Glory Titanica

[Tarvek Val]

  Glory Titanica

 

I.

[The forge world of Lumina Prime. The forces of darkness, in the form of the treacherous Legio Mortis, have launched a catastrophic invasion of the planet. All that stands between millions of civilians and the encroaching night are the Battle Titans of the Legio Aeternitas.]

 

      ‘Contact! Enemy engine approaching Imperial Guard forces, North at two thousand meters!’

      The silence inside my titan, the Warlord-class Umbra Vindicta, is broken by Sensori Sevah’s excited cry. After two days advancing on the small hive-city of Voraxius, the prospect of seeing combat against an enemy Titan is refreshing. From within my amniotic tank, my withered face breaks into a smile as the fury of Vindicta’s machine-spirit builds up inside my soul.

      ‘Karson! Full speed forwards! We can intercept them as they reach the Guardsmen!’

      My voice, once deep and commanding, is now transmitted through a rasping vox-speaker. Nevertheless, it has the same effect it once did, before I was interred in this tank of ice.

      Steersman Karson replies promptly, with a quick, ‘At once, Princeps Simril.’ We quickly close the distance between us and our unseen foe. When we get within five hundred meters of the enemy engine, Moderati Michaelis concludes that, based upon its speed and dexterity, we are facing an Archenemy Warhound-class Scout Titan. It is a hunchbacked beast of twisted, black metal, adorned in all places with the accursed runes of Chaos. The Warhound is busy shredding a company of Imperial Guardsmen, who, though outclassed, valiantly fire up at the monstrosity with lasguns, to no effect. Their screams as they are torn apart by its Vulcan Mega-bolter are horrific.

      ‘Enough’, I growl. ‘Charge the volcano cannons!’

      The deafening whir of our arm-mounted volcano cannons reaches a deafening crescendo, before the weapon upon our left arm fires. The Warhound is sent reeling backwards, its shields shattered by the devastating laser emanating from our weapon-arm. The Chaos Titan unloads a desperate volley from its Mega-bolter at us, but most of its shots go wide, streaking upwards into the roiling, tormented sky. A swift second shot from our right arm puts the renegade engine out of its misery, annihilating it from the torso upwards. The blackened legs stagger on for a few more steps before collapsing limply onto the ground in a spineless heap.

      Our glorious kill was certainly a sign from the Omnissiah himself. ‘It is time to take the city’, I declare. We march proudly through the wreckage of what had once been a mighty defensive wall, long ruined by artillery and the tread of towering war machines. As we step onto the bloodstained stones of the defiled city, I feel uneasy. Something is… wrong.

      ‘Moderati’, I ask softly, ‘do we have any readings on the auspex?’

      It takes Michaelis several seconds to answer as he absorbs the information scrolling across his lectern. ‘No, lord princeps’, he replies. ‘However, the city’s hab blocks are confounding our sensors. There could be anything out there!’

      Again, I feel a nagging sense of unease. I feel almost as if something is… Watching us. Watching ME. Barely have I felt the sense before a series of withering impacts strikes us, reducing our shields to naught in mere seconds. ‘HOW?!’ I scream in shock, ‘where is the enemy?’ I manage to bring the dying Umbra Vindicta around through the devastating fusillade of shells from a gun that could only be a hellstorm cannon, just in time to see our slayer. As I stare down the barrel of the traitor Imperator Titan’s plasma annihilator, I have time for one last thought: we have failed our goal and our Omnissiah.

 

II.

[Mechanicus archive XV7.5467alphaK-MNOXC]

(After the devastating battle for Voraxius, which settled the fate of the entire world when the Legio Mortis and their mortal servants were defeated by the Mechanicum, with the aid of the Legio Aeternitas. The chaotic Imperator was slain by the combined firepower of ten of Legio Aeternitas’s Warlord titans, supported by a battalion of fearsome Reavers. The magi of the Mechanicum and their loyal servants have taken to the battlefield to salvage what they can… And destroy what they cannot.)

           

      +Honored Magi. I believe that I have found something that will be of interest to you.+ The tech-cant comes from Tech-priest Varius, an aspiring young apprentice of the esteemed Magi Zhorus, one of the Tech-Lords of Voraxius. The magi, his curiosity (or what remains of it, after the many enhancements that have served to bring him closer to the Omnissiah) piqued by the raw excitement evident even in his apprentice’s cant, goes to stand by Varius.

      +What.+ The single word from Zhorus betrays none of the emotions running through his circuits, his outward appearance an emotionless silver mask that has long since replaced the flesh of his face.

      +My lord, I believe we have found a fallen war engine… One of our own, no less.+

      The two had earlier found the ruined remains of a Chaos Warhound spread across the entrance to the city, along with the bloody bodies of a company of Imperial Guardsmen, who had been slain by the beast. The Warhound (whose heretical remains had been destroyed by the Tech-Lord’s loyal servitors) had quite obviously been slain by the devastating power of one of its larger cousins, of whom no trace had been found, until now!

      +Its name is marked upon the hull, magi. It is... The Umbra Vindicta, lord.+ Sorrow is evident in the young tech-priest’s voice, as he is clearly overcome by the loss of the mighty war machine. Tech-Lord Zhorus feels, for the first time in centuries, a twinge of pity for the young apprentice.

      +Fear not, apprentice.+ He cants. +Umbra Vindicta will rise again.+

 

 

III.

[Titan Primary Factorum Nu-Beta: LVXIII; Voraxius]

(The Consecration of Blessed Iron)

 

      +It is time, Magi Varius.+ The cant is sent by Servitor SDV-0071, one of Varius’s loyal servitors. There since the very beginning of his rise from humble tech-priest to one of Voraxius’s greatest magis, Servitor SDV-0071 has been one of Varius’s longest-serving servants. A bulky figure, with one arm replaced by a dexterous appendage capable of any task, from repairing the treads of a Leman Russ to fine-tuning an auspex array, SDV-0071 towers over the hunched Varius.. Magi Varius, drawing in a deep breath through his augmetic lungs, exhales calmly.

      +Let us begin, then+, he cants, mostly to himself (for SDV-0071 long since lost the ability to hold a conversation). He strides purposefully through the upper levels of the factorum, taking secret passageways only known to the senior leaders among the Mechanicum. After several minutes of such travel, he comes to the great balcony that oversees the unthinkably vast assembly hall of the Titan Factorum.

      ‘BROTHERS!’ he cries, his true flesh-voice amplified a thousand fold by speakers hidden within the great space, ‘SISTERS! SERVANTS OF THE OMNISSIAH ALL! TODAY WE GATHER TO HONOR THE CONSECRATION OF ONE OF OUR GREATEST WEAPONS AGAINST THE DARKNESS. YES, A BATTLE TITAN. AND NOT JUST ANY TITAN… TODAY, FOR THE SECOND TIME, WE CONSECRATE THE MIGHTY Umbra Vindicta. ONCE MORE SHALL THIS ENGINE SCOUR THE STARS OF THE OMNISSIAH’S FOES. ONCE MORE SHALL SHE RISE AND BRING RUIN TO THE GREAT ENEMY!’

      As he speaks, he withdraws a cupful of the sacred Oils of Anointing. These oils were said to be blessed by the Omnissiah himself when He walked amongst the stars, many millennia before. Varius throws the sacred fluids into the air to land on the motionless form of Umbra Vindicta, mere meters below him. As if on cue, the mighty war machine takes a single step forwards, making the ground tremble under its mighty gait. Then another. And another.

      ‘SHE WALKS! PRAISE THE OMNISSIAH!’ exclaims Varius.

‘PRAISE THE OMNISSIAH!’ echoes the vast Mechanicum host gathered far below. As he observes the crowds, Varius sees a familiar face - it is none other than Esteemed Tech-Lord Zhorus. As Varius catches his old mentor’s eye, Zhorus gives a single nod. Varius, for the first time in decades, feels warmth blossom amongst the cold circuitry in his chest. Pride… an unexpected emotional experience.

 

 

IV.

[Deployment Ground Sigma-Tuvur-1103]

 

           ‘An’ thar she is sur, your Titan ‘erself. Fought in the battle for Voraxius, yanno!’ The elderly muster-master, his face split by a toothy grin visible even under his imposing grey mustache, gestures excitedly off towards his left side. Following his waving hand, I expectantly turn my gaze and behold, for the very first time, the glorious Umbra Vindicta myself. Now, I certainly consider myself a calm and controlled man (although even I am compelled to view the antics of the cheery muster-master with amusement), but I am shocked by the sheer size of the battle Titan. Sure, I have completed dozens of simulations during my rigorous training to become the princeps of a battle Titan, but nothing has prepared me for how huge the battle engine is. This is to be my first command: nothing less than a Warlord Titan. This is quite a rare occurrence, and it owes much to my excellent scores in each and every simulated training scenario… and the fact that many of the legio’s most experienced princeps had been lost in the last desperate battle for Lumina Prime, almost a decade earlier.

      With me stands Moderati Vannus, who has formerly served on the Reaver Fate’s Hand; Enginseer Xavon, an emotionless yet highly efficient worker; Steersman Korbad, who is as fresh of a recruit as myself; and Sensori Banner Sevah, who is the grandson of Umbra Vindicta’s most recent sensori, Jakal Sevah. We had been introduced to each other mere days before when we had learned that our first assignment together would be the crewing of Umbra Vindicta, or “Shadow Vengeance,” as she is sometimes known. Lost in my thoughts, it is not until Moderati Vannus gives a tactful cough that I realize once again where I am.

      ‘Ah yes, thank you sir,’ I say quickly to the muster-master, ‘we will be fine from here on out’. The muster-master replies with a quick salute and a cheery ‘Tally-ho, kill some of the Chaos-worshipping grox lovers for me!’ as he strolls away.

      And with that, the four of us finish the walk to the titan and are admitted via an entrance portal mounted in the titan’s leg (after being thoroughly vetted by an aggressive-looking squad of skitarii warriors, of course). And with that, my journey as a princep begins. May the enemies of the Omnissiah beware my fury, transmitted throughout the very aspect of the Omnissiah’s will itself!

      After ascending through the countless levels of the titan’s insides, we finally reach the control room nestled comfortably in the Titan’s vast head, like a brain within a skull. The interior looks nearly identical to the pict-casts I was shown of the titan’s interior mere days before, except all of the surfaces are cleaner and gleam with freshly endowed oils and unguents. As my eyes drink in the glory of the sights before me, I notice with a breath of relief that the foreboding amniotic tank from the pict-casts, which had dominated the center of the space with its bulky presence, was gone. In its place is a command throne, sized perfectly to fit me comfortably.

      ‘Crew’, I say softly, ‘assume your stations. We march to war!’

      My command crewmembers swiftly assume their respective positions at their lecterns and I gingerly lower myself into my throne and connect the interface wires connected to my temples into the mighty war machine and feel… nothing. Then, seconds later, I am hit by a sheer wave of fury, anger, and humiliation. The Titan’s machine-spirit has awoken again with the activation of the titan’s ancient reactor, and the spirit is furious at its terrible defeat and near-death during the battle for Voraxius. It is a struggle to remain who I am, as the rage seeks to consume me and make me an eternal component of the enraged war machine. Such a fate, slaved to a war machine who could commit the greatest of atrocities, is too terrible to contemplate and I tear myself free from the machine-spirit’s corrosive embrace.

      ‘ENOUGH,' I roar into the storm, ‘ENOUGH!’

      The storm pauses as the machine-spirit evaluates me, the lowly being who would dare stand before its fury.

      ‘I am Princeps Autervan Maximus Kovinkov Sezir Solrusha, and together we will hunt the forces that have so wronged you. Together, we shall have vengeance!’ I hurl the thought into the consciousness of the growing storm of the raging machine-spirit.

      The machine-spirit pauses, thinks, and then I feel a sense of grudging acknowledgement and maybe even respect. With that, all the barriers to my senses fall away and I feel myself truly become a part of the mighty god-machine. I can sense everything around me and I feel the Titan’s body as if it is an extension of my own. I merely will the titan forwards and we move, our steps shaking the earth beneath us and sending the skitarii escorts scurrying to keep up. We march into the cavernous hold of our enormous carrier ship, Cog’s Wrath, to bring war to the forces of Chaos once more.

[Tarvek Val]

More to follow - a Titan-based story inspired by Dan Abnett's fantastic Titanicus, written by myself years ago and edited recently. Hope y'all enjoy!

[Bjorn Firewalker]

A good start. I hope to see a longer, more detailed battle scene soon.

[Tarvek Val]

V.

[Umbra Vindicta, along with 50 other Legio Aeternitas war engines of various classes, has been in the warp for three months and is en-route to the planet Volitile, which has sent out a desperate request for aid after being invaded by the forces of the Dark Mechanicus. The Titan legio, and its support forces, are nearing the planet and preparing to launch their attack.]

 

      ‘We must hit them hard and fast. Give them no chance to recover, no chance to flee. Strike them quickly, and the enemy will fall before us!’

      The words are spat out by Princeps Versille of the Warlord-class Titan Fallas Nox. Several of the other princeps nod in agreement, their bloodlust evident in their sharp gazes and vicious smiles. All 51 of the Legio Aeternitas battle group’s princeps are gathered in a vast assembly hall on the carrier ship Cog’s Wrath. To be perfectly honest, I dislike this room. Voices echo in the vast space, which would have once held hundreds of princeps from across the various branches of the legio, representing enough firepower to lay entire systems to waste. Now it is just us, the remains of a once-invincible force of devastation. Being here reminds me of all the mighty war engines and fine warriors that have been lost since the time of the Arch-Traitor’s rebellion, and I hate it. But, I reminisce.

      ‘Everyone,’ calls Princeps Syrrina, commander of the Warlord Titan Perfectum Luctus, ‘this foolish posturing must end here and now!’

      She is swiftly backed by Princeps Valdurion of the Warhound Atrum Vesica, Princeps Cerius of the Warhound Cruor Imbibo, Princeps Berin of the Reaver Punitor Volaxius,Princeps Nuvina of the Reaver Infinitas Infinitio, and Princeps Moraltius of the Warlord Decessus ave Anima. With that, the room finally falls silent and all eyes turn to the venerable Princeps Savaltiar of the famed Ira Filiolus, one of the legio’s few remaining Imperator Titans. Overall command of the legio’s forces has been given to Savaltiar, but he has not yet spoken a word in the chaotic discussion. Now, he makes himself heard.

      ‘Now that we have gotten this pointless argument out of the way, I will tell you all what our plan is to be,’ he says softly, yet with authority. ‘We will form hunter-packs of engines that will be deployed to provide support to the Imperial and Mechanicus forces battling on Volitile. We have 20 Warhound Titans, 20 Reaver Titans, 10 Warlord Titans, and Ira Filiolus. The first two war-packs will consist of 5 Warhound Titans each, one group led by Princeps Valdurion and the other led by Princeps Cerius. These groups will scout ahead of the other battlegroups, eliminate enemy strongpoints, and defeat enemy ambushes. There will be two groups consisting of 2 Warhounds and 5 Reavers apiece. These groups will assist the scouting groups if they require heavier firepower, and these groups will be led by Princeps Berin and Nuvina. There will be two battle-packs consisting of 3 Warhounds, 5 Reavers, and 3 Warlords apiece. These groups will provide the majority of our mobile firepower and respond to enemy actions. When the enemy’s engines show themselves, they will find us prepared to counter their foul advances. These groups will be led by Princeps Versille and Moraltius. Keep me appraised as to the enemy’s movements and do not engage without my permission. Finally, Ira Filiolus will be escorted by the remaining four Warlords, and will consist of our heaviest units. The enemy will rue the day they faced the Legio Aeternitas! Now go to your engines, and prepare for the war to come!’

 

 

VI.

[below the surface of Volitile, hidden far from the sight of any prying eyes.]

 

      +The fools of the Machine-god approach from the Warp, my lorrrrrd.+

      The rasping cant is delivered by a hunchbacked figure, standing robed and cowled in the shadows of a forgotten cave far below the surface of Volitile. The robes cannot hide the fact that the figure is grotesquely misshapen, and its arms end in wickedly sharp, bloodstained silver claws. This dark Mechanicus priest, as sickeningly advanced as his body has become, is dwarfed by the other figures in the shadowed space. Facing him is a monstrous being of roughly humanoid proportions that somehow do not conform to the most basic laws of the mortal realm. The man-thing’s body is composed entirely out of black crystals that absorb what little rays of light manage to enter the chamber. The fallen Tech-Magi is cloaked in robes of deep crimson, and a half dozen mechadendrites flail wildly over his shoulders. Eldritch energies crackle around the otherworldly appendages, their baleful light the only illumination in the chamber.

      +AT LAST. THE FOLLOWERS OF THE FALSE OMNISIAH HAVE COME TO DIE, AND THE GODS WILL BLESS US WITH THEIR DEATHS THROUGH THE POWERS OF DARKNESS. WE WILL BECOME GREAT AT THEIR HANDS.+ The magi’s voice booms through the chamber, amplified by vox-speakers hidden somewhere on his body.

      +Of course, Lord-Corrupter Malixious.+ The renegade tech-priest bows low as he cants the words.

      ‘And, of course, we will be rewarded... as you promised, little priest,’ grates a fresh voice from the shadows. Both priests turn to face the source of the voice, only to see five enormous figures striding arrogantly out of the tunnel mouth behind them. Each figure is clad in intricate plates of blood-red armor, freshly baptized with the blood of Imperial soldiery and unbelievers of the Great Truths of the Empyrean.

      The first figure towers over even the four warriors following him, for he is clad in a suit of corrupted Tactical Dreadnought Armor. His shoulder pads are adorned with the skinned faces of his past victims, leaving them to scream their death cries for all eternity, and blackened skulls and Adeptus Astartes helms hang from spiked chains joined to his waist. His helm is splattered with fresh blood in mimicry of the Sacred Patterns of Ruin, and a pair of cruel tusks curve downwards from his helm. He holds an immense maul fashioned in the shape of an eight-pointed star in his right hand, and his left arm ends in an immense five-bladed claw. The four warriors following him are clad in intricately detailed suits of power armor in the same gory crimson colors of their lord. All four have a variety of items hanging off their armor from bloody silver chains - trophies of a thousand campaigns, ranging from discolored skulls to Space Marine helms to severed hands and many more horrific spoils of war.

      ‘By the word of the Urizen, Lord Lorgar himself, you will not fail us… Or you will suffer the consequences,’ continues the looming Chaos Lord.

      +FEAR NOT, WORD BEARER. YOU WILL RECEIVE YOUR REWARDS… AS SOON AS YOU ACCOMPLISH YOUR DUTIES.+ replied the magi calmly.

      ‘You had best speak truly, for you failed your last task miserably when you butchered the invasion of Voraxius,’ snarls one of the Chaos warriors, a second growling voice overlapping his every word in eerie duality, ‘complete your duties, or you will certainly regret it.’

      Leaving the threat hanging in the air behind them, the five turn abruptly and depart the same way they had come, leaving the renegade priests staring after their retreating backs.

 

 

VII.

[in the void above Volitile.]

 

      ‘Concentrate all fire on that Carnage-class cruiser!’ roars Tal Vernum.

Responding to his orders, the Apocalypse-class battleship Rain of Salvation shakes to its core as it unleashes a single shot from its prow-mounted Nova cannon. The shot punches through the left flank of the Chaotic cruiser, which had been desperately trying to turn to bring its weapons batteries to bear on its killer.

      ‘Good shot,’ crows Vernum. ‘Now get that bloody cannon charged before that pair of Iconoclast Destroyers on our left get too bold!’

      The Chaos fleet hanging in orbit above Volitile is woefully unprepared for the devastating attack by the forces of the Adeptus Mechanicus. The majority of the Chaos fleet consists of Iconoclast Destroyers and Idolator Raiders: ships more than capable of tearing apart weak convoys and even of swarming capital ships, but they do not have the time to assemble in anything even resembling a coherent formation before the Mechanicus and Imperial Navy ships were amongst them. The few larger ships, such as the slain Carnage-class cruiser, were isolated from their support squadrons and were easy prey for the Mechanicum fleet. The Imperial ships, led by the Rain of Salvation and the Retribution-class battlecruiser Song of Ages, cut a determined path through the enemy fleet towards the violated world beyond.

      ‘Good work, lads,’ growled Vernum, shipmaster of the Rain of Salvation. ‘We aren’t out of the fire yet though. That Retaliator-class grand cruiser ahead of us ain’t going to blow itself to bits!’

      At this point, the majority of the Chaos fleet was either destroyed or fled, throwing themselves at the mercy of the warp as they desperately sought to evade the retribution of the inbound fleet. However, their sacrifices had given the last remaining Chaos warships time to group about the largest remaining Archenemy ship: the Retaliator-class Bringer of Woe. Once a mighty warship known as the Proudheart, the ship had been lost with all hands millennia before when an unexpectedly turbulent warp storm tore it from the rest of its fleet whilst in the midst of a warp translation. Now it faces off against its former allies, its cavernous gun decks exposed to reveal dozens of immense brass broadside cannons, sculpted into the forms of leering daemonic figures. Around the corrupted grand cruiser are a half-dozen other ships: four Iconoclast Destroyers and a pair of Hellbringer-class light cruisers.

      ‘Get me Shipmaster Jordus of the Song of Ages on the comm’, growled Vernum, ‘we are gonna blow these scum out of the void.’

      Despite their horrific losses, with over a dozen traitor vessels spilling their guts into the cold void, the Bringer of Woe and its attendant escorts surge forward to meet the Imperial forces head-on. The Imperial fleet has remained relatively untouched throughout the conflict: two Cobra-class destroyers were lost to the fearsome batteries of a Carnage-class destroyer, and an Adeptus Mechanicus cruiser had suffered severe damage when it was rammed by a crippled Idolator Raider, but over ten Imperial escort ships and the two capital ships remain in the conflict. Sheltered in the center of the Mechanicus formation are a half-dozen immense transport ships, carrying none other than the God-Machines of the Mechanicus. The Bringer of Woe hurtles forwards towards the loyalist fleet with no sign of slowing, and it is with a sense of dread that Tal Vernum realizes that it is attempting to target the poorly armed transport ships. However, his voice, as he gives orders to his assembled fleet, remains its usual gruff bark.

        ‘We can handle that blasted Retaliation-class with support from the Song of Ages, but we need to keep the rest of the Chaos fleet away from the transports. Have all the Cobra destroyers fire a torpedo salvo into the enemy escorts, drive them away from our formation! The Rustpurger needs to launch its fighter complement, get those Furies and Marauders into the void and finish any wounded ships. Xervion’s Transcendence is to remain with the transports, it has the firepower to protect them. It’s a bloody Endeavor-class after all. Both Sword frigates are to hold back as well.’

      The fleet is quick to respond: a half-dozen Cobra destroyers burn their engines to the max to get to the forefront of the fleet’s formation before swinging around to present their port torpedo batteries to the oncoming Chaos fleet. Seconds later, a shimmering wave of silver torpedoes are sent racing at the Chaos vessels, who desperately weave and dive to avoid the inbound projectiles. One particularly unfortunate Iconoclast Destroyer finds itself the victim of three torpedoes: the first two exploded harmlessly against its void shields, but the third punches through the weakened shields and detonates within the ship, breaking it into a burning dozen pieces. The three remaining destroyers and two light cruisers fall behind the oncoming Bringer of Woe, unable to keep up with its punishing pace while simultaneously dodging the incoming attack.

      ‘Good,’ rasps Vernum, letting out a breath that he hadn’t realized he had been unconsciously holding in.

      ‘The destroyers, Sword frigates, Xervion’s Transcendence, and the fighters can finish the escorts. Now, for the main foe…’

      The Rain of Salvation swings its ponderous girth to track the oncoming Retaliator-class warship with its immense Nova cannon, the great weapons’ power coils charging with ponderous surety.

      ‘Is it ready yet?’ calls the shipmaster impatiently.

      ‘No sir,’ yells the gunner master, ‘nearly there… Almost…’

      All the while, the enemy cruiser continues its relentless advance, getting closer and closer to the convoy and its escorts.

      ‘Ready!’ calls the gunnery master, who is rewarded with a sharp, ‘Fire it then!’ from the shipmaster. The incandescent shot arcs into the void, before striking the starboard flank of the incoming grand cruiser. The cruiser’s shields flicker, but hold.

      ‘Now,’ screams Vernum into the ship’s vox-horn.

      ‘Already on it,’ comes the clipped reply from Shipmaster Sanders on the Song of Ages. Indeed, the second capital ship is already unloading its full complement of lance and weapons batteries upon the weakened Bringer of Woe. After mere seconds, the grand cruiser’s shields fail, and it takes a full broadside from the Song of Ages on its port side. Yet even as its armor turns to liquid from the munitions pounding relentlessly into it, the ship struggles onwards.

      ‘It means to detonate its plasma drives amongst the destroyers,’ Sanders growls, ‘and it cannot be allowed to do so. Vernum?’

      ‘It won’t.’

      Vernum smiles as the Rain of Salvation’s Nova cannon fires again, tearing the enemy ship roughly in half. With the death of their last capital ship, the remaining Chaos ships attempt to flee the battlefield. Two of the Idolator destroyers are swiftly crippled by savage bombing runs from Marauder bombers, and are quickly finished off by the waiting Cobra destroyers. Shortly thereafter, one of the Hellbringer light cruisers is torn apart by Xervion’s Transcendence, and the other is damaged by a dismissive broadside from the Song of Ages as it flees for the system’s translation point. However, both it and the last Idolator Raider manage to make it to the jump point and dive into the warp, escaping their vengeful foes.

      Vernum gives a grim laugh as he surveys the floating carnage surrounding his ship, with hundreds of metal fragments and even more frozen corpses now spinning in the cold vacuum of space. ‘Tell the lords and ladies of the Titan legio that we have cleared them a path to the planet. This fight is to be continued on the ground now.’

[Bjorn Firewalker]

The void battle is well-written. Good job.

[Tarvek Val]

VIII.

[Cog’s Wrath. The Battle Titans of the Legio Aeternitas and their skitarii allies are preparing to disembark and join the war effort to save Volitile.]

 

      +All personnel to battle stations, prepare to disembark. All personnel to battle stations, prepare to disembark. All personnel…+

Every single vox-speaker throughout Cog’s Wrath blares the same message as I sprint through the halls of the vast carrier ship. We are on the final approach to our landing zone, and the entire ship shakes violently as we break through Volitile’s rather volatile upper atmosphere. I am assigned to Princeps Moraltius’s support group, which consists of: the Warlord-class Titans Umbra Vindicta, Decessus ave Anima, and Fatum Affligo; the Reaver-class Titans Punitor Volaxius, Clementer Oblivio, Recolitus Contemno, Altus Peregrinus, Demum Spero; and the Warhound-class Titans Atrum Vesica, Atra Coma, and Velox Autem Crur. Our assault group is to advance along the desolate plains of the Barren Lands and retake the city of Selenus from enemy forces. It is with a tinge of unease that I recall that it was on a similar deployment that Umbra Vindicta was nearly destroyed on Voraxius. However, we now have the support of a battle group of other engines, so even an Imperator Titan would find itself unable to take us down without a fearsome fight. We are blessed by the presence of several thousand skitarii of the Legio Centrificus, to provide us with support in the form of infantry formations and vehicle deployments. The skitarii accompanying our engines are led by Tribune Seleucus, who is himself subservient to Master of Skitarii Cynewulf, who obeys only the express commands of Arch-Magos Proculus. The skitarii forces will keep our engines from being swamped by enemy infantry and can provide heavy support in the event that we encounter renegade battle engines.

      These musings run through my head until I reach the cavernous loading bay where Umbra Vindicta and its smaller cousins Atrum Vesica and Atra Coma are held. I rush up the access port of my Titan, hurriedly showing my credentials and passing through the bio-scanners presented by a squad of Centrificus skitarii. As the last members of the Titan’s crew arrive, the skitarii close the access hatch to the titan behind them. As we ascend, the squad’s alpha presents himself to me, a plasma gun held firmly across his chest.

      +Alpha Versikon 987-Nu-32, in command of the skitarii forces aboard your titan. We are prepared for battle.+

      His cant is brief and to the point. As the alpha, he commands the skitarii warriors stationed aboard my titan, who are there in case we have the misfortune of being boarded or disabled in battle.

      +Good+, I reply. +Take your stations.+

      The alpha silently withdraws, leaving me alone. I tap my fingers impatiently as I wait for the heavy doors shielding the bridge from intrusion slowly hiss open. Moderati Vannus, Steersman Korbad, and Sensori Banner have already assumed their positions and are checking their respective systems. All three are quick to acknowledge my presence on the command deck with respectful salutes.

      ‘No need to salute me,’ I say calmly, ‘let’s just get the Titan ready to walk upon landing.’ At that, I take my throne and, once more, the Titan’s power flows into me. My eyes snap open, and a predatory grin slides onto my face. Let the scouring of the Machine-God’s foes begin!

 

 

IX.

[Volitile’s surface, on the mainland continent of Ullar’s Landing. The carrier ships have landed and the Titans are disembarking to take the war to the enemy!]

 

      The immense ramp that leads into the first of three cavernous holding bays aboard Cog’s Wrath grinds with a deafening groan, exposing the Titans and skitarii within to the atmosphere of Volitile for the first time. The air is tinted with smoke and dust; a result of the Dark Mechanicum’s merciless quelling of the world’s valiant defenders. The Warhounds Atrum Vesica and Atra Coma are the first to step upon the rocky soil, their gun-arms sweeping the flat landscape for potential targets. Finding nothing, Princeps Valdurion of the Atrum Vesica voxes the all-clear, and I guide Umbra Vindicta forward, shaking the ground beneath the tread of our massive legs.

      ‘Keep the weapons systems running. We may need them soon,’ I tell Moderati Vannus. Two hundred meters to our left is the carrier Groundshaker. The Warhound Velox Autem Crur has already disembarked from the second carrier and is loping towards its fellow Warhounds. The three will hunt ahead of our larger engines and scout us a safe path to the city of Selenus. Three Warhounds acting in tandem is a fearsome prospect for any but the largest Battle Titan, so they will be able to clear our path of enemy ambushes as well. As they swiftly head off towards the city, the remaining Titans group together behind the Warlord Decessus ave Anima, the command Titan of Princeps Moraltius. We are arranged in a triangle formation: Decessus ave Anima heads the formation, with the Reavers Punitor Volaxius and  Clementor Oblivio behind and to the left and the Reavers Altus Peregrinus and Denum Spero behind and to the right. Umbra Vindicta anchors the formation to the left, and Fatum Affligo does the same on the right. At our feet march the ten thousand skitarii warriors of Tribune Seleucus. Our formation thus set, we start forwards, the world shaking underneath our tread. We are the Omnissiah’s chosen: we cannot fail.

 

 

X.

[below the city of Selenus.]

 

      Far below the city of Selenus is a great chamber, carved from the solid bedrock of Volitile. Within this space, the only light comes from rivers of molten lava, carrying the planet’s glowing lifeblood through the world’s crust. Once a natural chamber within the planet’s core, the space has been vastly increased through the use of spiked digging machines, seismic charges, and even the use of multi-meltas. The forces of the Dark Mechanicum have spared no effort in excavation. The once untouched chamber is now a temple of horrors: images of daemons fused into unholy machines are carved upon the walls and an eight-pointed altar dominates the center of the chamber. The eight-points have been carved deep into the floor, so that they have filled with bubbling lava. Around the altar, a dozen battle Titans of various classes sullenly kneel, and around the eight points of the star are one thousand terrified humans: the last survivors of Selenus.

      Standing amongst the prisoners are dozens of monstrous warriors clad in crimson and black armor, and at their head is the Terminator Lord and his cadre. Circling the prisoners and their watchful guards are a circle of fallen tech-priests. The only unifying factor between the tech-priests is their variety of bizarre and grotesque augmentations: some have extra limbs, some have reformed their metal bodies into the shape of daemons, and yet others no longer even appear human at all. The priests chant a droning, static-filled ritual that quickly climaxes when their leader raises a single crystalline hand. At once, the Terminator Warlord plunges his clawed hand through the chest of the human before him, swiftly tearing the poor mortal to shreds. His warriors follow suit, opening fire with their boltguns and tearing into the terrified civilians with chainswords and knives. In under thirty seconds, the last survivors of Selenus are no more.

      As blood pools into the star’s lava channels, a raging wind engulfs the chamber, forcing both the Chaos Space Marines and renegade tech-priests to brace themselves lest they be flung away. The twelve Chaos Titans are surrounded by a baleful crimson light that leaks into the once-noble war machines through their eyes and gun barrels as they are suffused in unholy power. As one, the Titans straighten up and issue deafening roars of animalistic rage from their war-horns, causing the chamber to shake alarmingly. The humanoid skulls of the Titans morph, flowing into leering daemonic visages that glare madly with eyes aglow in malicious light. Beneath them, the Chaos Lord gives a grudging nod to the crystalline Tech-Magi.

      ‘We have given you your sacrifices,’ growls the Word Bearer, ‘now see to it that the Imperial dogs do not regain this world. The great ritual must succeed, for then my name shall echo throughout eternity as I raze the Corpse-Emperor’s kingdom to the ground!’

The Tech-Magi gives a halting laugh.

      +WITH THE DAEMON ENGINES OF THE LEGIO MORTIS, THIS WORLD WILL BURN. IT IS ONLY A PITY THAT WE HAD SUCH LITTLE TIME, MANY MORE OF OUR TITANS COULD HAVE BEEN… REBORN. EVEN SO, TWELVE IS BETTER THAN NONE AND THIS RITUAL HAS BEEN ECHOED AT THE OTHER CITIES. WE SHALL NOT FAIL.+

      ‘May it be so,’ replies the Chaos Lord as he watches the possessed Titans stride from the chamber, ‘may it be so.’

[Bjorn Firewalker]

This chapter sets up the coming battle very well. I commend your writing skills.

[Tarvek Val]

XI.

[in the Barren Lands. The Warhounds Atrum Vesica, Velox Autem Crur and Atra Coma are scouting a path through the wasteland for their larger cousins to follow. They are nearing the fallen city, which is covered by a thick pall of smoke but appears deserted. They remain outside the city and allow the bigger engines to catch up.]

 

      ‘So, just to confirm. They have found no sign of the enemy presence yet?’ I ask Princeps Moraltius over the vox.

      ‘No’, he replies, the curt one-word answer suffused with the same sense of unease I feel. It is unlike the followers of the Ruinous Powers to be so patient. We had expected at least a skirmish by now, but instead we find the city empty and its vast gates hanging open like a yawning maw.

      ‘We advance to the city center. The defenders managed to get a message off before our command lost contact with them, and they said the enemy headed straight to the city’s center spire.’

      Princeps Moraltius’s orders are direct and to the point. He has been a princeps for over 4 decades, fighting the enemies of mankind amongst the stars for far longer than most of the legio’s other commanders. His experience is vast, but his patience is not so. At his express command, the Warhound Titans enter the city first. As they cross the threshold into the city, I find myself holding my breath, and based on the tense expressions on the faces of my fellow crewmembers, I am far from the only one. When no laser strike or missile salvo manifests to cut down any of the Scout Titans, I breathe out softly. We follow in their footsteps, striding into the city proper. And that, of course, is when the enemy ambush occurs.

      To both sides of our formation are the shattered remains of what were once sky-chasing towers. The Reaver Titan Denum Spero has picked up speed, moving ever so slightly out of formation. This was to be a terrible mistake. As it walks by the fallen towers, the rubble to both sides explodes violently upward as a pair of Archenemy Warhound Titans burst from under the ruins. The right arm-mounts on both Warhounds had been replaced by immense harpoons, both of which are launched at the Demum Spero. The projectiles are not moving fast enough to be blocked by the Reaver’s void shields, and both hooks sunk deep into the Titan’s hull. The Warhounds, who remain connected to the viciously barbed hooks by means of immense bronze chains, stride backwards in unison and their combined mass drags Denum Spero to its knees.

      Both Warhounds clearly bear the taint of Chaos: the first Titan’s head is fashioned into a screaming human skull, with balefire glowing deep in its haunting eye sockets. The second has a daemon’s grinning visage, with a trio of curved horns arcing upwards from its brow. We cannot get a clear shot off on either daemon engine without striking the stricken Denum Spero, and the remaining Reavers and Warlords swiftly circle around to get a clear line of sight at the enemy engines.

      The skull-headed Warhound is quickly enveloped in a cloud of plasma impacts and stumbles, its shields broken by the returning Atrum Vesica. A pair of well-placed Turbo-laser shots from Atra Coma blows the stricken traitor Titan’s torso to pieces. The second traitor Warhound hurriedly detaches the chain binding it to Denum Spero so that it can turn to defend itself against the returning Warhounds, but the damage to the fallen loyalist Titan has already been done. Denum Spero, unable to right itself, crashes heavily into the ground. As it falls, the second Chaotic Warhound is quickly annihilated in short order by the Scout Titans in a storm of Mega-bolter rounds, plasma bursts, and laser fire.

      As the dust settles, we hear Princeps Favrian of the Denum Spero speak over the formation’s comms system. ‘They… have brought us low. My moderati and steersman are dead, and my sensori is unconscious. We cannot right ourselves alone. Go on without us. When you return, tell us of your triumph!’

      Although I did not want to leave the stricken Titan’s side, I knew Favrian was right. Without the assistance of Adeptus Mechanicus lifters, there was no way for the fallen Titan to regain its feet, and if we waited with it, we would all become more vulnerable to a second attack. We leave the Titan where it lies amongst the iron corpses of the traitor Warhounds. Atrum Vesica remains behind to protect the helpless Denum Spero, bringing our number down to eight fully-functioning Battle Titans.

      We continue ever onwards, following Velox Autem Crur and Atra Coma towards the center of the city. Our progress is impeded by the cataclysmic aftermath of the enemy invasion; wrecked tanks, smashed troop transports, and even burnt-out civilian vehicles litter the streets. Additionally, many of the surrounding buildings have collapsed, forcing us to use alternate routes. It is not long before we run into another traitor Titan; rather, it quite literally runs into us. As we walk down a long boulevard, lined with the smashed statues of Imperial saints and military heroes, Sensori Banner notices what appears to be a faint return on the auspex. The contact ghosts off the screen, sometimes appearing, then disappearing, or else appearing inexplicably far away. We notify the other Titan princeps and continue on with caution. The auspex continues to bounce around, never solidifying on a contact.

      ‘Damn thing’, mutters Banner, ‘Why, I oughta…’

      As he speaks, he gives the auspex display a hard slap. Perhaps out of spite, the auspex immediately gave a clear return of the renegade Titan lurking on the other side of the adjacent building. Even as I realize our peril, the enemy engine acts. The building, which by its looks was originally some form of Administratum complex, explodes outwards as the enemy Titan ploughes right through it in its frenzy to get at us.

      The Titan was undeniably a Reaver Titan, once. Now it is a behemoth of corroded, rust-brown metal. Its left arm ends in a fearsome Gatling Blaster, while its right arm terminates in an immense blood-stained chainfist. Arcing up over its shoulder is a massive morningstar, attached by way of a sinuous tail to the Titan’s spine. Fortunately for us, the Titan eschews the use of its Gatling Blaster which, at such close range, likely would have done critical damage to Umbra Vindicta, void shields or no. Instead, it charges at us, chainsword screaming. As it closes, the morningstar whips at Umbra Vindicta’s head, but I manage to rapidly steer the Titan backwards and the iron ball misses by mere feet. As it whips its tail around for another blow, I rapidly close the distance between the two Titans so it lacks the range needed to wield its devastating weapon effectively.

      Below us, skitarii warriors scramble to avoid the ponderous tread of the two war machines as they close to melee range. Umbra Vindicta’s close-combat weapon is a massive powerfist. I unconsciously raise my left arm, Umbra Vindicta mirroring my movements, and swing my fist upwards. Umbra Vindicta does likewise, and the power fist smashes the Reaver’s head up with a deafening shriek of metal grinding on metal. The Reaver lashes back with its chainfist, the toothed weapon scraping along Umbra Vindicta’s right flank. Although the metal is torn along the impact line, there is fortunately no severe damage. I swing again, and the power fist again smashes into the enemy Titan’s skull, sending it staggering backwards two full steps. It swiftly regains its balance, only to find itself staring down the muzzle of the right-most volcano cannon.

      ‘Fire when ready’, I calmly command, and the enemy Titan’s head vanishes in a deafening crack of elemental fury.

Mere seconds after the Titan’s decapitated metal corpse hits the ground, we receive a static-laced message from Princeps Wurskoven of the Velox Autem Crur. He reports that he had destroyed a second Reaver Titan in the city’s manufactorum district, with the aid of Atra Coma. Like the Reaver we had all-too-recently slain, it had attempted to launch an ambush and ensnare the loyalist Titans in a close-combat encounter. However, a lucky shot from Velox Autem Crur’s plasma blastgun ignited the flammable waste products in the twenty-story factory chimney the enemy engine was using for cover and utterly annihilated it in the resulting blast. With our path clear of enemy obstructions, we are finally closing in on our objective. Once we pass through the manufactorum district, we will be directly in the center of the city.

      We continue our march onwards with no further incidents, all eight of our remaining war engines arriving in the immense center square more or less undamaged. Directly to the left is the former planetary governor’s elaborate palace, which towers above the surrounding buildings. It is one of the few buildings I have seen thus far that is mostly intact. However, dominating the city’s center is a vast edifice that dwarfs even the beautiful palace. It is a formidable bastion of cold iron and dark stone that is crowned with four towers, one in each of the cardinal points of direction. At the very center, a massive hall reaches for the sky. This building alone has been completely untouched by the ruination surrounding us, which makes sense in a fashion. This is the primary Mechanicum forge-temple of Volitile. No doubt the enemy are within, spoiling the great structures’ sanctity. No matter for now; the skitarii will cleanse the temple after we triumph here. And triumph we must, for at last we have found the main strength of the enemies infesting Selenus.

      Blocking our path to the temple stand six immense Chaos Titans. The Titans upon the left and right ends are recognizable as Reavers, but just barely. The first has a blank metal mask for a face, with no discernable features whatsoever, and the second has the face of a screaming child with tears of molten fire dripping down its cheeks. With the Reavers stand three Warlords, each one corrupted as well. The foremost Warlord is a hunchbacked beast of burned iron, and its head is alight with black flames. The other two Warlords share an identical visage: that of a leering daemon with a long tongue and grotesque horns. The last Titan, I do not recognize. Never have I seen its like before.

      It stands taller than even the Warlord Titans, and its weapons arms bear a plasma destructor and a doomfist, respectively. Its head is shaped into the visage of a daemon ruled by pure fury and hate, and protruding from the daemon engine’s mouth is an immense battle cannon. Behind the monstrosity’s back lashes a tail similar to the one mounted on the slain Reaver we encountered earlier.

      ‘It’s a Banelord, lad,’ comes Moraltius’s voice over the vox-speaker in response to my unasked question. ‘A greater daemon engine devoted to Khorne.’

      Even as he speaks the words, a vox-caster on the Banelord blares to life, screaming the traitor Titan’s name to us. ‘Malogard! Malogard! MALOGARD!’

      With its cries, the ground beneath the traitor Titans begins to boil up, as a host of renegade skitarii drag themselves from the ground, where they had abased themselves before their god-machines. The Chaos skitarii are nearly unrecognizable to me, they are so polluted by the Dark Gods. Each skitarius has been augmented with such a hellish array of blades, guns, and forbidden weaponry that they have utterly ceased to be anything even remotely human. As the fallen Battle Titans open fire with their earth-shattering weaponry, the enemy skitarii charge forwards with a bestial roar and our skitarii surge to meet them.

      As the battle begins, our Titans spread out so the enemy engines cannot simply target all of us at once with a devastating missile barrage. The enemy Titans chase us with their fire, and the plaza swiftly becomes engulfed in pandemonium as solid rounds and plasma blasts streak across the open space. Altus Peregrinus is the first casualty in the confused battle, as its shields are taken down by a pair of well-placed shots from the hunchbacked Warlord. While it brings its melta cannon up to retaliate against its oppressor, it loses sight of the true threat: Malogard.

      A single shot from Malogard’s immense battle cannon annihilates Altus Peregrinus’ entire head compartment, slaying the command crew in an instant. The Titan comes crashing down, raising an immense cloud of dust across the plaza. As it falls, Princeps Moraltius orders us to retreat back down the street we had come from so we could lure the enemy engines into a more confined space. I backtrack at once, loosing a parting shot from my leftmost volcano cannon at one of the Warlords as I do so. The enemy engine is staggered by the shot, and we make good on our escape.

      ‘Comrades’, comes Moraltius’s voice, ‘Separate from the other Titans. We will all make our stand in this place, but we must not cluster together, or we die as one. We fire as one, the first enemy to round the street corner dies.’

      As he decreed, our seven remaining Titans fire at nearly the same time just as the first Archenemy Warlord rounds the corner. It is sent crashing to the ground, its body torn to pieces by the combined firepower of seven Imperial Titans. However, its death wins the remaining Chaos Titans time to round the corner unmolested, and the battle begins anew.

      The two Chaos-tainted Reavers open fire on Alta Coma with their laser blasters and Gatling blasters. Alta Coma almost dodges the storm of fire coming at it. Almost. A lucky round from a Gatling blaster clips the Imperial Warhound’s knee joint, hobbling it. Alta Coma returns fire defiantly with its pair of turbo-lasers and manages to bring down the shields on the foremost Reaver before being ripped to pieces by the hail of weapons-fire.

      ‘Moderati,’ I yell, ‘Target the front Reaver! It has no shields. Save the volcano cannons, fire a three missile spread from the Apocalypse launcher!’

      With a roaring whoosh… Whoosh… Whoosh… The three missiles launch from our carapace launcher, pounding into the undefended Reaver one after another. The third missile penetrates the daemon engine’s chest armor and detonates within the armored beast. Seconds later, the Titan vanishes in a blinding flash of radioactive energy as its power core ignites. The second Archenemy Reaver is sent staggering backwards due to its proximity to the explosion, its shields flickering weakly. I grin coldly.

      ‘Moderati, are the volcano cannons ready?’

      ‘Aye princeps!’

      I laugh, Umbra Vindicta’s bloodlust rushing to my head. ‘What are you waiting for then? Take the shots!’

      Both volcano cannons roar in unison, and the second Reaver crashes to the ground, its daemonic head reduced to molten slurry and ruin. As I take stock of the battle and what has gone on in the brief seconds since Umbra Vindicta engaged the enemy Reavers, I dispassionately note that Clementor Oblivio has fallen to the combined firepower of the Banelord and the hunched Warlord. Velox Autem Crur has been forced to retreat after being severely damaged by the second Warlord. That leaves Umbra Vindicta, Decessus ave Anima, Fatum Affligo, and Punitor Volaxius facing the Banelord and its two attendant Warlords. Not the best of odds, but we can still prevail.

      ‘Moderati, please connect me to the other Titans.’ I call out, a plan forming in my head.

      Fighting alone, we lack the firepower to bring down the enemy engines one at a time without suffering heavy losses ourselves, but if we can all concentrate on bringing down one… I explain my reasoning to Princeps Moraltius, who agrees with me. As one, we charge our weapons and prepare to fire.  Umbra Vindicta and Punitor Volaxius unleash a spread of Apocalypse missiles at Malogard. The bestial Titan strides murderously towards us through the eye-searing impacts, straight into the fire of three volcano cannons, a quake cannon, a Macro-Gatling blaster, a plasma blastgun, a laser blaster, and a melta cannon. And, at long last, Malogard falters. It continues forwards, but the void shields protecting it fail, one by one. A second volley follows, pounding the Titan. Consumed in flames, it still staggers forwards, stumbling now beneath the weight of incoming fire. Its attendant Warlords return fire, but the shots are hurried and inaccurate. The few shots that strike home pose nearly no threat to our void shields. Finally, Malogard sinks to its knees as it is torn apart by our combined firepower. Staring at the burning Titan, I fire off Umbra Vindicta’s final missile.

      ‘This is for Altus Peregrinus. For Alta Coma. For Clementor Oblivio.’ I whisper the words, as the missile ignites the raging daemon-beast’s burning heart.

      The last sight for the twisted crews of the two remaining Archenemy Warlords is of their precious Malogard vanishing in the radiant explosion that, milliseconds later, claims them as well.

      With the death of the final enemy Titans, it is a simple matter to slaughter the tainted skitarii still battling in the plaza beyond. Though they fight desperately to escape, they are caught between us and Tribune Seleucus’s vengeful troops. Although Seleucus’s warriors take heavy losses, the enemy is wiped out to a man. Such is the fate of all traitors to the Omnissiah!

      Our duty complete, we stride back towards the city’s broken gate. Fresh skitarii forces are already arriving from orbit to cleanse the forge temple and salvage what they can, and reports reach us that Denum Spero has been recovered by specialized Adeptus Mechanicus vehicles. Atrum Vesica meets us on the way out of the city and, without looking back, we begin the long march back to the carrier ships.

      Behind us, the city is silent. No guns fire within its shattered walls, no soldiers fight desperately in the rubble choked streets, no tanks hurl their powerful munitions at one another in the derelict warehouse district. The city is consigned to cleansing flame and dark oblivion. There is no sound but the rushing wind, and the tread of our God-Machines taking us to our next battlefield: Armageddon.

 

Conclusion.

[At the Chaos Shrine below Selenus.]

      +Lord-Magi, our noble engines have fallen. Selenus is taken by the enemy, great one.+

      The renegade tech-priest cannot hide the discernible tremor in his voice, fearing both the hated Imperials above and his master’s rage below. However, the Tech-Lord simply blurts out an acknowledgment code.

      +WE LEAVE THEN, WITH OUR PRIZE.+ The Tech-Magi hisses.

      +And… What of the Word Bearerrrrrrsss, esteemed one?+ ventures the tech-priest.

      +THEY HAVE SERVED THEIR PURPOSE.+ replies the emotionless Tech-Magi.

      ‘Yes, priest, you certainly have,’ comes a deep voice from behind the Tech-Magi. The Tech-Magi whirls around, his mechadendrites whirring into deadly life, but for once he is too slow. As he looks down, he sees five pristine silver talons penetrating his chest. How did the Word Bearer get behind him so quickly?!

      The Terminator Lord flings his victim to the ground with a dismissive grunt, bringing his mace down and spreading the Tech-Magi’s crystalline pieces across the chamber. The tech-priest hurles himself at his master’s killer with a static-ridden hiss, only to be hacked in two by a daemon axe. The Word Bearer wielding the axe spits contemptuously on the still-twitching tech-priest, before burying his snarling axe into his victim's body.

      ‘Signal the Pride of Colchisia. It’s time for her to come out of hiding and take us from this deplorable hellhole…’ sighs the Terminator Lord, ‘and tell them to send a carrier ship. We have our reward! The galaxy will fear me yet.’

      Looking up, the warlord beholds two surviving daemon Titans, finally freed of their burial beneath the forgotten sands of the Barren Lands. The two Imperator Titans stare back with their baleful gazes.

      ‘This is a fine reward indeed…’

[Tarvek Val]

Thanks to everyone who took the time to read this piece, and special thanks to Bjorn Firewalker for the feedback and comments - I am pleased that the story was to your liking.

 

Praise the Omnisiah! 

[Bjorn Firewalker]

The final chapter is well-written, though there may be room for improvement.

 

Nitpicking:

As he decreed, our seven remaining Titans fire at nearly the same time as the first Warlord rounds the corner. It is sent crashing to the ground, its body torn to pieces by the combined firepower of seven Imperial Titans. However, its death wins the remaining Titans time to round the corner unmolested, and the battle begins anew.

A reader may have difficulty following the scene, as both sides use Titans. I advise identifying the Chaos Titans as "Chaos Titans" or other descriptors, e.g., "Daemon Engines".

Fighting alone, we lack the firepower to bring down the enemy engines one by one, but if we can all concentrate on bringing down one…

I think you mean "we lack the firepower to bring down the enemy engines one ON one" (emphasis mine)?

[Tarvek Val]

I see how that scene could be a bit hard to follow as it was originally written - I've clarified the Titan v. Titan elements of the last segment. Thanks for the feedback, I appreciate it. There's always room for improvement somewhere!