgust obvious in his voice.

 

"We can catch them off guard" Stanislaus suggested "catch them in a crossfire before they can respond. I love it when the other guy is dead before he can shoot back"

 

A rumble of disapproval came from the projection of Captain Makhus "You do not take pride in testing your skill against the foe brother?"

 

Stanislaus replied "I certainly do enjoy testing my skill Makhus, my skill at approaching unseen, my skill at the swift strike, and my skill at sowing confusion and terror amongst my foes. I will leave the heroic charges to you and your men, since you seem to enjoy them so much" Stanislaus's anger at thinly veiled accusation was evident in his tone. 

 

"Calm down the pair of you" Serjar snapped. "Different legions, different ways Makhus"

 

The former World Eater considered this, and after a moment nodded his head "Forgive me Stanislaus, because of your actions on Carias II I assumed you would be keen to take the lead in combat, you showed great skill in being the bait for your commander’s trap"

 

Stanislaus laughed "Apology accepted Makhus, though I must admit I still have not forgiven Serjar for that part of the plan"

 

The War Hound's holographic projection showed the quizzical look on his face, with a faint trace of amusement. "Forgive me Serjar, it will take time to adjust to your legions...... ahem.... less direct ways of warfare"

 

"Not to worry Makhus, you'll find we can be very direct when required. We just prefer trying other options first" Serjar turned and looked at the display again "Norvingen, if you please, prepare our ships for the staggered circle, Makhus, if they hail you try and play along?"

 

As Serjar’s ships ghosted to their positions, a circular formation where ships could surround a target and fire, all the while remaining out of the line of fire of friendly ships, the Emperor’s Children squadron commander hailed Makhus.

 

Serjar listened to the vox conversation relayed from the "Razor's Edge"

 

A cultured voice spoke over the vox "Welcome cousin, pity you didn't bring more of your legion, but needs must. Our surface forces are bearing a great load from these Iron scrap merchants. They fight without any appreciation of beauty. There is no joy in this battle, in fact it bores us" the tone of the voice was languid and dismissive. Serjar caught Stanislaus's eye and raised his eyebrow quizzically, Stanislaus shrugged his shoulders in response.

 

"We shall be escorting you to drop on these renegade sons of Peturabo..." at those words a chill ran down Serjar’s spine, he hoped he was wrong, but it sounded to him as if the Iron Warriors too were in revolt against Terra, and this force was like his own "we shall drop you on these graceless fools and you can do what you do best, chop them into bloody little pieces to feed our new allies" the last statement got Serjar’s full attention. Whatever allies the traitor was referring to, they could be the reason the Iron Warriors assault was stalled? Serjar listened as Makhus replied, the taciturn War Hound keeping his answers to a minimum.

 

"Now would be a good time brothers, he whispered into the vox "they'll be picking us up on auspex soon"

 

As the loyalist Night Lords ships uncloaked the "Razor's Edge" opened fire on the leading enemy ships and accelerated forward. Bright lances of energy streaked through the void smashing two purple strike cruisers into radioactive shards as the massive primary lance weapons cut them in half detonating their reactors. Serjar's ships began firing too, catching the Emperor’s Children squadron in a vicious crossfire of lance fire, torpedoes, and macrocannon fire.

 

The vox rang with the voice of the Emperor’s Children officer "why cousins, you have surprised us, such a sweet sensation. One wonders what your father's would think of such behavior" Serjar felt sickened at the tone in the traitor's voice, as if he was enjoying watching his command pounded to pieces, but the next second he saw the ships on the long range viewer.

 

"Terra's teeth!" Stanislaus exclaimed "What in the depths of damnation has happened to them?"

 

Serjar felt disgust rise in his throat. Gone were the noble, if somewhat overdone, warships of the III Legion the whole Imperium knew from the holocasts. In their place was something else. Something tainted and foul. The statuary and decoration lauding the union of humanity under the Emperor was gone. In its place were scenes of debauchery, the once golden trims of the ships a riot of color, and once again Serjar saw the strange eight pointed star, and this time it was accompanied by a sinuous sigil rather than the hard edged rune worn by the traitor World Eaters on Carias. It made Serjar sick to his stomach to see the change in his cousins ships. It was an honor to eradicate them.

 

It was over quickly, the staggered circle formation allowing each of the midnight blue vessels to fire at full effect from multiple vectors without endangering their fellows. Rapidly the Emperor’s Children ships were pounded into drifting ruins or exploded like miniature suns as their reactors and warp cores went critical. Until the end the traitors were broadcasting, their shouts and cries carried over the vox.

 

Stanislaus turned to face Serjar "that noise at the end, it sounded like they were enjoying it!" Confusion and disgust warred in his tone.

 

"Indeed brother, but I have no explanation. First the rage of the World Eaters, and now this, this whatever it was" Serjar went on "Stanislaus, I have no words to describe it. But something worse than plain treason has got its claws in our cousins. But enough of that, Lieutenant Malkhaz, Please hail the Iron Warriors, we don't need them to shoot us on the way in, Makhus and his squadron may make them trigger happy for the same reason the Traitors welcomed him"

 

Within minutes Serjar was in communication with the Iron Warriors fleet and it's commander, warsmith Erakles, the warsmith was at first highly suspicious of the inclusion of Makhus and his men under Serjar’s command, but the strike force's ambush and destruction of the remnants of the Emperor’s Children flotilla went some way to assuage his mistrust.

 

"Keep them on a leash cousin. They make any threatening moves or put one foot out of place, I'll hit them so hard they will be half way to Terra before they can blink" Erakles warned.

 

"Understood warsmith Erakles, I assure you that captain Makhus won't be a threat. Well unless you call him a World Eater" Serjar replied. At the last comment Erakles's image showed his eyebrow raised in question. Serjar went on in explanation "He's a War Hound cousin, he and is men were eixiled by their gene sire for refusing the nails. Though I've seen them in action and I suspect they didn't need them"

 

Erakles nodded, his face turning grim. "Serjar, I must tell you, my legion has turned too. I have been warned by my brother Dantioch that he is under siege by forces of our own legion and the Mechanicum, alongside elements of the Sons of Horus."

 

"Not the Iron Warriors as well!" Serjar spat out "Where will this rot end? Does it infect every legion?"

 

"It may well cousin, but I suspect not Dorn's sons, or those of Sanguinius and Russ. But I hang my head in shame at my genefather's treason and that of my brothers" Serjar heard great sadness in the voice of Erakles as he spoke.

 

"You are not alone in that cousin" he replied. Serjar related the treason of his own legion and primarch. He watched as Erakles grew even more grim.

 

"Sons of Horus, World Eaters, Death Guard, Emperor's Children, Iron Warriors, now your Night Lords, and I fear the Word Bearers too, that's nearly half the legions cousin" Erakles went on "we have to do as much damage as we can. Give the other legions time to reach Terra. I arrived here to resupply and found these pretty boys of Fulgrim slaughtering the garrison. Only they are not so pretty now, something has gone seriously wrong with the Emperor's Children. They are employing technology I have never seen before, some form of sonic projector. And they die hard, much harder than usual anyway"

 

Serjar listened as Erakles went on. His description of the Emperor’s Children encountered below seemed diametrically opposed to what Serjar knew of the Phonecian’s sons. The warriors Erakles's forces had encountered wore defaced armor, covered with foul sigils and riots of color much as their warships had been. Serjar viewed pic casts showing the depraved depths the Children had fallen to. Spikes adorned their armor, the faces of many had been mutilated, mouths wired open in eternal screams, others had eyes stitched open or their ears removed. Many had the same strange sigil branded on their skin, and all were horrific parodies of the perfection they had previously aspired to.

 

"So tell me cousin, how can the strike force "Harbingers of Justice" and our noble, if somewhat direct, brothers of the War Hounds assist you in taking this fortress? I'd be grateful to know what has brought you to a standstill" Serjar inquired.

 

Erakles bought up a schematic of the fortress. Serjar noted the multiple flanking bastions and enfilades. The interlocking fields of fire, mutually supporting emplacements and kill boxes. It was a work of art as well as death. The actual "viable" approaches, if such a term could be used, were bounded by cliffs or crevasses driving any attacker into the kill zones. Erakles pointed out the defensive features noting the line of assault, the independent satellite bastions his men had reduced before running into the main line of defence. There, despite his best efforts and those of his men, the assault had come to a halt. Void shields too powerful for the artillery available to the attackers absorbed barrage after barrage. Attempts to drive forward saps or tunnels to mine the walls had failed. The saps blasted apart by the defender's guns and the tunnels destroyed by pre set counter mines.

 

"Have you tried orbital bombardment?" Serjar inquired, sure he was not going to like the answer.

 

"Of course" came the reply, the camera panned to show a spreading field of debris slowly decaying from orbit. "The remains of "Breaker of Kings",one of my battle barges, or at least it was, luckily I was on the surface directing operations at the time along with my men. Astartes losses were minimal but I lost a good crew. That city has defences as strong as needed for seeing off anything less than a full expeditionary fleet. And even with your arrival we are well short of that."

 

Serjar nodded “Sorry cousin, but I had to ask. We will meet you on the surface to discuss how we can be of assistance. I have a few ideas I would like to go through with you”

 

“Very good Serjar, though I suggest you come down at the landing site we have set up some distance from the fortress rather than dropping right in, our cousins” Erakles almost spat the word “are rather proficient in their anti-aircraft fire, and they have a lot of mortal auxiliaries with them including, I am sad to say, a fair number of the original garrison. They were using them as fodder for our guns as we made our initial assaults on the outworks, and behind walls, well they can shoot well enough. As you will see”

 

                                ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Within the hour Serjar and his men began their deployment to the landing field and logistics base set up by the loyalist Iron Warriors some 50 kilometers from the fortress they were laying siege to.  Far enough to be out of range of the heaviest guns of the fortress, but close enough for logistical support.

 

On the flight down Serjar reviewed the schematics of the fortress supplied by the Iron Warrior warsmith. Filed and stored in the great imperial bureaucracy by the Imperial Fists, they made for grim reading. Serjar was impressed the Iron Warriors had gotten so far into the defences so quickly but, given the nature of their parent legion and genefather, not at all surprised. The Iron Warriors were the masters of the siege. A legion made for hard grinding attritional warfare. The scientific approach was theirs, not ones for rapid maneuver, but of lines of fire and enfilade, sapping and mining, and the bloody mess of storming the breach. Serjar was looking at the design of a fortress built by the sons of Dorn, in many ways a mirror to the Iron Warriors. While the sons of Dorn were the builders of fortresses, the sons of Peturabo would grind fortresses to bloody dust. This had led to an intense rivalry between Dorn and Peturabo, one that often poisoned relations between their legions. Serjar shook his head, he could not understand such petty rivalry between Legions being taken to such extremes.

 

He shook away the thought and continued his assessment.

 

Erakles and his men had done wonders in reducing the outlying bastions to get to the point they had reached. Their approach, while blunt and forceful with regards to their application of firepower, had been masterfully subtle in the targets of that firepower. The warsmith had carefully chosen his line of siege to best suit the force at his disposal, reducing his losses as far as he could while maximizing those inflicted on the Emperor’s Children and their mortal auxiliaries. But now there was the main bastion itself. The void shielding was stopping the Iron Warriors planet side artillery from reducing the defences, and ground based orbital defences were stopping the Iron Warriors and Serjar’s ships from bombarding the defences from orbit. Although it may be possible for a direct assault to reach the top of the walls, the casualties would be horrific without first reducing the defences or forming a viable breach. Without a breach, only lightly equipped jump troops could hope to scale the wall Serjar was certain that the surviving assault units would face heavy infantry and the famed Cataphractii terminators of the Emperor’s Children. The artillery was needed to breach the wall.

 

Which was being stopped by the shield.

 

Serjar scanned the schematics, searching down through the levels. The Night Lords way of war was different. Every modern fortress had vulnerabilities he and his brothers could exploit. Finally he found one that offered the best chance of making war in the manner to which he was accustomed. Quickly notating the relevant pages on the dataslate, a sudden change in attitude and vibration warned him the Stormbird transport was about to land. Nodding to Stanislaus he picked up his helmet and said “Come brother, let’s go meet our Iron friend, I have an idea”

 

“Great” replied Stanislaus “Hopefully you’ll omit the part about leaving me up to my eyeballs in :cuss, you owe me for Carias brother. Your ideas always seem to rely on me being suicidally Heroic ”

 

“I’ll take it under advisement old friend, but I notice you love to bask in the glory of your near escapes” Serjar replied, both warriors grinning.

 

As the Stormbirds settled on the landing pads, the warriors and their honor guard marched down the ramp to be met by the unpainted metal armor of their hosts. Not for the Iron Warriors the bright colors of the other legions. Their armor was the same unfinished color as it was when delivered. The only decoration the black and yellow hazard stripes to weapons and some small areas of their armor, usually knee or greave, and the black and gold of their pauldrons and legion markings, a grinning silver skull. At the front of the group stood a warrior in massive Cataphractii terminator armor, a servo arm folded behind his back, his strong features radiating an air of command. Serjar halted before the towering warrior, his own Mk. IV artificer plate far smaller in stature than the hulking terminator clad warrior, making the sign of the aquilla he began “Greetings warsmith, how may my force be of assistance in your endeavor to reduce this nest of turncoats” his arm pointing in the direction of the distant fortress hidden behind the intervening terrain.

 

“Well met cousin” Replied the warsmith, looking over at the white forms of the War hounds led by Captain Makhus as they disembarked from their gunships he went on “We could just unleash your pet World Eaters in a direct frontal assault I guess, it would be the sort of mad enterprise they’d enjoy”

 

“I strongly suggest you don’t call them that again, certainly not within the hearing of my brother, Captain Makhus, they are War Hounds Erakles, and that fine set of armor you wear won’t stop our irritable friend from trying to educate you as to your error, believe me” Serjar warned “May I suggest a more, well, subtle approach. My men and I are not as well versed in the matters of siege as you and yours, but we do have some useful experience we can bring to bear”

 

Erakles nodded, a small hint of a smile forming on his stern features “Go on Serjar, you have my interest. I must say you are more diplomatic than I would have expected from a Night Lord, so I will listen”

 

Serjar grinned in return “Do you have any boring equipment cousin?” as Erakles raised an eyebrow he went on to describe his plan.

 

                                ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Once Erakles had understood Serjar’s intent things unfolded quickly. Serjar was impressed with the organization and discipline of his new ally. Within hours the warsmith had requisitioned the required equipment from his squadron in orbit, and in conjunction with Serjar’s plan had deployed it to a point roughly 15 kilometers south of the city.

 

On the way to the chosen site Serjar and his forces had passed the signs of the Iron Warriors siege progression. The outlying bastions taken in hard fighting, now being repaired and manned by the victors, repair teams of legion serfs under the supervision of Astartes repairing the breaches used to storm into the defences. Fields of dead mortals showing where counter attacks by the traitors human auxiliaries had been mowed down by the concentrated bolter fire and artillery support of the Iron Warriors. Batteries of artillery were passed, protected as far as possible from the prefabricated aegis defence lines made famous by the sons of Peturabo or by earthwork revetments. The ground shook and the skies shrieked as the Iron Warriors hurled round after round from their massive self-propelled artillery platforms, both Legion Basilisks and Medusas, towards the fortress. The fortress replied in turn, the treasonous defenders struggling to find the masked batteries as they fired and moved to the next prepared position, never staying in place for more than a few rounds. The Iron Warriors were reducing through a rain of high explosive the defenders attempt to push new defences out from the walls. Those that strayed out from under the protection of the fortress void shields were punished severely.

 

As the column of Rhino and Land Raider armored personnel carriers began their turn down into one of the many deep gorges around the fortress in the darkness, Serjar contacted Makhus over the vox “Well brother, time to part, take up your position with the storming elements. If all goes well you should have a practical breach once we cut the power to these mongrels. And do try and keep your temper while waiting, remember these Iron Warriors are on our side”

 

“As you instruct Serjar, we’ll wait until their breaching team has done its work and keep out of site until it’s time to storm. The dandies inside will be expecting a plodding Iron Warriors advance, not the War Hounds” Captain Makhus replied “We will give them little chance to recover once the wall is pierced, and hold the breach until the warsmith’s warriors and your lads can catch up”

 

Serjar cut off the vox as the column of boxy vehicles descended into the gorge down a narrow access road, all lights were off and the midnight blue vehicles blended into the darkness. Behind him the night sky lit up as the Iron Warriors artillery began an intense bombardment to cover a feint towards the defences being erected before the walls by the Emperor’s Children and their lackeys. Lives would be lost, but it was vital to concentrate the defenders’ attention and conduct the next phase unattended.

 

Within a few minutes the Night Lords strike teams were exiting their transports around the position occupied by the Iron Warriors and their siege drilling rigs. Normally used to drill through walls, or create cores for piling when building permanent installations, the mobile rigs were being used to drill down to the conduits Serjar had found on the schematics. As he approached the Iron Warriors the terminator armored form of Erakles loomed out of the darkness.

 

“All done cousin, the conduit is breached seventy-five meters down, this plan of yours is a risk, but I can’t see a better option right now. Are the War Hounds and your main force in position to support our assault upon your success” Erakles asked.

 

“Indeed warsmith, though given the nature of Captain Makhus and his men, I rather feel we will be supporting them” Serjar replied.

 

“Good point, be careful in there cousin, we need this place intact to resupply, as do you, not a radioactive crater in the ground” the warsmith cautioned.

 

“Agreed Erakles, don’t fret, it’s not the first time my men and I have done this, though I do admit we were usually facing just mortals, not our fallen cousins” Serjar shrugged as he turned and led his men down the incline of the recently bored tunnel.

 

As they descended the walls were still radiating heat from the melta bore heads, the different densities of stone creating a mosaic like effect via the thermal imaging of his helmet’s preysight, the machine spirit of his armor adjusting the filters to compensate. Reaching the bottom he looked down into the void of the rockcrete conduit, the recently cut curve of the walls still glowing in his preysight as heat radiated off the edges of the cut and the even brighter glowing stubs of the rebar reinforcing. Once convinced there was no reception committee waiting Serjar dropped down into the darkness.

 

He landed with an immense splash in the thick liquid coursing down the rockcrete tunnel and quickly moved up the gentle incline to clear the drop point. As his men dropped down behind him he heard Captain Stainislaus exclaim over the vox “Oh really? A sewer Serjar? You did this on purpose frakk you!”

 

“Well brother, you are always complaining about me giving you the “:cussty jobs”, what was it you said? “Up to my eyeballs?” so I took you at your word. Next time you complain, you’ll have good reason, and at least I am being considerate. This time you are just up to your waist” Serjar struggled to keep the amusement from his voice, and failed utterly.

 

“Oh har bloody har Serjar, it will take me weeks to clean this crap off” Stanislaus grumbled, much to the amusement of his 18^th company veterans who accompanied the two senior officers. They were well used to the banter between their immediate leader and the force commander. In fact, they would have been worried at its absence.

 

Serjar again took on a serious mien “OK boys, enough kidding around. This sewer line leads to the under fortress, from there it is a short run to the main power core. However this time we are not going to set charges and scoot, and not on the reactor either. We need to get to the main power distribution hub and blow that. It’s really the one weakness in the fortress design. Mains and reserve power goes through the hub in a series of automatic switches. In theory if the reactor is off line for any reason the reserve generators should kick in. But if we blow the switching then we cut off both systems. So back to our old tricks. We own the night brothers, between that and nobody expecting an assault from inside the fortress as our brothers and cousins breach from outside, we should be able to make these traitors pay”

 

“Engagement protocols Lord Serjar” Inquired a veteran Sergeant, his Terror squad skull faceplate seeming to float in the darkness like a disembodied skull.

 

“Silent wet-work where possible. Combat blades, neck snapping, whatever you like as long as it is quiet. Once the main attack goes in we will bring the noise and cut our way to the command center. Decapitation strike at that point”

 

As the warriors of the Night Lords moved off, Serjar saw battle brother Shalva, the ex codicier, and Alexus and Krar, the two former lexicanums, amongst their new squad mates. Given events on Carias II and the orbital battle as they entered this system, the disturbing sigils and runes that had so disturbed him and the growing suspicion of warpcraft contamination of his treasonous kin, Serjar had decided to keep the former librarian close at hand, his warning on Carias II may have saved them all. Serjar was becoming more certain there was more to the rebellion of Horus than a simple power grab. Something evil was spreading amongst the traitors and it payed to be prepared.

 

The strike force of 200 warriors made good time along the sewer line, the huge conduit large enough for them to advance up to ten abreast. As his power armors machine spirit tracked their location in relation to the downloaded schematics they reached a massive cistern. Foul polluted water fell from numerous pipes arrayed around the walls above. Stealthily they climbed until reaching the designated line before entering the smaller pipe and proceeding to progress through the bowels, literally as Stanislaus complained, of the fortress.

 

Before long they reached the access point, a large manhole for servitor maintenance units that would, under normal circumstances, enter the pipe network for periodic maintenance or to unblock the sewage lines as required.

 

“You’d have to be keeping a good size carnosaur in here in order to have any dung big enough to block these lines” Stanislaus had quipped. Serjar agreed. The Imperial Fists who had built this place had not skimped on it, that much was obvious. He wondered what the builders would think of it being occupied by turncoats and assaulted by his men. He hoped he would have the chance to ask one.

 

Techmarine Gazarus plugged himself in to the circuitry of the locking mechanism. His eyes glazed over as he merged with the data net. “I’m in” his voice droned.

 

“What already? That easy?” Serjar asked, casting a wary glance at Stanislaus.

 

“That does not seem like our pretty boy cousins, they are usually pretty tight on things like securing data. Their quest for “perfection” and all that” Stanislaus stated bluntly.

 

“Just the original protocols here, standard and easy to break, seems they are busy watching the fight. Guess the distraction worked. I’m reading a few mortal guard teams down here, looks like each has an Astartes in command. Nothing much to worry about, unless we screw up and let them get a warning off of course. Seems like the peacocks have at least two companies here, several thousand human auxilia too, better hope the Iron Warriors keep to their end of the bargain lord, or we will be having fun trying to get back out” the techmarine said as he began to unplug himself, his servo arm already reaching for the large wheel on the door.

 

After the door was opened the strike force split up as instructed into several groups. Serjar was to lead the group to the power exchange, Stanislaus and the three veteran Sergeants led groups that were to infiltrate towards the arsenals and void shield command center in order to silence the defences by other means if Serjar failed, or to distract and divide the defences if he was successful.

 

“Serjar, take care good friend, I’m fully expecting to be complaining about this :cussty situation with you to Makhus when we get back outside. But there is something odd going on here, I can feel it. Keep your eyes on a swivel my lord” Stanislaus cautioned his battle brother.

 

Serjar agreed, he could feel it in his bones. A dark aura he could not explain was permeating the fortress.

 

“You too Stanimal, keep that ugly head of yours on your shoulders please. I have a feeling this is going to be a hard one” He replied, using the old nickname for his battle brother from their days in training.

 

“Frakk, you must be worried if you are calling me that again” Stanislaus retorted, he saluted his commander with the imperial aquilla then he and his men disappeared down the dimly lit corridors towards their objectives.

 

Serjar turned towards Sergeant Agripus “Ok men, let’s get on with it” He ordered, and his force stealthily moved off along their route to the power exchange. As they advanced he watched the lead pairs move as one, each space marine taking up a covering position as his opposite number slipped from shadow to shadow down the corridor, their silenced bolt pistols trained on each side passage or door as they checked for hostiles, combat blades ready.

 

It was not long before they began to run across the foe, at first wandering servitors that were swiftly dispatched, then lone mortals, each of whom was dispatched by combat blade or by their neck being broken or skull crushed. Serjar nodded in approval at each silent kill. His men were in their element now. Their passage through the poorly lit underbelly of the fortress as familiar to them as their own breath.

 

Of course, it could not last. When they were within striking distance of the power distribution facility, corridors became more and more well-lit, and roughly where they expected them, Serjar and his men observed the first of the enemy patrols passing along a perpendicular corridor through a large junction hall. The Imperial Army troopers were accompanied by one of the Emperor’s Children warriors. Serjar stilled a sharp intake of breath at the appearance of his fallen cousin. As with the enemy ships destroyed previously, the pure and noble aspect of The Emperor’s Children was gone. The once pristine armor of purple and gold a riot of color. Cruel spikes and barbs adorned the pauldrons of his foe, and these were adorned with flayed human skin, though being a Night Lord he was not much disturbed by the last detail. It was the face that struck him to his core. Gone was the handsome aspect all associated with the sons of the Phoenician, in its place was a twisted parody of that noble aspect. The strange sigil seen on the Emperor’s Children battle barges was carved into the warrior’s cheek, it twisted and writhed as if of its own accord as the warrior gave orders to his mortal auxiliaries. Serjar hoped it was the movement of the skin but for some reason he doubted it. The Astarte’s eyes were lidless, and Serjar realized with disgust the eyelids had been removed, and the eyes, they were black orbs in a pallid face covered in cuts and brands. The enemy’s once pristine white hair was dyed in a multitude of colors and braided with more of the revolting sigils, this time as jewelry, themselves sparkling in a riot of color. Finally, there was his weapon, it was of no pattern Serjar could recognize. It more resembled some freakish fusion of instruments from a demented orchestra.

 

The mortal traitors were no better. Their armor defaced, every sign of loyalty to terra removed or perverted. And everywhere the strange eight pointed stars. Their uniforms a patchwork of strange patterns and swirls of color.

 

Serjar was disgusted. If this was the result of following Horus he would rather see the galaxy a pile of ashes than have the Warmaster succeed in his rebellion. Serjar swore, no matter what, he would fight the traitors to his last breath. He weighed up the options, he could let the patrol pass and continue towards his objective, or he could eradicate this stain on the galaxy.

 

“So sir, we going to take them down or what?” Serjar could hear the disgust in Agripus’s  voice.

 

The traitor Astartes warrior was leading a patrol of up to two hundred traitor humans, Serjar had with him fifty Night Lords veterans, killing wise it would be easy, but the risk was if the enemy could raise the alarm. They were less than 70 meters from their objective.

 

He blink keyed his vox “All strike elements, lead claw going loud, make as much noise as you can and proceed to objectives” he ordered. A chorus of acknowledgements came from Stanislaus and each of the other claws wending their way through the passages of the fortress.

 

Serjar nodded to sergeant Agripus, and then charged forward, his warriors following instantly. As they did so their vox grille emitters broadcast screams and cries of terror and pain, and they all activated their sub surface armor displays causing arcs of lightning to flash across their armor.

 

The cacophony of screams emitted by the Loyalist Night Lords vox casters and the displays of lightning flickering across their Mk.IV armor would normally induce panic in any mortal foe. But this time it was different. As they raced towards the human soldiers Serjar was appalled, instead of panicking, the humans seemed enthralled, as if listening to a majestic symphony. But the effect was the same, the mortals were unable to react in time as Serjar and his men opened fire, a hail of bolt gun rounds shredding deep into their formation, bodies exploding like rotten fruit, arms and heads flying. Serjar’s unease grew. He was no connoisseur like a Son of Sanguinius would be, but like all Astartes he knew blood, and what was flying through the air from these mortals was not any blood he could recognize, it was purple for a start, and his enhanced senses picked up a terrible taint of corruption. His distraction with this detail almost cost him his life.

 

Whereas the mortals were distracted and entranced by the Night Lords vox broadcast of suffering and pain, the Emperor’s Children warrior seemed energized. He turned rapidly, a strange look of rapture on his face and roared his defiance in a terrible scream of rage “Come to me pretty little night things and hear the great music!” He cried. Bringing his strange weapon to his shoulder he aimed straight for Serjar and fired. A terrible cacophony of sound burst from the weapon, pulverizing its way towards the Night Lords officer through the traitor’s own human auxiliaries. Serjar was saved only by the sacrifice of two of his own veterans who threw themselves into the line of fire guns blazing. The sonic shriek hit them both, brother Menalaus was torn apart, taking the full force of the weapon, his armor crushing and shattering under the impact of impossible contradictions of frequencies, his body parts spiraling through the air. Brother Javakh merely lost his right arm and suffered massive internal damage to his right torso as the remaining energy of the shot struck him.

 

Serjar reacted instantly, wheeling and dodging he chewed through the human traitor filth in front of him, his chain glaive reaping heads and limbs as is swung in blindingly fast arcs of death. The traitor fired again and again, taking down two more of Serjar’s warriors with his foul tech abomination of a weapon before Serjar could reach him. The traitor cast aside his strange firearm and drew a charnabal sabre and braced for Serjar’s strike “Come to me crow, see your death, how it will please the prince queen of pleasure” He challenged.

 

Serjar swung in with his glaive, his foe reacting faster than Serjar would have thought possible, blocking the glaive with a parry then returning a vicious counter thrust that Serjar only narrowly avoided. As his men finished slaughtering the traitor foot soldiers Serjar saw one attempt to take his opponent from behind. The traitor Astartes’ flicked out with his sabre, cutting deeply into the warrior’s side and forcing him back “Tut tut, naughty loyalists. We finish this one to one, your carrion crow leader and I. Then I will take you all!” the traitor admonished.

 

Serjar responded “Keep back boys, I’ll finish this traitor whoreson myself” and with that he launched into the attack anew. Serjar knew the normal way of fighting would not suffice, his opponent, for all his depravity, was far too skilled for this to be anything than a long drawn out duel of endurance. Serjar had to end it quickly. He noted the warrior favored cuts to the ribs, so he left himself momentarily open.

 

His opponent took the bait, all too eager to show his superiority he sent his charnabal sabre flicking in towards Serjar’s side. Serjar allowed the strike to land, absorbing the blow but preventing the sabre from cutting too deeply into his fused rib cage. Warning runes lit up his helmet view as the sabre penetrated his armor, bur then his arm crashed down trapping the blade, as his opponent attempted to yank the power weapon free Serjar leapt forward, his skull faced helmet smashing into his opponents face in a vicious street fighting headbutt. Tainted blood exploded from the features of the son of Fulgrim, Serjar could hear the breaking of his opponent’s facial bones. His opponent let go of his sword and staggered back hands to his face, his howls a strange mixture of pleasure and pain that further sickened Serjar to his core.

 

Serjar lifted his arm back to the chain glaive, the sabre falling from his side. Ignoring the pain from his ribs he swung the weapon bisecting the traitor from shoulder down to hip. The Emperor’s Child fell apart, a sigh of almost ecstasy escaping its ruined face as the two parts of the bifurcated body fell with a crash to the floor.

 

“Frakk me, but if they all fight like that, we are in trouble” Muttered Agripus. Serjar agreed, two dead, two walking wounded including himself, and one crippled, all to take down a single traitor. That weapon he carried was deadly indeed. Serjar looked down at it as it lay on the floor. It cut through Astartes power at short range as if it was paper. A useful thing to have. Just as he thought this, he saw brother Shalva watching him intently, the former codicier gave a small shake of his head. Serjar looked down again at the heretek abomination, and stamped upon it until it was little more than fragments.

 

“We just have to kill them before they get the chance Sergeant” Serjar replied “Enough, on to the power exchange” As the alarms began to wail the claw raced down the corridor towards the blast doors that shielded the power exchange.

 

“Set charges” Serjar ordered, his men racing to place melta bombs on the doors at the points indicated by Techmarine Gazarus. Once in place the loyalist Night Lords retreated to a safe distance.

 

“Breaching” Gazarus intoned as he activated the melta bombs. The weapons worked by sub atomic agitation, melting their way through the blast doors in an instant and vaporizing anything on the other side with a jet of super-heated gas and molten steel from the door. Serjar heard cries of agony which were rapidly curtailed.

 

“Storm pattern Jeriko” Serjar ordered. He and his men racing through the still steaming void left in the doors. The warriors of the Night Lords stormed into the massive engineering facility in five mutually supporting groups, pounding their way over the scorched and melted remains of the traitor human soldiers who had been stationed near the doors. “No prisoners!” Serjar roared out as bolter fire shredded the unaugmented soldiers and blasted the engineseers of the power exchange facility into bloody rags and shattered mechanicum augmentations. On the mechanicum altar before the control cogitators stood five of the Emperor’s Children, two of whom hefted similar weapons to that borne by the traitor marine killed in the corridor. Sergeant Agripus pointed them out to the tactical support squad of the claw, and bright sunbursts of plasma obliterated them, cooking the traitors within their armor, but not before another two loyalist Night Lords fell to their strange sonic weapons.

 

Tech Marine Gazarus directed his fellow Astartes to placing of the demolition charges. Carefully choosing locations that would ensure power was cut to the fortress but allow later jury rigging once the loyalist forces had captured it. Within minutes the charges were set and Serjar gathered his men and led them into the corridor that would lead them towards the command center. At his signal Gazarus pressed the stud on the remote detonator, a series of explosions resulted in bright actinic flashes as the massive cables were severed and the facility was plunged into darkness.

 

Serjar and his men flowed through the inky blackness, slaughtering the blinded defenders in their path as the detachments under Stanislaus and his veteran Sergeants converged towards his onrushing team of Night Lords.

 

                                ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Auspex shows the shield is down warsmith” reported the Iron Warrior as he turned from his station at the auspex array of the Damocles command rhino.

 

“Very good, looks like our newfound friends have pulled it off” replied warsmith Erakles “All batteries, commence suppression fire, send in the demolition teams” he ordered into the vox. “Captain Makhus, your men will have a practical breach in approximately ten minutes” he passed on to the storming parties through the vox.

 

“Understood warsmith, the War Hounds will lead the way, we will try and leave something for the rest of you” replied Makhus

 

Erakles shook his head in amusement. In the hours of waiting he had come to have a new respect for the gruff old War Hound. He was unlike any World Eater Erakles had had the misfortune to serve alongside. His natural aggression tempered by a deep understanding of war gained from the final unification of Terra and through the crusade. Erakles considered it was a terrible tragedy that the XII legion’s primarch had ever been found if it had turned warriors like Makhus into the berserk killers of the World Eaters.

 

Fire from the walls had ceased as the fortress went dark. Now from behind the sky was lit as the massed batteries of the loyalist Iron Warriors opened fire on the marked positions of the numerous wall guns. A rain of explosives fell upon the ramparts, barbettes containing artillery and lascannons were shattered spilling their contents from the walls. Normally Erakles would have used his artillery to pound a breach in the walls, but time was of the essence. From in front of him raced a squadron of rhinos covered by his few Sicaran and Predator battle tanks. In each rhino were specialist demolition teams, each transporting a tactical cyclonic mine. One would be enough for a practicable breach. Erakles, however, did not believe in overkill.

 

The armored formation raced across the no man’s land of craters and the dead before the walls. Incoming heavy fire from the inbuilt wall defences was sporadic as the defenders tried in vain to traverse and elevate their guns using the manual systems, all the while taking intense fire from the siege guns of the Iron Warriors. Man portable weapons ranging from lascannons to missile launchers began to fire from the ramparts and firing positions built into the wall, to be answered by the escorting battle tanks and Erakles own havoc squads lascannons. Erakles looked as one of the rhinos was disabled, the Iron Warriors within immolated by a direct hit from an enemy heavy weapons team. The team had little time to savor their victory as a Sicaran’s accelerator autocannons ripped them apart. The ramparts were now a seething roil of smoke lit from within by repeated explosions, the havocs now blasting their lascannons into known firing positions. Another rhino skidded to a halt, smoke belching from the engine as the tracks shed themselves. Erakles watched as the demolition team evacuated the vehicle, racing through a rain of lasgun and stubber fire back towards the siege lines. Most made it, some did not. It was the arithmetic of war.

 

Two of the Rhino APCs reached the base of the wall. The armored support raining fire at the ramparts and bastions that in return fired down upon the demolition squads.

 

A flash of melta charges lit the base of the wall at two points momentarily throwing the hard outlines of the demolition parties into stark relief. The Iron Warriors quickly placed the two remaining tactical cyclonic mines in the tunnels and raced for their Rhinos. Once all who were coming were aboard the Rhinos and the surviving escorting tanks raced back towards their own lines.

 

“Two charges set Warsmith” reported the veteran Iron Warriors sergeant. “Retiring to safe distance”

 

“Received and understood. Stay in your Rhinos until after detonation, in fact stay in them until our World…. Until our War Hound friends have reached the breach. I suspect safe is a relative term if you are in between them and their prey” Erakles replied. “Captain Makhus, please ensure your storming parties are in cover. This will be quite spectacular”

 

“Understood. All are under armor in defilade” Makhus replied “Just make us a big hole and follow as fast as you can”

 

“We will try and keep up War Hound, see you in the breach. Erakles Out” the warsmith cut the vox off and ordered the artillery to be ready to “paste the breach”.

 

The timer in his retinal display counted down, time seeming to stretch as warsmith Erakles made his way down into the siege trenches to join his warriors.

 

“Everybody down” he ordered as the Iron Warriors braced against the trench walls.

 

With a blinding flash of light the mines detonated. Night turned to day as the cyclonic weapons vaporized a huge section of the wall and blasted reinforced rockcrete and fragments of the defending weaponry over a radius of more than three kilometers.

 

Before the rubble had even started returning to earth the voice of Captain Makhus roared over the vox “For the Emperor! Loyalty or Death!” he roared “War Hounds, Night Lords, Charge!!!”

 

From prepared positions the Rhino and Land Raider transports burst from concealment, racing through the rain of rubble towards the catastrophic breach in the wall before them. From the breach a column of dust and smoke was rising into the dark sky, now swept clear of low hanging clouds by the force of the shockwave. White and blue Rhinos raced ahead of their midnight blue counterparts, the War Hounds showing their customary disregard of anything resembling safety as they raced to secure the breach. Rubble rained down from the sky as burnished metal power armored forms rose from the assault trenches and began their crossing of the kill zone before the walls. Artillery rained down into the breach, while other guns and support squads swept fire across the blasted ramparts and bastions of the wall to either side of the gaping wound in the fortress.

 

But still some defenders returned fire, lascannons reached out with crimson collimated light trying to disable or destroy  the oncoming Rhinos. Here and there a vehicle was struck, some grinding to a halt to discharge white or midnight clad warriors who proceeded to form up and advance on foot, others exploding, their surviving passengers, if any, joining the advance. Other weapons fired on the advancing Iron Warriors, their stoically advancing lines closing up where incoming fire disabled or killed the advancing Astartes.

 

Characteristically Makhus was the first to reach the breach. As he disembarked from his Rhino with his assault squad, the guns pounding the area of the breach lifted to smash the area behind the breach. Forming up with other arriving squads he looked back at his advancing allies, the Night Lords contingent was still a few hundred meters behind, while the Iron Warriors would be several minutes. The breach was his. Roaring his rage against all traitors he waved his power kanabo over his head to signal the charge up the slope of the breach. Part maul, part spiked club, the weapon had been presented to him in honor of his record during the battles in the pan pacific basin on Terra. He usually kept it until he was facing something truly deserving of the honor of its wrath. He could think of no more deserving foe than the pretty boy sons of Fulgirm. They would not look so good once the heavy brutal weapon had rearranged their features. He charged into the dust cloud slowly settling into the breach, the first defenders were just reaching the top as the War Hounds crashed into them in a wave of white, which swiftly became stained a strange hue as the corrupted blood of their mortal enemies sprayed through the air. The War Hounds slaughtered their way through the human auxilia, cawing their way towards the purple figures of the corrupted Emperor’s Children. Caught between two unstoppable waves of warriors, the humans were annihilated, gunned down and chopped apart by the War Hounds chainaxes and chain swords, or flensed by the strange sonic weapons and bolters of the Emperor’s Children as they tried to clear a path through their own human auxiliaries to reach their hated cousins.

 

The two lines met with a thunderous crash in the chaos of the breach and the superb skill of the Emperor’s Children was met by the fury and rage of the War Hounds. Each cancelled out the advantage of the other chain sword and chain axe clashed, charnabal sabre and eviscerator, as the warriors of the Emperor’s Children were slowly ground down by the superior numbers and incandescent rage of the War Hounds and the Night Lords who were joining the fight. It was then that the traitors unleashed their trump card, the lithe forms dancing through the smoke and flames, feminine yet not, dark black eyes and wicked smiles, their arms ending in crustacean like claws, an oncoming horde of the unreal creatures came bounding across the muster yards of the fortress towards the desperate battle.

 

                                ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Inside the fortress Serjar and his strike force encountered them too, as they cut their way through the pitch-dark corridors towards the command center. Good as the Emperor’s Children were, they were no match for the Night Lords in these conditions, not for nothing was the battle cry of the legion “Ave Dominus Nox”. The Night Lords moved with confidence and slaughtered their foes often before the enemy even knew they were there. Until they ran into the newcomers.

 

Their first warning came from brother Shalva, his cry brought on by his preternatural senses. “Incoming, warp sorcery, I can feel them!!” Moments later the strangely beautiful yet repellent creatures bounded down the corridor, a ghostly warp light radiating from their svelte forms. Their curves feminine but at the same time androgynous, the horrific crab like claws on their arms snapping open and closed as they charged.

 

The Loyalist Night lords opened fire, a hail of rounds cutting into the oncoming creatures, which proved remarkably resilient despite their lack of armor. “Draw swords” Serjar ordered, his glaive already swinging to slice through the unnaturally pink flesh of one of the creatures. As it died it let out an orgasmic cry, as if the sensation of dying was an utmost pleasure, it’s comrades faces twisted in rage as they leapt forward to avenge their fallen sister.

 

“What are these freaks?” Stanislaus cried out “What monstrosity of evolution created these?” as he hacked and slashed with his power sword, severing the arm of one of the monstrosities.

 

“They are not natural Sir” Shalva called out, his power maul smashing another one to the floor as he sent bolt rounds into another of the misbegotten creatures as it crushed the life out of one of the terror squad veterans with its giant claw “They are touched by the warp, maybe even from it, its stench permeates them”

 

Serjar could smell it beneath the musky soporific scent the creatures gave off, a terrible rancid undercurrent of corruption and decay. He swirled his way through the mad melee, his chain glaive sweeping in arcs and ending these abominations as he cut towards the command center door. Behind him the fighting died down as the combined strike force finished off the last of the creatures. Serjar turned to look, a carpet of ruptured pink bodies covered the corridor floor, here and there a fallen brother lay. His rage rising at the thought of any of his men dying to these freaks. His gorge rose as he watched the bodies of the enemy dissolve into putrid slushy pools of rancid liquid. What insanity was this.

 

“Butchers bill Serjar, we lost another ten. twenty wounded. We have about half the force left without injuries” Stanislaus informed him “Will that leave us enough to take the command center?”

 

“It’s going to have to be enough brother” Serjar replied “Not like I can just call for reinforcements. Makhus is relying on us to take the head off this beast, and that is exactly what we will do. Besides, our new Iron Warriors friends might take a dim view of your boasting in future if we don’t” Serjar quipped.

 

“Hah hah, very funny, well I guess we better get on with it” Stanislaus replied

 

“At least I’m not leading you into another sewer….” Serjar teased his old friend

 

 

“Frakk off Serjar, I’m still pissed about that” Stanislaus retorted “I’m sure my armoring serfs will insist I clean it myself!”

 

“A true warrior attends to his equipment brother” Replied Serjar, at which point Stanislaus sighed and gave up.

 

Quickly more melta charges were placed on the huge blast doors. Serjar had decided to use their entire remaining supply, just to be sure. As he nodded to Gazarus to activate the charges, he heard the former codicier Shalva cry out a warning “No my lord, it is hiding in there…..” the rest of his words lost in the roar of the melta bombs and the destruction of the blast doors. Whatever it was that was worrying Shalva it would have to be dealt with the old fashioned way, with that thought Serjar and his men charged into the command center.

 

It resembled in some ways the theatre in which he had first met his mentor Jandos. The same semicircular amphitheater like layout, but instead of seating facing a stage, the descending rings contained command and cogitator stations, comms units, auspex readouts, all facing towards a series of huge screens and hololith projectors. And instead of damsels in distress and gangers, it was filled with traitor soldiers and Emperor’s Children warriors.

 

Dim emergency biolume lighting cast their dim light, changing the vast space from void black to that of a moonlit clear night. The riotous colors of the Emperor’s children and their human followers were muted but still marked them out compared to the midnight blue of Serjar’s loyalist Night Lords.

 

“Kill them, kill them all!” he roared as his men fanned out around the upper circle and began to fire down upon the humans and traitor Astartes. Serjar led his men as they advanced in tightly controlled rushes, part of the force laying down suppressive fire while their comrades rushed from cover to cover. Incoming fire, bolter and las and sonic blasts smashed into the banks of equipment, but the cover and move tactics were paying off.

 

Serjar and Stanislaus took cover behind a main unit cogitator which vibrated as it took hits.

 

“Well, this is pleasant” Stanislaus announced “We going to charge them or what? May as well get it over with”

 

“That was the plan, unless you’d like to trade shots with those damned sonic things that some of them have” Serjar replied.

 

“Good point, I’ll take charging those bastards to being shot at by those monstrosities any day! Where the hell did they get them?” Stanislaus said, taking a quick look over the top of the cogitator, ducking back just in time as a shrieking sonic volley was fired in his direction. Serjar didn’t respond, his thoughts on what was happening to their treasonous cousins were dark enough, and he would keep them to himself for now. It was time to destroy the Emperor’s Children command cadre.

 

“Blind grenades……. NOW!!!” Serjar ordered over the closed vox network. His men threw as one, dozens of blind grenades flew through the air into the lower rows, some mixed with krak and frag, the Night Lords ducking back into cover as the nova bright flashes and sensor jamming chaff erupted below.

“For the Emperor!!” Serjar roared as he leapt over the ruined cogitator, his men taking up the cry as they charged down upon the stunned traitors below. Serjar swung his glaive in sweeping arcs at the foe, severing heads and limbs from staggering traitor Astartes and human alike. It was vital to kill as many as possible of the Emperor’s Children before they recovered, despite their horrific changes they were still superlative warriors. Behind him his men cut down their foes with bolter and volkite, plasma and chain sword. Stanislaus was at his side, covering Serjar with his power sword, the midnight blue clad warriors cut deep into their riotously colored cousins crushing the mortal traitors who had been in the way into bloody broken sacks of shattered bone and flesh. Before him Serjar saw a warrior who could only be the commander of the Emperor’s Children. His foe was already recovering from the effects of the blind grenades, as were the twisted Astartes around him. Serjar roared out his challenge and charged as it was accepted.

 

                                ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Makhus swung his power kanabo, the lightning wreathed head of the weapon splattering corrupted filth from yet another of the obscene abominations that had raced to the aid of the traitor Astartes. He swung again smashing the chest armor of one of the Emperor’s Children as if it was little more than a ration can. He grimaced as polluted blood, purple and oily, splattered over the eye lenses of his helmet. Around him his men in the white of the War Hounds, and the midnight blue of their brother Night Lords struggled and killed and bled in a sea of pale pink of the strange creatures and the vilely defaced armor of the Emperor’s Children. Makhus had hoped to clear the breach before the arrival of the Iron Warriors, and this would have happened before the arrival of the freaks that cavorted and fought alongside the traitors, now he and the storming party were barely holding the line, waiting for the Iron Warriors to add their weight to the advance into the fortress.

 

A champion of the Emperor’s Children roared his challenge at Makhus, who gladly accepted. His gorge and hatred both rose at the defacement and defilement to his opponent’s armor. Fury raged as Makhus saw his treasonous foe still wore the Emperor’s own symbol upon his plate, surrounded by more of the markings of insanity. The two warriors clashed, blows raining on each other like hail, neither able to make a telling blow. Makhus grimaced as he realized each minor hit was giving his foe pleasure, and for the first time he found himself facing an opponent with no care for his own survival, a foul mirror of the style of his own legion in combat. Suddenly he was grabbed from behind, a foul crustacean claw pulling him down and backwards. One of the monstrosities had pulled him down into the foul sludge of its sisters remains with a mighty crash. The traitor champion stepped forward, savoring the moment, his features showing his ecstasy at the fight and its imminent end. The traitor raised his power sword high as Makhus struggled with the pinning grip of the creatures claws.

 

As the weapon fell, Morinar threw himself into the fight, his power sword blocking that of the traitor. With a snarl the Emperor’s Children officer reacted with lightning speed, a flurry of blows smashed down upon Morinar as he attempted to block and parry. His defence wasn’t enough. The traitor cried out in pleasure as his sword ran through Morinar’s abdomen, the bright crimson of his Astartes blood staining the midnight blue of his armor. The son of the Phoenician taking his time over Morinar’s death, as if he was savoring it, even drawing sustenance from the death of his loyal cousin.

 

It was a fatal mistake.

 

Makhus roared as his comrade died, his armored elbow smashed repeatedly into the face of the creature holding him down, the powerful blows shaking lose its grip on his Mk.III plate. He burst up from the ground, his kanabo power weapon already swinging. The traitor was too distracted with his torture of the dying Night Lord to notice him. Makhus connected a mighty blow, the power kanabo shattering the traitors sword arm and shoulder.  Morinar fell into the bloody slush, his ruined armored form crashing to the ground. Makhus rained blow upon blow into the staggering turncoat driving his opponent to his knees, before a mighty kick destroyed the head of his foe.

 

Kneeling for a second beside his comrade he pulled off Morinar’s helmet “Hold on brother, help is coming, I thank you for your assistance” he said as Morinar looked up at him.

 

“Too late for me Makhus, I always was better with a bolter” Morinar replied, blood flowing from his mouth as he did so “Kill them all for me, death to traitors” his final words as he expired.

 

Makhus rose and returned to the fray, the Iron Warriors had reached the fight at last. He saw warsmith Erakles at the head of the silver tide, his power axe and servo arm ripping the monstrous creatures and traitor marines alike apart. The Iron Warriors advanced in disciplined groups, a hail of bolter fire blasting apart their foes as they came to the assistance of the storming party. But still the tide of freakish monstrosities poured across the muster yard towards the breach. Slowly the War Hounds, the Night Lords, and the Iron Warriors ground forward over the bodies of their foes and down the far side of the breach into the fortress. But the tide of their foes seemed never ending.

 

                                ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Serjar and the traitor captain collided in brutal hand to hand combat. The Emperor’s Children officer had the advantage of speed, but Serjar had the advantage of reach. He used his chain glaive to best advantage as the foe attempted to reach him with his curved power sword. Around him his fellow Night Lords were cutting down their foes, each supporting their battle brothers in the chaotic melee. The Emperor’s Children, many still suffering the effects of the blind grenades were struggling to respond.

 

The traitor in front of him roared with pleasure at each blow he received from the chain glaive “Lackey of the false Emperor, come try to strike me down, see the true nature of your foes” as he darted in to cut at Serjar’s armored head.

 

As Serjar parried, taking the strikes on the haft of his weapon, he raised the glaive high and swung downwards in a powerful strike towards his foe’s shoulder. At that moment brother Shalva’s voice rang out on his helmet vox “No lord! It’s what he wants! Don’t kill….” But it was too late.

 

The chain glaive struck the traitor at the joint of his gorget and shoulder, cutting down deep into the warriors chest, the spinning teeth of the weapon shredding his primary heart. The damage was fatal.

 

The traitor captain laughed.

 

He laughed with a voice that should not have come from any human throat, not even that of a gene forged Astartes.

 

Serjar watched in horror as the traitor’s body began to change, the fountain of blood from the gaping wound turning into flesh as it ran over the armor of the traitor. The debased form of the warrior in front of him became a nightmare, armor shattering as the body it contained became too large, pink flesh smashing apart the Mk. IV plate. Bones snapped and rearranged, the legs becoming bovine, the torso expanding and growing breasts as well as muscles, extra arms sprang from the monstrosities back as it grew, the wound healing like a closing zipper. And the head, the head. A monstrous bull form head, covered in horns, with black almond shaped eyes. They regarded Serjar with a terrible mix of desire and hatred, lust and vengeance. And in them Serjar saw his worst fears confirmed, damnation and hell were real. Horus had made pact with something foul. With the warp. All the sailors’ stories were true, including those learned at his father’s knee, there were daemons in the warp. Then the creature spoke.

 

“Worship me man thing, worship my mistress -king, the prince-princess of pleasure. Your kin have done so. Your uncle, the great Fulgrim, even now cavorts along the path of Slaneesh! Join us and know the true pleasure of existence!” The creature took up what could only be termed a seductive pose, throwing out it’s feminine hips and squeezing its own multiple breasts as it fondled its new flesh.

 

Serjar replied “I know what you are warp spawn. I am a loyal son of the Emperor. Surrender and your end will be quick, resist and I will make your end a torment such as you will not forget until the stars burn out”

 

The creature whined at the mention of the Emperor of mankind, as if in pain. Then shaking itself like a giant animal throwing water off its body, it laughed, its booming voice alternating between male and female tones as it spoke “Such promises, you have great potential man-thing, you could rise far amongst your brothers with such resolve. Join them, follow Horus, follow the true Gods of the universe, I will show you the secrets I keep”

 

“NEVER!” roared Serjar, as he leapt forward to confront the towering monster before him. Around him his warriors blazed bolter fire and plasma blast at the creature, at the daemon. Bolt rounds blasted chunks from the creature as he charged in, the gaping wounds rapidly closing, plasma fire burnt cauterized holes in the daemon’s flesh, only for them to cover over in seconds. As Serjar swung his chain glaive, the behemoth swung its mighty arm, bashing him away with a contemptuous sneer.

 

“Then die for your Emperor man thing” it cried, the voice coming from everywhere and nowhere.

 

Serjar spiraled through the air and crashed into one of the ornate columns lining the walls of the command center, the impact smashing the finely wrought stone and cracking his artificer armor. As his head smashed into the back of his helmet on impact, all faded to darkness. As his consciousness fled, Serjar new this was the end.

 

He was falling into the darkness, he could hear the noises of the galaxy at war. Screams of dying civilians on a thousand worlds, the cries of loyal and traitor marines as they butchered each other in numbers undreamed of. He could see it stretching out into the future in a never-ending tide of blood. He could feel predators in the dark, coming to consume him.

 

Then he saw it. A golden light. As if coming from an unmeasurable distance. He turned his mind towards it. It grew closer, like a rushing mag lev train lighting up the darkness of a tunnel. Serjar could not tell if he was moving or the light, or both.

 

The light was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It filled him with peace and hope. It made him want to cry tears of joy. And tears of rage at the receding sounds of the galaxy wide war assailing his mind and soul. It reached into him, lighting up the recesses of his heart. It saw his hatred for his traitor kin, and saw that it was good. It judged him, and found him true.

 

In the center of the light Serjar saw a huge arcane pyramid, writhing with power and arcane technology. At its top, seated on a throne was the figure of a man. The man was in agony, his hands gripping the throne as if to hold himself in place, his face a mask of sheer concentration and will. Serjar was filled with adoration, his spirit knelt and abased himself before what he knew to be the Emperor himself.

 

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. It filled him. “Awake Serjar. It is not your time. You will join me at might right hand for the final battle. But that day is not today. You are still of purpose! AWAKE!”

 

Serjar’s eyes snapped open. Damage runes flicked across his retinal displays. Casualty reports from his men in the chamber. It was bad. He staggered to his feet, picking up his glaive as he did so. Before him he saw his battle brothers Shalva, Alexus, and Krar, desperately battling the beast. Lightning flew from Shalva’s hands, wild and barely controllable without his psychic hood. Alexus and Krar protected Shalva and their battle brothers with kine shields, Serjar’s enhanced eyesight picked out the sweat and strain on their faces as the tow former lexicanums struggled to maintain their shields against the furious blows of the daemon. Around the command center he could see the broken bodies of his kin. There were too many. He charged forward towards the back of the monstrosity, his damaged armor complaining with each stride, his body aching. He drew in all his rage and hatred, his righteous fury, his contempt and disgust at the traitors and their fell allies.

 

He leapt.

 

He thundered onto the back of the creature, clawing his way up over the strange leather harness of its armor. Pain wracked him as the coruscating energy from codicier Shalva’s attack arced from the daemon to his armor. He spotted the place he had felled his traitor kin, the only part of the beast still bearing any resemblance to human skin. Clinging desperately as the fell creature tried to shake him off, he raised his chain glaive high in one hand, the adamantium teeth spinning hungrily, and drove it into the hollow of the daemon’s neck through the pale white flesh like a stain on the pink of its body. And in that blow he focused everything. His honor. His trust in the Emperor. His hatred of the traitors. His sense of justice. His love for his battle brothers and the Imperium they served. His duty.

 

And the Daemon howled.

 

And it exploded in a welter of putrefied gore.

 

Serjar was thrown to the ground, bouncing and skidding across the floor, to come to a halt beneath the two-headed imperial eagle adorning the wall. Rising shakily to his feet he looked on as the remaining warp spawn in the room began to lose cohesion, their cries of anger and loss filling the air. Freed from the desperate defence against the greater daemon, his brothers made short work of its lesser kin, and slaughtered the remaining Emperor’s children as they staggered in the backwash from their monster’s destruction. Serjar joined them in the rout.

 

As the fight ended, he turned to see his battle brothers, the former librarians, approach and kneel before him. Head down, Shalva spoke.

 

“Lord Serjar, we have broken the edict of Nikea. We are in breach of the decree absolute. We present ourselves for punishment. We know full well the price of our transgression” He spoke in low tones, the shame in his voice obvious.

 

Serjar glanced at Stanislaus, his old comrade shrugged, his power armor exaggerating the movement. It was obvious what he thought.

 

Serjar spoke, his voice stern “Indeed you have brother. But you did it to save our kin. Without your actions, I fear we would have been undone, and until such time as we rejoin the greater Imperium I will not enforce it. We have seen today that your powers are needed to fight the foe. I was at Nikea, escorting Chief Librarian Zarhost, and I see today that the majority of those who went against the Crimson King are now traitors. I was suspicious of the proceedings then. And more so now. If I am failing the Emperor in this, I will take my punishment alongside you. Now get off your knees brothers, this battle is not over”

 

Gathering the survivors of the claw, Serjar led them from the command center and they proceeded to fight their way towards the surface. As they fought through the corridors, slaughtering the mortal traitors and Emperor’s Children as they came across them, the traitors’ daemonic allies faded and receded like an outgoing tide, remarking on this to Shalva Serjar was informed that the three ex librarians believed that the destruction of the monstrosity in the command center had broken the lesser warp spawns’ hold on reality. Despite his wounds, despite the damage to his armor, Serjar lost himself in the slaying of traitors.

 

                                ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Makhus stood shoulder to shoulder with Erakles as they faced the horde of screaming fiends, his force wreathed kanabo smiting the creatures and traitor marines alike, Erakles ripped his foes apart with his servo arm and swung his power axe in sweeping arcs, each blow leaving arcs of tainted blood and putrid matter flying through the air. The combined force of War Hounds, Night Lords, and Iron Warriors gunned down the onrushing hordes, or engaged in vicious melee with strange creatures and the traitor marines, the human auxilia of the Emperor’s children were by now either annihilated or fleeing back towards the central keep of the fortress depot.

 

Then a change came over the bloody battlefield of the muster yards. As one, the strange monstrosities sent up a keening wail of loss and began to lose cohesion. The precise formations of the Emperor’s Children lost their coordination, as if their command direction had been suddenly cut.

 

Erakles and Makhus were not slow to take advantage, as their freakish foes began denaturing into foul stinking pools of filth, they led their Astartes brethren on a reinvigorated assault into the Emperor’s Children lines, the weight of numbers of the attackers now irresistible by the traitors.

 

“Looks like your Serjar has cut the spine from these scum!” Erakles intoned “Whatever he has done in there, looks like it is working” He said as his servo arm crushed the life from a traitor marine.

 

“He’s a canny bastard” Makhus replied “you should have seen the trick he pulled on Carias II, saved my arse that day he did”

 

To Makhus’s relief he saw the gates to the keep open, from within rolled a tide of midnight blue armored Astartes, the lightning flashing across their armor as they cut down the remaining human auxilia and fell upon the rear of the desperately struggling Emperor’s Children. At their head Makhus could see Serjar, the wounded warrior in his damaged plate scything through his foes in a dance of death. The chain glaive sweeping and falling, each strike tearing the life from his foes.

 

Before long it was over. The combined loyalist force putting the sword to the treasonous Emperor’s Children and their turncoat human followers in the muster yard, before hunting their way through the interior of the fortress leaving no survivors.

 

The fortress was theirs, and so were the vital supplies. The cost had been heavy, but they would now be able to resupply and continue toward Terra to fulfil their duty to the throne world and to the Emperor they all served.

 

Serjar met with Erakles and Makhus, and along with codicier Shalva explained what had been found inside, and the suspected origin of the freakish creatures they had almost been undone by. Serjar kept his vision quiet, but related the rest of the battle to his comrades. In turn he was informed about the events of the storming of the breach. Serjar was saddened by the loss of his old comrade Morinar, but he had died as he had lived “Just the sort of stupid thing he would do” Stanislaus had stated upon hearing of Morinar’s intervention to save Makhus during the storm of the breach. Serjar agreed, Morinar had ever been more heroic in nature than most of his brothers. Now he was gone in a manner in which he would have preferred.

 

“Brothers” Serjar spoke “We faced today what I believe is at the root of Horus’s rebellion. Our kin have fallen to sorcery and have allied themselves with creatures from the warp. We have all seen things in transit, from the corner of our eyes. We have all heard the stories of the sailors about what swims in the empyrean. We have, in our ignorance, dismissed these tales as superstition and legend. I think today we can agree that they are not” turning to Erakles he said “I hope, brother, that you found our assistance today worthwhile. I in turn would request yours. I head for Terra, to stand at the side of the Emperor. We all know that is where Horus will go. To confront and throw down the rightful Emperor of Mankind, and set himself up as a tyrant in his place with his new allies given free reign over the people of the Imperium. We must warn Terra of what is coming. About the reality of the foes we face. Will you join me in this?”

 

The warsmith nodded “You have made my day today Serjar, it is not often an Iron Warrior gets to prove that we can tear down what our cousins in the Fists build up. For that alone you have my loyalty. For saving the lives of so many of my men, more so. For your loyalty to the Emperor most of all. I will follow you to Terra with my men. Makhus and I fought well together, something I would not have suspected before standing by his side. You have my respect both”

 

The two warriors clasped arms in the ancient warrior greeting of Terra, before setting their commands to work in the armories and munition halls of the depots.

 

Replenished with their desperately needed supplies and equipment, weapons and ammunition, armor and spare parts, replacement vehicles and support systems, rations and medical supplies, all the requirements for legion warfare, the three captains led their forces back to their ships. Behind them a last act from the warsmith.

 

A blinding flash of light erupted from the fortress as its reactor went critical, wiping the stain of corruption left by the Emperor’s Children from the face of the world.

 

As the gunships and drop ships laden with space marines and supplies raced towards the ships, Serjar’s voice rang out across the fleet vox “For the Emperor! Victory! Loyalty or death!” To be answered in turn by the massed voices, Astartes and human in affirmation.

[Serjar]

The fleet of the “Harbingers of Judgment”, now accompanied by their newfound allies, the former sons of Angron, forged their passage through the warp. The tides of emotion making up the realm of the Empyrean howled in mighty gales, the slaughter of souls on a scale unseen by humanity feeding towering storm clouds in the nether realm. The navigators, the sanctioned mutant humans who could see the warp through their third eye, counseled Serjar that such storms had not been seen in living memory, and their concern at the dimming of the astronomicon on Terra was readily apparent. It was the advice of navigator Orphelion, currently steering the fleet through the towering storms that threatened the ships on all sides, that it would be necessary to find a safe system for repair and replenishment of the fleet.

 

Serjar had agreed.

 

He thought back on the salvage operations that his Night Lords, and their new found World Eater allies, had conducted on Carias II in the wake of the bloody fight against the traitorous sons of Angron. He stopped himself, cursing at referring to the men under Captain Makhus’s command as “World Eaters”, they were “War Hounds” now. Makhus had warned him quite clearly never to refer to him or his men as World Eaters again.

 

While losses had been within acceptable parameters, roughly twenty percent over half of whom would make a full recovery, the expenditure of ammunition in the ambush of the traitors of the World Eaters had been prodigious, mainly because of the need to inflict the maximum possible casualties at range. Damage to armor and equipment was also heavy amongst those who had engaged in the violent melee at the end of the action. The battlefield was scoured for useable equipment and ammunition, the Loyalist Night Lords and World….. War Hounds, he corrected himself again, had begun to salvage all they could, first from their own dead, and then from the dead of their foe.

 

His memories of the aftermath came to the fore as he remembered….

 

There were no wounded enemy to process. Serjar was of the opinion that there was only one punishment for treason, and his men, and those of Makhus, were in full agreement. Serjar had ordered that prisoners were only to be taken for intelligence gathering, and the behavior of the World Eaters had shown that any attempt to extract information from them would be a waste of valuable time. The few World Eaters who had survived Makhus and his men venting their rage had been madmen, crying out incoherently, almost speaking in tongues. They were of no use for intelligence purposes and had been put down like rabid canines.

 

As he and his men had scavenged from the dead, more and more of the strange symbols were found. His men were uneasy at the sight of the sigils engraved on many of the suits of armor adorning the World Eater corpses. During the battle Serjar had experienced physical discomfort when he first observed these strange decorations on his foes, and while that feeling had lessened, it was still there.

His concerns had risen when Brother Shalva approached accompanied by his Sergeant and Captain Kergorag of the 88^th Company. He knew of Shalva, a former Codicier of the Librarius, returned to line duties after the edict of Nikea had banned psychic warfare from the legions. Serjar took in at once the concern on the face of Shalva as he made his way through the carpet of the dead, the young Night Lord had been one of the last psykers to pass through training before the edict. Despite his youth he had been predicted to go far in the Librarius, and had handled his return to line duties with a professionalism and stoicism unusual amongst his kin.

 

“Well Kergorag, you look like you have all seen a ghost, what brings you to this side of the field? Your men should be processing the breaches in the walls and the glacis before the hive.” Serjar greeted his brother.

 

“My lord Serjar, brother Shalva has raised concerns about salvaging armor from the enemy, well at least the ones who bear those, those additions to their armor” Kergorag replied. Serjar observed his trusted friend was uncomfortable, torn between concern and disbelief at the news he was bringing.

 

Serjar turned to Shalva “Speak up Brother, what have you said that upsets such a worthy as Kergorag?”

 

Shalva paused, Serjar could see the younger Astartes was trying to find the right words.

 

“Out with it lad, bad news gets worse with waiting, and as Kergorag will tell you I don’t exactly have a good supply of patience” Serjar ordered.

 

“Lord Serjar, as you know I was a member of the legion librarius, tasked with using our psychic abilities until the decree absolute at Nikea, resulting in my…..” Shalva began his speech

 

Serjar folded his arms and let out a deep breath, then raising an arm interrupted the young Astartes “Yes, yes, all well and good battle brother, but I can do without the history lesson thank you. If something has got you so worried, I strongly suggest you tell me at once so we can deal with it in a timely manner. Don’t you think?”

 

Shalva swallowed, then went on “Yes sir, well it is the bodies, the ones with the sigils. They are dangerous my Lord”

 

“Dangerous how? They’re pretty dead now brother” Serjar laughed as he spoke

 

“The discomfort of looking at them sir, that’s what makes them dangerous. Haven’t you felt it?” Shalva asked.

 

Serjar felt a gnawing feeling of concern at the words and the expression of urgency on Brother Shalva’s face. “Yes, in a word. What does it signify brother?”

 

“Sir, we all know the warp has, well, inhabitants. Some type of xenos that swim in its depths. We’ve all seen them during translation, and heard the stories from the mortal crews. Well, these symbols are tainted. They are warp craft. I’m not sure what they signify, but I can feel the taint upon them. Something has infected those warriors who defaced their armor, something from the warp. I strongly suggest we take nothing from the dead who bear those markings, lest we be contaminated in turn”

 

“Witchcraft? You are telling me our fallen kin are dabbling in warp sorcery?” Serjar questioned.

 

“I don’t know lord, I have not seen these sigils before, but I feel the taint of the warp from them. I don’t need to use my powers to feel that. I haven’t broken the edict” Shalva explained.

 

Serjar considered, he needed as much of the scavenged armor and equipment as possible, no more supplies would be reaching his force from the usual sources. Who knew how long it would be before they made planetfall at a friendly world? But, he thought, perhaps this is how it started with Horus. Everyone knew the warp could taint a man if he let it touch him. Turn him down a path to madness. It was worse for psykers, hence the edict. He turned to Kergorag “Well done Captain, I thank you and your men for bringing this to my attention. Pass on the order, no armor, ammunition, or equipment is to be taken from bodies that bear any symbology that does not meet Imperial guidelines, such bodies and equipment are to be separated and rendered unusable”

 

As a result, the total of salvage had been reduced by over thirty percent, the offending items and corpses had been burnt on the advice of former Codicier Shalva and the two ex-lexicanums in the strike force.

 

The combined force of Night Lords and War Hounds had then left, instructing the surviving planetary garrison of Imperial Army to defend as best they could. Serjar remembered well the look on General Besalayev’s face as he refused the mortal’s request to remain. Serjar knew it was a death sentence for the human soldiers, but his mission was to warn Terra, not to become bogged down in some heroic last stand on the fringe of the Imperium.

 

And now they were heading for Azerunium, a depot world coreward in the Ultima segmentum. Serjar hoped to find it still in Imperial hands, and resupply and refit before striking out towards the Solar Segmentum and Terra.

 

Snapping out of his reverie Serjar came back to the present, the memories fading as he cast his eyes around the bridge of the battle barge “Bringer of Fear”. Stanislaus approached him, the Night Lord captain accompanied by the chief astropath of the ship’s psychic choir.

 

“Yes brother?” Serjar greeted Stanislaus as they saluted each other with the Imperial Aquila.

 

“Serjar, the astropaths have received messages from Azerunium, and it isn’t good” Stanislaus replied.

 

“What is good news these days Stanislaus? Our Imperium is tearing itself apart” Serjar said as he turned to the astropath “Well, tell me Ezar, what tidings do you bring”

 

“Distress calls lord Serjar, cries for aid. The astropathic message speaks of a traitor assault on Azerunium, believed to be by elements of the Emperor’s Children” Ezar went on, describing a series of desperate messages, some still being interpreted. Astropathic communication was more art than science. Images and emotions cast into the void by psychic choirs, sometimes clear, sometimes a confusion of conflicting information. In this case most of the castings were clear, fueled by fear they burned through the warp to the waiting minds of Serjar’s fleet astropaths.

 

“Great, well that means we will have to fight for our supper” Serjar pronounced “Stanislaus, what is our estimated transit time to Azerunium?”

 

“Another two days Serjar” Came the reply “Those messages seem to have been sent at least two weeks previous. By the time we get there, the peacock sons of Fulgrim might be well gone. After picking the place clean I might add”

 

“Indeed, but maybe not. Let’s drop in on the Phonecian’s brats and if they are still there we can rob their corpses after we deal with them” Serjar said, his face grim.

 

“Better hope they haven’t stripped the place to the bone brother, it is a long haul to the next possible resupply, our warriors will be OK, but we need supplies for the mortals” Stanislaus warned.

 

“Indeed, but rations and water are easier to find than legion stores brother. We will burn that bridge when we come to it” Serjar answered his second in command.

 

Soon after Serjar conducted a holo-conference with his captains, now increased to four by the addition of Makhus and his War Hounds. As the images of his battle brothers shimmered and flickered, the communication between ships disrupted by the Geller fields holding the chaos of the warp at bay, the warriors discussed the tactics required to deal with the Emperor’s Children.

 

Kergorag spoke up “They’ve always been braggarts, I have never believed they are as good as they like to think” His disgust for the arrogance of the sons of Fulgrim apparent.

 

Surprisingly it was Makhus who voiced his disagreement, Serjar would have thought the blunt, aggressive War Hound would have been in full agreement “Be careful brother” He intoned “They are arrogant because they are very very good at what they do. Underestimate them at your peril. The Children take perfection in the martial arts of war to the extreme. Much the same way my brethren take to violence and sharp pointy objects” He laughed at his own quip then continued “Their vanity and pride mask a true killer’s soul. My men excel at close quarters, yours at terror, infiltration, and hit and run warfare. They may not quite match us in our specialties, but to make up for it they are rather good at everything”

 

Serjar was inclined to agree, having fought alongside the Emperor’s Children in the early part of his service. While not specializing in any particular aspect of war, they strove to master all to a high degree. This coming fight, if the Emperor’s Children were still on the world, would test him and his brothers to the limit. Serjar proposed to keep to their respective strengths. The War Hounds would pin the Emperor’s Children, and try to grind them down at close range, while the Night Lords would conduct mobile operations to divide the enemy into manageable portions. Refinement of the plan would be made upon actual assessment of the battlespace on entering the system.

 

After two days further transit through the warp, the fleet translated back into realspace, the battle barges “Bringer of Fear”, “Skull Splitter”, and “Emperor’s Judgment” and their escorts, now joined by Captain Makhus’s battle barge “Razor’s Edge” and the battered strike cruisers and destroyers of his small squadron, tore their way into reality as they punched their way through the veil between the rational universe and the chaos of the warp. Tendrils of impossible energy writhed around the ships like questing limbs of a deep ocean cephalopod trying to pull them back into the warp before dissipating as the tear in reality snapped closed.

 

As per agreed strike force protocols the ships of Sejar’s force began silent running, moving ahead of the War Hounds ships which held back to avoid early detection. The Night Lords approached the Oort cloud casting their passive sensors wide to detect communications from within the system. They quickly found they were not the only force trying to retake the world.

 

Signals traffic from the III Legion, the Emperor’s Children was apparent, and so too was legion communications from forces of the IV Legion, the Iron Warriors. It soon became apparent the forces were heavily engaged on the orbital platforms surrounding the depot world, and the fortresses defending the main hive and depot on the only fully inhabited world of the system, the capital world of Azerunium IV, the agri world of Memphae, the third planet from the sun, had already fallen to the Iron Warriors force.

 

“At least this time we won’t have to muck about trying to decide who’s who” Stanislaus remarked.

 

Serjar scanned the data scrolling across the hololithic display and nodded in agreement. This time it was clear, the Iron Warriors were calling sending out astropathic requests for aid from any Throne loyal forces in the vicinity, while the Emperor’s Children were calling for assistance from those loyal to the Warmaster. The Iron Warriors were in the process of attacking the intricate fortifications of the depot world, built by their rivals from the VII Legion, the Imperial Fists.

 

Surprisingly the assault seemed to be stalled. Knowing what he did of the Iron Warriors superiority in siege warfare that was not a good sign.

 

“Surprising to see our cousins having so much trouble getting in brother, that’s their bread and butter” Serjar remarked to Stanislaus.

 

“Well the Fists built this place, they don’t do fortresses by halve measures Serjar. Though I imagine whoever is commanding the Iron Warriors down there is frothing at the mouth right now. You know how those two legions feel about each other” Stanislaus replied.

 

Serjar nodded. Turning to the hololithic projection of Captain Makhus he spoke “They get on about as well as your boys and the Sons of Sanguinius I’m told, eh Makhus?”

 

In reply Makhus laughed “We don’t get on I admit, but that’s because our rough and ready natures offend the golden-haired sons of the Angel, that and they are jealous because we get into the fight before they have stopped brushing their hair. They are second only to Fulgrim’s whelps in gazing into the mirror, but at least they are loyal with it! Well except for Amit that is, I swear that bugger was swapped at birth and ended up in the wrong legion, you’d swear he was one of us ha ha!” then his dark features became deadly serious “Whatever is holding up the Iron Warriors, let alone making them call for assistance, is going to be unpleasant Serjar. I suggest we are going to have to revise that plan of ours”

 

“You don’t say brother” Serjar replied dryly “This time Morinar is right, we need to talk to our cousins and find out how we can assist them rather than going it alone” He nodded at the projection of Morinar who nodded in return, his suggestion accepted this time. “However I suggest we come closer first, we may gain more intelligence that way, and there may be III legion ships still in system, Makhus, as you can’t cloak, you’ll be the bait to draw them out”

 

The fleet spun coreward, the "Razor's Edge" and it's escorts covered by the cloaked Night Lords ships of Serjar’s strike force. Near the 7th world from the system star the remainder of the Emperor’s Children fleet struck. Two battle barges, identified by their pennants as "Dawn of Purity" and "Perfect Blade" burst from the debris field of the planetary rings around the gas giant. Preceded by their escorting strike cruisers and destroyers they raced in to attack what their auspexes showed as a single battle barge and consorts.

 

The Night Lords ships, still cloaked to the sensor sweeps of the enemy auspexes, raced to the flank threatened by the oncoming ships. Serjar waited for the Emperor's Children to fight with their usual panache at void warfare. His foes were well known for their ability to manoeuvre and strike from long range. Despite the numerical superiority of his force, he knew full well that his enemy would punish any mistake by inflicting severe damage on his fleet unless he could ambush them.

 

Norvingen, the mortal ship captain, and his tactical crew were refining their projection of predicted enemy movements. It was expected that the Emperor's Children would repeatedly hit and run against the World Eaters ships they saw on their scanners before closing to range of macro cannons to pound their enemy prior to boarding. The ships under Serjar’s command were spread out to avoid presenting too great a target to a spread of torpedoes or a lucky strike. At the point Serjar expected his opponent to fire and turn, the unexpected occurred.

 

"What the hell are they doing?" Serjar called out as the tactical hololith projection showed the Emperor’s Children squadron racing racing towards the War Hounds ships. "Makhus, I'd have expected them to open fire, you have weapons free and can fire at will"

 

"Brother, it has just occurred to me, they think we are on their side, all they see are" Makhus paused, forcing the next words out through clenched teeth "all.....all... they see are traitors like themselves. They see World Eaters" he finished, the disgust obvious in his voice.

 

"We can catch them off guard" Stanislaus suggested "catch them in a crossfire before they can respond. I love it when the other guy is dead before he can shoot back"

 

A rumble of disapproval came from the projection of Captain Makhus "You do not take pride in testing your skill against the foe brother?"

 

Stanislaus replied "I certainly do enjoy testing my skill Makhus, my skill at approaching unseen, my skill at the swift strike, and my skill at sowing confusion and terror amongst my foes. I will leave the heroic charges to you and your men, since you seem to enjoy them so much" Stanislaus's anger at thinly veiled accusation was evident in his tone. 

 

"Calm down the pair of you" Serjar snapped. "Different legions, different ways Makhus"

 

The former World Eater considered this, and after a moment nodded his head "Forgive me Stanislaus, because of your actions on Carias II I assumed you would be keen to take the lead in combat, you showed great skill in being the bait for your commander’s trap"

 

Stanislaus laughed "Apology accepted Makhus, though I must admit I still have not forgiven Serjar for that part of the plan"

 

The War Hound's holographic projection showed the quizzical look on his face, with a faint trace of amusement. "Forgive me Serjar, it will take time to adjust to your legions...... ahem.... less direct ways of warfare"

 

"Not to worry Makhus, you'll find we can be very direct when required. We just prefer trying other options first" Serjar turned and looked at the display again "Norvingen, if you please, prepare our ships for the staggered circle, Makhus, if they hail you try and play along?"

 

As Serjar’s ships ghosted to their positions, a circular formation where ships could surround a target and fire, all the while remaining out of the line of fire of friendly ships, the Emperor’s Children squadron commander hailed Makhus.

 

Serjar listened to the vox conversation relayed from the "Razor's Edge"

 

A cultured voice spoke over the vox "Welcome cousin, pity you didn't bring more of your legion, but needs must. Our surface forces are bearing a great load from these Iron scrap merchants. They fight without any appreciation of beauty. There is no joy in this battle, in fact it bores us" the tone of the voice was languid and dismissive. Serjar caught Stanislaus's eye and raised his eyebrow quizzically, Stanislaus shrugged his shoulders in response.

 

"We shall be escorting you to drop on these renegade sons of Peturabo..." at those words a chill ran down Serjar’s spine, he hoped he was wrong, but it sounded to him as if the Iron Warriors too were in revolt against Terra, and this force was like his own "we shall drop you on these graceless fools and you can do what you do best, chop them into bloody little pieces to feed our new allies" the last statement got Serjar’s full attention. Whatever allies the traitor was referring to, they could be the reason the Iron Warriors assault was stalled? Serjar listened as Makhus replied, the taciturn War Hound keeping his answers to a minimum.

 

"Now would be a good time brothers, he whispered into the vox "they'll be picking us up on auspex soon"

 

As the loyalist Night Lords ships uncloaked the "Razor's Edge" opened fire on the leading enemy ships and accelerated forward. Bright lances of energy streaked through the void smashing two purple strike cruisers into radioactive shards as the massive primary lance weapons cut them in half detonating their reactors. Serjar's ships began firing too, catching the Emperor’s Children squadron in a vicious crossfire of lance fire, torpedoes, and macrocannon fire.

 

The vox rang with the voice of the Emperor’s Children officer "why cousins, you have surprised us, such a sweet sensation. One wonders what your father's would think of such behavior" Serjar felt sickened at the tone in the traitor's voice, as if he was enjoying watching his command pounded to pieces, but the next second he saw the ships on the long range viewer.

 

"Terra's teeth!" Stanislaus exclaimed "What in the depths of damnation has happened to them?"

 

Serjar felt disgust rise in his throat. Gone were the noble, if somewhat overdone, warships of the III Legion the whole Imperium knew from the holocasts. In their place was something else. Something tainted and foul. The statuary and decoration lauding the union of humanity under the Emperor was gone. In its place were scenes of debauchery, the once golden trims of the ships a riot of color, and once again Serjar saw the strange eight pointed star, and this time it was accompanied by a sinuous sigil rather than the hard edged rune worn by the traitor World Eaters on Carias. It made Serjar sick to his stomach to see the change in his cousins ships. It was an honor to eradicate them.

 

It was over quickly, the staggered circle formation allowing each of the midnight blue vessels to fire at full effect from multiple vectors without endangering their fellows. Rapidly the Emperor’s Children ships were pounded into drifting ruins or exploded like miniature suns as their reactors and warp cores went critical. Until the end the traitors were broadcasting, their shouts and cries carried over the vox.

 

Stanislaus turned to face Serjar "that noise at the end, it sounded like they were enjoying it!" Confusion and disgust warred in his tone.

 

"Indeed brother, but I have no explanation. First the rage of the World Eaters, and now this, this whatever it was" Serjar went on "Stanislaus, I have no words to describe it. But something worse than plain treason has got its claws in our cousins. But enough of that, Lieutenant Malkhaz, Please hail the Iron Warriors, we don't need them to shoot us on the way in, Makhus and his squadron may make them trigger happy for the same reason the Traitors welcomed him"

 

Within minutes Serjar was in communication with the Iron Warriors fleet and it's commander, warsmith Erakles, the warsmith was at first highly suspicious of the inclusion of Makhus and his men under Serjar’s command, but the strike force's ambush and destruction of the remnants of the Emperor’s Children flotilla went some way to assuage his mistrust.

 

"Keep them on a leash cousin. They make any threatening moves or put one foot out of place, I'll hit them so hard they will be half way to Terra before they can blink" Erakles warned.

 

"Understood warsmith Erakles, I assure you that captain Makhus won't be a threat. Well unless you call him a World Eater" Serjar replied. At the last comment Erakles's image showed his eyebrow raised in question. Serjar went on in explanation "He's a War Hound cousin, he and is men were eixiled by their gene sire for refusing the nails. Though I've seen them in action and I suspect they didn't need them"

 

Erakles nodded, his face turning grim. "Serjar, I must tell you, my legion has turned too. I have been warned by my brother Dantioch that he is under siege by forces of our own legion and the Mechanicum, alongside elements of the Sons of Horus."

 

"Not the Iron Warriors as well!" Serjar spat out "Where will this rot end? Does it infect every legion?"

 

"It may well cousin, but I suspect not Dorn's sons, or those of Sanguinius and Russ. But I hang my head in shame at my genefather's treason and that of my brothers" Serjar heard great sadness in the voice of Erakles as he spoke.

 

"You are not alone in that cousin" he replied. Serjar related the treason of his own legion and primarch. He watched as Erakles grew even more grim.

 

"Sons of Horus, World Eaters, Death Guard, Emperor's Children, Iron Warriors, now your Night Lords, and I fear the Word Bearers too, that's nearly half the legions cousin" Erakles went on "we have to do as much damage as we can. Give the other legions time to reach Terra. I arrived here to resupply and found these pretty boys of Fulgrim slaughtering the garrison. Only they are not so pretty now, something has gone seriously wrong with the Emperor's Children. They are employing technology I have never seen before, some form of sonic projector. And they die hard, much harder than usual anyway"

 

Serjar listened as Erakles went on. His description of the Emperor’s Children encountered below seemed diametrically opposed to what Serjar knew of the Phonecian’s sons. The warriors Erakles's forces had encountered wore defaced armor, covered with foul sigils and riots of color much as their warships had been. Serjar viewed pic casts showing the depraved depths the Children had fallen to. Spikes adorned their armor, the faces of many had been mutilated, mouths wired open in eternal screams, others had eyes stitched open or their ears removed. Many had the same strange sigil branded on their skin, and all were horrific parodies of the perfection they had previously aspired to.

 

"So tell me cousin, how can the strike force "Harbingers of Justice" and our noble, if somewhat direct, brothers of the War Hounds assist you in taking this fortress? I'd be grateful to know what has brought you to a standstill" Serjar inquired.

 

Erakles bought up a schematic of the fortress. Serjar noted the multiple flanking bastions and enfilades. The interlocking fields of fire, mutually supporting emplacements and kill boxes. It was a work of art as well as death. The actual "viable" approaches, if such a term could be used, were bounded by cliffs or crevasses driving any attacker into the kill zones. Erakles pointed out the defensive features noting the line of assault, the independent satellite bastions his men had reduced before running into the main line of defence. There, despite his best efforts and those of his men, the assault had come to a halt. Void shields too powerful for the artillery available to the attackers absorbed barrage after barrage. Attempts to drive forward saps or tunnels to mine the walls had failed. The saps blasted apart by the defender's guns and the tunnels destroyed by pre set counter mines.

 

"Have you tried orbital bombardment?" Serjar inquired, sure he was not going to like the answer.

 

"Of course" came the reply, the camera panned to show a spreading field of debris slowly decaying from orbit. "The remains of "Breaker of Kings",one of my battle barges, or at least it was, luckily I was on the surface directing operations at the time along with my men. Astartes losses were minimal but I lost a good crew. That city has defences as strong as needed for seeing off anything less than a full expeditionary fleet. And even with your arrival we are well short of that."

 

Serjar nodded “Sorry cousin, but I had to ask. We will meet you on the surface to discuss how we can be of assistance. I have a few ideas I would like to go through with you”

 

“Very good Serjar, though I suggest you come down at the landing site we have set up some distance from the fortress rather than dropping right in, our cousins” Erakles almost spat the word “are rather proficient in their anti-aircraft fire, and they have a lot of mortal auxiliaries with them including, I am sad to say, a fair number of the original garrison. They were using them as fodder for our guns as we made our initial assaults on the outworks, and behind walls, well they can shoot well enough. As you will see”

 

                                ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Within the hour Serjar and his men began their deployment to the landing field and logistics base set up by the loyalist Iron Warriors some 50 kilometers from the fortress they were laying siege to.  Far enough to be out of range of the heaviest guns of the fortress, but close enough for logistical support.

 

On the flight down Serjar reviewed the schematics of the fortress supplied by the Iron Warrior warsmith. Filed and stored in the great imperial bureaucracy by the Imperial Fists, they made for grim reading. Serjar was impressed the Iron Warriors had gotten so far into the defences so quickly but, given the nature of their parent legion and genefather, not at all surprised. The Iron Warriors were the masters of the siege. A legion made for hard grinding attritional warfare. The scientific approach was theirs, not ones for rapid maneuver, but of lines of fire and enfilade, sapping and mining, and the bloody mess of storming the breach. Serjar was looking at the design of a fortress built by the sons of Dorn, in many ways a mirror to the Iron Warriors. While the sons of Dorn were the builders of fortresses, the sons of Peturabo would grind fortresses to bloody dust. This had led to an intense rivalry between Dorn and Peturabo, one that often poisoned relations between their legions. Serjar shook his head, he could not understand such petty rivalry between Legions being taken to such extremes.

 

He shook away the thought and continued his assessment.

 

Erakles and his men had done wonders in reducing the outlying bastions to get to the point they had reached. Their approach, while blunt and forceful with regards to their application of firepower, had been masterfully subtle in the targets of that firepower. The warsmith had carefully chosen his line of siege to best suit the force at his disposal, reducing his losses as far as he could while maximizing those inflicted on the Emperor’s Children and their mortal auxiliaries. But now there was the main bastion itself. The void shielding was stopping the Iron Warriors planet side artillery from reducing the defences, and ground based orbital defences were stopping the Iron Warriors and Serjar’s ships from bombarding the defences from orbit. Although it may be possible for a direct assault to reach the top of the walls, the casualties would be horrific without first reducing the defences or forming a viable breach. Without a breach, only lightly equipped jump troops could hope to scale the wall Serjar was certain that the surviving assault units would face heavy infantry and the famed Cataphractii terminators of the Emperor’s Children. The artillery was needed to breach the wall.

 

Which was being stopped by the shield.

 

Serjar scanned the schematics, searching down through the levels. The Night Lords way of war was different. Every modern fortress had vulnerabilities he and his brothers could exploit. Finally he found one that offered the best chance of making war in the manner to which he was accustomed. Quickly notating the relevant pages on the dataslate, a sudden change in attitude and vibration warned him the Stormbird transport was about to land. Nodding to Stanislaus he picked up his helmet and said “Come brother, let’s go meet our Iron friend, I have an idea”

 

“Great” replied Stanislaus “Hopefully you’ll omit the part about leaving me up to my eyeballs in :cuss, you owe me for Carias brother. Your ideas always seem to rely on me being suicidally Heroic ”

 

“I’ll take it under advisement old friend, but I notice you love to bask in the glory of your near escapes” Serjar replied, both warriors grinning.

 

As the Stormbirds settled on the landing pads, the warriors and their honor guard marched down the ramp to be met by the unpainted metal armor of their hosts. Not for the Iron Warriors the bright colors of the other legions. Their armor was the same unfinished color as it was when delivered. The only decoration the black and yellow hazard stripes to weapons and some small areas of their armor, usually knee or greave, and the black and gold of their pauldrons and legion markings, a grinning silver skull. At the front of the group stood a warrior in massive Cataphractii terminator armor, a servo arm folded behind his back, his strong features radiating an air of command. Serjar halted before the towering warrior, his own Mk. IV artificer plate far smaller in stature than the hulking terminator clad warrior, making the sign of the aquilla he began “Greetings warsmith, how may my force be of assistance in your endeavor to reduce this nest of turncoats” his arm pointing in the direction of the distant fortress hidden behind the intervening terrain.

 

“Well met cousin” Replied the warsmith, looking over at the white forms of the War hounds led by Captain Makhus as they disembarked from their gunships he went on “We could just unleash your pet World Eaters in a direct frontal assault I guess, it would be the sort of mad enterprise they’d enjoy”

 

“I strongly suggest you don’t call them that again, certainly not within the hearing of my brother, Captain Makhus, they are War Hounds Erakles, and that fine set of armor you wear won’t stop our irritable friend from trying to educate you as to your error, believe me” Serjar warned “May I suggest a more, well, subtle approach. My men and I are not as well versed in the matters of siege as you and yours, but we do have some useful experience we can bring to bear”

 

Erakles nodded, a small hint of a smile forming on his stern features “Go on Serjar, you have my interest. I must say you are more diplomatic than I would have expected from a Night Lord, so I will listen”

 

Serjar grinned in return “Do you have any boring equipment cousin?” as Erakles raised an eyebrow he went on to describe his plan.

 

                                ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Once Erakles had understood Serjar’s intent things unfolded quickly. Serjar was impressed with the organization and discipline of his new ally. Within hours the warsmith had requisitioned the required equipment from his squadron in orbit, and in conjunction with Serjar’s plan had deployed it to a point roughly 15 kilometers south of the city.

 

On the way to the chosen site Serjar and his forces had passed the signs of the Iron Warriors siege progression. The outlying bastions taken in hard fighting, now being repaired and manned by the victors, repair teams of legion serfs under the supervision of Astartes repairing the breaches used to storm into the defences. Fields of dead mortals showing where counter attacks by the traitors human auxiliaries had been mowed down by the concentrated bolter fire and artillery support of the Iron Warriors. Batteries of artillery were passed, protected as far as possible from the prefabricated aegis defence lines made famous by the sons of Peturabo or by earthwork revetments. The ground shook and the skies shrieked as the Iron Warriors hurled round after round from their massive self-propelled artillery platforms, both Legion Basilisks and Medusas, towards the fortress. The fortress replied in turn, the treasonous defenders struggling to find the masked batteries as they fired and moved to the next prepared position, never staying in place for more than a few rounds. The Iron Warriors were reducing through a rain of high explosive the defenders attempt to push new defences out from the walls. Those that strayed out from under the protection of the fortress void shields were punished severely.

 

As the column of Rhino and Land Raider armored personnel carriers began their turn down into one of the many deep gorges around the fortress in the darkness, Serjar contacted Makhus over the vox “Well brother, time to part, take up your position with the storming elements. If all goes well you should have a practical breach once we cut the power to these mongrels. And do try and keep your temper while waiting, remember these Iron Warriors are on our side”

 

“As you instruct Serjar, we’ll wait until their breaching team has done its work and keep out of site until it’s time to storm. The dandies inside will be expecting a plodding Iron Warriors advance, not the War Hounds” Captain Makhus replied “We will give them little chance to recover once the wall is pierced, and hold the breach until the warsmith’s warriors and your lads can catch up”

 

Serjar cut off the vox as the column of boxy vehicles descended into the gorge down a narrow access road, all lights were off and the midnight blue vehicles blended into the darkness. Behind him the night sky lit up as the Iron Warriors artillery began an intense bombardment to cover a feint towards the defences being erected before the walls by the Emperor’s Children and their lackeys. Lives would be lost, but it was vital to concentrate the defenders’ attention and conduct the next phase unattended.

 

Within a few minutes the Night Lords strike teams were exiting their transports around the position occupied by the Iron Warriors and their siege drilling rigs. Normally used to drill through walls, or create cores for piling when building permanent installations, the mobile rigs were being used to drill down to the conduits Serjar had found on the schematics. As he approached the Iron Warriors the terminator armored form of Erakles loomed out of the darkness.

 

“All done cousin, the conduit is breached seventy-five meters down, this plan of yours is a risk, but I can’t see a better option right now. Are the War Hounds and your main force in position to support our assault upon your success” Erakles asked.

 

“Indeed warsmith, though given the nature of Captain Makhus and his men, I rather feel we will be supporting them” Serjar replied.

 

“Good point, be careful in there cousin, we need this place intact to resupply, as do you, not a radioactive crater in the ground” the warsmith cautioned.

 

“Agreed Erakles, don’t fret, it’s not the first time my men and I have done this, though I do admit we were usually facing just mortals, not our fallen cousins” Serjar shrugged as he turned and led his men down the incline of the recently bored tunnel.

 

As they descended the walls were still radiating heat from the melta bore heads, the different densities of stone creating a mosaic like effect via the thermal imaging of his helmet’s preysight, the machine spirit of his armor adjusting the filters to compensate. Reaching the bottom he looked down into the void of the rockcrete conduit, the recently cut curve of the walls still glowing in his preysight as heat radiated off the edges of the cut and the even brighter glowing stubs of the rebar reinforcing. Once convinced there was no reception committee waiting Serjar dropped down into the darkness.

 

He landed with an immense splash in the thick liquid coursing down the rockcrete tunnel and quickly moved up the gentle incline to clear the drop point. As his men dropped down behind him he heard Captain Stainislaus exclaim over the vox “Oh really? A sewer Serjar? You did this on purpose frakk you!”

 

“Well brother, you are always complaining about me giving you the “:cussty jobs”, what was it you said? “Up to my eyeballs?” so I took you at your word. Next time you complain, you’ll have good reason, and at least I am being considerate. This time you are just up to your waist” Serjar struggled to keep the amusement from his voice, and failed utterly.

 

“Oh har bloody har Serjar, it will take me weeks to clean this crap off” Stanislaus grumbled, much to the amusement of his 18^th company veterans who accompanied the two senior officers. They were well used to the banter between their immediate leader and the force commander. In fact, they would have been worried at its absence.

 

Serjar again took on a serious mien “OK boys, enough kidding around. This sewer line leads to the under fortress, from there it is a short run to the main power core. However this time we are not going to set charges and scoot, and not on the reactor either. We need to get to the main power distribution hub and blow that. It’s really the one weakness in the fortress design. Mains and reserve power goes through the hub in a series of automatic switches. In theory if the reactor is off line for any reason the reserve generators should kick in. But if we blow the switching then we cut off both systems. So back to our old tricks. We own the night brothers, between that and nobody expecting an assault from inside the fortress as our brothers and cousins breach from outside, we should be able to make these traitors pay”

 

“Engagement protocols Lord Serjar” Inquired a veteran Sergeant, his Terror squad skull faceplate seeming to float in the darkness like a disembodied skull.

 

“Silent wet-work where possible. Combat blades, neck snapping, whatever you like as long as it is quiet. Once the main attack goes in we will bring the noise and cut our way to the command center. Decapitation strike at that point”

 

As the warriors of the Night Lords moved off, Serjar saw battle brother Shalva, the ex codicier, and Alexus and Krar, the two former lexicanums, amongst their new squad mates. Given events on Carias II and the orbital battle as they entered this system, the disturbing sigils and runes that had so disturbed him and the growing suspicion of warpcraft contamination of his treasonous kin, Serjar had decided to keep the former librarian close at hand, his warning on Carias II may have saved them all. Serjar was becoming more certain there was more to the rebellion of Horus than a simple power grab. Something evil was spreading amongst the traitors and it payed to be prepared.

 

The strike force of 200 warriors made good time along the sewer line, the huge conduit large enough for them to advance up to ten abreast. As his power armors machine spirit tracked their location in relation to the downloaded schematics they reached a massive cistern. Foul polluted water fell from numerous pipes arrayed around the walls above. Stealthily they climbed until reaching the designated line before entering the smaller pipe and proceeding to progress through the bowels, literally as Stanislaus complained, of the fortress.

 

Before long they reached the access point, a large manhole for servitor maintenance units that would, under normal circumstances, enter the pipe network for periodic maintenance or to unblock the sewage lines as required.

 

“You’d have to be keeping a good size carnosaur in here in order to have any dung big enough to block these lines” Stanislaus had quipped. Serjar agreed. The Imperial Fists who had built this place had not skimped on it, that much was obvious. He wondered what the builders would think of it being occupied by turncoats and assaulted by his men. He hoped he would have the chance to ask one.

 

Techmarine Gazarus plugged himself in to the circuitry of the locking mechanism. His eyes glazed over as he merged with the data net. “I’m in” his voice droned.

 

“What already? That easy?” Serjar asked, casting a wary glance at Stanislaus.

 

“That does not seem like our pretty boy cousins, they are usually pretty tight on things like securing data. Their quest for “perfection” and all that” Stanislaus stated bluntly.

 

“Just the original protocols here, standard and easy to break, seems they are busy watching the fight. Guess the distraction worked. I’m reading a few mortal guard teams down here, looks like each has an Astartes in command. Nothing much to worry about, unless we screw up and let them get a warning off of course. Seems like the peacocks have at least two companies here, several thousand human auxilia too, better hope the Iron Warriors keep to their end of the bargain lord, or we will be having fun trying to get back out” the techmarine said as he began to unplug himself, his servo arm already reaching for the large wheel on the door.

 

After the door was opened the strike force split up as instructed into several groups. Serjar was to lead the group to the power exchange, Stanislaus and the three veteran Sergeants led groups that were to infiltrate towards the arsenals and void shield command center in order to silence the defences by other means if Serjar failed, or to distract and divide the defences if he was successful.

 

“Serjar, take care good friend, I’m fully expecting to be complaining about this :cussty situation with you to Makhus when we get back outside. But there is something odd going on here, I can feel it. Keep your eyes on a swivel my lord” Stanislaus cautioned his battle brother.

 

Serjar agreed, he could feel it in his bones. A dark aura he could not explain was permeating the fortress.

 

“You too Stanimal, keep that ugly head of yours on your shoulders please. I have a feeling this is going to be a hard one” He replied, using the old nickname for his battle brother from their days in training.

 

“Frakk, you must be worried if you are calling me that again” Stanislaus retorted, he saluted his commander with the imperial aquilla then he and his men disappeared down the dimly lit corridors towards their objectives.

 

Serjar turned towards Sergeant Agripus “Ok men, let’s get on with it” He ordered, and his force stealthily moved off along their route to the power exchange. As they advanced he watched the lead pairs move as one, each space marine taking up a covering position as his opposite number slipped from shadow to shadow down the corridor, their silenced bolt pistols trained on each side passage or door as they checked for hostiles, combat blades ready.

 

It was not long before they began to run across the foe, at first wandering servitors that were swiftly dispatched, then lone mortals, each of whom was dispatched by combat blade or by their neck being broken or skull crushed. Serjar nodded in approval at each silent kill. His men were in their element now. Their passage through the poorly lit underbelly of the fortress as familiar to them as their own breath.

 

Of course, it could not last. When they were within striking distance of the power distribution facility, corridors became more and more well-lit, and roughly where they expected them, Serjar and his men observed the first of the enemy patrols passing along a perpendicular corridor through a large junction hall. The Imperial Army troopers were accompanied by one of the Emperor’s Children warriors. Serjar stilled a sharp intake of breath at the appearance of his fallen cousin. As with the enemy ships destroyed previously, the pure and noble aspect of The Emperor’s Children was gone. The once pristine armor of purple and gold a riot of color. Cruel spikes and barbs adorned the pauldrons of his foe, and these were adorned with flayed human skin, though being a Night Lord he was not much disturbed by the last detail. It was the face that struck him to his core. Gone was the handsome aspect all associated with the sons of the Phoenician, in its place was a twisted parody of that noble aspect. The strange sigil seen on the Emperor’s Children battle barges was carved into the warrior’s cheek, it twisted and writhed as if of its own accord as the warrior gave orders to his mortal auxiliaries. Serjar hoped it was the movement of the skin but for some reason he doubted it. The Astarte’s eyes were lidless, and Serjar realized with disgust the eyelids had been removed, and the eyes, they were black orbs in a pallid face covered in cuts and brands. The enemy’s once pristine white hair was dyed in a multitude of colors and braided with more of the revolting sigils, this time as jewelry, themselves sparkling in a riot of color. Finally, there was his weapon, it was of no pattern Serjar could recognize. It more resembled some freakish fusion of instruments from a demented orchestra.

 

The mortal traitors were no better. Their armor defaced, every sign of loyalty to terra removed or perverted. And everywhere the strange eight pointed stars. Their uniforms a patchwork of strange patterns and swirls of color.

 

Serjar was disgusted. If this was the result of following Horus he would rather see the galaxy a pile of ashes than have the Warmaster succeed in his rebellion. Serjar swore, no matter what, he would fight the traitors to his last breath. He weighed up the options, he could let the patrol pass and continue towards his objective, or he could eradicate this stain on the galaxy.

 

“So sir, we going to take them down or what?” Serjar could hear the disgust in Agripus’s  voice.

 

The traitor Astartes warrior was leading a patrol of up to two hundred traitor humans, Serjar had with him fifty Night Lords veterans, killing wise it would be easy, but the risk was if the enemy could raise the alarm. They were less than 70 meters from their objective.

 

He blink keyed his vox “All strike elements, lead claw going loud, make as much noise as you can and proceed to objectives” he ordered. A chorus of acknowledgements came from Stanislaus and each of the other claws wending their way through the passages of the fortress.

 

Serjar nodded to sergeant Agripus, and then charged forward, his warriors following instantly. As they did so their vox grille emitters broadcast screams and cries of terror and pain, and they all activated their sub surface armor displays causing arcs of lightning to flash across their armor.

 

The cacophony of screams emitted by the Loyalist Night Lords vox casters and the displays of lightning flickering across their Mk.IV armor would normally induce panic in any mortal foe. But this time it was different. As they raced towards the human soldiers Serjar was appalled, instead of panicking, the humans seemed enthralled, as if listening to a majestic symphony. But the effect was the same, the mortals were unable to react in time as Serjar and his men opened fire, a hail of bolt gun rounds shredding deep into their formation, bodies exploding like rotten fruit, arms and heads flying. Serjar’s unease grew. He was no connoisseur like a Son of Sanguinius would be, but like all Astartes he knew blood, and what was flying through the air from these mortals was not any blood he could recognize, it was purple for a start, and his enhanced senses picked up a terrible taint of corruption. His distraction with this detail almost cost him his life.

 

Whereas the mortals were distracted and entranced by the Night Lords vox broadcast of suffering and pain, the Emperor’s Children warrior seemed energized. He turned rapidly, a strange look of rapture on his face and roared his defiance in a terrible scream of rage “Come to me pretty little night things and hear the great music!” He cried. Bringing his strange weapon to his shoulder he aimed straight for Serjar and fired. A terrible cacophony of sound burst from the weapon, pulverizing its way towards the Night Lords officer through the traitor’s own human auxiliaries. Serjar was saved only by the sacrifice of two of his own veterans who threw themselves into the line of fire guns blazing. The sonic shriek hit them both, brother Menalaus was torn apart, taking the full force of the weapon, his armor crushing and shattering under the impact of impossible contradictions of frequencies, his body parts spiraling through the air. Brother Javakh merely lost his right arm and suffered massive internal damage to his right torso as the remaining energy of the shot struck him.

 

Serjar reacted instantly, wheeling and dodging he chewed through the human traitor filth in front of him, his chain glaive reaping heads and limbs as is swung in blindingly fast arcs of death. The traitor fired again and again, taking down two more of Serjar’s warriors with his foul tech abomination of a weapon before Serjar could reach him. The traitor cast aside his strange firearm and drew a charnabal sabre and braced for Serjar’s strike “Come to me crow, see your death, how it will please the prince queen of pleasure” He challenged.

 

Serjar swung in with his glaive, his foe reacting faster than Serjar would have thought possible, blocking the glaive with a parry then returning a vicious counter thrust that Serjar only narrowly avoided. As his men finished slaughtering the traitor foot soldiers Serjar saw one attempt to take his opponent from behind. The traitor Astartes’ flicked out with his sabre, cutting deeply into the warrior’s side and forcing him back “Tut tut, naughty loyalists. We finish this one to one, your carrion crow leader and I. Then I will take you all!” the traitor admonished.

 

Serjar responded “Keep back boys, I’ll finish this traitor whoreson myself” and with that he launched into the attack anew. Serjar knew the normal way of fighting would not suffice, his opponent, for all his depravity, was far too skilled for this to be anything than a long drawn out duel of endurance. Serjar had to end it quickly. He noted the warrior favored cuts to the ribs, so he left himself momentarily open.

 

His opponent took the bait, all too eager to show his superiority he sent his charnabal sabre flicking in towards Serjar’s side. Serjar allowed the strike to land, absorbing the blow but preventing the sabre from cutting too deeply into his fused rib cage. Warning runes lit up his helmet view as the sabre penetrated his armor, bur then his arm crashed down trapping the blade, as his opponent attempted to yank the power weapon free Serjar leapt forward, his skull faced helmet smashing into his opponents face in a vicious street fighting headbutt. Tainted blood exploded from the features of the son of Fulgrim, Serjar could hear the breaking of his opponent’s facial bones. His opponent let go of his sword and staggered back hands to his face, his howls a strange mixture of pleasure and pain that further sickened Serjar to his core.

 

Serjar lifted his arm back to the chain glaive, the sabre falling from his side. Ignoring the pain from his ribs he swung the weapon bisecting the traitor from shoulder down to hip. The Emperor’s Child fell apart, a sigh of almost ecstasy escaping its ruined face as the two parts of the bifurcated body fell with a crash to the floor.

 

“Frakk me, but if they all fight like that, we are in trouble” Muttered Agripus. Serjar agreed, two dead, two walking wounded including himself, and one crippled, all to take down a single traitor. That weapon he carried was deadly indeed. Serjar looked down at it as it lay on the floor. It cut through Astartes power at short range as if it was paper. A useful thing to have. Just as he thought this, he saw brother Shalva watching him intently, the former codicier gave a small shake of his head. Serjar looked down again at the heretek abomination, and stamped upon it until it was little more than fragments.

 

“We just have to kill them before they get the chance Sergeant” Serjar replied “Enough, on to the power exchange” As the alarms began to wail the claw raced down the corridor towards the blast doors that shielded the power exchange.

 

“Set charges” Serjar ordered, his men racing to place melta bombs on the doors at the points indicated by Techmarine Gazarus. Once in place the loyalist Night Lords retreated to a safe distance.

 

“Breaching” Gazarus intoned as he activated the melta bombs. The weapons worked by sub atomic agitation, melting their way through the blast doors in an instant and vaporizing anything on the other side with a jet of super-heated gas and molten steel from the door. Serjar heard cries of agony which were rapidly curtailed.

 

“Storm pattern Jeriko” Serjar ordered. He and his men racing through the still steaming void left in the doors. The warriors of the Night Lords stormed into the massive engineering facility in five mutually supporting groups, pounding their way over the scorched and melted remains of the traitor human soldiers who had been stationed near the doors. “No prisoners!” Serjar roared out as bolter fire shredded the unaugmented soldiers and blasted the engineseers of the power exchange facility into bloody rags and shattered mechanicum augmentations. On the mechanicum altar before the control cogitators stood five of the Emperor’s Children, two of whom hefted similar weapons to that borne by the traitor marine killed in the corridor. Sergeant Agripus pointed them out to the tactical support squad of the claw, and bright sunbursts of plasma obliterated them, cooking the traitors within their armor, but not before another two loyalist Night Lords fell to their strange sonic weapons.

 

Tech Marine Gazarus directed his fellow Astartes to placing of the demolition charges. Carefully choosing locations that would ensure power was cut to the fortress but allow later jury rigging once the loyalist forces had captured it. Within minutes the charges were set and Serjar gathered his men and led them into the corridor that would lead them towards the command center. At his signal Gazarus pressed the stud on the remote detonator, a series of explosions resulted in bright actinic flashes as the massive cables were severed and the facility was plunged into darkness.

 

Serjar and his men flowed through the inky blackness, slaughtering the blinded defenders in their path as the detachments under Stanislaus and his veteran Sergeants converged towards his onrushing team of Night Lords.

 

                                ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Auspex shows the shield is down warsmith” reported the Iron Warrior as he turned from his station at the auspex array of the Damocles command rhino.

 

“Very good, looks like our newfound friends have pulled it off” replied warsmith Erakles “All batteries, commence suppression fire, send in the demolition teams” he ordered into the vox. “Captain Makhus, your men will have a practical breach in approximately ten minutes” he passed on to the storming parties through the vox.

 

“Understood warsmith, the War Hounds will lead the way, we will try and leave something for the rest of you” replied Makhus

 

Erakles shook his head in amusement. In the hours of waiting he had come to have a new respect for the gruff old War Hound. He was unlike any World Eater Erakles had had the misfortune to serve alongside. His natural aggression tempered by a deep understanding of war gained from the final unification of Terra and through the crusade. Erakles considered it was a terrible tragedy that the XII legion’s primarch had ever been found if it had turned warriors like Makhus into the berserk killers of the World Eaters.

 

Fire from the walls had ceased as the fortress went dark. Now from behind the sky was lit as the massed batteries of the loyalist Iron Warriors opened fire on the marked positions of the numerous wall guns. A rain of explosives fell upon the ramparts, barbettes containing artillery and lascannons were shattered spilling their contents from the walls. Normally Erakles would have used his artillery to pound a breach in the walls, but time was of the essence. From in front of him raced a squadron of rhinos covered by his few Sicaran and Predator battle tanks. In each rhino were specialist demolition teams, each transporting a tactical cyclonic mine. One would be enough for a practicable breach. Erakles, however, did not believe in overkill.

 

The armored formation raced across the no man’s land of craters and the dead before the walls. Incoming heavy fire from the inbuilt wall defences was sporadic as the defenders tried in vain to traverse and elevate their guns using the manual systems, all the while taking intense fire from the siege guns of the Iron Warriors. Man portable weapons ranging from lascannons to missile launchers began to fire from the ramparts and firing positions built into the wall, to be answered by the escorting battle tanks and Erakles own havoc squads lascannons. Erakles looked as one of the rhinos was disabled, the Iron Warriors within immolated by a direct hit from an enemy heavy weapons team. The team had little time to savor their victory as a Sicaran’s accelerator autocannons ripped them apart. The ramparts were now a seething roil of smoke lit from within by repeated explosions, the havocs now blasting their lascannons into known firing positions. Another rhino skidded to a halt, smoke belching from the engine as the tracks shed themselves. Erakles watched as the demolition team evacuated the vehicle, racing through a rain of lasgun and stubber fire back towards the siege lines. Most made it, some did not. It was the arithmetic of war.

 

Two of the Rhino APCs reached the base of the wall. The armored support raining fire at the ramparts and bastions that in return fired down upon the demolition squads.

 

A flash of melta charges lit the base of the wall at two points momentarily throwing the hard outlines of the demolition parties into stark relief. The Iron Warriors quickly placed the two remaining tactical cyclonic mines in the tunnels and raced for their Rhinos. Once all who were coming were aboard the Rhinos and the surviving escorting tanks raced back towards their own lines.

 

“Two charges set Warsmith” reported the veteran Iron Warriors sergeant. “Retiring to safe distance”

 

“Received and understood. Stay in your Rhinos until after detonation, in fact stay in them until our World…. Until our War Hound friends have reached the breach. I suspect safe is a relative term if you are in between them and their prey” Erakles replied. “Captain Makhus, please ensure your storming parties are in cover. This will be quite spectacular”

 

“Understood. All are under armor in defilade” Makhus replied “Just make us a big hole and follow as fast as you can”

 

“We will try and keep up War Hound, see you in the breach. Erakles Out” the warsmith cut the vox off and ordered the artillery to be ready to “paste the breach”.

 

The timer in his retinal display counted down, time seeming to stretch as warsmith Erakles made his way down into the siege trenches to join his warriors.

 

“Everybody down” he ordered as the Iron Warriors braced against the trench walls.

 

With a blinding flash of light the mines detonated. Night turned to day as the cyclonic weapons vaporized a huge section of the wall and blasted reinforced rockcrete and fragments of the defending weaponry over a radius of more than three kilometers.

 

Before the rubble had even started returning to earth the voice of Captain Makhus roared over the vox “For the Emperor! Loyalty or Death!” he roared “War Hounds, Night Lords, Charge!!!”

 

From prepared positions the Rhino and Land Raider transports burst from concealment, racing through the rain of rubble towards the catastrophic breach in the wall before them. From the breach a column of dust and smoke was rising into the dark sky, now swept clear of low hanging clouds by the force of the shockwave. White and blue Rhinos raced ahead of their midnight blue counterparts, the War Hounds showing their customary disregard of anything resembling safety as they raced to secure the breach. Rubble rained down from the sky as burnished metal power armored forms rose from the assault trenches and began their crossing of the kill zone before the walls. Artillery rained down into the breach, while other guns and support squads swept fire across the blasted ramparts and bastions of the wall to either side of the gaping wound in the fortress.

 

But still some defenders returned fire, lascannons reached out with crimson collimated light trying to disable or destroy  the oncoming Rhinos. Here and there a vehicle was struck, some grinding to a halt to discharge white or midnight clad warriors who proceeded to form up and advance on foot, others exploding, their surviving passengers, if any, joining the advance. Other weapons fired on the advancing Iron Warriors, their stoically advancing lines closing up where incoming fire disabled or killed the advancing Astartes.

 

Characteristically Makhus was the first to reach the breach. As he disembarked from his Rhino with his assault squad, the guns pounding the area of the breach lifted to smash the area behind the breach. Forming up with other arriving squads he looked back at his advancing allies, the Night Lords contingent was still a few hundred meters behind, while the Iron Warriors would be several minutes. The breach was his. Roaring his rage against all traitors he waved his power kanabo over his head to signal the charge up the slope of the breach. Part maul, part spiked club, the weapon had been presented to him in honor of his record during the battles in the pan pacific basin on Terra. He usually kept it until he was facing something truly deserving of the honor of its wrath. He could think of no more deserving foe than the pretty boy sons of Fulgirm. They would not look so good once the heavy brutal weapon had rearranged their features. He charged into the dust cloud slowly settling into the breach, the first defenders were just reaching the top as the War Hounds crashed into them in a wave of white, which swiftly became stained a strange hue as the corrupted blood of their mortal enemies sprayed through the air. The War Hounds slaughtered their way through the human auxilia, cawing their way towards the purple figures of the corrupted Emperor’s Children. Caught between two unstoppable waves of warriors, the humans were annihilated, gunned down and chopped apart by the War Hounds chainaxes and chain swords, or flensed by the strange sonic weapons and bolters of the Emperor’s Children as they tried to clear a path through their own human auxiliaries to reach their hated cousins.

 

The two lines met with a thunderous crash in the chaos of the breach and the superb skill of the Emperor’s Children was met by the fury and rage of the War Hounds. Each cancelled out the advantage of the other chain sword and chain axe clashed, charnabal sabre and eviscerator, as the warriors of the Emperor’s Children were slowly ground down by the superior numbers and incandescent rage of the War Hounds and the Night Lords who were joining the fight. It was then that the traitors unleashed their trump card, the lithe forms dancing through the smoke and flames, feminine yet not, dark black eyes and wicked smiles, their arms ending in crustacean like claws, an oncoming horde of the unreal creatures came bounding across the muster yards of the fortress towards the desperate battle.

 

                                ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Inside the fortress Serjar and his strike force encountered them too, as they cut their way through the pitch-dark corridors towards the command center. Good as the Emperor’s Children were, they were no match for the Night Lords in these conditions, not for nothing was the battle cry of the legion “Ave Dominus Nox”. The Night Lords moved with confidence and slaughtered their foes often before the enemy even knew they were there. Until they ran into the newcomers.

 

Their first warning came from brother Shalva, his cry brought on by his preternatural senses. “Incoming, warp sorcery, I can feel them!!” Moments later the strangely beautiful yet repellent creatures bounded down the corridor, a ghostly warp light radiating from their svelte forms. Their curves feminine but at the same time androgynous, the horrific crab like claws on their arms snapping open and closed as they charged.

 

The Loyalist Night lords opened fire, a hail of rounds cutting into the oncoming creatures, which proved remarkably resilient despite their lack of armor. “Draw swords” Serjar ordered, his glaive already swinging to slice through the unnaturally pink flesh of one of the creatures. As it died it let out an orgasmic cry, as if the sensation of dying was an utmost pleasure, it’s comrades faces twisted in rage as they leapt forward to avenge their fallen sister.

 

“What are these freaks?” Stanislaus cried out “What monstrosity of evolution created these?” as he hacked and slashed with his power sword, severing the arm of one of the monstrosities.

 

“They are not natural Sir” Shalva called out, his power maul smashing another one to the floor as he sent bolt rounds into another of the misbegotten creatures as it crushed the life out of one of the terror squad veterans with its giant claw “They are touched by the warp, maybe even from it, its stench permeates them”

 

Serjar could smell it beneath the musky soporific scent the creatures gave off, a terrible rancid undercurrent of corruption and decay. He swirled his way through the mad melee, his chain glaive sweeping in arcs and ending these abominations as he cut towards the command center door. Behind him the fighting died down as the combined strike force finished off the last of the creatures. Serjar turned to look, a carpet of ruptured pink bodies covered the corridor floor, here and there a fallen brother lay. His rage rising at the thought of any of his men dying to these freaks. His gorge rose as he watched the bodies of the enemy dissolve into putrid slushy pools of rancid liquid. What insanity was this.

 

“Butchers bill Serjar, we lost another ten. twenty wounded. We have about half the force left without injuries” Stanislaus informed him “Will that leave us enough to take the command center?”

 

“It’s going to have to be enough brother” Serjar replied “Not like I can just call for reinforcements. Makhus is relying on us to take the head off this beast, and that is exactly what we will do. Besides, our new Iron Warriors friends might take a dim view of your boasting in future if we don’t” Serjar quipped.

 

“Hah hah, very funny, well I guess we better get on with it” Stanislaus replied

 

“At least I’m not leading you into another sewer….” Serjar teased his old friend

 

 

“Frakk off Serjar, I’m still pissed about that” Stanislaus retorted “I’m sure my armoring serfs will insist I clean it myself!”

 

“A true warrior attends to his equipment brother” Replied Serjar, at which point Stanislaus sighed and gave up.

 

Quickly more melta charges were placed on the huge blast doors. Serjar had decided to use their entire remaining supply, just to be sure. As he nodded to Gazarus to activate the charges, he heard the former codicier Shalva cry out a warning “No my lord, it is hiding in there…..” the rest of his words lost in the roar of the melta bombs and the destruction of the blast doors. Whatever it was that was worrying Shalva it would have to be dealt with the old fashioned way, with that thought Serjar and his men charged into the command center.

 

It resembled in some ways the theatre in which he had first met his mentor Jandos. The same semicircular amphitheater like layout, but instead of seating facing a stage, the descending rings contained command and cogitator stations, comms units, auspex readouts, all facing towards a series of huge screens and hololith projectors. And instead of damsels in distress and gangers, it was filled with traitor soldiers and Emperor’s Children warriors.

 

Dim emergency biolume lighting cast their dim light, changing the vast space from void black to that of a moonlit clear night. The riotous colors of the Emperor’s children and their human followers were muted but still marked them out compared to the midnight blue of Serjar’s loyalist Night Lords.

 

“Kill them, kill them all!” he roared as his men fanned out around the upper circle and began to fire down upon the humans and traitor Astartes. Serjar led his men as they advanced in tightly controlled rushes, part of the force laying down suppressive fire while their comrades rushed from cover to cover. Incoming fire, bolter and las and sonic blasts smashed into the banks of equipment, but the cover and move tactics were paying off.

 

Serjar and Stanislaus took cover behind a main unit cogitator which vibrated as it took hits.

 

“Well, this is pleasant” Stanislaus announced “We going to charge them or what? May as well get it over with”

 

“That was the plan, unless you’d like to trade shots with those damned sonic things that some of them have” Serjar replied.

 

“Good point, I’ll take charging those bastards to being shot at by those monstrosities any day! Where the hell did they get them?” Stanislaus said, taking a quick look over the top of the cogitator, ducking back just in time as a shrieking sonic volley was fired in his direction. Serjar didn’t respond, his thoughts on what was happening to their treasonous cousins were dark enough, and he would keep them to himself for now. It was time to destroy the Emperor’s Children command cadre.

 

“Blind grenades……. NOW!!!” Serjar ordered over the closed vox network. His men threw as one, dozens of blind grenades flew through the air into the lower rows, some mixed with krak and frag, the Night Lords ducking back into cover as the nova bright flashes and sensor jamming chaff erupted below.

“For the Emperor!!” Serjar roared as he leapt over the ruined cogitator, his men taking up the cry as they charged down upon the stunned traitors below. Serjar swung his glaive in sweeping arcs at the foe, severing heads and limbs from staggering traitor Astartes and human alike. It was vital to kill as many as possible of the Emperor’s Children before they recovered, despite their horrific changes they were still superlative warriors. Behind him his men cut down their foes with bolter and volkite, plasma and chain sword. Stanislaus was at his side, covering Serjar with his power sword, the midnight blue clad warriors cut deep into their riotously colored cousins crushing the mortal traitors who had been in the way into bloody broken sacks of shattered bone and flesh. Before him Serjar saw a warrior who could only be the commander of the Emperor’s Children. His foe was already recovering from the effects of the blind grenades, as were the twisted Astartes around him. Serjar roared out his challenge and charged as it was accepted.

 

                                ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Makhus swung his power kanabo, the lightning wreathed head of the weapon splattering corrupted filth from yet another of the obscene abominations that had raced to the aid of the traitor Astartes. He swung again smashing the chest armor of one of the Emperor’s Children as if it was little more than a ration can. He grimaced as polluted blood, purple and oily, splattered over the eye lenses of his helmet. Around him his men in the white of the War Hounds, and the midnight blue of their brother Night Lords struggled and killed and bled in a sea of pale pink of the strange creatures and the vilely defaced armor of the Emperor’s Children. Makhus had hoped to clear the breach before the arrival of the Iron Warriors, and this would have happened before the arrival of the freaks that cavorted and fought alongside the traitors, now he and the storming party were barely holding the line, waiting for the Iron Warriors to add their weight to the advance into the fortress.

 

A champion of the Emperor’s Children roared his challenge at Makhus, who gladly accepted. His gorge and hatred both rose at the defacement and defilement to his opponent’s armor. Fury raged as Makhus saw his treasonous foe still wore the Emperor’s own symbol upon his plate, surrounded by more of the markings of insanity. The two warriors clashed, blows raining on each other like hail, neither able to make a telling blow. Makhus grimaced as he realized each minor hit was giving his foe pleasure, and for the first time he found himself facing an opponent with no care for his own survival, a foul mirror of the style of his own legion in combat. Suddenly he was grabbed from behind, a foul crustacean claw pulling him down and backwards. One of the monstrosities had pulled him down into the foul sludge of its sisters remains with a mighty crash. The traitor champion stepped forward, savoring the moment, his features showing his ecstasy at the fight and its imminent end. The traitor raised his power sword high as Makhus struggled with the pinning grip of the creatures claws.

 

As the weapon fell, Morinar threw himself into the fight, his power sword blocking that of the traitor. With a snarl the Emperor’s Children officer reacted with lightning speed, a flurry of blows smashed down upon Morinar as he attempted to block and parry. His defence wasn’t enough. The traitor cried out in pleasure as his sword ran through Morinar’s abdomen, the bright crimson of his Astartes blood staining the midnight blue of his armor. The son of the Phoenician taking his time over Morinar’s death, as if he was savoring it, even drawing sustenance from the death of his loyal cousin.

 

It was a fatal mistake.

 

Makhus roared as his comrade died, his armored elbow smashed repeatedly into the face of the creature holding him down, the powerful blows shaking lose its grip on his Mk.III plate. He burst up from the ground, his kanabo power weapon already swinging. The traitor was too distracted with his torture of the dying Night Lord to notice him. Makhus connected a mighty blow, the power kanabo shattering the traitors sword arm and shoulder.  Morinar fell into the bloody slush, his ruined armored form crashing to the ground. Makhus rained blow upon blow into the staggering turncoat driving his opponent to his knees, before a mighty kick destroyed the head of his foe.

 

Kneeling for a second beside his comrade he pulled off Morinar’s helmet “Hold on brother, help is coming, I thank you for your assistance” he said as Morinar looked up at him.

 

“Too late for me Makhus, I always was better with a bolter” Morinar replied, blood flowing from his mouth as he did so “Kill them all for me, death to traitors” his final words as he expired.

 

Makhus rose and returned to the fray, the Iron Warriors had reached the fight at last. He saw warsmith Erakles at the head of the silver tide, his power axe and servo arm ripping the monstrous creatures and traitor marines alike apart. The Iron Warriors advanced in disciplined groups, a hail of bolter fire blasting apart their foes as they came to the assistance of the storming party. But still the tide of freakish monstrosities poured across the muster yard towards the breach. Slowly the War Hounds, the Night Lords, and the Iron Warriors ground forward over the bodies of their foes and down the far side of the breach into the fortress. But the tide of their foes seemed never ending.

 

                                ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Serjar and the traitor captain collided in brutal hand to hand combat. The Emperor’s Children officer had the advantage of speed, but Serjar had the advantage of reach. He used his chain glaive to best advantage as the foe attempted to reach him with his curved power sword. Around him his fellow Night Lords were cutting down their foes, each supporting their battle brothers in the chaotic melee. The Emperor’s Children, many still suffering the effects of the blind grenades were struggling to respond.

 

The traitor in front of him roared with pleasure at each blow he received from the chain glaive “Lackey of the false Emperor, come try to strike me down, see the true nature of your foes” as he darted in to cut at Serjar’s armored head.

 

As Serjar parried, taking the strikes on the haft of his weapon, he raised the glaive high and swung downwards in a powerful strike towards his foe’s shoulder. At that moment brother Shalva’s voice rang out on his helmet vox “No lord! It’s what he wants! Don’t kill….” But it was too late.

 

The chain glaive struck the traitor at the joint of his gorget and shoulder, cutting down deep into the warriors chest, the spinning teeth of the weapon shredding his primary heart. The damage was fatal.

 

The traitor captain laughed.

 

He laughed with a voice that should not have come from any human throat, not even that of a gene forged Astartes.

 

Serjar watched in horror as the traitor’s body began to change, the fountain of blood from the gaping wound turning into flesh as it ran over the armor of the traitor. The debased form of the warrior in front of him became a nightmare, armor shattering as the body it contained became too large, pink flesh smashing apart the Mk. IV plate. Bones snapped and rearranged, the legs becoming bovine, the torso expanding and growing breasts as well as muscles, extra arms sprang from the monstrosities back as it grew, the wound healing like a closing zipper. And the head, the head. A monstrous bull form head, covered in horns, with black almond shaped eyes. They regarded Serjar with a terrible mix of desire and hatred, lust and vengeance. And in them Serjar saw his worst fears confirmed, damnation and hell were real. Horus had made pact with something foul. With the warp. All the sailors’ stories were true, including those learned at his father’s knee, there were daemons in the warp. Then the creature spoke.

 

“Worship me man thing, worship my mistress -king, the prince-princess of pleasure. Your kin have done so. Your uncle, the great Fulgrim, even now cavorts along the path of Slaneesh! Join us and know the true pleasure of existence!” The creature took up what could only be termed a seductive pose, throwing out it’s feminine hips and squeezing its own multiple breasts as it fondled its new flesh.

 

Serjar replied “I know what you are warp spawn. I am a loyal son of the Emperor. Surrender and your end will be quick, resist and I will make your end a torment such as you will not forget until the stars burn out”

 

The creature whined at the mention of the Emperor of mankind, as if in pain. Then shaking itself like a giant animal throwing water off its body, it laughed, its booming voice alternating between male and female tones as it spoke “Such promises, you have great potential man-thing, you could rise far amongst your brothers with such resolve. Join them, follow Horus, follow the true Gods of the universe, I will show you the secrets I keep”

 

“NEVER!” roared Serjar, as he leapt forward to confront the towering monster before him. Around him his warriors blazed bolter fire and plasma blast at the creature, at the daemon. Bolt rounds blasted chunks from the creature as he charged in, the gaping wounds rapidly closing, plasma fire burnt cauterized holes in the daemon’s flesh, only for them to cover over in seconds. As Serjar swung his chain glaive, the behemoth swung its mighty arm, bashing him away with a contemptuous sneer.

 

“Then die for your Emperor man thing” it cried, the voice coming from everywhere and nowhere.

 

Serjar spiraled through the air and crashed into one of the ornate columns lining the walls of the command center, the impact smashing the finely wrought stone and cracking his artificer armor. As his head smashed into the back of his helmet on impact, all faded to darkness. As his consciousness fled, Serjar new this was the end.

 

He was falling into the darkness, he could hear the noises of the galaxy at war. Screams of dying civilians on a thousand worlds, the cries of loyal and traitor marines as they butchered each other in numbers undreamed of. He could see it stretching out into the future in a never-ending tide of blood. He could feel predators in the dark, coming to consume him.

 

Then he saw it. A golden light. As if coming from an unmeasurable distance. He turned his mind towards it. It grew closer, like a rushing mag lev train lighting up the darkness of a tunnel. Serjar could not tell if he was moving or the light, or both.

 

The light was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It filled him with peace and hope. It made him want to cry tears of joy. And tears of rage at the receding sounds of the galaxy wide war assailing his mind and soul. It reached into him, lighting up the recesses of his heart. It saw his hatred for his traitor kin, and saw that it was good. It judged him, and found him true.

 

In the center of the light Serjar saw a huge arcane pyramid, writhing with power and arcane technology. At its top, seated on a throne was the figure of a man. The man was in agony, his hands gripping the throne as if to hold himself in place, his face a mask of sheer concentration and will. Serjar was filled with adoration, his spirit knelt and abased himself before what he knew to be the Emperor himself.

 

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. It filled him. “Awake Serjar. It is not your time. You will join me at might right hand for the final battle. But that day is not today. You are still of purpose! AWAKE!”

 

Serjar’s eyes snapped open. Damage runes flicked across his retinal displays. Casualty reports from his men in the chamber. It was bad. He staggered to his feet, picking up his glaive as he did so. Before him he saw his battle brothers Shalva, Alexus, and Krar, desperately battling the beast. Lightning flew from Shalva’s hands, wild and barely controllable without his psychic hood. Alexus and Krar protected Shalva and their battle brothers with kine shields, Serjar’s enhanced eyesight picked out the sweat and strain on their faces as the tow former lexicanums struggled to maintain their shields against the furious blows of the daemon. Around the command center he could see the broken bodies of his kin. There were too many. He charged forward towards the back of the monstrosity, his damaged armor complaining with each stride, his body aching. He drew in all his rage and hatred, his righteous fury, his contempt and disgust at the traitors and their fell allies.

 

He leapt.

 

He thundered onto the back of the creature, clawing his way up over the strange leather harness of its armor. Pain wracked him as the coruscating energy from codicier Shalva’s attack arced from the daemon to his armor. He spotted the place he had felled his traitor kin, the only part of the beast still bearing any resemblance to human skin. Clinging desperately as the fell creature tried to shake him off, he raised his chain glaive high in one hand, the adamantium teeth spinning hungrily, and drove it into the hollow of the daemon’s neck through the pale white flesh like a stain on the pink of its body. And in that blow he focused everything. His honor. His trust in the Emperor. His hatred of the traitors. His sense of justice. His love for his battle brothers and the Imperium they served. His duty.

 

And the Daemon howled.

 

And it exploded in a welter of putrefied gore.

 

Serjar was thrown to the ground, bouncing and skidding across the floor, to come to a halt beneath the two-headed imperial eagle adorning the wall. Rising shakily to his feet he looked on as the remaining warp spawn in the room began to lose cohesion, their cries of anger and loss filling the air. Freed from the desperate defence against the greater daemon, his brothers made short work of its lesser kin, and slaughtered the remaining Emperor’s children as they staggered in the backwash from their monster’s destruction. Serjar joined them in the rout.

 

As the fight ended, he turned to see his battle brothers, the former librarians, approach and kneel before him. Head down, Shalva spoke.

 

“Lord Serjar, we have broken the edict of Nikea. We are in breach of the decree absolute. We present ourselves for punishment. We know full well the price of our transgression” He spoke in low tones, the shame in his voice obvious.

 

Serjar glanced at Stanislaus, his old comrade shrugged, his power armor exaggerating the movement. It was obvious what he thought.

 

Serjar spoke, his voice stern “Indeed you have brother. But you did it to save our kin. Without your actions, I fear we would have been undone, and until such time as we rejoin the greater Imperium I will not enforce it. We have seen today that your powers are needed to fight the foe. I was at Nikea, escorting Chief Librarian Zarhost, and I see today that the majority of those who went against the Crimson King are now traitors. I was suspicious of the proceedings then. And more so now. If I am failing the Emperor in this, I will take my punishment alongside you. Now get off your knees brothers, this battle is not over”

 

Gathering the survivors of the claw, Serjar led them from the command center and they proceeded to fight their way towards the surface. As they fought through the corridors, slaughtering the mortal traitors and Emperor’s Children as they came across them, the traitors’ daemonic allies faded and receded like an outgoing tide, remarking on this to Shalva Serjar was informed that the three ex librarians believed that the destruction of the monstrosity in the command center had broken the lesser warp spawns’ hold on reality. Despite his wounds, despite the damage to his armor, Serjar lost himself in the slaying of traitors.

 

                                ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Makhus stood shoulder to shoulder with Erakles as they faced the horde of screaming fiends, his force wreathed kanabo smiting the creatures and traitor marines alike, Erakles ripped his foes apart with his servo arm and swung his power axe in sweeping arcs, each blow leaving arcs of tainted blood and putrid matter flying through the air. The combined force of War Hounds, Night Lords, and Iron Warriors gunned down the onrushing hordes, or engaged in vicious melee with strange creatures and the traitor marines, the human auxilia of the Emperor’s children were by now either annihilated or fleeing back towards the central keep of the fortress depot.

 

Then a change came over the bloody battlefield of the muster yards. As one, the strange monstrosities sent up a keening wail of loss and began to lose cohesion. The precise formations of the Emperor’s Children lost their coordination, as if their command direction had been suddenly cut.

 

Erakles and Makhus were not slow to take advantage, as their freakish foes began denaturing into foul stinking pools of filth, they led their Astartes brethren on a reinvigorated assault into the Emperor’s Children lines, the weight of numbers of the attackers now irresistible by the traitors.

 

“Looks like your Serjar has cut the spine from these scum!” Erakles intoned “Whatever he has done in there, looks like it is working” He said as his servo arm crushed the life from a traitor marine.

 

“He’s a canny bastard” Makhus replied “you should have seen the trick he pulled on Carias II, saved my arse that day he did”

 

To Makhus’s relief he saw the gates to the keep open, from within rolled a tide of midnight blue armored Astartes, the lightning flashing across their armor as they cut down the remaining human auxilia and fell upon the rear of the desperately struggling Emperor’s Children. At their head Makhus could see Serjar, the wounded warrior in his damaged plate scything through his foes in a dance of death. The chain glaive sweeping and falling, each strike tearing the life from his foes.

 

Before long it was over. The combined loyalist force putting the sword to the treasonous Emperor’s Children and their turncoat human followers in the muster yard, before hunting their way through the interior of the fortress leaving no survivors.

 

The fortress was theirs, and so were the vital supplies. The cost had been heavy, but they would now be able to resupply and continue toward Terra to fulfil their duty to the throne world and to the Emperor they all served.

 

Serjar met with Erakles and Makhus, and along with codicier Shalva explained what had been found inside, and the suspected origin of the freakish creatures they had almost been undone by. Serjar kept his vision quiet, but related the rest of the battle to his comrades. In turn he was informed about the events of the storming of the breach. Serjar was saddened by the loss of his old comrade Morinar, but he had died as he had lived “Just the sort of stupid thing he would do” Stanislaus had stated upon hearing of Morinar’s intervention to save Makhus during the storm of the breach. Serjar agreed, Morinar had ever been more heroic in nature than most of his brothers. Now he was gone in a manner in which he would have preferred.

 

“Brothers” Serjar spoke “We faced today what I believe is at the root of Horus’s rebellion. Our kin have fallen to sorcery and have allied themselves with creatures from the warp. We have all seen things in transit, from the corner of our eyes. We have all heard the stories of the sailors about what swims in the empyrean. We have, in our ignorance, dismissed these tales as superstition and legend. I think today we can agree that they are not” turning to Erakles he said “I hope, brother, that you found our assistance today worthwhile. I in turn would request yours. I head for Terra, to stand at the side of the Emperor. We all know that is where Horus will go. To confront and throw down the rightful Emperor of Mankind, and set himself up as a tyrant in his place with his new allies given free reign over the people of the Imperium. We must warn Terra of what is coming. About the reality of the foes we face. Will you join me in this?”

 

The warsmith nodded “You have made my day today Serjar, it is not often an Iron Warrior gets to prove that we can tear down what our cousins in the Fists build up. For that alone you have my loyalty. For saving the lives of so many of my men, more so. For your loyalty to the Emperor most of all. I will follow you to Terra with my men. Makhus and I fought well together, something I would not have suspected before standing by his side. You have my respect both”

 

The two warriors clasped arms in the ancient warrior greeting of Terra, before setting their commands to work in the armories and munition halls of the depots.

 

Replenished with their desperately needed supplies and equipment, weapons and ammunition, armor and spare parts, replacement vehicles and support systems, rations and medical supplies, all the requirements for legion warfare, the three captains led their forces back to their ships. Behind them a last act from the warsmith.

 

A blinding flash of light erupted from the fortress as its reactor went critical, wiping the stain of corruption left by the Emperor’s Children from the face of the world.

 

As the gunships and drop ships laden with space marines and supplies raced towards the ships, Serjar’s voice rang out across the fleet vox “For the Emperor! Victory! Loyalty or death!” To be answered in turn by the massed voices, Astartes and human in affirmation.

[Serjar]

Brother Captain Jamius shut the hatch of the Damocles Command Rhino and turned to the tactical display. His men of the 65th company, IXth Legion had caught the traitor whore sons of the warmaster napping this time.

 

All across the star port and manufactoriums of Mirzani Secundus hive his men had enacted the Day of Revelation. His reinforced company was spreading confusion amongst the defending Sons of Horus guarding the main provider of ammunition to the subsector.

 

Vicious fighting raged as the assault squads hunted down isolated units of traitors who had been indulging themselves in slaughter of civilians. Meanwhile the heavier elements of his company were landing by Stormbird and Thunderhawk to secure the star port from the remaining enemy squads.

 

"Resistance appears to be solidifying in sectors to the east captain" relayed the master of vox "seems there are more of the bastards than we thought"

 

Jamius scanned the hololith display.

 

"Contact Ramirio and instruct him to swing north west behind them. Get Urzelon to start advancing from the port once secured and let's keep them on the back foot. I will join Donas with the main assault group"

 

The captain left the damocles, secured a jump pack and roared upwards and wawy towards the location of his trusted first Sergeant Donas.

 

As the jump pack carried him racing over the manufactoriums surrounding the star port the master of vox relayed further updates. His men were finding resistance increasing throughout the zone of conflict. Losses were beginning to climb but the traitors remained on the back foot.

 

As the icon showing Donas's location blinked brighter in his preysight he brought himself down into the middle of a furious melee.

A sea of green armored Astartes clashed with the Blood Angels in red.

 

Picking out an enemy officer Jamius poured on the speed, a hail of bolt shells from his pistol bracketing then striking his chosen foe. The traitor turned from dispatching a Blood Angel and raised his bolter too late as Captain Jamius slammed into him.

 

Casting aside his empty pistol and making a savage two handed swipe with his power sword the Blood Angel sliced the bolter in two as his foe staggered back drawing a vicious power axe. Lightning crackled and sparked around both weapons as blade met axe and the two veteran warriors parried and cut at each other.

 

"Lackey of the false Emperor" taunted the Son of Horus "you fool, we outnumber you, what did you hope to achieve?"

 

"You did, not now vermin" the Captain retorted "you are here, you are traitors, that is all we need"

 

A harsh laughter boiled out of the traitor captain's vox grille "more arrogance, even as we speak, more followers of the warmaster arrive, just as at Istvaan. Meet your doom"

 

"ENOUGH" roared the Blood Angel, his lightning speed finally forcing an opening from his opponent, the power blade slicing into the Son of Horus's belly and ripping up into his chest, the power field of the sword cooking the primary heart of his foe.

 

Seeing their Captain fall, the Sons of Horus withdrew to regroup. Sergeant Donas held his men in check "police the area, dispatch their wounded and appropriate their weapons and ammunition" he ordered, turning to his captain he greeted Jamius "good to see you sir, that could have gone either way"

 

The two Astartes turned to the dying traitor captain. Slow wet laughter followed the Blood leaking from his mouth. "Take off your helmet Blood Angel, I would look on the cousin who bested me"

 

Removing his helm, Jamius knelt by the traitor.

 

"And what else? I certainly won't be getting you an apothecary"

 

Laughter came again "not so noble now eh Son of Sanguinius? I thought my father sent all you fools to die at Signus?"

 

The anger flared again in Jamius's hearts, a black and red cloud that called for the death of this traitor scum, clenching his teeth till they creaked he forced down his rage.

 

"We were delayed by warp storms from reaching the rendezvous for the fleet, on the way back to Baal we heard how your bastard father has rebelled against the Emperor and resolved to do as much damage as possible until the Angel contacts us"

 

"Or you die" a wet series of coughs interrupted "There is that nobility. You know what? Believe it or not I am jealous. You still have your honor. It won't help you though, they will be here soon"

 

"Who?"

 

"You'll see"

 

"You won't cousin, this conversation is over" spoke Jamius as his sword decapitated his foe.

 

Within the hour the Sons of Horus began to launch counter attacks, most were seen off easily but their coordination was improving.

 

Suddenly the master of vox patched through the commander of the battle barge Crimson Fury

 

"Sir, we have just detected enemy vessels entering orbit, Throne knows how they got so close without us seeing them, I'm reading Night Lords, World Eaters, and Iron Warriors pennants, I suggest you order a withdrawal, I'll send the gunships to start the extraction"

 

Jamius cursed then replied "see to it brother, master of vox, issue op plan sigma to all units, fighting withdrawal to the star port, heavy units to evacuate first"

 

Within the hour the Blood Angels were defending the star port against furious traitor assaults, as Captain Jamius watched the gunships racing from above to rescue as many men as possible from the disaster.

 

"Sir, looks like the traitor ships are running for a drop pod insertion"

 

"Yes it does, buy why haven't they targeted our battle barge?"

 

"Probably want to get down here before Horus's mangy pups kill us all..... there they go, drop pods incoming. Been a pleasure serving with you brother"

 

"And with you brother" replied the captain "now we just have to hurt them as much as we can"

 

"Indeed sir. Permission to join the line?"

 

Jamius frowned as he looked at the hololith display.

 

"Wait a minute brother, something strange in the projections, the traitors are not dropping on us, they'll come down behind the Sons...."

 

As the hololith predicted, dozens upon dozens of drop pods smashed down behind the encircling Sons of Horus, the roars and cheering of the traitors at the arrival of their reinforcements could be heard over the furious exchange of bolter fire.

 

A tide of white and midnight blue and dull metal raced out of the opening pods towards the battle, the Sons of Horus turning to welcome them.

 

To be met in turn by chainaxe, and bolter, and lightning claw.

 

Dumbfounded the Sons of Horus died in droves, static washed over their vox, the screams of their dying relayed and amplified tenfold, followed by a voice which roared "For the Emperor! Death to traitors! Join us sons of Sanguinius! Destroy the foe!"

 

Jamius sent in his men, caught between two foes and outnumbered the two companies of the Sons of Horus lines were broken, ever smaller knots of green struggled with, and were overwhelmed by a wave of blue and white and red and steel.

 

"Join me brother, third district, we have located their command post, transferring coordinates" crackled the vox. Jamius led his command squad to the location, landing behind the midnight blue lines of the Night Lords he was greeted by a sinister figure in a skull helm, flayed skin adorned his pauldrons, bearing tattoos of traitor legionnaires, Jamius saw legion sigils of the Emperor's Children, Death Guard, Night Lords, World Eaters, and now bloody rags of skin with tattoos from the Sons of Horus. He noted not a single legionary wore the night lords symbol, they had been replaced by the double headed eagle of the Imperial Aquila.

 

"Welcome brother" the Night Lord captain greeted him "hope our little surprise didn't grey your beautiful blonde locks...." he laughed.

 

Jamius made the sign of the Aquila "we are in your debt Captain, but I thought your legion turned?"

 

Removing his helm the Night Lord looked into the Blood Angel's eyes "we may have been a legion of murderers, but some of us have honor. Most turned following that madman Curze. Not I. Not my men. We were the Emperor's black job boys. Still are. Loyalty before all else brother"

 

"Works for me brother, now why did you call me here? I don't think you need my help..."

 

"Not help to deal with this pocket of vermin certainly, but a loyal brother for the war? I'll take all of those I can get. Name is Serjar by the way, formerly Kyroptera commander of the “Harbingers of Judgement” strike force of the Night Lords, now wandering executor of traitors and collector of stray loyalists, and yours?"

 

"Captain Jamius, 65th Company of the Blood Angels. Shall we deal with these scum"

 

"After you brother, not really my thing to go first ha ha" Serjar joked. Jamius gave him a strange look.

 

"Likes to think he's a funny man, you'll get used to it" grumbled another former Night Lord.

 

Serjar turned to the other Night Lords officer “Sure Stanislaus, you provide enough comedy for us all”

 

The assault was over quickly, the Sons of Horus fought hard, but were already shaken by the screams of their brother's and the shock of what they thought of as betrayal.

 

Finally the traitor commander was dragged from the bunker, severely wounded he looked up at Serjar

 

"Treasonous dog" he spat "you stabbed us in the back, you and your allies"

 

"Treason, funny how it is so dependent on point of view, son of Horus" Serjar spoke softly "did you not ask me to "make it like Istvaan V" in your orders? So sure it was a stinking traitor like yourself you never even bothered to check our details. Well we made it like Istvaan. Istvaan as it should have been. Traitors cut down, loyalists saved. The Emperor upheld"

 

Serjar turned to Jamius "you might want to leave for this bit brother, I know our methods tend to make others..... uneasy at best"

 

"No Serjar, do what must be done. Since this war started I have learnt that we must do what is required"

 

"Very well Jamius" Serjar extended his hand, and Jamius gripped it in the ancient warriors hand shake "let us begin and do what is needed for the Emperor"

 

"For the Emperor, brother" smiled Jamius.

[Serjar]

Comments or criticism (constructive) welcome

[Serjar]

The combined fleet of Loyalist Night Lords, War Hounds, Iron Warriors, and their latest allies, Captain Jamius’s 65^th Company of the IX Legion, powered away from Mirzani Secundus towards the Mandeville point of the star system.  In the hololithic conference room Serjar addressed his fellow commanders.

 

“Brothers, we have once again bloodied the servants of the Warmaster. I salute you. But rest assured, if I know the Sons of Horus, we will soon be attracting the attention of our traitor cousins.”

 

His fellows, both those present physically such as Stanislaus, and those whose hololithic projections stood before him, nodded in agreement. Since splitting from the Night Lords, Serjar and his men had blazed a trail of destruction through the Carias and Azerunium systems, coming to the assistance of first Makhus and his World Eaters, then Erakles and his Iron Warriors, before a mistaken request for aid from Captain Jorison of the Sons of Horus had led Serjar and his battle brothers to the assistance of Jamius and his men. Serjar and Stanislaus’s interrogation of the captured traitor had provided vital intelligence. The turncoats were moving into the sector in force, not only the Sons of Horus, but elements of several traitor legions were moving to secure the flank of the Warmaster’s line of advance towards Terra.

 

Serjar was of two minds, firstly was his stated intention of reaching Terra, or as close as possible, to link up with other loyalist forces in stopping, or at least slowing, Horus’s advance on the throne world. Secondly was the possibility of tying down as much of the traitor force as possible through a campaign of resistance and sabotage, thereby aiding the defenders of Terra indirectly.

 

After his vision in the command center on Azerunium, something he was still loth to share with his fellows, Serjar’s hearts pulled him towards the first option. His centuries of experience were, however, pulling him towards the latter.

 

He put the question to his fellow captains. As he expected, opinions differed wildly, each a reflection of the legion the speaker was a product of.

 

Stanislaus spoke up first “Serjar, I know how much you want to race straight to the throne world and get us in the middle of the mother of all battles, I do. But think of the damage we can cause out here. The Traitors will be split up in small groups trying to secure this area. Perfect for us to defeat elements of them in detail. Pick our fights and we can cause damage out of all proportion to our numbers. With six major vessels and our support elements, we are big enough to deal with almost any detached force the traitors can bring to bear, and fast enough to get out of the way of a full expedition” to which his fellow Night Lord Kergorag voiced his assent.

 

Hit and run, the hidden blade, was very much the Night Lords way of war, along with sowing terror and confusion as a result. Serjar was not at all surprised at his old friend’s stance.

 

Makhus was the first to disagree “It seems fine in theory, but I fear being stuck out here facing traitors in pointless battles while the bastards of Horus drive straight at Terra. For, believe me, I know those legions of old. This will be, no matter how much damage we do, a secondary front. Serjar, I promised you I would stand alongside you all the way to Terra. I suggest we stick with that plan. We should be there to confront our treasonous kin in the only battle that will really matter. Terra.”

 

Warsmith Erakles indicated he wished to speak, Serjar acknowledged the Iron Warrior who voiced his opinion “Brothers, if I may, I feel Makhus has the meat of it. Anything we achieve out here will be secondary. We have what, just over six thousand Astartes. A lot for a strike force. Little enough in the overall scheme of things in this schism. For a time we can run riot, but the moment we become a real threat Horus will send a force after us that will crush us out here. In his place I would send my own kin and burn any world which has supported us until we are drawn into battle and killed. Then those warriors we have tied down will be returned to the main line of advance. We can’t afford to get bogged down in one sector. I feel we can serve both ends on the way to Terra. Moving parallel to the advance of the Traitors, we can draw off forces from the main line of advance while striking for Terra ourselves”

 

Serjar listened, turning the options over in his mind. One captain had not yet spoken. Jamius of the IX Legion. Serjar looked at the Blood Angel, who was lost deep in thought. Then the blonde haired warrior spoke.

 

“Lord Serjar, if I may” he began. Serjar indicated the warrior should continue, and Jamius went on “the Blood Angels are, as our cousins in the War Hounds, a direct legion. I agree with captain Makhus and warsmith Erakles, Terra will be the focal point. In addition, we must inform them, forgive me, of the turning of your kin and those of the Iron Warriors. I fear the Raven Guard, Iron Hands, Alpha Legion, and Salamanders will have come to grief, I know from astropathic messages that those legions were joining with the Word Bearers, who all here suspect based on your evaluation of Erebus, the Night Lords, and Iron Warriors on Lord Dorn’s orders to prosecute the traitors at Isstvan. We can all be sure Horus was setting a trap for our loyal kin. If those we believe to be loyal in that force were ensnared at Isstvan, then the situation for the Imperium is grim. At least seven legions march for Horus. Perhaps four legions may have come to grief. The defence of the throne world, more importantly of the Emperor, will require every Astartes available. I know only that if my genefather was aware of the situation he would go to Terra forthwith. Unfortunately nothing has been heard since the main fleet passed into the Signus cluster. I fear a further trap.”

 

Serjar sighed, he reflected that as usual it was up to him.

 

“We will strike for Terra. As much as we can along the way, we will cause bloody havoc to the traitors. Anyway, our route will require many stops where we can gain intelligence of enemy movements along the way. Navigator Orphelion, if you would?” Serjar finished, indicating the navigator should step forward and continue the briefing.

 

The sanctioned mutant, his third eye tightly bound under a silk bandana, stepped forward. “My esteemed lords” he began “Since approximately the time of the beginning of the Warmaster’s rebellion, turbulence has been growing in the warp. The Astronomican, the navigational beacon powered by the Emperor’s psychic might, has been becoming obscured. However the Navis Nobilite has, with the Emperor’s blessing, developed a network of secondary beacons during the course of the great crusade. Usually these are sufficient for travel within, or to the next subsector or sector, depending on the conditions” As he spoke, a hololithic projector created a field of stars showing a series of waypoints leading from their current location all the way to the Sol system and the heart of the Imperium. The path was not a straight line, but followed a circuitous route, Serjar noted the additional annotations, lines of advance and known locations of traitors along the path to Terra. There would be hard fighting if the map was anything to go by. Serjar believed it would be worse.

 

“Why such a route Orphelion?” interjected Stanislaus “If we follow this route we come too close to the enemy at several points, here, here, and here..” Stanislaus indicated the systems where projected lines of turncoat advance clashed with their own path to Terra “In addition we could save at least several months by taking the straight line here” Stanislaus’s finger traced a line across the hololithic projection through Ultramar towards the core worlds “At least those stuck up know-it-alls of the Emperor’s head accountant” Serjar suppressed a grin as Stanislaus used the derogatory term common amongst the Night Lords for lord Guilliman, Primarch of the Ultramarines “Are bound to be loyal to Terra, they don’t have enough imagination for anything else. We could resupply and transit at speed” Stanislaus concluded.

 

Orphelion looked at Serjar who, with a wave of his hand, indicated the navigator should continue “Well lord that would, under other circumstances, be preferable. However I regret to inform you that the Utima segmentum is in turmoil. As I mentioned, ever since the thrice damned Warmaster initiated his rebellion against the Emperor, the warp has been growing in turmoil. This turmoil is worst in the Ultima segmentum. It is beginning to split the galaxy. I have projected a best case scenario that will, all being equal, allow us to skirt the worst of the storms and reduce to a minimum our chances of crossing paths with a main body of the traitors’ en-route. Their lines of advance have been based, by Lord Serjar and the strategium crew of the “Bringer of Fear”, on estimates gathered from astropathic intercepts, and known depots, defences, and forge worlds on the way to Terra which both Lord Serjar and the strategium feel will be vital for the Warmaster to capture or eliminate”

 

The Astartes officers all took in the information pouring over the hololith.

 

Stanislaus spoke again “It is a hard choice, I still think we can contribute more by guerilla action. Tie down as many of them as possible then cut and run when it gets too hot”

 

Serjar spoke “Then there is the small matter of Lord Dorn’s order. Seems the Emperor, in his infinite wisdom, has made the Primarch of the Imperial Fists the overall commander of loyal forces, astropath Erzar, if you would…”

 

The wizened old astropath stepped forward, dwarfed by his Astartes masters, the blind psyker proceeded to play the astropathic communication he had recently received.

 

The voice of Rogal Dorn came from the vox casters in the room, his stern stentorian voice ringing out. The message was clear. All loyal forces were to converge on Terra to defend the throne world from the advancing traitors.

 

Stanislaus looked at his battle brother “Terra it is then”

 

                                                   --------------------------------------------------------------------

Beta Cypher Delta IV was a dead system. The sun at its core a dying one. Blasted with waves of radiation as the sun fell into the end of its cycle, the system’s five worlds had been scoured of life millennia ago. Whatever sentient species had built the cities that dotted across three of the system’s worlds, they were long gone and non-human. Strange arches and towers dotted the landscape. Some were made from black glass like material, while others were monuments of massive blocks of stone. Regardless of which material was used, they were of inhuman proportion and their strange shapes had caused the explorator fleet that discovered them to refer to them as “graves of reason”. Around them stood the ruined and decaying cities of an unknown race, once towering buildings that now reared from the irradiated landscape like rotten teeth. After cursory examination of the ruins, it had been determined that there were no xenotech, let alone any human archeotech items, worth recovering. No trace of the inhabitants’ history or culture remained to be studied. Furthermore, the cities in general, and the massive monuments at their cores in particular, seemed to have a deleterious effect on the human and mechanicum explorers. Incidents of violence and aggression amongst the crews had increased markedly. The commander of the Imperial explorator expedition had marked down Beta Cypher Delta IV as a bad bargain and taken his crews on to greener fields in the galactic east.

 

There was nothing of worth in the system for the Imperium of Man, except for one thing. The astropathic way beacon that had been placed in the system to aid navigation on the fringe of Empire.

 

For Beta Cypher Delta IV was positioned at a nexus of relatively stable warp transits. This made it of interest to both sides in the rapidly expanding nightmare of a galaxy wide civil war.

 

And that interest, as it always does in such cases, resulted in death filling the void.

 

Mighty warships filled the void, their plow shaped prows and long hulls rippling with fire as they unleashed fire and death upon each other. The towers and crenellations along their superstructures were ragged with damage as they clawed at one another with beams of coherent light from lance weapons, macro cannon shells, cyclonic torpedoes and sunbursts of plasma, and mass projectiles from nova cannons. In most cases the ships did not even come close enough for the augmented eyes of their post human crews to see their opponents. This was void war at its most pure. A war of trajectories and intercepts. A stately ballet of death between fleets at ranges measured in tens of thousands of kilometers.

 

The ships were many, true predators of the void, from the massive Emperor, Retribution, and Oberon class battleships, or as their owners called them, battle barges, each huge ship was up to twelve kilometers long, through the mighty cruisers such as Mars and Overlord pattern, each in the order of five kilometers in length, all the way down to the Sword class Frigates and Cobra class destroyers, tiny in comparison to their sister ships, but their length still well over a kilometer. Each ship was the result of thousands of years of human ingenuity and experience in void warfare, each mighty capital ship contained tens of thousands of crew and hundreds of their Astartes leaders.

 

One fleet was arrayed in the pure black of the void, the other in a dark bloody red. The ships in black were resplendent with the winged sword symbol of their legion, their foes ships bore a burning book surmounted by a screaming face from the worst nightmares of ancient humanity.

In the void, these warriors, once the closest of kin, now turned on each other with the hatred that only a civil war can bring.

 

Squadrons and wings of attack fighters sped through the void, escorting bombers to their targets or intercepting those of the foe. While miniscule in comparison to the capital ships, each as a flea to a carnosaur, they were, in sufficient numbers, a threat to even the mighty battleships. As a result the dogfights were severe. Wrecked interceptors and bombers were sent spiraling out of formation or blasted apart by their opposite numbers and the defence batteries of the ships.

 

The ebon clad “Shield of Determination”, an Apocalypse class battleship, blasted the “Word of the Prophet”, a Victory class battleship, apart as the nova cannon round cut through the “Prophet’s” weakened void shields and the macro plasma round detonated amidships. Fragments of the red daubed warship smashed into its consorts, the nearby Mars class Cruiser “Mighty Tome” taking catastrophic damage in the resulting rain of superheated wreckage. Nearby attack craft were obliterated, both friend and foe.

 

Retaliation was not long in coming, the “Quiet Page”, a dark and bloody mirror to the “Shield of Determination” blasted her starboard lance cannons into the exposed flank of the “Knight Crusader”, a Retribution class battleship. The “Knight Crusader” was crippled, her steering gone and most the Enginarium knocked out. The once proud warship drifted in her turn out of the black liveried line spraying atmosphere into the void as fires raced down corridors, and was set upon by the swarms of red clad strike craft which proceeded to hunt down her crew in their savior pods as they attempted to abandon ship. The black armored Astartes remained onboard, fighting to the last against an overwhelming force of their kin who began to board once the crippled ship drifted into range of boarding torpedo and teleporter. Finally the surviving Astartes officer breached the warp core, sucking the ship and all struggling aboard it into the empyrean in a blaze of impossible energies.

 

On the battle went. Cruisers and escorts exploded under the fire of the goddesses of war, the battleships and cruisers, the “Stiletto” a night black Sword class frigate disabled the “Dark Word”, an arterial red cruiser of Lunar pattern, in a ramming attack after the “Dark Word” and its sister “Painful Truth” had crushed the other three Sword class frigates of the “Stiletto’s” squadron.

 

The fleets grew closer together, the battle one of grinding attrition between two well matched foes. Boarding actions began, boarding torpedoes racing across the void to support teleporting squads of Cataphractii and Tartaros pattern Terminator squads as shields went down and ships burned from bow to stern.

 

On the command bridge of the “Righteous Strike” flagship of the midnight black fleet, and the “Eternal Whisper” the crimson flagship of their enemy, alarms rang. On each ship sensorium crews called warnings as a new threat translated from the warp.

 

                                                   --------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The multi-hued warships of the loyalist fleet exploded from the warp, midnight blue, stark white, base metal, and scarlet, the ships of Serjar’s fleet tore out of the hole in reality and into the materium. Huge tendrils of warp energy wreathed the fleet, before being sucked back into the maelstrom. Alarms flared as the auspex castings picked up the massive discharges of energy of the ongoing void war. Human crews hunched over their screens and transferred plots of ships and ident tags from their pennants to the hololithic display in the bridge of the “Bringer of Fear”, the mighty battle barge an Emperor class battleship modified for the requirements of legion warfare. Serjar winced at the scale of destruction amongst his kin.

 

“Status report Captain Norvingen” He requested of the human captain.

 

“Reading over eighteen capital class combatants with appropriate escort” Norvingen replied “Make that seventeen” he corrected as one of the traces flared then disappeared from the hololith projection.

 

Stanislaus whistled through his teeth “Well, looks a bit hot in this system Serjar, not what I was expecting from a beacon stop, we better work out who is who”

 

Serjar agreed. He looked inquiringly at Norvingen who went on “Pennants show I Legion and XVII Legion ships in combat. Loss rates are accelerating on both sides. Ships have begun boarding actions across the line of engagement”

 

Serjar thought. The first and the seventeenth. Chances were more on the side of the I Legion, the sons of the Lion, being loyal. Especially once that snake Erebus was factored in. Despite their secrecy, he had great respect for the Dark Angels. The Word Bearers he was sure would have no loyalist elements. Each Legion had their own traits. In the Word Bearers it was zealotry and a fanatical loyalty to their primarch. Serjar was certain that if one so highly placed as Erebus had been spreading treason throughout the legions, it would only have been done at his genesire’s blessing.

 

However he had to be sure. Nothing could be taken for granted in the kin-slaying that had engulfed the Imperium. After all, over three quarters of his men were loyalists from traitor legions. How would their loyalist cousins look upon them if they engaged the wrong enemy?

 

“Hail both fleets” he instructed.

 

The Dark Angels refused to respond, but the Word Bearers were more forthcoming. A hololithic image formed before Serjar. His opposite number was clad in a dirty crimson, not the slate gray Serjar was expecting. The Word Bearer’s armor was covered in fine lines of script that Serjar assumed was Colchisian text. Honor scrolls and seals hung from his massive shoulder pauldrons, but what the left pauldrons bore sent shards of ice through Serjar’s blood. The burning book was still there, but superimposed over the top was a howling daemonic face. Serjar risked a quick glance at Stanislaus, seeing his own disgust mirrored in his comrade’s eyes and stern expression.

 

“Hail and well met, sons of Curze” greeted the Word Bearers officer. His face would have been handsome but for the symbols tattooed upon it. Even across all the leagues of space, a fire of zealotry burnt in his eyes “Your arrival was opportune, together we can swing this battle into a victory for the Warmaster! I am Ioseb Tor, Dark Apostle of Lorgar, warranted commander of all forces loyal to the Warmaster in this sector, by his decree and that of the Urizen”

 

Serjar bit down his rage “Give me a status report Ioseb, that I may be better appraised of the status of your forces and that of…. the loyalists”

 

The dark apostle turned and gave orders to an officer outside the view of the holocamera, turning back he went on “Well cousin, we will make a feast of these lion’s whelps for the neverborn. Just as we did at Istvaan V, the drop site removed the threat of three of the false Emperor’s blinded sons. Manus I saw dead myself, Corax and Vulcan are believed to be so. The sons of Lorgar are in your legion’s debt for your primarch’s saving of our father”

 

Serjar fought down his rage. Three loyal legions gone, and his genesire saving a fellow traitor. He looked across at the tacticarium station on the bridge. Anamentos, the unaugmented bridge officer nodded as the Word Bearers fleet began passing tactical feeds. Serjar watched as the updated and highly detailed information populated the hololithic projection. Things became clearer. The battle was stalemated, both sides grinding each other into radioactive shards.

 

He looked up at the Word Bearer “Thank you cousin, this was most useful, we will be able to intervene in the most efficient manner thanks to your sharing of data. Tell me, how came this collision? Is there something about this system that makes it of interest to the loyalists, aside from the beacon of course?”

 

A smile crept across the Word Bearer’s face “No cousin, it is simply a coincidence. Pray tell, you have not given me your name?”

 

““Bringer of Silence” will suffice for now cousin” Serjar replied. “If you will excuse me, I have to organize my fleet for the coming action”

 

“We await you “Bringer of Silence”” replied the dark apostle “Tarry not long, for each minute you delay, warriors of the Octed are dying”

 

Serjar ran his hand across his throat, signaling Lieutenant Malkhaz to cut the signal.

 

“Well, that answers that question somewhat” Stanislaus exhaled “Good thing they are too busy fighting the Dark Angels, would have been sticky if they’d been here alone and got a good look at Jamius and his Blood Angels. So Lorgar is in it too. Figures. Never did like those fanatics. Seems our genefather has been up to no good as well”

 

“Indeed” Replied Serjar “Of course the other problem is that I am sure the reason the Dark Angels are not responding to our hails is they think we are reinforcements for the traitors. This is going to be damn hard to pull of brother. We could just as likely have both fleets shooting at us”

 

“Perhaps they may accept a hail from our Blood Angels friend?” Stanislaus suggested “It won’t hurt to try”

 

Within a few minutes Captain Jamius was attempting to hail the Dark Angels from his squadron flagship “Encarmine Blade”. Almost immediately he received a reply.

 

“Strange company you keep, son of Sanguinius” came the voice “Tell me, and answer very clearly, what is a son of the Angel doing alongside the sons of traitors? You have piqued my interest”

 

Serjar listened as Jamius described his rescue from the Sons of Horus by Serjar and his battle brothers. After a few minutes of questions from the Dark Angel, diligently answered by his cousin, Serjar’s ship received a hail from the Dark Angels flagship. Serjar acknowledged the hail, and before him the hololithic projector built an image out of light.

 

“Hail…. Cousin” spoke the Dark Angel. His entire posture spoke of distrust. His plated arms were crossed across the legion sigil of a winged sword on his breastplate. His hood was drawn up leaving his face in shadow except for the mouth, which was set in grim determination “Forgive my rude refusal to talk, but when ships of the Night Lords, World Eaters, and Iron Warriors appear while I am fighting our traitorous kin, I can be forgiven for thinking my enemy has received aid”

 

Serjar nodded “Indeed you may. But my men and I are loyal to Terra and to the Emperor. We have kept our oaths cousin. Under the direst of circumstances”

 

“I see you still wear your legion symbol cousin. Unwise given what your brothers have perpetrated at Istvaan. Though the Imperial eagle is a nice touch.” The warrior replied.

 

“My brothers and father shamed my legion, Dark Angel. I hope you will never know the horror of your kin turning their backs on the Emperor” Serjar replied, straining to keep the anger from his voice.

 

“Unlikely, we are the first” Replied the black armored Astartes.

 

Stainislaus gave a snort of derision “Your point is? Horus, curse him, was first among equals. Look how well that turned out”

 

The Dark Angel started with an angry retort “My sire is loyal! How dare you…”

 

Serjar held up his hand “Enough cousin. We will help you as we can. Deeds not words. The Word Bearers seem to be gaining the upper hand. If you allow, I have deemed they think we are traitors too. This will play to our advantage in their execution. My men and I will lull them into a false sense of security, right up to when we cut their throats. Now let me suggest how we should run this…”

 

As Serjar explained his plans, the Dark Angel, now joined by Serjar’s fellow captains in the hololithic briefing, allowed a smile to form on his mouth…..

 

                                                   --------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Serjar’s fleet spiraled in to the star system on full burn. The “Encarmine Blade” and its escorts had split off from the main body and remained in the sensor shadow of the main fleet of loyalists well back from the other ships.

 

As they approached the fleet action Serjar watched the battle unfold. The Dark Angels were fighting tooth and nail, but the Word Bearers had gained an advantage in mass of fire, but both sides were grinding each other down.

 

“Hope our first Legion friend makes it look good” Stanislaus muttered as he looked at the chronograph counting down “The Word Bearers can give us a bloody nose as we come in if they twig in time”

 

“Not too good though” Serjar replied “Last thing we want is a nova cannon or cyclonic torpedo to the face. Though in your case….”

 

“Yeah, very funny. So I’m no son of Sanguinius. But I’m beautiful when it counts” Stanislaus raised his power sword with a flourish and Serjar and the other loyalist Night Lords laughed. Stanislaus was a son of Nostramo, and his transformation to a super human Astartes had done nothing to change it. His face reflected the two centuries he had served in the great crusade, and not for a Night Lord was the preening of the “golden boys” as Stanislaus referred to the legions which took great pride in their appearance.

 

“Well Captain, you are lucky that when they are shooting at our heads they’ll miss you” Voiced one of Serjar’s honor guard who stood by the blast doors leading from the bridge.

 

Stanislaus swung quickly, his fists clenched “Come here and say that, Grunner you overgrown frakk” he threatened, though Serjar could see the glint of amusement in his battle brother’s eyes. Stanislaus, while considerably taller than an unmodified human, was still shorter than the majority of his gene modified transhuman kin. What he lacked in height he more than made up for in ability and aggression.

 

“Hmmmm. No. I wouldn’t want to strike a superior officer, Captain Stanislaus” laughed veteran brother Grunner. Stanislaus laughed in turn

 

“Well I’ll just have to thrash you in the training cages again” the Captain replied.

 

Serjar coughed and said “Well, if you are quite done, I suggest you stop mucking around and get ready, time is almost up”

 

As the counter struck zero, fire blazed from the Dark Angels ships towards the oncoming formation of Night Lords, War Hounds, Iron Warriors, and the well screened Blood Angels behind. Serjar counted down the seconds, the tension rising in the room. One small miscalculation by their cousins or the ships pilots could end in disaster for his force. Serjar saw the faces of the human bridge crew pale as the energy beams leapt out towards his ships.

 

True to his Legion’s reputation, the Dark Angels captain had timed his firing to perfection. Several smaller weapons caused flashes of discoloration over the incoming warships, while most of the seemingly ragged broadsides had narrowly missed. Stanislaus let out a breath of relief “Well that’s the lances out of the way…” he began.

 

Cyclonic torpedoes raced in, point defence systems opened fire, reducing most to blinding explosions in the void. A few went close to the formation, but not enough to trigger their warheads.

 

“Hail from “Eternal Whisper” vox master Malkhaz cried out.

 

“Put him on” Serjar’s voice was calm and collected.

 

“Well, it seems you have spooked the sons of the Lion, I have never seen them shoot that badly” Spoke the flickering representation of the dark apostle.

 

“Not them” Replied Serjar “Their crews. All unmodified know what awaits those who stand against us”

 

The Word Bearer nodded “Indeed, especially recently. Cousin, I have one favor to ask. Some of my swifter ships will detach from the fleet. They have urgent business on the third planet of this system. Vital to Erebus and the Urizen. I request you take over from them with your ships, and as you are fresh to the fight, you should be easily able to deal with the Lion’s whelps”

 

Serjar wondered what atrocities his brothers and genesire were committing now the restraints imposed upon them by discipline and honor had been released. He decided he would rather not know.

 

“What is this “business” cousin?” Serjar asked “What could be important enough to drag you away from our foes?”

 

“Legion business “Bringer of Silence”, you have your silence, I have mine. Be rest assured that you will find out at the appropriate time” The son of Lorgar cut the link.

 

Serjar and Stanislaus watched as a pair of capital ships and their escorts withdrew from the battle.

 

“Well, that’s a couple of big hitters we don’t have to deal with at least” Stanislaus remarked.

 

“Maybe brother, but I would rather catch them in the trap for two reasons” Serjar replied “One, we have done well so far, none of our opponents seem to have managed to get a warning about us off. In the time it takes us to hunt them down, they could well inform the Warmaster of our presence. Two, anything that will make a Word Bearer pull out of a fight they have committed to….”

 

Stanislaus grimaced “Yes, that would take some doing. But what could it be? This system is one big set of ruins. The explorators found nothing but dead worlds and no trace of anything that would interest the traitors”

Serjar was silent for a moment. His thoughts on the monsters, the daemons, they had encountered in the fortress city on Azerunium. His thoughts turned to the new and fell livery of the Word Bearers. In particular the screaming daemonic face on the burning book. When he looked up again, Stanislaus saw the grim expression on his old friend’s face.

 

“Isn’t there?”  Serjar replied.

 

“Should we tell the boys in black?” Stanislaus asked.

 

“Not enough time, win this and we can hopefully deal with the bastards planet side quickly after. Either way, I suspect our days of duping our traitor kin and cousins are done after today. It will be stand up fighting all the way if the Word Bearers get off a warning” Serjar pronounced.

 

He turned and headed for the blast doors of the bridge “Captain Norvingen, the ship is yours. Please conduct the operation to the best of your considerable ability” Serjar ordered.

 

“He means try not to scratch the old girl too much” Stanislaus winked at Norvingen as he placed his Mk.IV helmet on his head and waved for the honor guard to follow.

 

As Stanislaus and Serjar descended by mag lift from the bridge to the boarding torpedo docks, the same scene was repeated across the loyalist ships under Serjar’s control. To fire from long range into such an engagement would be to risk immense damage to their Dark Angels allies. This battle would be close ranged and brutal. A battle of point blank barrage and boarding, the only maneuver being that of getting close enough to board. Astartes warriors in the midnight blue of Night Lords, the blue trimmed white of War Hounds, the natural metal finish of Iron Warriors, and the bright crimson of Blood Angels readied themselves for action. They boarded their assigned boarding torpedoes, readying themselves to be fired across the void to crash through the enemy hull and be released like a swarm of army ants into the body of some huge predator. Others boarded Caestus assault rams, their job the more pinpoint strike against heavily armored sections of their target ships. The Cataphractii and Tartaros clad elites joined them in assault rams or clambered on to the platforms of teleportariums, awaiting the beacons of their power armored brethren to light the way for their arrival.

 

Serjar watched as ready signals fed into his helmet retinal display, each acknowledged with a blink. Quickly the force was ready. The final rune came up green, and Serjar smiled. Malkhaz and his human comrades had done their work well again.

 

The fleet swept down upon the battle, hails flew over the vox of welcome from the Word Bearers officers and human ship captains in the blood red fleet. Serjar’s ships maintained silence.

 

At the point where, if intending to attack the Dark Angels, his fleet would have turned to port, the ships broke to starboard, bracketing the Word Bearers between the fleet of the Dark Angels and Serjar’s loyalists. Cries of confusion and demands for explanation rang out across the vox as the Word Bearers and their human crews realized something was amiss.

 

“Death to Traitors!” Roared Serjar into his vox mike, the cry taken up by thousands of his battle brothers and swamping the traitors’ vox feed, to be followed by howls of anguish and screams for mercy captured at Carias II, Azerunium, and Mirzani Secundus as his men had punished the traitors, human and Astartes, for their crimes.

 

At the same moment a hail of fire erupted into the rear of the Word Bearer’s formation from battle barges, cruisers, frigates and destroyers. Light seared the void, torpedoes raced across the starry background. Macro cannon and Nova Cannons split the blackness. Surprise was total, several smaller ships and cruisers were smashed reeling out of the Word Bearer’s battle line, and void shields flashed and blew out on the crimson battle barges. Against a mortal foe the effect would have won the battle right there. But for all their treason, the Word Bearers were gene-forged warriors, and despite the shock of the ambush, despite the ships that exploded in nova bright blasts as reactors breached, regardless of the casualties, they fought back.

 

Serjar felt the immense kick as the Caestus assault ram blasted out of the bay at full burn, across the void his men were speeding towards their targets, the Word Bearers capital ships. His genehanced sight picked out the boarding torpedoes and assault rams as they raced away from their parent ships towards the giant void killers before them. Swarms of Xiphon interceptors raced ahead, engaging in furious dogfights with their traitorous foes. Everywhere Serjar looked, he could see swirling engagements as the loyalist fighters fought to clear a path for their battle brothers in the boarding force. He watched as another enemy destroyer exploded, the two halves spinning through the void as they leaked flame and atmosphere. His orders were for the fleet to concentrate on the escorts, the destroyers and frigates, as those were the biggest threat to the boarding torpedoes and assault rams. The escorts carried a far higher proportion of point defense weaponry, and were designed to defend against exactly this kind of attack. Serjar had committed almost the entire force of loyalist Astartes under his control to the boarding action. It was vital to preserve as many as possible. Only fire sufficient to break the void shielding on the enemy’s capital ships would be sustained, everything else was to clear a path for the boarders.

 

But it would have its price.

 

The concentration by the ships under Serjar’s command on the Word Bearer’s escorts reaped a fearsome tally, entire squadrons of destroyers and frigates were swatted aside by the main lances and macro cannons of the “Harbingers of Justice” and their fellow loyalists. The Word Bearers escorts were literally blown apart, those that tried to flee found themselves under the guns of the surviving Dark Angels fleet, where no mercy could be expected. Bodies and flash frozen atmosphere splashed into the void from shattered hulls. Other ships staggered into the void, their systems dead as tens of thousands of crew serfs clawed at inoperable compartment doors as the ships began to freeze from the cold touch of deep space. Serjar watched his helmet feed as the battle raged, wincing as friendly escorts and cruisers took hits.

 

Then the Word Bearers battle barges that could retaliated.

 

Knowing they were outnumbered, the Word Bearers determined to sell their lives as dearly as they could. The renegade loyalists had helped the Dark Angels snatch victory from defeat. They would be made to pay. The Word Bearers concentrated fire on the “Skull Splitter” and the “Vow of Iron”, fire from 6 first rate ships of the line rippling out from their broadsides. Serjar watched as the void shields of both ships staggered under the colossal energies unleashed.

 

It couldn’t last.

 

First to fail was the forward shield of the “Skull Splitter” lance fire and nova rounds impacted on the bow armor of the ten kilometer long warship, at first grazing the armor, but as more and more ordinance impacted, penetrating into the ship. Serjar watched in admiration as the ship’s human captain continued to follow orders. Ignoring the enemy capital ships slowly pounding his ship apart, Captain Xiatao concentrated fire on the remaining escorts and cruisers in his path. Serjar heard the victory tally of the ancient Terran ship master climb as his ship tore a path for the boarding parties straight towards the “Eternal Whisper” and the “Black Tongue” the two largest of the Word Bearers ships. It was the “Black Tongue” that dealt the death blow, the Word Bearers ship blasting a hail of lance fire deep into “Skull Splitter”, who continued to fire even as her back broke and the void lit up as her main reactor failed. Parts of the ancient ship spiraled into friend and foe alike, but the Word Bearers suffered most, their shields depleted, the rain of fragments collided with cruisers and battleship class alike. The traitors switched fire to “Vow of Iron” the largest of Warsmith Erakles’ fleet. The mighty warship plowed through the oncoming fire, her return fire lashing out at the Word Bearers in turn, until she too had blasted a clear path to her foes. But gone was the burnished ceramite perfection of her hull, she was crippled, atmosphere poured from gaping wounds in her hull, while frozen bodies of her mortal crew spun into the void as the proud ship slowly dropped out of formation.

 

“Looks like I need a new ship. Again” warsmith Erakles’ voice rumbled in Serjar’s ears over the vox “I’m starting to make a habit of losing them”

 

“We’ll find something I’m sure brother, but at least she didn’t blow up” Serjar replied. Looking at the display he saw the loss of the two ships had bought them the time they needed. The Word Bearers, in their anger at what they saw as betrayal, had concentrated on the biggest ships hoping to kill the highest possible number of their foe.

 

They had failed.

 

Serjar’s men were all racing towards them in boarding torpedoes and assault rams.

 

By the time the Word Bearers had worked out what was going on, it was far too late.

 

Their escort screen and fighters gone, their concentration fixed on the act of retribution against their tormentors, the Word Bearers had failed to pick up on the sheer number of incoming boarding torpedoes and assault rams. Desperately the point defence systems were retargeted from the swarming Dark Angels fighters, a few managed to get off their shots, but it was too little, too late.

 

Serjar watched as the torpedoes began crashing into the exposed hulls of the foe. All along the fleet the Astartes under his command braced as their torpedoes tore through the hulls of their selected targets. Impacts that would squash an unaugmented human into a bloody sack of meat and broken bone merely shook the teeth of the gene-forged warriors of the Emperor. As soon as the noses of the boarding torpedoes opened, even as the atmosphere raced past and the seal gel burst from the nose of each torpedo, the Loyalist Night Lords, Iron Warriors, War Hounds, and their Blood Angel allies charged forth. Each torpedo bore a separate legion force, but by ensuring each Word Bearers ship was hit by a mix of boarding torpedoes from different elements of his force, Serjar hoped for two things. The first was that the men from each loyalist force would complement each other, their varying strengths and doctrines forming a sum greater than the parts. The second was to confuse the shipboard defenders. Usual Legion practice was for homogeneous forces to conduct boarding actions. The hope was the Word Bearers would adjust the defence of each ship to suit the first boarders encountered and be caught off guard when the attackers tactics would change to suit.

 

Needless to say, it had taken some convincing of his comrades. Legion pride was a powerful thing, and it was almost anathema for any Astartes to admit a cousin’s legion might be superior in any aspect of war, despite even overwhelming evidence to the contrary, or that any assistance would ever be required from another legion. It had taken support from Erakles in the end to impose his will on the others without resorting to stern measures.

 

“Remember brothers, it is the principle of alloying writ in flesh and bone. Our different properties make us stronger when combined. It is the principle of the Legions on a smaller scale, but will be no less effective for that. I will accede to Serjar’s order in this” The warsmith had pronounced. At that Makhus and Jamius had also agreed to carry out Serjar’s proposal.

 

Makhus had still not been happy “If it works, well and good, but I fear we will be a poor alloy and fracture along our lines” he had uttered “What will you do if that comes to pass?”

 

“I’ll give you permission to say “I told you so” if it makes you feel better Makhus. I know you are used to your own way, but we must work as one force. A house divided….” Serjar replied

 

“Cannot stand” Finished Erakles “Take strength from your brothers, Makhus, and give them yours, this is the way of Iron” he had intoned, and the matter decided.

 

Now came the acid test. The Loyalists fought their way into the ships, gunning down the naval security crews as they advanced from their boarding torpedoes. Meanwhile the assault rams, including Serjar’s, made more pinpoint strikes in order to secure the links between the main points of ingress.

 

Serjar watched on the view screen the wall of ceramite and adamantium racing towards the craft. Just when impact seemed unavoidable the pilot triggered the manga-melta blasting the hull in front with sub atomic particle oscillation, heating it to stupendous levels and allowing the ram to punch through the outer armored hull of the “Eternal Whisper”.

 

Serjar was thrown forward into his grav restraint, his head bouncing from the inside of his helmet despite the impact foam filling the space. A tremendous tearing sound filled the troop bay of the Caestus as the wings sheared off in the passage deep into the outer passages of the Word Bearers ship. The pilot kept the trigger down until the weapon sputtered and died. The Caestus assault ram came to a sudden and violent halt, the foam melting away as solvents filled the bay from sprinklers. The doors of the two parallel compartments blew down and out as explosive bolts fired. Serjar raced down the ramp, his chain glaive in one hand, waving his men forward. It was absolutely vital to advance as deeply into the ship as possible before the defending crew could isolate the beachhead. He and his warriors stormed down the main trunk corridor leaping over fallen sections of ship structure and roofing panels as the lighting flickered and died, sparks flew from severed cables, and jets of gas and hydraulic fluid sprayed from severed lines, their bolt gun fire shredding isolated crew serfs as they appeared from side corridors and adjoining rooms.

 

Around Serjar a full squad of breachers advanced, their boarding shields forming a wall through which they aimed their bolt guns, behind him came a terror squad, no two of the veteran assault troops armed the same. Cruel power blades, heavy power mauls, chainaxes, bolt pistols, volkite energy pistols, and the dreaded plasma guns were held ready. They stormed into a nexus of corridors, Serjar’s enhanced vision taking in the scene in a microsecond. The buttresses and false colonnades were faced in stone, all Imperial symbology had been removed or defaced, from the arched gothic ceiling hung banners depicting strange symbols and cavorting daemonic creatures, and then there were the gibbets. Serjar saw the cages containing skeletal remains. Were these loyalist mortals? Sacrifices? He knew not. Below them were arrayed a ship security detail, their flak and carapace armor defiled with the eight pointed star, shotguns and las carbines ready. Behind them, flooding down the incoming corridors were an oncoming wave of crew serfs armed with heavy tools of their trade, huge spanners and crowbars, and several carried cutting torches. In the center of the group stood a figure of a mortal, holding high a book from which a fell light radiated. His face was contorted with the zeal of a fanatic. The cover of the book was of leather, and Serjar’s bile rose as he sensed what leather it was. The figure waved a staff and cried out.

 

“Servants of the true gods, followers of the octed, we will smite these unbelievers for the Urizen, the chosen, he who will cast down the….” The fanatic’s cry was cut off with a scream as Serjar incinerated him with a blast from his plasma pistol. A cry of rage went up from the massed traitor ranks and a hail of shotgun rounds and las fire leapt out from their lines slamming into the boarding shields of the loyalist Night Lords. Pellets and las bolts ricocheted off Serjar’s midnight blue armor.

 

He cried out “Death to Traitors! For the Emperor! Let none survive!” his warriors roared their agreement, then he and his men activated the vox casters in their helmets to project their signature. The screams and cries of the damned begging for mercy.

 

The breacher squad let loose, a hail of bolt gun mass reactive rounds hammered into the turncoat naval troopers, exploding them like rotten bags of meat. Their flak and carapace armor no match for the sheer brutality of bolter drill. After each burst the breacher squad advanced before kneeling and slamming the bases of their shields down against the deck. The carnage was immense, blood was pooling across the engraved metal tiles of the deck, pulsing with the dying heartbeats of the mortals from which it flowed. Serjar noted the same foul corruption in the blood of the enemy dead, it was viscous and oily, a strange purple not the human crimson vitae it should have been.

 

Even so the traitor crew came on into the storm of destruction, like a tide coming in against a storm front they clambered over the ruined bodies of their dead by sheer force of numbers. The humans collided with the heavy breaching shields clawing at them trying to pull them down as bolt rounds blew them apart.

 

From over the kneeling breacher marines came the swords and mauls and chain weapons of the terror squads, smashing and slicing and tearing the human crew apart. The white skull faced helms of Serjar’s veteran warriors stained with gore. Even against this tide the loyalists advanced, fire, step forward, kneel and fire again, as the close combat specialists struck again and again into the mass of the foe.

 

And then the tipping point was reached. Despite being wrapped up in their strange fanaticism, there was only so much the mortals could do in the face of legion discipline and might. Serjar saw humans at the rear of the mass turning and running. The hell of bolt gun and dismemberment, the screams projecting from the Night Lords vox casters, the screams of their comrades, was too much for the traitor humans to take.

 

“Push, push on, the bastards are breaking” Serjar roared above the din of the battle. He swung his chain glaive in a mighty arc, its furiously spinning teeth hacking through armor and flesh alike as it tore through several naval troopers. Around him the machine like vortex of legion driven death ground forward into the traitors, and then, all at once, the humans broke. Turning those at the front attempted to claw their way clear. The loyalists cut them down, and as pressure reduced they drove forward faster and faster, the heavy boots of their power armor crushing the life from the wounded and dying traitors groveling on the deck.

 

And then the corridor was clear.

 

“Butchers bill?” Serjar asked

 

“Nothing serious, a few men winged” came the reply from Sergeant Paulus “They are all able to continue sir” in the background came the pleas for mercy from the enemy wounded still breathing. The sergeant made a hand signal and they were quickly silenced.

 

Serjar nodded. “Right, well central way leads to the bridge according to STC patterns for this class. Speed is life men, let’s get moving”

 

Forming up again the boarding party advanced rapidly down the corridor heading for the bridge. Serjar was surprised by the absence of Word Bearers so far. Normally they would be rushing to close off any beachhead. He listened on the vox to the other formations of Night Lords, War Hounds, Iron Warriors, and Blood Angels as they advanced through the ship, none had reported any significant legion resistance.

 

The defenders were up to something, but what it was Serjar could not fathom.

 

“All elements, stay sharp. These bastards are up to something” He voxed to the boarding parties. A series of affirmations came back from the various line officers”

 

Quickly Serjar and his force were joining up with other squads, first to arrive was Sergeant Denus of the War Hounds, he and his men covered in blood, having hacked their way through from the gun decks where their boarding torpedo. They were joined minutes later by the burnished metal armored forms of Sergeant Hekretes and his Iron Warriors, and finally by Sergeant Reza of the Blood Angels and his contingent, each squad joining the advance from branch corridors to the main arterial they were advancing along.

 

Serjar looked at the massive corridor as it ran down the spine of the ship towards the stern and the bridge complex. The Imperial gothic architecture was defaced by sigils, both those encountered on Carias and Azerunium, and other new monstrosities. There were multiple eight pointed stars, each surrounded by a pattern of four sigils. His eyes ached to look upon them. He dearly wished codicier Shalva was with him now, and his sense of unease was growing.

 

Then the Word Bearers made their first appearance. Ahead portable barricades had been set up, manned by more traitor naval crewmen, amongst them towered the abhumans of the gun decks and enginarium. In the distance he could see the crimson armored forms of the Word Bearers marching in lock step towards the barricades. It would be a race. A wall of fire blazed from the naval troopers, slamming into the boarding shields of the front of the loyalist formation.

 

Serjar roared the order to charge, his men accelerating forward in the loping run of the Astartes. Solid shot and las rounds spanged off legion power armor. Beside Serjar a warrior went down as a lucky round penetrated a joint in his armor. Another warrior was blasted off his feet by a grenade launched from the lines of waiting traitors. Heavier fire began striking, bolter fire and plasma streaked over the heads of the human auxilia from the advancing Word Bearers, to be answered from the advancing loyalist line.

 

Loyalist and traitor marines alike began to fall. Some to rise again and advance wounded into the fray. The charging loyalists threw frag grenades into the barricades, the resulting explosions and whipping fragments of shrapnel blasting smashed bodies into the air and cutting down the densely packed ranks of the human traitors in a spray of blood and body parts.

 

The War Hounds released their rage and bounded ahead of their fellow loyalists. They leapt the barricades and began to slaughter the traitor naval ratings, each War Hound the center of a storm of chainaxe and bolt pistol. It was a massacre. Then the abhuman members of the crew advanced shouldering their way through their unmodified human comrades, incoming bolt rounds blowing bloody chunks from their flesh, the massive Ogryns, roaring in pain and anger, swung their massive tools like battering rams. Serjar watched a War Hound beaten to his knees with a single blow, naval traitors swarming over him and carrying him to the deck as they stabbed and beat at him, burying him under their numbers. Another War Hound was sent flying back into the barricades, pursued by more traitor mortals. The War Hounds turned on the greater threat, chainaxes hacking bloody hunks from the Ogryns’ bodies. Sergeant Denus swung his power fist, the massive energy wreathed weapon collapsing the chest of the Ogryn leader with a single blow. The massive abhuman fell back into the surging ranks of the naval crew, crushing many with its fall.

 

“Front ranks kneel!” Serjar roared out as they reached the barricades in support of the War Hounds. The ranks of blue and red dropped to one knee, sheltering behind barricade and boarding shield. Behind them the burnished metal Iron Warriors opened fire with heavy weapons. Autocannons roared, and the screeching of lascannons and plasma blasts steaked over the heads of Serjar and his men into the melee, cutting lanes of death and destruction around the struggling War Hounds, clearing space for the loyalist Night Lords and Blood Angels to vault the barricades. As the volley ceased Serjar was glad to see that no friendly fire had occurred.

 

The breacher, terror and Blood Angels squads leapt the barricades and moved in support of their battle brothers in white. As the breacher squads used their transhuman strength to shove back the rapidly diminishing hordes of turncoat unmodified humans with their boarding shields, the terror squads assisted the War Hounds in dispatching the last of the Ogryn crewmen. The Blood Angels fired flamers into the packed ranks of the human traitors. Screams of agony rose as burning promethium turned the humans into flailing torches.

 

The Word Bearers began to push through their own lines, the massive Astartes towering over their unaugmented human followers. Bolt rounds hammered between the two sides, warriors falling as bolt rounds penetrated their armor. Serjar saw the enemy commander, the Word Bearer’s helmet modified with curving horns. Roaring a challenge Serjar cut his way through the naval troopers between him and his prey, vicious sweeps of his chain glaive clearing a path as he tore through the mortal traitors like a scythe through wheat. The traitor shoved through the struggling mortals towards Serjar in turn, his crozius raised above his head, fell chanting in his Colchisian tongue roaring out through his vox grille.

 

Serjar ducked as his foe swung the crozius down at his head, the blow glancing off his pauldron as the power field blistered and cracked the ceramite plating. Serjar swung the butt end of his glaive out and down, levering up behind his enemy’s knee joint and across the other leg, sending his foe staggering back. His sweeping return stroke, aimed to rend his enemy’s chest, instead connected with one of the Word Bearer’s traitor kin, the adamantium teeth decapitating the warrior and sending his head flying. The Word Bearer officer leapt forward, raising his pistol and swinging his crozius in from the side in a vicious sweep towards Serjar’s ribs. Serjar dropped and rolled, the crozius missing him by the barest of margins, and leapt to his feet, blocking yet another blow from the crozius on the shaft of his weapon.

 

As they struggled the Word Bearer leant in, the green glow of his eyes filling Serjar’s vision.

 

“Follower of the false Emperor, traitor to your kin, lost blind fool!” The traitor chaplain pronounced “I will take your skull to Lorgar, it will make a fine gift to your genesire!”

 

Serjar gritted his teeth as he held back the Word Bearer “Vow breaker, weak and pathetic son of a primarch who should have been strangled at birth! I will not fall to scum like you!” Serjar deliberately fell backwards, using his opponent’s force against him, as he hit the deck he continued rolling, his feet pushing up to launch the traitor into a somersault. The Word Bearer hit the deck with a mighty crash, his power armored weight denting and crazing the tiles as he impacted. Serjar continued his roll, coming to his feet and swinging his glaive in an overhead blow down into the torso of his foe. Polluted blood fountained into the air as fragments of ceramite spun through the air. Serjar looked around, his men were overpowering the traitors, but losses were rising. Night Lord and Blood Angel, War Hound and Iron Warrior, the warriors under his command were fighting together, their legion specific traits complementing each other. A War Hound exchanged furious blows with a Word Bearer, while a Night Lord snuck round behind the traitor to drive his chain sword through the traitors back. Night Lords flanking the Word Bearer’s line were covered by heavy weapons fire from Iron Warriors, who in turn were guarded from a charge by Word Bearers when a group of Blood Angels slammed into the traitors in a counter charge, hacking them down in frenzied hand to hand combat.

 

On Serjar’s command feed the same reports came in from across the squads in his command net. The melding of combat styles had done what he had intended. It was giving his men a noticeable edge over their treasonous foes. Serjar felt relief wash through him. It had been a risk, but so far appeared to be one that was giving a great reward.

 

He was distracted by laughter from before him, a wet gurgling sound of vengeful mirth, looking down he saw the traitor laughing and coughing up his own foul blood, rivulets running out through his breather grill. Serjar tensed, the transformation of the Emperor’s Children captain on Azerunium leaping to the fore of his mind.

 

“You have won nothing yet little crow” The Word Bearers chaplain informed him “You have yet to meet the Gal Vorbak. They will pluck your feathers and send you screaming into the void”

 

“Silence traitor. I care not for threats” Serjar raised his plasma pistol and immolated the head of his foe in a blast of energy hotter than a sun. Turning back to the fight he helped to slaughter the remaining Word Bearers and led his men into the twisting corridors leading to the bridge.

 

As they advanced along the pathway to the bridge, each corner or turn became a battle ground. Human turncoats manned heavy weapons that were taken out by lobbed grenades, side rooms were cleared by storming parties of Blood Angels or War Hounds that painted the walls red with traitor blood. Astartes, loyal and traitor, died on each other’s blades, or were killed or wounded by automated defenses and heavy weapons fire. Positions were flanked or overrun as the Night Lords disabled sections of corridor lighting, racing through the shadows to decimate their foes. Iron Warriors laid down barrages of supporting fire driving their enemy into cover, allowing their comrades in midnight blue and white and red to storm yet another position. Turn by turn, position by position, the Loyalists advanced on the bridge.

 

Across the Word Bearer’s fleet it was the same. On some ships the loyalists of Serjar’s force linked up with Dark Angels boarding parties, on others they advanced alone. In some cases Serjar’s men crossed captured boarding passages into Dark Angels ships to aid their cousins against Word Bearer boarding parties. Despite the fanatical ferocity of the traitors, despite the hordes of mortal and abhuman crew, despite the losses and desperate combat, the Loyalists had gained the upper hand. 

On the “Black Tongue” Warsmith Erakles led his Cataphractii armed brothers deep into the Enginarium at the head of his combined force of loyalists. As with Serjar, his warriors alloyed in unison. Facing a horde of Word Bearers and crew serfs of the engineseers, he slaughtered his way to the reactors, disabling the fail safes as his men bought time, before withdrawing his force in a fighting retreat to evacuate via the boarding torpedoes which had delivered them as the ship’s reactor began to go critical, destroying the “Black Tongue” from within.

 

On the “Tyrant’s Curse” Makhus led a daring strike into the armorium, his War Hounds and Blood Angels leading a diversionary strike, mowing through their foes as the Night Lords assigned to his force led Iron Warriors on a secondary route to infiltrate the magazines in the armorium and set charges amongst the massive cyclonic torpedo warheads there. At a signal, he withdrew his men, as the boarding torpedoes and gunships sped him and his men away, a series of explosions broke the back of the warship, the explosions buffeting the escaping loyalist craft.

 

Stanislaus led his men on a cat and mouse chase with the defenders of the “Litany of Deceit” his voice ringing out from the hijacked vox as he taunted and tormented the Word Bearers and their crews to the screams of their compatriots. To his surprise, his fellow loyalists were fast learners at his preferred style of warfare, and he took great delight in seeing the noble Blood Angels in his force adjust so well. Stanislaus sent diversionary teams to the bridge and enginarium, but his main focus was the life support sections of the ship. Upon capturing them his tech marines voided the atmosphere of the ship and opened the crew to the void, turning the ship into an icy tomb for its human crew, the battle raged on as the Word Bearers were hunted down in the darkness of the dead ship, Stanislaus crushing the life from the Word Bearer commanding the defence, the traitor of giant proportions even among Astartes, which Stanislaus only seemed to take as a challenge and personal affront, particularly the Word Bearer’s challenge that included the taunt “Come here little fellow, did the false Emperor send initiates to fight me?”. Later recounting the battle his senior Sergeant recalled Stanislaus repeatedly hacking at his prone foe “That’s for calling me “little” you frakking bastard” as he drew out the death of his foe as only a Night Lord could.  

 

Meanwhile, upon the “Eternal Whisper” Serjar and his force reached the main entry to the bridge. Striding across the bloody deck, crushing the human crew’s bodies under their ceramite shod feet, the Iron Warriors contingent placed a series of melta charges and quickly retreated behind the boarding shields of Serjar’s breachers. The cover of the boarding shields would allow the boarding force to close right up behind the blast, enabling them to storm fractionally sooner than retreating to a safe distance.

 

“Breaching in 3…2…1….” Warned the Iron Warrior Sergeant Hekretes

 

As the melta charges blasted through the massively thick doors, Serjar felt the backwash of scorching heat blast over the tops of the boarding shields, the Night Lords threw their blind grenades through the void and microseconds later his men were up and charging through the gaping wounds in the blast doors, molten puddles of metal splashing as their power armored forms ran through the steaming remains of the two meter thick doors.

 

As they stormed into the massive bridge, a huge circular space over the burnt remains of the crew and Word Bearers who had been too close to the doors, the loyalist Marines gunned down their blinded Word Bearer foes, the Night Lords, War Hounds, Iron Warriors and Blood Angels did not waste their ammunition on the human serfs of the word bearers. The mortal crew were dispatched with combat blade, with power armored elbows and fists, or simply trampled to the deck as the loyalists advanced through the control stations. Then Serjar noticed a group of twenty Word Bearers, unlike their brethren who were still stunned from the blind grenades, these warriors stood rock still as if they were statues.

 

As if the mere fact of his observing them had brought them to life the warriors moved, one stepping forward from the pack. His eye lenses glowing with an unearthly light. The armor of all these warriors was covered in runes and strange lines. Serjar raised his plasma pistol, and then the leader spoke.

 

“Welcome Serjar, son of Rezo” The Word Bearer’s voice rang out “I am here to end your little story. I will cast your soul into the empyrean, where your screams will join those of the great symphony of Lorgar Aurelian, kneel before me and pray, for I am Morak-Tarchek, chosen of the Gal Vorbak”

 

“Save your words traitor” Serjar replied “If I had a throne geld for every threat issued by your like, I could buy half the galaxy” his finger tightened on the trigger, but microseconds before the plasma pistol would fire, all hell broke loose.

 

Literally.

 

Morak laughed, and as he laughed his helmet split, a great jagged mouth forming from the ceramite, horns grew from his helm, his legs twisting as clawed toes erupted from his armored boots. His arms twisted, his hands sprouting vile chitinous claws, and his eye lenses transformed into reptilian eyes, rheumy pus pouring from them down the hideously transfigured visage of his faceplate.

 

Behind him his fellow Word Bearers also transformed, no two alike in their foul appearance.

 

Serjar felt the touch of the warp upon them. Its sulphurous stench filling the bridge, he remembered the hideous change in the Emperor’s Children officer in the fortress command center on Azerunium, but new instinctively this was different. This was an organic change, rather than one replacing the other, this was some foul union of his fallen kin with beings of the warp. And in that moment of revelation, the Word Bearers charged.

 

They were hideously fast, their deformed limbs incredibly powerful, a hail of fire spat from the loyalist lines as the traitor monsters seemed to weave and spin through it. Where rounds connected they blew divots of armor and flesh from the monstrosities, but as Serjar could see, the armor WAS their flesh, where rounds struck the armor was bleeding. One or two of the Astartes become beasts went down in thrashing heaps as they were struck, but the rest came on, crashing into the boarding shields like a charging mastodon, slamming loyalist marines out of the way and rending others apart with tooth and claw.

 

Serjar swung desperately at one of the abominations, his gorge rising at every blow, along with his rage. His glaive cleaved the armor-flesh of his foe, and a horde of flies exploded from the wound, the creature grabbed his chain glaive, its incredible strength slowly forcing it down and aside. As it did so it leaned forward, the helmet opening in sections like a strange four part beak lined with razor sharp teeth. Releasing the weapon from one hand, Serjar drew his pistol and rammed it into the horrific maw, the ceramite of his vambraces creaking as the horrific jaw bit onto his forearm. He pulled the trigger and the foul thing exploded, pain spiked in his hand as the heat of the blast was momentarily contained before being released as a superheated steam of body fluids. Casting the ruined pistol aside he swept round to engage his next target, his left gauntlet steaming and smoking.

 

All around him his men were engaged in desperate combat, despite having the advantage of numbers. The Word Bearer’s freaks were monstrously strong. Serjar saw too many of his brothers on the deck. The kill loss ratio could not be borne for long. It was time for the ace up the sleeve.

 

Serjar thumbed the teleport homing stud on the unit mag locked to his belt.

 

A great emerald flash filled the room, green lightning arcing from floor to ceiling, as with a thunderclap of displaced air that blew loyalist and traitor alike from their feet, ten mighty Cataphractii terminator clad warriors appeared in the center of the bridge. The midnight blue and bright crimson terminators opened fire.

 

Several of the Word Bearer daemon hosts burst under the impact of autocannon fire from the Night Lords terminators and the Blood Angels secret weapon, the Iliastus assault cannon, a brutal rotary cannon that spewed rounds at an incredible rate. The walking tanks stomped forward towards the combat, their advanced targeting systems easily allowing them to fire into the confusion of close combat. As they advanced, their power armored kin spun out of the fight, keen to clear the way for their super heavily armored brothers. Like apex predators, the Word Bearers reacted immediately to the greater threat, turning to engage the Cataphractii armored elites as the power armored loyalists scuttled out of the way.

 

Except one.

 

The Word Bearer known as Morak-Tarchek went straight for Serjar. As the Cataphractii butchered the remaining traitors, their massive plate proof against even their daemonic weapons, the Word Bearer leader was determined to reap Serjar’s soul.

 

In a blur of claws he attacked, as he did so Serjar bitterly regretted leaving Shalva on the “Bringer of Fear”. Serjar parried and thrust with his chain glaive as never before. Not even the elder reivers had been this fast. Pain exploded in his shoulder as the Word Bearer slipped through and hit home, the impact grinding bone upon bone in his collar bone, quickly fading as his geneforged body reacted, bones attempting to re-knit as his armor flooded him with pain suppressants and his body’s additional organs flooded him with combat stims and hormones.

 

Serjar bashed his helm into his opponent’s face, to be rewarded by a satisfying crunch of bone as he connected. The Word Bearer’s armor was his flesh now. Allowing incredible speed, but also leaving the traitor vulnerable. Serjar leapt back as the Gal Vorbak warrior staggered from the blow, a string of arcane curses flowing from its ruined face. Serjar swung with all his might, but the blow was caught in the taloned hand of his foe. Claws and bones and gobbets of armor-flesh sprayed from the impact.

 

“I will have you Serjar” the Word Bearer spoke. To Serjar it sounded as if the abomination before him spoke with two voices, one transhuman, the other like, but unlike, that of the daemon on Azerunium “You have turned from the path set for you, and that pathetic man you serve will fall as will you” roared Morak in the strange echo as he leapt once more into the attack.

 

Serjar sidestepped, making sure to stay on the creature’s damaged side. To his disgust the monster’s damaged flesh was starting to reform on its ruined hand.

 

“What was it cousin?” he shouted “Why did you turn your face, why did you turn yourself into this parody?”

 

“He rejected US!” Morak roared “We worshipped him and he turned his face away. So we found gods who love us!” The pain of rejection burned through in one voice, the other hummed with amusement.

 

“He was right to” Serjar roared “You are weak. Your Primarch is weak. We are supposed to be protectors of our species, not cowards hiding behind our Emperor craving his favor” Serjar channeled his disgust and hatred into each blow, his love for the Emperor of mankind strengthening his blows even as his words seemed to sap the vigor of his foe. Serjar watched as the distortions in the Word Bearer’s body reversed, and as they rained blows against each other, he found himself once again facing an Astartes instead of a freak. Swinging low he buried his chain glaive in the Word Bearer’s gut. A further blow shattered Morak’s helm, exposing his face. Around the bridge Serjar could see the fight was won.

 

Tears of rage and shame poured down his face “We were lied to” the words bubbled out of his mouth along with purple polluted vitae.

 

“Some things we are not meant to know, sometimes a lie can save as well as blind” Serjar replied “Now where is your “dark apostle” Ioseb? I would have words with him”

 

“I have done enough, you have been delayed. Did you not see the ships that went sunward? You lackeys of the false god are so easy to fool” A fanatic cast came again to Morak’s face.

 

“Not as easily fooled as you, bearer of a false word” Serjar snarled as he swung his chain glaive, severing his foe’s head from his shoulders. A fountain of corrupted blood burst up, and Serjar would later swear a dark misty shape fled from the body.

 

Sejar activated his vox “Serjar to “Bringer of Fear” get me all captains on the vox, patch me through to the Dark Angels too. We have a problem”

 

                                                    --------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Serjar sat in the Stormbird, around him were gathered Makhus, Erakles, Stanislaus, Jamius, and Kergorag. All had returned more or less safely from their boarding actions amongst the ships of the Word Bearers fleet.

 

The remains of that fleet burned in the void, the massive ships destroyed by boarding actions, and those captured deemed too corrupted to salvage on the advice of Serjar’s librarians. Setting demolition charges on the “Eternal Whisper” Serjar and his men had raced back to the “Bringer of Fear” after his vox illumination of his fellow officers and their newfound allies.

 

Now, as the combined fleets raced towards the third planet of the benighted system, Serjar and his brothers crossed the void to the “Righteous Strike” to hold conclave with their cousins.

 

As the midnight clad Stormbird settled on the deck of the hangar bay, ice forming on its fuselage as the void cooled hull froze the atmosphere’s moisture to the hull, Serjar marched down the boarding ramp. The hangar bay was full of black clad Astartes, their Mk.III plate visible under their hooded robes of white.

 

One warrior stood to the fore. As Serjar reached him, he made the salute of unity, followed by the Imperial aquilla.

 

“Hail Cousin” The black clad warrior intoned “I trust you will find our welcome more forthcoming and hospitable after your assistance”

 

Serjar nodded and returned the salute, then extended his hand in the old warriors greeting.

 

“Serjar cousin, and your name is?”

 

The other warrior smiled, clasping Serjar’s arm “Ser Deqlan, knight of the Stormwing, son of the Lion”

 

“A pleasure I’m sure. I have titles aplenty too, but given where they came from, I am loth to use them any more” Serjar replied.

 

“As long as they were earned with honor cousin, it matters not. You have shown your honor this day. Without your, ahem, assistance, things would have gone ill for us this day. The Dark Angels are in your debt. As it is our losses are excessive” Ser Deqlan replied after considering Serjar’s statement.

 

“Cousin, the job is not yet done. As I explained, their commander has gone to the third world. He informed me his faster ships had business there. Whatever it is cannot be good for the Imperium”

 

“What could he be looking for in a dead system? Certainly there is nothing on record that would indicate anything of value here” Ser Deqlan pondered.

 

“I have no real idea Ser Deqlan, but I do know that our cousins are messing with powers they do not understand. I fear there may be something here that our science does not understand. Something the traitors covet or require” Serjar went on “And whatever they want, it is our duty to deny it to them”

 

“Agreed” said Ser Deqlan “Have you ever heard of the great beasts of Caliban?”

 

Serjar admitted that he had not, and Ser Deqlan told him of the monsters the population of Caliban had fought, exterminating them under the leadership of the Lion and Luther shortly before Ser Deqlan had arrived on the world with his fellow Terran born Dark Angels alongside the Emperor of Mankind. Serjar would have thought the tales of unique monstrous creatures fanciful not long ago, but after the recent months he was far more inclined to take the stories at face value.

 

Serjar introduced their host to his fellow captains, a surprise was that Makhus and Deqlan knew each other from the last campaigns of the unification wars on Terra, they spent several minutes asking after old comrades in each other’s legions the replies to which usually resulted in tales of heroic deaths though some Makhus would not mention, and then the the conclave was convened.

 

As Serjar described the course of events that led to the current day, he saw Ser Deqlan’s face grow dim at the list of traitor legions.

 

“Ser Luther was right to send us to find the Lion to ask to be allowed to return to the Legion. We heard of the rebellion of Horus in our travels. I have tried to communicate with Caliban, but the world has gone dark to our astropaths. It is vital the forces on Caliban get back in this war. I and my contingent are a large part of the force sent back to Caliban by the Lion to train the new recruits. Mostly we were Terran, I myself am one of the last of the old guard. The originals. It chafes me hard to be training neophytes and initiates as Horus undoes everything the Emperor has built” Deqlan’s face betrayed his pain at being sent to Caliban away from his genesire.

 

“I’m sure he had his reasons” Serjar replied “Have you found lord Lion El’Johnson?”

 

“Unfortunately not. He’s a damn hard one to find. Always we have been one step behind. Last I heard the legion was heading to Thramas, that’s where we were heading before that damn warp storm sprung up and we dropped in here to the beacon to find a bunch of Word Bearers” Deqlan explained. “They opened fire on us immediately. No warning. We knew that the Sons of Horus, World Eaters, Death Guard, and Emperor’s Children were traitors, it was a shock to find those fanatics had turned coat too. Now all these others.”

 

Serjar understood the horror of Ser Deqlan all too well. The galaxy wide civil war that was growing out of control was terrible to behold. “Well cousin, we must do what we can. First things first, we have to find where these bastards are on that planet, and put an end to whatever it is they are doing”

 

The combined fleet swept in to orbit, the Word Bearers ships fleeing at their approach, the two line battle barges and their escorts no match for the force bearing down upon them. Serjar watched as the tracks of the Word Bearers ships raced away to cower behind the second world of the system. He was sure they would return. Auspex scans showed their brethren were on the surface, descending into one of the great monuments at the center of a dead city.

 

Erakles’ hololithic projection spoke “Personally, after the loss of my ship, I’m all for bombarding the site from orbit” the scowl on his face apparent “A few cyclonic torpedoes and problem solved. Besides, if there are any more of those freaks down”

 

Serjar understood his friend’s attitude. Every boarding captain had stories to tell of the freakish Gal Vorbak encountered and the subsequent desperate battles, and none wished to face such monstrous defilement of their treasonous cousins again.

 

However he was of the opinion that to understand the foe, at least as far as practicable when faced with the insane warp dalliance of their foes, was a crucial key to victory. In this he was supported by Stanislaus, his fellow loyalist Night Lord well versed in the legion practice of infiltration and intelligence gathering to determine the enemy’s weak points before the terror attack went in, be they military or psychological. Furthermore both Makhus and Deqlan, the Terran veterans, were of the same opinion. As Makhus pointed out, what the Word Bearers were trying to achieve here, they may try in other places, the galaxy was a big place, and many lost species had empires that spanned the stars long before humanity left its birth world. If it was some artifact they were after, or some arcane ritual involving the warp, then best to identify it so any similar occurrence or item could be identified in the future.

 

In the end Serjar decided, the combined force would each send a detachment, including one from the Dark Angels. Enough to crush the expected number of Word Bearers on the surface, but not too many to move quickly to the objective.

 

The target was a huge obsidian structure, its strange geometric form soaring out of the plain like a mad architect’s nightmare. Arches and multifaceted towers stabbed into the sky at strange angles, an entrance like the maw of some strange beast was accessed by an escalade of stairs that rose two hundred meters up the front of the immense structure, the hundreds of steps and numerous landings themselves resembling steps as the zoom on the view was adjusted. Around the massive structure radiated lines of wide avenues, bisected at points by ring roads that formed a series of concentric circles around the site. The presence of the entrance disturbed Serjar, the explorator fleet reports spoke of blank faced structures of no discernable purpose or entrance, the stairways leading to nothing. Even more so, he was disturbed by the street layout. Why he couldn’t tell until Stanislaus swore, zooming out until the entire city filled the display.

 

“Frakk, its that bloody eight pointed star these mad bastards keep putting on everything!” Stanislaus cursed.

 

Serjar felt a cold chill filling him. Stanislaus was right, the main avenues radiating out from the huge monument through the ancient remains of the city formed eight points of a star, projecting kilometers out into the irradiated desert surrounding the dead metropolis. The outermost ring road formed a circle. When you knew what to look for, it was obvious.

 

Stanislaus gave Serjar a worried look.

 

“On second thoughts, perhaps Erakles is right” Serjar’s old friend said “Every time we see that damn star trouble follows. And that’s one damn big star….”

 

Deqlan spoke up “Maybe so, but we have void superiority, we can evacuate and conduct an orbital bombardment if required. Serjar is right, if we don’t understand our foes they have the advantage. We should at least attempt to uncover what they are doing here”

 

“Hah, they are mad, a simple explanation. Turning their face from Terra and consorting with sorcery? I am a Night Lord. I know crazy, have you ever met our primarch? Some things should be killed, not understood cousin” Stanislaus retorted.

 

Stanislaus considered then spoke “Brother, I don’t doubt your concerns, but we have no guarantee that bombarding the site will stop whatever they are doing. We will drop as planned”

 

With that, the hololithic conference ended as Serjar and his brothers saw to their preparations for the drop. Erakles, Kergorag, and Jamius would remain in orbit, their contributions led by their lieutenants, while Serjar, Makhus, Deqlan and Stanislaus would lead the force on the surface.

 

And so, shortly later, Serjar and his fellows launched towards the surface, their drop pods firing from the ships of the fleet, screaming through the atmosphere of the planet towards the surface. Serjar and his fellows had considered using flyers to drop, but speed was of the essence, transit to the surface by gunship would involve delay and staggered arrival. A drop pod assault with flyer extraction was a better option.

 

Serjar felt the retro burners kick in, slowing the drop pod and those around it just enough that the drop pods would not smash themselves to pieces on impact. The resulting shock of landing would have killed any unaugmented human, inertia sufficient to turn a mortal into a paste of blood and flesh and shattered bone was merely uncomfortable to the geneforged Astartes in the dozens of pods that crashed into the surface. Explosive bolts blew the five doors on each pod open, the warriors inside rapidly deploying into the plaza surrounding the immense alien structure. The city was dead. A cold irradiated wind blew radioactive dust through the streets. The radiation, while enough to kill a mortal outright, was little more than an inconvenience to an Astartes, their genetically modified bodies easily able to deal with the rad levels, especially in conjunction with the power armor they all wore.

 

Forming up, the warriors headed for the vast stepped rise that gave access to the entrance. Serjar looked up at the sinister structure, its appalling geometry even more disturbing from ground level as it towered over them. It looked like a mix of fortress and temple of false ideology. The surface was made of millions of small obsidian blocks the blocks, some of subtly varying hue, formed giant patterns on the face of the structure. Some of them appeared to be giant eyes of some ancient reptile. At Serjar’s side strode codicier Shalva, his face a mask as he observed the building.

 

“Anything?” Sejar asked

 

“Strange, but I can’t feel the warp around this building, it is as if something is cutting it off or masking it. Outside the plaza I can see the empyrean, but as we crossed this inner line, nothing” Shalva replied.

 

“Suits me fine” Stanislaus interjected. “The less of that sorcery those bastards can do, the happier I will be. I’ve had enough of warp freaks to last a lifetime after Azerunium!”

 

“I fear we will be seeing such things for quite some time brother, unless you want to go knock on Horus’s door and ask him politely to give it up?” Serjar responded.

 

As the force advanced up the stairs, an Iron Warrior in Mk.III power armor turned to Serjar and indicated he wanted to speak. Serjar indicated the warrior should go ahead.

 

“Lord Serjar, this thing looks like it was built…..wrong. Something very odd is going on with this structure” The Iron Warrior began.

 

“What was your first clue? The fact it looks like a madman designed it?” Stanislaus laughed.

 

“Let him speak brother” Serjar ordered, turning back to the Iron Warrior he went on “You men are the experts on building in our force, explain it to me”

 

The loyalist Iron warrior pointed to the arch of the immense entrance, the stepped recesses of the entrance going back into the structure. “There sir, this thing is built like a massive bunker. But when using blocks to build something, especially something designed to keep something out, you put the biggest blocks on the outside.” Serjar looked where the Iron Warrior indicated. Now he could see it, it was obvious. The builders of this mad structure had reversed the usual structural principles, the blocks of obsidian visible went from bricks up to massive blocks weighing tons as they went deeper into the walls.

 

“Why in Terra’s name would they do that?” Serjar inquired of the warrior.

 

“No idea at all” the Iron Warrior replied “but it is as strange as the rest of the place, just thought you should know sir”

 

Serjar thanked the Iron Warrior as they continued passage up the massive stairway. Serjar had expected to encounter resistance by this stage, the absence of the Word Bearers was concerning him. The stairway was wide and devoid of cover. A perfect place to defend. Anyone ascending the steps was a perfect target. He mentioned this to Deqlan.

 

“One thing I have learned cousin, never complain when your enemy makes a mistake” was the Dark Angel’s response.

 

Finally they reached the entrance, a wind even colder than the dead atmosphere of the city blew from within. As they passed into the passage Serjar saw strange carvings running up the walls on either side. The carvings depicted strange humanoid alien creatures engaged in desperate struggle with nightmare forms some of which Serjar and the warriors who had fought on Azerunium recognized. The forms of the daemons feminine yet not, crustacean claws clashing with the weapons the aliens wielded.

 

“Great, that’s not good” Makhus pronounced “this must have been an abode of those nightmares”

 

From ahead Serjar sensed movement “Incoming” he roared as the first shots rang out.

 

They had found the Word Bearers at last.

 

Shots rained down the great entranceway, sending the loyalists scurrying for cover amongst the columns that supported the arched roof. A handful of their battle brothers lay still or crawled towards cover, having fallen to the Word Bearers’ fire. Rapidly fire was returned by Serjar’s contingent, bolt rounds blasting obsidian shards from the positions the Word Bearers occupied in the dark entranceway ahead.

 

Moving in covered rushes, Serjar and his honor guard leapfrogged down the massive corridor. Bolt rounds and plasma blasted past them as their comrades rained fire towards the hidden traitors. It seemed to Serjar that the Word Bearers were not present in large force, the enemy fire weak and sporadic compared to his warriors suppressive fire.

 

Soon he and his warriors had advanced close enough to rush the enemy. Loosing off a hail of frag and krak grenades the combined force ran down their foe, the fight bloody but brief. Serjar wheeled and swung his way through the Word Bearers alongside his warriors of the Night Lords, while Makhus and his contingent of War Hounds butchered their way through the Word Bearers on the other side of the giant hallway.

 

Serjar looked across at Makhus “Too easy” he voxed.

 

Makhus replied “Indeed, they have to be here somewhere”

 

Serjar agreed.

 

Then they began to come across the Word Bearer corpses. They appeared to have been killed by booby traps and concealed weapons points of alien design, the ruined weapons of no form Serjar could recognize. The bodies came in dribs and drabs a couple here, several around the next corner.

 

Serjar noticed something odd. Kneeling next to one of the dead traitors he exclaimed “They’ve all been shot in the back!” Looking up from the body and back down the corridor Serjar identified the likely weapons point that had killed this group of traitors. Like the others, it appeared to have been hidden before popping out of the wall once triggered.

 

“This isn’t a fortress, not in the conventional sense, it is built to keep something in!” Serjar announced. And given the scale of the place, whatever that was, was very, very, bad indeed.

Proceeding as quickly as they could, they advanced deeper into the giant structure. Shalva at Serjar’s side motioned to his commander, Serjar raised his arm to halt the force. “Yes brother?” he asked.

 

“The warp, I can feel it again, ahead. It is weak, but it is growing!” Shalva warned “The Word Bearers are doing something up there that is breaking whatever seal this place puts on the warp!”

 

Motioning his men forward, Serjar led them out of the corridor into a huge atrium, filling the space ahead were rows of Word Bearers, their fell Colchian chants reverberating in the space. Serjar could sense a foul oily taint to the air, mixed with ozone and electric tang. Whatever they were doing was approaching its zenith.

 

“They are trying to open a warp rift!” Shalva called out, his hands clutched to his head as the tides of the Empyrean beat at his mind.

 

Serjar was just about to order his men to open fire when Shalva grabbed his arm “We have to kill their leader first, the lines of fate show clearly, if we kill his men first we will only fuel whatever they are doing! Look!” Shalva pointed towards the center of the space where a line of Word Bearers stepped forward, looks of rapture on their tattooed faces. Lines of text and more sigils covered every inch of their skin. Serjar noted deformations on their skulls, as if something was pushing through from inside. Others still wore their helmets, and the throne geld dropped. Serjar’s fury rose as he realized the decorative horns on those warriors’ helmets may not be decorative at all. The Word Bearers knelt, and the next rank stepped forward, combat blades drawn. Serjar and his men watched dumbstruck as, at a nod from their leader, his voice rising to a crescendo, they drew their blades across their brothers’ throats in unison. Blood sprayed in fountains pooling on the mirror black floor. The bodies of the Word Bearers crashed forward to join a growing army of the dead.

 

Signaling his comrades, Serjar indicated they should flank both sides of the atrium, over the force’s vox network he ordered silence as they moved forward in the dark recesses of the giant space. “The leader first” He cautioned “After that we will finish the rest”

 

As they slipped from column to column rank after rank of Word Bearers sacrificed themselves, Serjar saw to his horror a huge disk forming in the air, a monstrous shape pushing against it in parody of a baby in the womb.

 

Time was running short.

 

At his signal, Serjar and his warriors raced from cover, roaring a challenge Serjar charged towards the Dark Apostle Ioseb Tor. A look of consternation and then rage at the interruption of his rite passed across the dark apostle’s face, still chanting he raised his hands and dark flames leapt towards Serjar, enveloping and binding he and his men rigid they fell to the floor. Pain burned in every nerve in his body. Unable to move, his vision was filled with the rapidly growing disk in the air and the chanting figure of the crazed Word Bearer.

 

More dark flames spread from the traitor’s outflung arm, Serjar watched in horror as Makhus fell to the floor along with the white clad War Hounds of his squads.

Serjar watched a hail of bolt rounds come to a halt around the Word Bearer, as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead at the psychic strain. Serjar wondered why the other Word Bearers did not intervene until he saw the glassy look in the eyes of the nearest. It was as if they were in religious rapture. Unable or unwilling to stop their ritual now it had begun. Looking at his men bound up by black flames, Serjar despaired that they did not need to.

 

More black flames leapt out as Ser Deqlan and his men charged in, the Dark Angels enveloped in the unlight and crashing to the floor of the chamber.

 

All, except one.

 

Ser Deqlan pushed forward as if against a gale. The dark apostle blasted lightning next at his oncoming foe. The robes of the Dark Angels Captain smoked and steamed, but still he came on. Serjar looked at the frozen bolt shells, slowly they were beginning to rotate about their axis again, beginning to move forward.

 

Desperation filled the Word Bearer’s features as Ser Deqlan came closer, step by tortuous step. Above them both reality stretched thin, a few more ranks would do it.

 

The dark apostle knelt, as he did so he released the bolt rounds which flew over him to explode against the columns behind him. Standing quickly he conjured a spear of dark light, casting it at the advancing Dark Angel.

 

Who batted it aside and ran his sword through the stomach of the Word Bearer.

 

The Word Bearer howled. The chant was broken. From the other side of the disk suspended in the air came a terrible cry of fury. The psychic backwash smashed outward, Serjar felt the sorcerous bonds holding him rigid release, his every nerve screamed as he staggered to his feet, chain glaive coming to the ready. “Now!” he roared “Kill them all now!” as he waded into the ranks of staggering Word Bearers, his chain glaive slashing left and right, his men clambering up off the floor and joining him in righteous slaughter.

 

Serjar watched Ser Deqlan wade into the combat alongside Captain Makhus, the three warriors leading their men. When the one sided battle was done, Serjar turned and looked, the strange disc was gone.

 

He walked over to examine the Word Bearer Ioseb Tor. To Serjar’s surprise he was still breathing.

 

Just.

 

“You loyalist pig” the dying traitor spat, his acid laden spit sizzling on the obsidian floor as he tried to hold in his innards “Lorgar will have your soul for the neverborn for this. Such an alignment will not come again for ten thousand years!”

“So I was right” Serjar questioned his foe “You were trying to open a prison”

 

The Dark Apostle glared at him “The weak minded Xenos that lived on this world aeons ago came into communion with the Octed, but rather than embrace it, they balked at the last step and rejected the Gods! They imprisoned their messengers in these structures….”

 

Serjar looked down in disgust “Looks to me like those Xenos had more sense than you, cousin”

 

“You cannot win. My soul goes to the Gods, but my ships have escaped. Lorgar will come for you. Horus too” The Word Bearer threatened.

 

“Well, you won’t be here to see it” Serjar advised, then taking his chain glaive, he made an end to the Dark Apostle.

 

Gathering up their men, Serjar and his comrades wended their way out of the alien structure to the waiting gunships.

 

As the loyalist force returned to the fleet, Serjar and Deqlan sat next to each other one of the Stormbirds.

 

“Tell me cousin, how was that trick done, are you of the libraries?” Serjar asked the Dark Angel.

 

“I already told you. I am one of the first” Deqlan replied “I did not mean the first Legion as such, but the first of the first” When the Emperor first made us, Terra was a battleground of competing warlords. Many using sorcerous powers or having cabals that did. We originals, we were each gifted with a tiny fragment of the Emperor’s power. As a result, we were almost immune to psyker attack. I understand he gave up that part of the process of forming later generations of warriors, as it would have started diminishing his own abilities.”

 

“Damn useful thing to have, that” Serjar remarked.

 

“It has its uses to be sure” the Dark Angel smiled “So what next for you cousin?”

 

“Terra. Lord Dorn has ordered all loyal forces to Terra” Serjar answered.

 

“If I know the man of stone, he won’t be too happy to welcome you, loyal or not. He tends to be a bit judgmental that particular primarch” Deqlan warned.

 

“I know. But he is the new Warmaster in all but name. I cannot disobey, and I must carry warning to Terra” Serjar replied.

 

“Even if they already know? Even if Dorn, at best, will make you rot in a prison?” the Dark Angel queried his cousin.

 

“Even then” the loyalist Night Lord answered “The Emperor will need every loyal warrior if he is to stand against Horus. I swore to serve him. I swore to go to Terra on my life. And if it costs my life so be it. I will not break my oath to the throne”

 

“Well, this damn storm is now between myself and the Thramas sector, perhaps myself and my men could tag along. It’s been a long long time since I have been home…… brother” Deqlan held out his hand.

 

Serjar took the offered hand and shook it “Welcome to the gang brother”

 

“For the Emperor” intoned Deqlan

 

“For the Emperor. Loyalty or Death” said Serjar in reply.

[Serjar]

Lucanus looked at the cowering chapter serfs as his sea green armor was applied. His genesire was right. How could the Emperor have ever allowed mortals to come to power in the Imperium? The bean counters and pen pushers of the Imperium had no right to dictate to the transhuman warriors that had built it with their blood and sacrifice. Humanity needed a hard master, and that master was the Warmaster, not some Emperor who no longer strode the battlefield at the head of his legions, but instead cowered in the Imperial palace on Terra and sent better men to do his work for him. The Emperor had turned away from his brightest son, and although a small part of Lucanus regretted the schism, and the need to kill his cousins, his duty to his lord, master, and father was clear and absolute.

 

Lucanus looked at his reflection in the mirror, the baleful eye of the Warmaster an angry red against the deep green of his Mk.IV power armor. Chthonian runes and honor markings etched into the plate and embellished with bright gold and platinum. As Captain of the 134^th Company he was being honored. His actions during the Istvaan battles, and subsequent hounding of what had become known as the “Shattered Legions”, broken bands of loyalists, fleeing the drop site massacre had brought him to the attention of Abaddon and then, as a natural consequence, the Warmaster.

 

“Best not keep Lupercal waiting brother” spoke the Warmaster’s Equerry, Maloghurst the Twisted “You are not so important that the rightful ruler of the galaxy will be best pleased at waiting”

 

Lucanus nodded, taking his crested helm under one arm he followed the Equerry out of his chambers and into the corridors leading to the Warmaster’s audience chamber on the Vengeful Spirit. As they approached the court of the Warmaster, Lucanus watched as Maloghhurst led him past waiting supplicants. Emperor’s Children, Death Guard, Iron Warriors, and other officers from the eight legions loyal to Horus Lupercal were forced to stand aside from his path. Lucanus’s hearts swelled with pride at being a son of the Warmaster while he watched the dark looks of those denied entry to the court of Horus. Not for the Warmaster’s sons the lack of discipline apparent in their fellow legions since the great turning. Not for the Sons of Horus the debasement of the Emperor’s Children, or the feral rage of the World Eaters. The Legion was turned on a new course, but remained, as always, the only legion truly worthy of Horus and his glory.

 

Finally they approached the doors to the court. These were guarded by the mighty forms of Justaerian Terminators, Lupercal’s personal elite. As they approached one of the legendary commanders of the Sons of Horus stepped out to block their entrance.

 

“Abaddon” Maloghurst acknowledged the towering warrior “Lucanus is expected by our lord, is there some reason for delaying him?”

 

Abaddon looked his fellow captain up and down. Lucanus could not help feel he was being assessed by Abaddon, first captain of the legion and cornerstone of the Mournival. After a minute or two Abaddon nodded, extending his hand. As Lucanus took it the first captain spoke again.

 

“Be careful in there brother. Our father’s humors are poorly aligned this day. Despite our successes at Istvaan and recent actions, the forces loyal to Terra are creating havoc in our logistical tail. Broken or not they are Astartes, and we all know what that means” Abaddon warned.

 

Lucanus nodded in agreement “Hard fighting” he replied “But no glory without that!”

 

Abaddon considered the reply “There is glory in killing our kin? Perhaps. In bravery on the field yes definitely. But I regret sometimes that so many of our cousins could not see sense. I would have rather had the Iron Hands or Blood Angels at our side on the march to Terra than some of the allies we have now. Answer our father thoughtfully Lucanus, good luck” He said as he stepped aside for Maloghurst and his charge and followed them into the court of the Warmaster.

 

Lucanus took it in, even a transhuman such as himself was awestruck at the concentration of sheer power in the room. Around him the crowd of senior officers parted, Eidolon of the Emperor’s Children, Lucanus winced inwardly at the changes in the Lord Commander of the III Legion. Khârn turned and nodded, barely able to hide his need to rend and kill. Erebus lurked, as always, far enough away to be out of the immediate center of events, but close enough to overhear and influence. But they, and all the others, were as cubs and pups around the feet of carnosaurs.

 

On the Dias, lounging in a dark throne, clad from head to toe in giant terminator style plate of black and brass and gold, was the Warmaster himself. The sight of his genefather drove him involuntarily to his knees as he bowed his head, unable as always to look on his father without permission.

 

“Arise Lucanus” the deep rolling boom of Lupercal’s voice rang out across the chamber. Lucanus looked up at his lord and master. Horus was a vision of terrible majesty, his features lit from below by a ruddy light. He rose to his feet again and advanced towards the throne at an indication from his liege.

 

“Tell me my son, what do you know of a pernicious little worm called Serjar?” Horus queried, as strange tone to his voice.

 

Lucanus was taken aback “Well I know him sire, he fought alongside us in the Carentaine campaign, his infiltration and terror attacks against those resisting illu….. resisting our forces” Lucanus corrected himself “Were instrumental in shortening the compliance of those systems by roughly a year, he was always one of the Night Lords greatest assets, and given the sons of Curze march to our…” Lucanus was cut off in his assessment by a thunderous crash as the Warmaster smashed his fist down upon the armrest of his throne.

 

“He has not followed them! Even now this adherent to my misbegotten father is cutting a swathe through the eastern flank of our advance!” Horus roared. Composing himself the Warmaster went on to describe the growing threat the forces Serjar was gathering represented, along with the several signal defeats the renegade Night Lord had inflicted upon forces loyal to the Warmaster. As he listened Lucanus saw Erebus slide forward through the crowd, as he approached he turned a coin over in his fingers.

 

Horus looked at the coin, then motioned the Word Bearer forward “Let me guess, voice of my brother Lorgar, you wish to speak?”

 

“If you will permit Lord Horus” Erebus replied, then without waiting for the Warmaster’s affirmation the Word Bearer went on “His last, shall we say, interference, robbed us of a significant force of the never born!” Erebus’s voice rose as he went on, not noticing the look of annoyance on the faces of both Lucanus and Abaddon, the Warmaster remained impassive “The damage done to our cause is untold, those divine allies would have flooded worlds loyal to Terra, tying down significant forces that can now move against us. Something must be done!”

 

Horus, without looking at Erebus, spoke “Do you volunteer to go after this loyalist Erebus? If so I would be….. grateful…” Lucanus was sure he saw the color drain from the Word Bearer’s face at the suggestion.

 

“No Lord, if I had more of my kindred here I would, of course, take up the sword against this miscreant….” He began.

 

“Enough Erebus” Horus warned, his eyes seeming to burn a hole in the dark apostle of Lorgar “Lucanus knows this carrion crow well enough. Will you do this for me Lucanus? I know from your record that you and Serjar were…… friends. Stamp out this vermin, hunt him and his men to extinction. His victories have been against fools and idiots. Time to show our cousins how to do a real man’s work. He should not trouble you for long”

 

Lucanus looked at his genefather. Certainty filled him “Consider it done my lord!”

 

Horus nodded, his giant power claw made a signal of dismissal “You will have what you require. Four full companies. And one each from the World Eaters, Iron Warriors, Night Lords, and Emperor’s Children. They will at least be able to observe how a real warrior puts down a rabid dog like this Serjar”

 

Lucanus left the court of the Warmaster. Marching through the crowd, he basked in the glory of a personal tasking from his sire. Even better were the looks of jealousy from the scions of allied legions.

 

As he passed through the doors, he felt a gauntlet on his shoulder. Turning he gazed up into the face of Abaddon.

 

“A word brother” Abaddon intoned and led the younger officer to an antechamber just outside the entrance “You did well in there. But be careful. I know your relationship with Serjar was close, I knew him too. He is our enemy now, and as I know him, he will never turn from the false Emperor. But do not underestimate him brother. For all his foolish adherence to Terra and to our father’s father, he is the most dangerous of foes. Forget that at your peril. Respect him and you may triumph, hold him in contempt and you will suffer under his flaying blade. And you know what that means”

 

Lucanus nodded, his eidetic memory bringing to mind memories of other times, of just how effective Serjar was at his legion’s way of war.

 

“He is building an army of fragments of legions that did not follow us. The last diehard “loyalists” from our Legions, and those dregs of legions too blind to turn away from the throne” Abaddon intoned “Individually they are little threat, but he is building them into a dagger that could stab us from behind at any time. He is the master of shadows, hit and run. But without him, his forces will fragment.”

 

Lucanus nodded “Well, first things first. I need some bait….”

 

Abaddon smiled. “I have just the thing…..”

 

                                                              ---------------------------------------------------

 

Serjar’s growing fleet translated from the warp. Mighty warships of midnight blue, stark white, crimson, gunmetal, and black tore through the veil between reality and the empyrean.

 

Before them lay the worlds of Didgori, a relatively prosperous system with a garrison of Imperial Fists overseeing three inhabited worlds and the usual gas giants, burning cinders of worlds towards the star, and frozen hells on the edge of the solar orbit. The populated worlds consisted of the industrial hives of Didgori prime, the minor forge world of Electrumenta, and the agri-world of Akhalgori. The Imperial fists were, according to the latest information, manning a fortress on the hive world with a reinforced company.

 

Unfortunately, as gleaned from their astropathic cries for help, they also had unwanted visitors.

 

A lot of unwanted visitors.

 

As the fleet approached the Oort cloud Serjar watched in approval as Captain Norvingen, the unaugmented human captain of the “Bringer of Fear” sent in the loyalist Night Lords cruiser “Black Garrote” under cold running protocols to relay passive auspex data to the rest of the fleet as they hid behind the sensor interference of the dregs of system birth that haloed the star at the edge of its gravitational well.

 

“Well, this should be interesting. Wonder what merry slaughter you’ll get us involved in this time brother?” Stanislaus grinned as he finished speaking and looked at the incoming data populating the hololithic display. ‘Oh good, a real party by the looks” he grumbled as the “Black Garrote” relayed vox traffic and data that indicated forces from an estimated five traitor legions were assaulting the world held by the sons of Rogal Dorn.

 

“Well brother, at least they will be happy to see us if we drop in to assist. Instead of shooting us in the face for being from legions that are listed as “Excomunicatus Traitorus”” Serjar replied “At least we can prove we are not here to attack them”

 

“You know something?” Stanislaus asked, and arch look on his face.

 

“I’m sure you’ll tell me brother” Serjar waited for the inevitable retort.

 

“You are always trying to look on the bright side. I hate it. No good ever comes of optimism. The universe always disappoints. Just how did you get to be a Night Lord at all, let alone a Kyroptera lord, I don’t know!?” Stanislaus attempted a serious mien.

 

“By being better at it than you Stanislaus” Serjar laughed.

 

“Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better” Stanislaus replied, the tone of annoyance in his voice barely masking his own amusement.

 

Erakles let out a snort “Don’t you two ever take anything seriously? We are sitting here on the edge of a system filled with our treasonous kin, who are attacking our loyalist kin, who are likely in turn to shoot all of us, excluding our Blood Angel and Dark Angel kin, for being from legions that have turned against the Emperor regardless of our own loyalty!” The loyalist Iron Warrior had berthed his men on Serjar’s flagship after the loss of his own battle barge in the furious fleet action against the Word Bearers. As Serjar knew well, the Warsmith was not handling the loss of his last remaining battle barge well.

 

“Well brother, look on the bright side” Serjar winked at Stanislaus only to receive a venomous look in return “If we make it through whatever fleet the traitors have in system, down to the surface and through whatever forces they muster to attack the Fists, and manage to convince our loyal cousins not to gun us down and bury us in a mass grave with the traitors….” Serjar paused until he had Erakles’ attention, seeing that he did he went on “If we do all of that, you’ll get to brag to our cousins in yellow about how you stormed one of their major fortresses that had fallen to the Emperor’s Children” Serjar winked and clapped Erakles on his massive Cataphractii pauldron, having to reach up to do so.

 

“Not to mention the joy of telling them how you blew it up to remove the taint” Stanislaus interjected “I’m sure they’ll be so very happy about that”

 

Serjar rolled his eyes at Stanislaus as Erakles relented and let out a snort of amusement. “Well, I would love to see the expression on their faces……” Erakles commented “Sorry brother, your legion’s ways and mine are different. I fail to see the humor in much at all these days” He concluded.

 

“Brother, is this about being “beholden” for having to berth men on other battle barges? Or your strange idea of “diminished contribution” for not having a first rate as part of the fleet?” Serjar watched the Iron Warrior turn away, his head down “We’ve already discussed this, without the sacrifice of the “Vow of Iron” we would have lost far more men than we did. We probably would have lost. You contributed more than any of us Erakles” Serjar concluded. He did not mention the loss of the “Skull Splitter”, at least he still had “Bringer of Fear” and “Emperor’s Judgement”.

 

Erakles nodded and turned back to face the loyalist Night Lords Captains “I am sorry, my brain knows you are right, but my hearts…. An Iron Warrior asks no help, he makes his own way or falls in battle…”

 

“Iron within…. Iron without” Serjar replied “But an alloy is what we are brother, remember? The sum greater than the parts?”

 

Stanislaus caught Serjar’s eye and indicated he wished to speak, Serjar nodded his assent and his brother began “Aye, Serjar has the right of it Erakles. Even I am convinced, and did I not argue hardest against this “alloying” theory that you and Serjar cooked up to go boarding the Word Bearers?”

 

The Iron Warrior looked up “You did brother. That you certainly did”

 

“Well if you can convince me, you should damn well be able to convince yourself” Stanisalus grinned “So no more moping after a lost ship, perhaps today we can take one from our enemies that hasn’t been too badly buggered by warp trickery. We can name it the…..”

 

“Enough brother” Erakles laughed “If I let you go on you will blame me for letting you be optimistic! I will be as iron, and we will see what the day brings”

 

Serjar gave Stanislaus a nod of thanks then turned to the warsmith “Alright brother, now that your humors appear to be better balanced, let us see what other information we can glean about the state of the system” Serjar turned back to the display.

 

As the three warriors had talked, more and more tactical data had been fed into the holo-display. Ident tags of ships and units populated columns showing friend and foe.

 

“By Terra’s teeth, two full companies of Sons of Horus, along with a company of World Eaters and one of Iron Warriors, against a reinforced garrison company of Imperial Fists!” Erakles exclaimed.

 

“I’m surprised they have held out so long” Stanislaus observed “Even for the golden boys behind walls they built, that’s pretty steep odds”

 

“That’s what worries me Stan…. I’ve fought alongside the Sons, when they were the Luna Wolves” Serjar replied “Something isn’t right here. Given the numbers, any sane Son of Horus would have used his spear tip, probably after sending in the World Eaters first, to swamp the place with men. And the fact there are Iron Warriors there, well, you’d expect a bit more push on a standard siege”

 

Erakles stood, his chin between forefinger and thumb “It does seem odd, but we won’t know until we get closer. We just have vox traffic intel and passive data. There may be more to this than meets the eye. Remember the fortress of Azerunium brother, the Fists build well, as much as I hate to admit it”

 

“Indeed, let’s talk to the others”

 

Within minutes Serjar and his brothers were in conclave, the hololithic representations of Captains Kergorag, his fellow Night Lord, Jamius the Blood Angel, Deqlan of the Dark Angels, and Last of all Makhus of the War Hounds joined them in the conference chamber. Serjar ran his ideas past his fellows, all free to speak and poke holes in the plan or propose alternatives. In the end it was Serjar’s decision though, the weight of responsibility grown from his own 3 companies of Loyalist Night Lords to include a total of just over 7000 Astartes from four parent legions, and, while on the battlefield their varying rites of war were complimentary, in the planning stage and day to day life was where the friction could and did sometimes occur.

 

Makhus and Jamius were all for storming in guns blazing and falling on the traitors in a direct assault “We outnumber the traitors two to one Serjar” Makhus pronounced “Along with our cousins in yellow that becomes even better odds. The traitors are pinned by that fortress, and we can grind them to a bloody pulp against the walls!”

 

Jamius agreed “A fast strike, before they receive reinforcements. Cut their throats and get the Fists out of here before more traitors turn up, or stay and ambush them piecemeal depending on what your…. Interrogations of prisoners will show. Also every minute’s delay means more of our cousins in the Fists will die!”

 

Serjar looked at Ser Deqlan, who pulled down the hood of his robe that his cousins could see his face as he talked, the ancient Terran Dark Angel began “While I can see the benefit of haste, I can’t but help agree with Serjar, something is not as it seems. The Sons of the Warmaster should not be taking so long with such numbers, certainly not alongside Iron Warriors against their old rivals, the Fists, forgive me Warsmith, but as we all know, this rivalry has now turned to blood. If I had not had to leave behind so many damaged ships for repairs at our last stop, I would be all for barging in, but then we’d outnumber them four to one” Serjar nodded. Ser Deqlan’s fleet, to which Serjar and his men had come to in timely assistance of at Beta Cypher Delta IV against the traitorous sons of Lorgar, had suffered heavily in the engagement. Ser Deqlan had diverted a majority of his crippled fleet towards the major loyal forge world of Martokinva II, with orders to continue to Terra once repaired by the Mechanicum, leaving him with a little over a thousand Dark Angels and two battle barges with supporting ships from the force of several thousand men he had set out from Caliban with.

 

Warsmith Erakles nodded “I do not wish to boast on behalf of my treasonous brothers, but given such support from Sons of Horus, against the type of fortifications the administratum records show in this system, at least the outer bastions should be contested by now” Erakles pointed to a series of fortifications surrounding the main star pattern of the garrison fortress “That would be with hard fighting, but given when the sons of Dorn sent out their initial distress call, there should have been more progress. I would suggest we proceed with caution”

 

Stanislaus and Kergorag both supported Serjar’s position that more intelligence was required. Serjar proposed the fleet would advance to contact, but that the Night Lords ships would operate under the Legion’s stealth protocols, making use of the arcane stealth systems fitted to them. This would make the fleet appear smaller, and could provoke the traitors into precipitate action. It would also limit their approach speed. The additional time would enable them to coordinate with the Imperial Fists and build up a better picture. Serjar proposed that since the Imperial Fists and Blood Angels were legions with a close bond, or as Stanislaus put it “Paid up lifetime members of the golden boys club”, Captain Jamius should be seen to be in charge.

 

In the end Serjar’s decision was respected by his battle brothers, their faith in his leadership based on their shared experiences. Serjar hoped it was not misplaced. Something about this scenario tugged at his mind.

 

                                                              ---------------------------------------------------

 

Leading the way, the “Encarmine Blade” of Captain Jamius’s Blood Angels, “Razor’s Edge” of Captain Makhus’s War Hounds, and the “Righteous Strike” and “Black Blade” of the Dark Angels under Ser Deqlan powered into the system surrounded by their escorts. Behind them came the “Bringer of Fear” and “Emperor’s Judgement” both running under stealth protocols with their consorts, their human crews once again experiencing the frozen hell of cold running.

 

Sejar watched as the crew’s breath misted from their mouths and noses and froze in glittering displays on every surface, the mortal members of the crew so bundled in their cold running gear of fur lined coats they resembled a gang of ice world barbarians rather than the highly drilled naval crew they were. Elsewhere in the ship he knew the off-watch ratings were huddled in their berths, desperately trying to share body heat as they lay and awaited their turn to duty. Serjar and his fellow loyalist Night Lords were not affected at all by the freezing temperatures.

 

“Just like when we found Makhus on Mirzani” Stanislaus opined.

 

“Well, we didn’t have a bunch of friends running active sensors and transferring information back to us that time” Serjar replied “And if I’d listened to you we would have bolted from the system leaving Makhus in the lurch” he needled his battle brother.

 

“I had legitimate concerns” Stanislaus retorted “That was an awful lot of World Eaters, luckily a chunk were on our side….”

 

“Aye, indeed” Serjar replied suppressing a grin “Looks like the traitors are reacting, three battle barges plus support leaving orbit to engage our friends. One ship staying to provide fire support for their forces dirtside”

 

Serjar watched the enemy ships approach on the hololith projection. Three to four was within normal engagement practice, he watched the initial exchange of long range torpedo fire, the tracks of the ship killers glittering lines in the display. Jamius and the opponent commander were firing more to force error of maneuver than in the hope of a crippling blow at this range.

 

The real killing would come soon enough.

 

Before long both sides began firing in earnest, bright ruby beams of light from lance weapons crisscrossed the inky blackness, void shields flared as they absorbed energetic discharges capable of destroying a fair sized city. Fighters and bombers wheeled and spun like insects around great carnosaurs while trying to make attack runs on the capital ships, escorts blazed point defense weapons into the strike craft formations while themselves dodging and jinking the incoming fire from the secondary weapons of the great battle barges and cruiser.

 

The mighty warships closed on each other, the range decreasing as the fire increased in ferocity.

 

Then the bigger ships began to take hits.

 

First to die was the Dark Angels cruiser “Spear of Honour” after her captain deliberately interposed himself between a volley of torpedoes fired by the Sons of Horus battle barge “Dire Wolf” at the “Righteous Strike”. Furious defence battery fire from the “Spear of Honour” and her escorting frigates and destroyers destroyed swathes of the torpedoes, but it was not enough, a trio of torpedoes impacted on the starboard void shields causing them to flare and then collapse. The massive feedback blowing out the generators down the side of the cruiser.

 

The last torpedo impacted amidships, its plasma warhead exploding with the force of a small star. In the gun decks the lucky ones were vaporized instantly. Thousands of crewmen were not so fortunate, the shockwave tearing great chunks from the armored flank of the warship and opening the gun decks to the void. Those unfortunates were sucked out with the escaping atmosphere to suffer an excruciating death in the void as the sudden drop in pressure made their blood flash boil as it was sucked from every orifice and pore in their bodies.

 

On the bridge, the mortal Captain Debruval watched the damage reports light up, he knew the “Spear” was finished. He ordered a turn to starboard and ramming speed. The exact opposite of what would normally be expected, that being a turn to port and recovery behind his own fleet for temporary repairs.

 

The sudden turn towards the enemy caught the World Eaters cruiser “Chains of Defiance” completely by surprise as it had just turned to fire a broadside into what should have been the unprotected stern of the “Spear of Honor”. Instead the “Chains of Defiance” found itself staring down the barrel of the “Spear’s” nova cannon and the plow shaped armored bow.

 

The nova cannon fired. Gravitivic impellers in the barrel that ran the entire five kilometer length of the ship accelerated the fifty meter wide rift shell to near relativistic speed. Exiting the muzzle of the weapon the shell armed itself after the failsafe distance passed, almost instantaneously exploding in a blaze of warp energy that engulfed the traitor vessel in its path. The forces of non-reality tore the “Chains of Defiance” apart, along with several of its escorting frigates and destroyers, as impossible energies writhed and pulled in a sphere of destruction over two thousand kilometers in diameter. Void shields on the Sons of Horus battle barges flared and, in the case of the “Dire Wolf”, collapsed under the strain of even the forces at the edge of the sphere. All this occurred in seconds as the rift in reality caused by the warhead’s detonation flared, ate hungrily, and collapsed, sucking the remains of the white and blue cruiser and its escorts into the empyrean.

 

In the wake the “Spear of Honor” came on, flames pouring from its ruined flank, racing closer in the few minutes of time brought by the stunning blast, until the traitors’ battle barges opened fire once again. By the time the “Spear”, still accelerating, reached the traitor fleet it was pounded into a racing wreck, before exploding nova bright as the ship’s ancient fusion drives went critical. Whether this was as a result of enemy fire, or the noble self-sacrifice of the ship’s mortal commander, Serjar and his comrades would never know. In later years Serjar liked to think it was the latter.

 

The detonation obliterated swarms of traitor fighters, and the shock wave and fragments of the loyalist cruiser rained into the “Dire Wolf” causing heavy damage.

 

Serjar watched as the Sons of Horus skillfully turned from a line of battle to a staged withdrawal, obviously buying time for the remaining battle barge in orbit above Didgori Prime to continue its bombardment of the fortress.

 

“Well, that’s odd” Captain Jamius’s voice came over the vox casters “I’ve not seen the Sons of Horus pull back like that odds against them or no”

 

Serjar agreed with the Blood Angel. The Sons of Horus were ever the “tip of the spear” always able to find a way to cut their enemy’s throat despite the odds. Serjar had fully been expecting them to storm in and try to take down the “Encarmine Blade” in the sort of decapitation strike the Sons were so well known for. Something nagged at Serjar’s mind, something was wrong, he could not see it yet, but it was there.

 

“Are we going to join in brother?” the Warsmith asked “Your two battle barges would make short work of this fight!”

 

“No Erakles” Serjar replied “There is something wrong here. I will not give up the advantage of surprise for a battle that seems already won. The others have this well in hand so far, at the very least I see no reason to steal their glory” As he spoke he saw Lieutenant Malkhaz approach, he acknowledged the unaugmented officer’s salute and indicated he should speak.

 

“Lord Serjar, Captain Jamius requests that you observe the conference with the Imperial Fists via the holo-conference bay” Malkhaz advised “We will be able to run a single feed for you without compromising the cold running protocols, though there may be some loss of quality and lag”

 

Serjar nodded “Thank you Lieutenant” and entered the conference bay alone.

 

He waited as the hololithic display built three dimensional images of his comrades, and in the middle the image of a yellow armored warrior in Mk.II plate. The warrior was unhelmed, his dark features reminiscent of the Indusetian colonials. The warrior had his arms folded across his breastplate, a look of suspicion on his face.

 

“A Blood Angel is welcome, so too the sons of the Lion” the warrior spoke “But the World Eaters are excomunicatus traitorous!” Serjar winced as he saw the expression on Makhus’s face at being addressed by the title of his legion. The veteran warrior would only allow himself to be referred to by the legion title he bore before his accursed primarch was found. He was a War Hound, and woe betide any who called him otherwise.

 

“Please see reason cousin!” Jamius exclaimed “I will vouch for Captain Makhus and his War Hounds with my life and that of my own battle brothers! He is no traitor!” Serjar could see the normally calm and noble Blood Angel was losing his temper.

 

Ser Deqlan interjected “Captain Kaynin, cousin, I understand your, ahem, strict adherence to orders. However in the situation you find yourself I would suggest that beggars cannot be choosers when it comes to the aid they receive. I have fought alongside my fellow captain. He and his War Hounds” he placed particular emphasis on the old legion name “braved great odds to assist my fleet, without his assistance the whoresons of Lorgar would, I am loth to say, have most likely triumphed” the Terran Dark Angel tried to calm the situation, going on to explain the events that brought him to Serjar’s fleet.

 

“Hold on, you have joined up with more than just these….” Serjar could see the confusion on the Imperial Fist’s face “These War Hounds? What other…. What other legions forces have joined you two?

 

Jamius told him “Loyalist Night Lords and Iron Warriors, good men all. They have sacrificed much and fought hard to stay loyal to the Emperor. I know your legion well cousin, if Sigismund was here he’d understand. Will you really refuse aid from warriors who only want to aid you and defeat the traitors?”

 

Kaynin retorted “How do I know this is not a trick? You claim to want to aid me, perhaps you too are traitors? Waiting for me to open my gates to you before letting in the Warmaster’s dogs”

 

Serjar decided it was time to speak “Then, cousin, we would simply have left you to the tender mercies of the Sons of Horus and their fellow traitors, there are more than enough of them. Or we would have woken you in the night, cut by cut, creeping from the dark to take your eyes, your tongue, your skin, and last of all, your lives, and wear your bones for trophies. But we are not, Captain Kaynin, scion of Rogal Dorn. We are loyal to the Emperor. We obey your genefather’s order to return to Terra to defend the throne world from Horus. Perhaps at the cost of our own lives if your attitude is the same as that of your primarch. But nevertheless we will go”

 

Kaynin spun and looked at Serjar “So, you just expect me to take the word of sons of traitor legions at face value? Especially that of a son of Curze?”

 

“No, of course not” Serjar sighed “But I would ask you to give us the chance to show you with our actions. You need not open your gates to us, instead we will assault the traitors besieging you. If we play you false you can stay behind your walls and shoot us too. But given the ratio of forces you face, I suggest you make your choice quickly. I suspect the Sons of Horus and the Iron Warriors have been marking time for some reason. With us approaching, they may decide to move somewhat faster in their prosecution of the siege. And by that I mean drown you in bodies, they have men to spare, and they are the Sons of Horus. Do you really think you can stop them alone? Or are you dead set on a pointless heroic last stand when there are kin at hand to come to your aid?” Serjar finished and folded his arms across his breastplate in imitation of the Imperial Fist’s stance.

 

Captain Kaynin snorted “Well, it does sound rather stupid when you put it like that. I am sorry, but I am a son of Dorn. We are not…. Flexible. But you have my word I will judge you by your actions. Tell me your name cousin, that we may start afresh, I am Captain Kaynin, commander of the 99^th company of the Imperial Fists”

 

“Lord Serjar, commander of the strike force “Harbingers of Justice”, Bringer of Silence, loyal servant of the Emperor, enemy of my legion and killer of Traitors. Not to mention collector of stray loyalists” Serjar bowed, a self-deprecating grin on his face “So let us discuss how we can assist you cousin”

 

“Indeed” Nodded Kaynin

 

And so via the holo-conference Serjar, his comrades, and Kaynin planned the counterstrike against the Sons of Horus

 

                                                              ---------------------------------------------------

 

The fleet pushed the Sons of Horus ships back towards the planet of Didgori Prime, both sides trading blows. Despite the skill of the traitor captains, the damage caused by the self-sacrifice of the “Spear of Honour” had left them at a marked disadvantage. Two of the deep green Battle Barges having to screen the third as it limped towards orbit, its hull leaking flames and a stream of atmosphere from damage inflicted by the detonation of the loyalist cruiser, it was unable to contribute much to the battle.

 

Serjar kept the “Bringer of Fear” and “Emperor’s Judgement” under stealth protocols, the crew were suffering in silence as only the serfs of the Night Lords new how. Serjar understood their discomfort, even if he could not feel it himself, but surprise was an advantage not to be surrendered lightly. Furthermore he still felt a nagging doubt about the way the traitors were conducting this campaign. It was not like the Sons of Horus to withdraw so easily, no matter how well they were doing it under pressure. The traitors were known for their aggression and skill against heavy odds. At the very least they should have tried to decapitate Serjar’s fleet command, in this case by attacking the “Encarmine Blade” which was currently running fleet command pennants.

 

“Well, looks like Jamius is earning his keep. He’s pushing them hard” Stanislaus spoke in an approving tone.

 

“Indeed brother, but why are the traitors not pushing back? Serjar questioned his fellow captain.

 

Stanislaus shrugged “Maybe their ships are not at full combat effectiveness? Previous battle damage?”

 

Serjar shook his head “If that was the case they would have sent in the fourth one as well, our fallen cousins do not do things by halves”

 

“Aye, bunch of show offs they certainly are” Stanislaus agreed “But what could they be up to?”

 

Serjar looked around the bridge, the breath of the dozens of command crew misting the air, like smoke leaving their hoods. “We wait and we watch, our contingent will remain on cold running protocols until such time as either Jamius drives the Sons of Horus into the ground, or we have to intervene”

 

The strike force’s uncloaked ships under the command of Jamius continued to press the Sons of Horus back towards the system capital. Along the way torpedoes from the “Razor’s Edge” crippled the “Dire Wolf” Makhus whooping in triumph over the vox as the Sons of Horus battle barge went into an uncontrolled turn back towards the pursuing loyalists.

 

“Keep your distance” Serjar cautioned “They may have a trick up their sleeve. Better to destroy them a range”

 

“Understood” came the reply, as the loyalists pounded the traitor ship until it exploded like a dying star.

 

In the time taken to destroy the “Dire Wolf” the other two Traitor battle barges and their escorts had reached orbit. Serjar’s eyes narrowed as the incoming data from the rest of the fleet showed the traitors attempting to withdraw their planet side forces. This was the most vulnerable time, evacuating under fire would lead to heavy losses for the traitors. Serjar could not believe the Sons of Horus were actually throwing away their position on the surface, one where they at least had set up field defences, in order to run the gauntlet back to their outnumbered ships.

 

“Frak me, they are just begging for a hiding” Stanislaus remarked “Why in the Throne’s name would they try and up sticks now?”

 

“Insanity?” Remarked Erakles “We all know the traitors are playing with sorcery, perhaps these have gone mad?”

 

“Not the Sons, Erakles” Serjar shook his head “It’s like they want us to attack them”

 

“Sometimes the best way to beat a trap is to spring it” Erakles advised “If they do not know we are here, but are only seeing Jamius, Makhus, and Deqlan, well we could give them a nasty surprise when they pull whatever trick they have planned”

 

“Do it” Serjar ordered.

 

From the uncloaked ships of the fleet the assault began. Drop Pods rained squads of loyalist Night Lords, War Hounds, Dark Angels, Blood Angels, and Iron Warriors towards the surface. After the battle of Beta Cypher Delta IV, Serjar had ordered that each ship of the fleet was to carry a mixture of squads from each legion. The order had two purposes, firstly to ensure the “alloying process” was continued off the battlefield buy growth of friendships between the scions of different legions and by fostering mutual understanding of each other’s tactics, secondly to avoid any contingent suffering excessive casualties if a ship was lost. During the warp transit from the dead system, the system had reaped dividends in the endless rounds of training cycles that was the lot of a legionary between battles.

 

As the drop pods screamed towards the surface, Stormbird and Thunderhawk gunships raced behind them, full of loyalist warriors, while Thunderhawk transporters ferried Predators and Land Raiders to support them. As they did so, Fireraptor gunships began strafing the traitors as they retreated to the starport near the fortress.

 

Squadrons of Xiphon and Lightning fighters raced in to attack the struggling enemy drop ships as they descended towards the starport or climbed struggling into the air.

 

On the surface, Jamius and Makhus led the way, squads in blue trimmed white, blood red crimson, black, gun metal, and midnight blue leapfrogging and supporting each other as they cut their way to the starport and attempted to link up with the Imperial Fists defending the fortress. Deqlan led the supporting armored formations, the warriors under his command laying down walls of suppressing fire. The traitors fought desperately, the Sons of Horus forcing heavy fighting for every step, as bolt rounds cut Astartes of both sides down, while lascannons speared through squads or the armored flanks of tanks and armored personnel carriers. Above the battling warriors squads of jet bikes and land speeders dueled for battlefield air superiority, the losers of the vicious dogfights spinning earthward to crash into friend and foe alike.

 

Serjar watched the battle unfolding through the data projected by the hololith, aided by direct pict feeds from his officers. He felt fierce pride in his new brothers as they cut through the foe.

 

Then Malkhaz called to him “Incoming transmission from the Imperial Fists, patching through to you now”

 

Before Serjar appeared the form of Captain Kaynin, an expression of rage on his face.

 

“You have betrayed us Serjar” the hololithic projection spat.

 

“What in Terra’s name are you talking about? My men march to your aid cousin!” Serjar replied, taken aback at the vehemence in the Imperial Fist’s voice.

 

“Night Lords are inside the fortress, killing our human auxiliaries and my men!” the tone of disgust and accusation dripped like venom from Kaynin’s words. Serjar watched as pict feeds appeared in the display showing desperate fighting in the bowels of the fortress between midnight clad warriors and the yellow armored Imperial Fists.

 

“It’s a trap!” Serjar exclaimed “the Sons of Horus were here to bait us!”

 

As he spoke, alarms klaxons wailed as three more capital ships and their escorts uncloaked. Their midnight blue forms announcing their legion. The traitor Night Lords ships began firing into the uncloaked loyalist ships as a rain of drop pods and gunships fell towards the surface, their projected tracks aiming to encircle the loyalist forces on the surface.

 

A rolling booming laugh cut into the vox feed “Too easy Serjar, too easy you blind fool. I am here to take your skull to the Warmaster for his ever growing collection”

Serjar’s memory awoke. The horrendous battles of Carentaine sprang to his mind. Memories of a friendship formed my joint shedding of blood in the great crusade and vows of mutual comradeship.

 

With a heavy heart Serjar spoke “Lucanus, so you turned traitor too”

 

“I stayed loyal to the Warmaster” the voice replied “Not to some has been too afraid to lead us!”

 

“And you call me a fool Lucanus? Look at what Horus has done, through sorcery he has allied himself with daemons!” Serjar retorted.

 

“He has allied himself with true Power, he is the rightful master of mankind Serjar. Abaddon was right, you will never understand. You are stuck fast to that weakling false Emperor you serve. Time to die my friend” the last word was spoken in contempt “But before you do, just know, enough of the Imperial Fists will survive to label you traitor. Your men, if any survive, will be hunted down like dogs by their fellow loyalists” The voice cut off.

 

Erakles was the first to speak “Captain Kaynin, are you still there?”

 

After a pause Kaynin replied “Yes cousin, still here. Don’t think I was supposed to hear that”

 

“Auspex shows seven enemy companies in action now, four from the Sons of Horus, including those planet side, and one each of World Eaters, Iron Warriors, and Emperor’s Children. We can’t see their Night Lords on the auspex, but given what Captain Kaynin showed us….” The mortal ship captain Norvingen called out.

 

Serjar nodded and turned to the hololithic projection of Kaynin and made the sign of the aquilla “No Kaynin, you were not. I do not blame you for thinking the worst. This is the curse Horus’s treachery has placed on us all. We will aid you, but I will hold my fellow loyal Night Lords back from the fortress to avoid confusion” Serjar indicated to Erakles, who began giving the necessary orders to the commanders on the surface. Serjar watched the tactical feed as his fellow loyalist Night Lords began splitting away from fighting near the walls to be replaced by other loyalist squads.

 

“And what will you be doing Serjar?” Kaynin asked

 

“Killing an old friend” Serjar replied.

 

“So be it” Kaynin nodded.

The two Sons of Horus battle barges, now reinforced by the three traitor Night Lords vessels, turned back to the attack. Seeing only four loyalist capital ships in front of them they bore down on the red and white and black ships that had seconds before been pursuing them.

Lance fire and nova cannon rounds crossed the void in both directions. Escorting cruisers, frigates, and destroyers raced in deadly clashes trying to intercept each other and the swarms of fighters and bombers launched to attack the ten kilometer long battle barges.

 

On the surface, the loyalists were hard pressed. Suddenly outnumbered, the Astartes led by Makus, Deqlan, and Jamius Found their assault towards the spaceport stopped in its tracks, and the drive to link up with the fortress turning into a desperate grind despite supporting fire from the garrison of Imperial Fists.

 

Serjar looked at the pennants displayed by the three Night Lords ships as they swept in to the attack. The “Head Taker”, “Night Walker”, and “Penitent’s Lament” were crewed by their gene kin. Men they once called brother before the fall of the Legion into darkness under the madness of Curze and the baleful influence of the Warmaster and Lorgar commanded them. Serjar looked at Stanislaus who returned his grim gaze.

 

“Time to cut some more cancer from the legion” Stanislaus announced.

 

“Aye indeed. Norvingen, as we cross their rear, uncloak and commence firing” Serjar ordered, the unaugmented ship captain acknowledged, along with his gunnery officers.

 

Serjar turned to his friends “Stanislaus, Erakles, we need to deploy every Astartes possible from these ships to the surface, leave the bare minimum to counter boarding actions. And Stanislaus…”

 

“Yes Serjar?” Stanislaus replied.

 

“I told you so….” Serjar winked as he clapped Stanislaus on the pualdron “Never give up the element of surprise”

 

“I frakking hate it when you do that too!” Stanislaus groaned as a booming laugh escaped Erakles’ lips

 

Moments later the three joined their respective commands. Stanislaus and Serjar joining the squads already waiting in their drop pods, while Erakles boarded a gun metal Stormbird trimmed with yellow and black hazard stripes.

 

“For the Emperor!” Serjar intoned

 

“Loyalty or death!” came the reply from hundreds of throats broadcast over the Space Marines’ own vox network, to be echoed by the mortal crews of the ships as they uncloaked and the waves of drop pods and gunships raced towards the surface.

 

The loyal Night Lords’ delay in uncloaking had allowed them to cross the rear of the traitor formation, as they uncloaked the traitors found themselves penned between two fires. The loyalist Night Lords poured a hail of fire into the sterns of their traitor kin. The great broadside macro cannons, each serviced by hundreds of straining crews, hurled their great shells into the void to smash into the exposed drive vents of the traitors as they struggled to turn towards this unexpected knife to the back.

 

The traitor Night Lords took the worst of the initial volleys. The Astartes line officers left in command of the space marines remaining on board, and thereby the ships, were determined to remove the stain of their brothers’ treason. The “Bringer of Fear” and “Emperor’s Judgement” left the “Night Walker” and “Penitent’s Lament” crippled hulks, their drives ruined and unable to maneuver. The “Head Taker” suffered the least, the battle barge taking damage but managing to screen itself with its sister ships.

 

Realizing they had been tricked, the three Sons of Horus battle barges swung round with amazing speed, heading right towards the two loyalist Night Lords ships at full acceleration, leaving the “Encarmine Blade” badly damages and the “Razor’s Edge”, and the Dark Angels vessels “Righteous Strike” and “Black Blade” bloody nosed as they attempted to bull their way through the traitors’ escorting cruisers and frigates. The forces engaged in ferocious exchanges, the void filled with enough firepower to destroy a hive world.

 

Meanwhile on the surface, the now outnumbered loyalists struggled to keep the enemy at bay. In the fortress, the Night Lords threw themselves at the Imperial Fists from flanking tunnels and through hidden ways the Imperial Fists thought known only to themselves, the traitors attempting to catch small forces unawares. In turn the Imperial Fists, always masters of defence, attempted to lure the traitorous sons of Curze into kill boxes, cutting down their attackers from behind barricades and through artful use of flanking fire and hidden gun emplacements. On the walls the Imperial Fists were beset by their hated rivals the Iron Warriors and hordes of Sons of Horus as the tip of the spear drove into the breaches the Iron Warriors had finally created.

 

In the streets around the starport, the loyalists under Jamius, and Makhus fought bitter street to street and room to room battles through hab blocks and manufactoriums against the main force of Sons of Horus, desperately holding them back from cutting through to their treasonous kin assaulting the fortress, and thereby dividing up the loyalists for defeat in detail. Deqlan led the armored forces in a charge to tear into the flank of an entire company of World Eaters advancing to try and join the Sons of Horus and traitor Iron Warriors at the breaches. Autocannons, lascannons, plasma sunbursts, and missiles roared into the dirty red armor of the traitors as they charged towards the fortress felling hundreds. Deqlan watched as the World Eaters turned towards his force of tanks from the commander’s cupola of the Blood Angels Land Raider Achilles he led the force from. To his mounting sense of unease his superhuman sight saw patches of the old familiar white under the dark and patchy red his traitor kin now wore.

 

“Oh Emperor, its blood. They have painted themselves in blood!” He exclaimed as he swung the pintle mounted assault cannon from side to side, mowing down the onrushing madmen in rows as the hull mounted thunderfire cannon rained high explosive into the oncoming mob. Despite the casualties, World Eaters began reaching the loyalist tanks. Most hacked at them ineffectually with combat blade, chain sword and chain axe, but enough were armed with power fists and melta bombs to start reaping a bloody toll on the loyalist vehicles too slow to escape them. Other vehicles were buried under piles of berserk World Eaters, having to resort to using heavy bolters and autocannon fire to hose each other off of the insane traitors before pulling back. The loyalist tanks retreated backwards as fast as their reverse gear would allow following Deqlan’s orders, leaving burning vehicles in their wake. The crews of knocked out vehicles were hacked to ribbons by the World Eaters as they themselves were gunned down by loyalist tanks.

 

Serjar and the squads from the “Bringer of Fear” and “Emperor’s Judgement” deploying by drop pod began landing to the rear of the Sons of Horus and World Eater forces attacking the warriors commanded by Makhus and Jamius. The doors of dozens of drop pods blew open like petals of some carnivorous plant to send warriors in all the colors of the forces under Serjar’s command into the battle.

 

“How the hell are we going to find him in all this?” Stanislaus waved his arm around at the burning skyline all around them “We need to decapitate the Sons of Horus first of all”

 

“Lucanus? He’ll find us brother. I’d rather that than him hunting down the others to draw me out. Which is what he will do” Serjar replied. Turning to brother Jegava, a legionary vox operator he instructed “Broadcast my command take over our vox net. I’m sure our fallen brothers are listening at least, if not the rest of the traitors. I presume we have penetration of the traitors’ net?”

 

“Yes sir, the vox command just sent through the keys they have hacked. We are listening in now. Not getting anything on our fallen brother’s frequencies, they are too far underground, but the Sons are yielding useful data. We are trying to locate their command nodes to isolate their commanders” The legionary responded, his midnight blue armor already coated in dust and ash from the fighting, the large vox caster on his back.

 

“What about the World Eaters?” Serjar asked.

 

“Nothing sir, well unless you count incoherent ranting. Some kak about skulls and thrones” the loyalist Night Lord shook his head in disgust “I mean sir, they never were the sanest of us, but if you could hear what they are filling their vox net with…”

 

“Patch it to me” Serjar ordered. After a burst of static as the vox operator patched him into the World Eater’s network, Serjar heard the maddened howls of the insane roars for blood, and then the chilling chant, his superhuman hearing picking it out from the mad chorus of overlapping voices “Blood for the blood god, skulls for the skull throne” Serjar made a cutting motion with his hand, his relief palpable as the insane voices of his cousins were cut off.

 

Carias II, he thought, that was what the World Eater captain he had punched to death had been saying. Shaking his head he turned and began to order his forces advance against the Sons of Horus, intending to drive through the traitor line to reach his friends before destroying the encircled traitors piecemeal.

 

Serjar and Stanislaus each led a force driving like two daggers into the enemy ranks. The solid march and bolter drill of loyalist Iron Warriors squads supported by quad mortar bombardments was assisted by flanking strikes of loyalist Night Lord and Dark Angel bike and jump pack equipped squads. Blood Angels and War Hound Squads, be they jump equipped or otherwise, threw themselves head on at the traitors wherever enemy resistance was strongest, cutting down the Sons of Horus in a welter of chain weapons and vicious short range shooting. In return the loyalists paid in blood for every step gained, the Sons of Horus fighting as well as their mighty reputation would expect.

 

Serjar almost seemed to dance and weave through the battle, his chain glaive cutting and hacking in sweeping arcs, as he and his command squad led by Sergeant Agripus led the charge. Time slowed for Serjar, his superhuman reflexes honed by more than two centuries of war. A Son of Horus was decapitated by the spinning teeth of Serjar’s glaive, another, in the act of gunning down one of Agripus’s warriors, was bisected from shoulder to groin, a third hacked apart on the return stroke. A blast from his plasma pistol incinerated a fourth as his men fell on their foes with chain glaives, lightning claws, and power weapons.

 

On the tactical feed shown on his retinal display, Serjar could see the updates provided by the vox snatching. What was obviously a command cadre had turned from assaulting the forces under Makhus and Jamius and turned towards the forces under Serjar. As the Sons of Horus opened a gap in their line to hunt for Serjar, his Blood Angel battle brother was driving into the gap to try and split the traitors’ lines. “Jamius, stay put, there are too many of them for you to deal with! Stick with Makhus!” He ordered.

 

“Negative sir” Jamius replied “We have to pin them down, or they’ll swamp you in turn”

 

“Who? The sons?” Serjar Questioned

 

“Not only, they are funneling the World Eaters at you too. Looks like an all-out effort, their whole line is breaking contact and heading for you and Stanislaus” The Blood Angel informed him.

 

Serjar looked at the tactical display. Jamius was right. The traitors were turning to concentrate on his advance, even trying to ignore the assault of the squads under Stanislaus. The forces under Erakles were engaged in a struggle to the death with the traitor Iron Warriors and Sons of Horus who had been assaulting the fortress breaches, the loyalist Cataphractii and Tartaros terminators in squads of red or white or midnight blue, alongside black and gun metal, were grinding their way through the traitors who so heavily outnumbered them, their incredibly heavy armor basically immune to anything but the luckiest of shots or heaviest of infantry weapons, leaving shattered traitors in sea green and gunmetal bleeding out behind them. Even so, the Warmaster’s fallen sons were slipping past the advance of Erakles around the flanks and racing to link up with the treasonous scum headed towards Serjar’s detachment. In the fortress, Captain Kaynin and his Imperial Fists were able to pull more forces from the walls as their fellow loyalists under Erakles and Makhus either killed or drew away pressure, and send them into battle against the Traitor Night Lords attempting to take the fortress from below.

 

Serjar scanned the tactical map looking for the best place to hold against the avalanche of green armored warriors now descending on his position. In consultation with his lieutenants and sergeants Serjar pulled his men back and set up a line of defence along a series of huge rockcrete drainage canals, crossed by a series of small foot and traffic bridges. Loyalist heavy weapons teams took up position on hab block roof tops. Tactical Marines and Veteran squads placed themselves where fire could be concentrated on the bridges which had been previously blown by the Imperial Fists as they prepared to defend the fortress. Jump pack equipped assault squads were held in reserve. The squads were blue, red, white, black, and silver, but they had fought and gelled this day as one. No matter what happened, Serjar was proud of these warriors for that.

 

From the streets and alleys on the far side of the swiftly flowing waterway came a roar and thunder of ceramite shod feet pounding into rockcrete. Not the ordered measured crashes of legion marching, but the pell-mell rush of a mob.

 

“Steady” Serjar ordered “No firing without my command”

 

From the streets leading to the bridges came a wave of World Eaters, their armor a foul brownish red of dried blood, splattered with splashes of fresh vitae. The maddened warriors raced towards the demolished bridges, the first ones leaping over the first of the demolished spans with their jump packs, some falling some making the mighty leap. Others were swarming down the slopes of damaged sections of bridge before ascending the far side.

 

As the first of the World Eaters reached the far bank Serjar roared “Open Fire! Death to Traitors!!!”

 

A hail of fire swept out, the tactical squads rising from concealment to pour magazine after magazine into the oncoming traitors along with plasma and melta gun fire. Jump pack equipped World Eaters fell from the sky trailing flames from shattered jump packs. Missiles arced down on trails of smoke to obliterate traitor Astartes, as a hail of heavy boltgun rounds and lascannon fire turned the remains of the bridges into a slaughterhouse. Those World Eaters that made it across ran bloody carnage through the tactical squads until brought down. The berserk warriors would shrug off anything except and immediately fatal hit. Counter attacks by white and red and blue clad squads descending on wings of jump pack fire came to the aid of their battle brothers in the tactical squads time and again before jumping back into reserve.

 

Serjar looked at the carnage, and realized that his foe was achieving at least one objective. The World Eaters were dying in such numbers, that at the two narrowest crossings they were literally building bridges of their own dead. Serjar looked on in disgust as the first of the arch traitor’s legion came into range. Unlike the World Eaters, these warriors advanced with discipline and precision. Serjar was certain they had deliberately sacrificed their traitor allies to better ford the canals. Now the real battle would begin.

 

A hail of fire erupted from the traitors, the sheer volume of fire driving Serjar’s tactical squads back into cover. It seemed to Serjar as if every Son of Horus on this woe begotten world was facing him. A sea of green flowed back into the alleys and roadways on the far side of the canal

Serjar’s heavy weapons teams had a short window of advantage while the Sons of Horus brought up their own. The loyalist Iron Warriors havoc squads in particular took advantage. A hail of fire winnowed the traitor support squads as they scrambled to find positions to return fire from. Quad mortars fired from behind Serjar’s position, the dreaded clouds of burning smoke from phosphex rounds causing carnage in the traitors’ ranks. Tactical squads braved the hail of traitor fire to add their own boltguns to the loyalist barrage in return. Slowly, over an increasing number of their own dead, the traitors advanced, like an unstoppable wave. They had been surprised by the numbers of warriors at Serjar’s command. They had lost more ships than expected. But they were the Sons of Horus, and they would take Serjar’s head for their genesire at any cost. Serjar watched the tactical feed. Forces under Makhus, Jamius, and Deqlan were advancing to his aid, but resistance was heavy, Stanislaus was attempting to force his way through the intervening traitors to the west of Serjar’s position. Erakles was leading his terminators into the fortress of the Fists to kill the traitor Night Lords that infested the depths and were still killing the sons of Dorn.

 

Serjar readied himself. He had to hold here. Any retreat would take his men further from the aid of their brothers. The Sons of Horus had reached the bridges of World Eater corpses, and in order to tie down as many of Serjar’s warriors as possible they sent probing forces at every possible crossing point.

 

Bolt rounds and plasma shots crisscrossed the canal. Lascannons sent ruby beams of light to punch through power armor as if it was paper. A Blood Angels heavy support squad mowed down dozens of traitors with their assault cannons until return fire killed some and drove the others further back into cover.

 

Deep green armored figures arched though the air on their jump packs. Their Mk.IV armor covered in Cthonian runes and the angry red stylized eye of Horus. One of Serjar’s trusted ancients, Stepanus, a Mortis Contemptor dreadnought, sent hails of fire into the sky from his twin Kheres assault cannons and carapace mounted missile launcher. A pair of loyalist Iron Warriors Deredo pattern dreadnoughts added their skyfire ability at different points of the line. In return the Sons of Horus directed more and more fire against the deadly machines “Brother Serjar” Stepanus spoke, the mind impulse connection to the entombed warrior within rendering his voice as a machine tone quite unlike that of his voice in life “Fire is becoming heavy, I calculate a seventy five percent chance of excessive damage if I stay at this location” Serjar knew the warrior inside the life support unit of the Contemptor dreadnought did not fear death, if anything he probably longed for it, but instead was concerned about his battle brother’s losing their much needed fire support. As if to emphasize the point, a hail of fire slammed into one of the Deredo dreadnoughts, knocking it from its feet before it shakily stood up, smoke pouring from one of its weapons arms.

 

“Indeed brother Stepanus, I suggest you and the other dreadnoughts withdraw to positions where you can provide air defence without exposing yourselves unnecessarily. We can’t afford to lose you at this juncture brothers”

 

“Understood” came the metallic voice “Withdrawing to secondary fire points. Stay well brother Serjar, we have need of you also” the Contemptor and the Deredos began stepping backwards, weapons still firing into the sky. Just as they reached cover, a series of lascannons shots once again hit the already damaged dreadnought, its withdrawal hampered by failing motor controls. It exploded violently, the portly body shattering as its ammunition cooked off.

 

Stepanus took quick revenge, triggering nearly half of his krak missiles at once he slammed them into the rooftop from which the shots had come. Serjar watched as shattered Astartes tumbled through the air, then the building collapsed burying the traitors who had been occupying it under tons of rockcrete.

 

It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. It would not be enough until the last traitor was hunted down and flayed alive for their crimes. Serjar felt his rage rising, and pushed it back down. Now was not the time. He had a duty to direct these Astartes who looked to him for leadership. Rage, despair, they had no place, no more than the fear that had been excised by his ascension to the ranks of the Emperor’s transhuman warriors.

 

The Sons of Horus pushed across the bridges formed from dead World Eaters, to the fore came breacher squads, their shields ringing from the rain of bolt rounds. Behind them came tactical and assault squads, as their supporting heavy weapons blazed from the upper stories of hab blocks. Loyalist fire poured down upon the assaulting columns, plasma blasts incinerating shield and bearer alike, and allowing bolt rounds through gaps in the advancing shield wall to kill those behind. Lascannons cut swathes through the forward lines, while phosphex and shatter rounds from Serjar’s support units obliterated traitors under clouds of burning smog, which melted through the flexible joints of their power armor, the vicious chemicals destroying flesh and bone within their armored forms, or shredded them with hypersonic shrapnel as pieces of shattered armor spun through the air leaving bloody trails.

 

The attackers’ fire hammered the defenders in turn. The loyalist Havoc squads in their bare metal armor came in for particular punishment as their fire hammered the traitors, Sons of Horus heavy support squads hunted their loyalist cousins from the Iron Warriors with extreme prejudice. Serjar watched the vicious exchanges of fire, as death indicators flashed up in his preysight.

 

The traitors reached the far side of the canal, the surviving breacher squads fanning out to allow the squads behind to deploy. Whatever evil had infected the Sons of Horus, it had done nothing to their discipline, the turncoats displaying the same exemplary skill that Serjar remembered from fighting alongside them. Slowly but surely they pushed the loyalists back from their first line of defence into the hab blocks and manufactoriums behind.

 

Serjar and his command squad found themselves in brutal close quarter battle with a flood of green armored traitors. Serjar hacked and swung with his chain glaive as the Sons of Horus poured over the rubble barricades, a sweeping cut hacking the first traitor to reach him in half across the waist, followed by a butt-stroke with the haft of the weapon that shattered the faceplate of the traitor behind, slamming the Son of Horus to the ground where Serjar finished him with an overhand blow. Around him Sergeant Agripus and his men hacked into the traitor astartes, figures of midnight blue in a sea of green, Agripus slashing left and right with his lightning claws as his men, veterans all, hacked and cut with power swords and chain axes. Serjar watched as one of his fellow Night Lords was tackled to the ground and hacked apart by three Sons of Horus. Serjar blasted one with his plasma pistol before eviscerating the second. The third was a sergeant, he parried Serjar’s blows with his power sword while making vicious strikes with a power maul. Oath papers and legion honor marks decorated the traitor’s Mk.IV power armor, listing his service and victories. He lasted only ten seconds as Serjar cut him down.

 

Serjar watched the tactical feed as he fought desperately alongside his men, the others were coming, but too slowly for his liking. The battle was balanced on a knife edge, his men fighting tooth and nail against the main mass of the Sons of Horus. Combat raged from room to room in the surrounding buildings. The battle was one of vicious firefights and blade work. Blood flowed across floors and down stair wells. Astartes clashed and fought and died over rooms that had changed hands several times, the names of the Emperor or Warmaster on their lips. Hatred for those that they once named kin burned bright, driving both sides to acts of incredible bravery and horrendous cruelty towards the foe.

 

Streets became kill zones, heavy weapons targeting warriors as they charged across the open lanes into a storm of bolt rounds. Dreadnoughts smashed through walls, crushing their foes in their massive power fists before continuing on. The venerable Stepanus held a main arterial alone, his twin Kheres assault cannons hacking down the traitors as his weapons ran hot. Behind him two tech marines, one in black and one in gunmetal, raced repeatedly through enemy fire to reload his ammunition hoppers under fire.

 

Everywhere Serjar looked he saw a carpet of dead or dying Astartes, here and there amongst the green carpet of dead traitors were clusters of loyalist dead, their armor the varied colors of his force. On the battle raged, both sides trampling the dead underfoot as they cursed each other and shot and smote and struggled.

 

Then the horns sounded.

 

In a square where several arterials met, a force of Sons of Horus Reaver squads descended on jump packs. A group of Legion officers in their midst, one bore a black banner embroidered with the baleful eye of Horus. Fire rained down on them as they landed, dropping several, the dozens of traitor elites rushing into cover, but strangely holding their fire.

 

A voice rang out over the tumult of battle “Come out cousin, enough of skulking in buildings. Lucanus is here to end this. Meet me blade to blade, we were friends once, and I will give you the honor of a quick death. My brothers wish to hunt you down like vermin and make example of you. I would spare you that fate”

 

In the nearest building, surrounded by dead loyalists and traitors alike, Serjar and Agripus listened. As Serjar rose, Agripus grabbed his commander by the pauldron. “You can’t be taking him at his word Lord Serjar, these traitors have no honor. You’ll be gunned down the moment you show yourself!”

 

Serjar looked at his battle brother “Aye, likely. But this is a blade that cuts both ways. And it saves me the trouble of hunting him through this damn city. Anyway, any truce for honorable combat buys time for our brothers to reach us”

 

Serjar ordered the fire on the square to cease. Slowly but surely the gunfire stopped. In the distance Serjar heard the sounds of desperate fighting, this one small ceasefire surrounded by the ongoing slaughter of legion warfare. “Alright Lucanus” His voice blared out from his helmet’s vox caster “You and me cousin. One on one. Let’s get this over with”

 

Serjar stepped out into the square, followed by several squads. Behind him loyalist Night Lords, War Hounds, Dark Angels, Iron Warriors, and Blood Angels stepped forward in numbers matching those of the Sons of Horus.

 

“Blade only” Lucanus spoke as he stepped forward, his MK. IV maximus armor the work of a master artificer. Green with brass trims, bedecked with honor marks and wax sealed scrolls of oaths of moment, but also defaced with the foul symbology of treason. He was a mirror to Serjar, who stood in his midnight blue armor, the bright red bat wings on his helm a stark contrast. Across Serjar’s breastplate was the two headed imperial eagle. On his pauldrons, the flayed skin of traitors, their legion markings denoting his victories in mirror of the markings of his foe. “I must admit, you caught me by surprise here. I will have words with Erebus about his, well, misapprehension about how many of your force his precious Word Bearers killed, my losses today were far heavier than anticipated. But in the end, Horus has men to spare. Your head will placate him I’m sure”

 

Serjar stood silent.

 

“I see you have killed my brothers before” Lucanus noted as he stared at his former oath sworn friend “I will take vengeance for that”

 

“I killed traitors, Lucanus, I am disappointed to see you are amongst them” Serjar replied, readying his chain glaive as Lucanus brought his sword up in salute.

 

“Treason? When we win, history will remember you and your loyalists as traitors Serjar. I thought you were smarter than to back the losing side” Lucanus jeered.

 

“I will know I was loyal Lucanus. And so will you. Enough small talk, are you ready?” Serjar took up a guard stance. He well remembered the furiousity with which Lucanus would attack in close combat.

 

Lucanus nodded “Well, just one more thing….”

 

A shot rang out, Serjar felt a hammer blow slamming into his right leg, the thigh bone shattering under the impact of a stalker pattern bolt gun round. Serjar crashed to the ground, the broken bone grinding as he collapse.

 

Gunfire broke out as the ceasefire abruptly ended, Serjar watched, struggling to rise as his superhuman metabolism attempted to repair the break, his blood already clotting over the gaping wound in his leg, as loyalists and traitors gunned one another down. A shadow fell over him. He looked up into the eye lenses of Lucanus’s helmet.

 

“Really Serjar? You actually thought I would fight fair? You always were such an idealist. Now all remains is to take your head and get out of here. Your petty force will fragment and be mopped up without you”

Lucanus raised the sword over his head, ready to strike down and end Serjar, as the wounded Night Lord struggled to stand his leg still refusing to take his weight. The sword came down, Serjar desperately attempted to block one handed with his glaive. The sword was deflected cutting deep into his shoulder through the armor of the pauldron.

 

From above came a thunderous roar, part jetpack, part inchoate cry of rage. A red armored form crashed into Lucanus as other jump troops smashed down into the square.

 

Captain Jamius, his armor damaged in several places, swung blow after blow at the Son of Horus driving him back from Serjar, both warriors cutting each other sorely as they parried and thrust. In the square the newly arrived Blood Angels fought with a ferocity second only to that which the World Eaters had shown. He staggered to his feet, the bones in his wounded leg still grinding.

 

Jamius and Lucanus dueled, the Son of Horus silent while Jamius roared his defiance. Around them the battle raged, loyalists and traitors locked in their individual combats. Serjar staggered forward, desperate to aid his friend, the heat of his wounded body as it raced to repair his injuries burning his body’s reserves of transhuman fat.

 

Then Lucanus got in a telling blow, time slowed as Serjar watched the power sword ram through his battle brother’s breastplate and out through the Blood Angel’s power pack. Serjar stumbled into a run, swinging his chain glaive he tore Lucanus’s sword arm from his body as the Blood Angel fell with a mighty crash to the rockcrete of the square. Before Serjar could strike again the two captains were forced apart by the rush of their men, the traitors dragging the badly wounded Lucanus back into their ranks as the Sons of Horus began a fighting withdrawal from the square.

 

“Frak it” Came Stanislaus’s voice over the vox “The bastards are breaking out to the south, all units pursue” Serjar collapsed down to sit on the ground as he watched the tactical feed. The traitors had found a gap in the encirclement where Serjar’s force met that of Makhus’s men, and were flowing through it to the fields beyond the city. In orbit above, reports came in of gunships racing planetward, already the first enemy units were being retrieved to run the gauntlet back to their ships. A screening bombardment was falling from orbit, and Serjar ordered his men back to avoid further casualties. From the fortress Erakles and Kaynin announced the traitor Night Lords had simply faded away. The only remaining traitors were the dead who lined the corridors and rooms under the structure, their living brothers had escaped the same way they made entry. From a point more than five kilometers distant, gunships raced skywards through a hail of fire from the fortress, the unlucky ones falling back to earth trailing fire or exploding as their fuel and ammunition was ignited by anti-aircraft fire.

 

Serjar rose and staggered over to where Jamius lay “What sort of damn fool trick was that brother?” he watched as blood continued to flow from Jamius’s wounds, his Larramans’s organ failing to stem the bleeding.

 

“A thank you would have been nice” Jamius tried to laugh but coughed up blood instead “Better me than you Serjar, look after my men” The Blood Angel was struggling to stay awake, his men had raced in pursuit of the traitors, almost out of control.

 

“What has happened to you all Jamius, the way you fought….” Serjar asked the dying Astartes

 

“I….. don’t…. know…. It has been growing, a need for the enemy’s blood, and a rage, deep and black. Something has happened at Signus, something has happened to the Angel” Jamius’s voice was quiet.

 

“What? What has happened?”

 

“I can’t tell you, but the Angel has been laid low, I feel it” Serjar saw a tear running down his friend’s face “He is our father” the Blood Angel looked up and saw Serjar’s face “I’m sorry brother… I shouldn’t have…”

 

“Forget it Jamius, Sanguinius is a father to be proud of, unlike mine. But believe me, if anyone can survive whatever trap has been set, the Angel will” Serjar quietly spoke.

 

“I hope so….. stay strong brother. I’m sorry I won’t be with you at Terra…. Smite them for me….” Were Jamius’s last words.

 

Serjar stood, although he had not known Jamius long, he had come to greatly value and respect the Blood Angel for his tactical sense, bravery, and above all his nobility.

 

Serjar left the body in the hands of the apothecaries and led his men to clear the last of the stay behind parties of the traitors in a series of vicious encounters. He and his men almost had to race the Blood Angels to battle, the red armored warriors further enraged by the loss of their captain. In orbit above Norvingen informed him the four remaining traitor battle barges were racing at full burn away from the planet, and requested orders to pursue “Let them go” Serjar had replied “We have enough to deal with down here”

 

It took two more days of clearance operations to hunt down the last of the turncoats, Serjar was there at the death, taking down the last Son of Horus captain himself, leaving him alive enough for interrogation, though by the time Serjar and Kergorag were finished it was certain the traitor would have preferred an honorable death. From the intelligence gleaned, or perhaps more appropriately torn, from the traitor, Serjar knew that his force had at last become a priority for the Warmaster, Lucanus being sent to hunt him down. No trace of the Son of Horus had been found, and Serjar was confident his enemy had made good his escape. He had a strong feeling it would not be the last time he encountered his former friend.

 

The two days of fighting also brought about a return to normality for the Blood Angels contingent, for most of that time they had avoided their loyalist cousins, rushing to any location where traitors were found. The other contingents had learned to avoid getting in the way of the enraged warriors. By the time the fighting had finished, Serjar had selected Lieutenant Paulanius for promotion to command in place of Jamius. The warrior had kept his head best of all his kin. Although Serjar was troubled by the explanation given by Jamius, before his death, for the rage that had overtaken his men, he publicly announced that the Blood Angels’ extreme behavior was in reaction to the loss of such a beloved leader. It was, after all, partly true. The Blood Angels took the body of Jamius and their other dead and interred them, as was their tradition, in the halls of remembrance on the “Encarmine Blade”, hoping one day to lay them to rest on Baal.

 

The other legions followed their own varying legion rites for their dead. But in all cases the progenoid glands were retrieved where possible that the gene lines of fallen heroes would continue.

 

Also during the previous forty-eight hours, Serjar had taken time to meet with Captain Kaynin. The meeting had been cordial, far more so than the first. Serjar was glad to find the Imperial Fist was in no doubt about his loyalty now, or that of the other loyalist contingents from traitor legions.

 

“I am sorry brother” Kaynin apologized as he grasped Serjar’s arm in the ancient warrior’s greeting “I will stand before my genesire himself to defend you now. Without you and your men we were lost, and you have all paid a heavy price”

 

“We stand or fall together Kaynin. The divisions of legion or genesire matter little in this war. The dividing line should be loyalty to the Emperor or to the traitor Horus” Serjar intoned.

 

“In that we have no disagreement” Replied Kaynin, though he had disagreed with Serjar’s “methods” of interrogation some hours previously. Making the sign of the aquilla the Imperial Fist said “For the Emperor!”

 

“Loyalty or Death!” replied Serjar

 

The fortress was stripped of as much stores and equipment as possible, Serjar was certain a far larger force of traitors would be on the way to either take it or flatten it from orbit. The forge world in system had declared neutrality in “the split between the factions of the non-mechanicum portion of the Imperium”, though Serjar strongly doubted that would help them in the face of the Warmaster, and was refusing to provide repairs to Serjar’s fleet. Serjar had entertained the thought of bombing the tech priests back to the Stone Age to deny their forge to Horus, however even though the planet was a minor one, albeit with heavy defences, he would need the support of the Mechanicum to reach Terra. Already a nearby Forge World was in astropathic communication offering to tend to the fleet’s needs in the name of the Omnissiah on Terra, and Serjar was certain that killing their cousins would not go down well, so he let it go. After a few days preparing, as Erakles put it, unpleasant surprises for any force of traitors attempting to use the fortress, the combined force of loyalist Night Lords, War Hounds, Iron Warriors, Blood Angels, and Dark Angels, now joined by Jamius and his Imperial Fists, returned to the fleet and made way to the Mandeville point to continue their way to Terra.

 

                                                              ---------------------------------------------------

 

In the darkness of the cult shrine on board the battle barge “Claw of Destiny”, Lucanus knelt, his head bowed. The whine of his newly fitted augmetic arm both annoyed and shamed him. Around him the sacrifices of the helots that enabled the ritual to go ahead spilt blood into the channels inscribed on the floor. From the witch-mind came a cloud of foul vaporous smoke and ectoplasm, which coiled into the air, slowly forming a face.

 

The face of Horus.

 

His voice boomed out “So is it done Lucanus? Report!”

 

Lucanus thought momentarily, he decided not to sugar coat the news “No my Warmaster, we were only able to wound him. I believe I killed one of his senior Captains, a Blood Angel, but we were forced to withdraw. His forces are significantly larger than we had been led to believe”

 

“So Erebus mouthed off again about his brothers’ achievements. I am tiring of that snake. I will not say I am not disappointed Captain Lucanus” Lucanus winced inwardly as he heard in the Warmaster’s tone that he was very disappointed indeed “I have tasked you with this, and you have accepted. I warn you now, you will come back with this Serjar’s head, or not at all. Am I understood?”

 

“Clearly my lord and master” Lucanus replied.

 

“Abaddon has spoken for you. He generally does not make….. mistakes” The Warmaster continued “I expect you to live up to expectations. Gather what forces you require on the way, but remove this thorn from my side!”

 

“It will be done Lord Horus” Lucanus intoned.

 

The face of the Warmaster nodded once in the smoke, then dissipated.

 

Lucanus rose, nodding to his second in command he swept from the chamber followed by his captains and lieutenants.

 

The hunt would go on, the baleful eye of his genesire was upon him.