Skulls Denied

[TorvaldTheMild]

This is just the second draft, just want to see what people think.
 

The deck of the Conqueror was alive with the sounds of war, an industrial din that was at odds with the silent battle taking place on the other side of the battleship’s hull. Nothing was more eerie than the sight of two fleets at war with one another out in the void. Ships would be torn apart in cataclysmic explosions, weapon batteries would be expelling energies that whole cities would fail to yield and yet when witnessed from a viewport, it was surprisingly peaceful. Void war was soundless in the vacuum of space, which detracted from the extreme nature of void battle, making it seem more like a simulation than the ultimate life or death struggle. Khârn stood facing the droppod housings, waiting with a belligerent anger that exuded murderous intent. His squad stood behind him, acting like warriors acted, jesting one another and boasting about deeds yet done. Other squads did the same amongst the many rows of warriors awaiting embarkation. Khârn did not care about them nor their tedious garrulity, he fought to keep himself calm, trying to drown out the noises around him. The constant clanging of boots on decking, the scurrying of servitors and automated loading machines tending to their duties amongst the sparks from welding torches; all thrummed in a cacophony of irritants that assailed Khârn unmercifully. They mocked him, as if the mindless activity of servitors and machines were culpable of holding him back from slaughter, but they had to follow their drop procedures in spite of Kharns impatience. He twitched with anger, though he was glad however to walk along the decking of the Conqueror once more. Part promise and part reward for his part in the war that broke the Cadian gate, though he had to take it from Kossolax the Foresworn in way of a duel, which Khârn had won with ease, he recalled the sight of Kossolax's wretched head rolling on the deck of the vengeful spirit, stopping next to Abaddon's feet.  He took delight in seeing the irksome look on Abaddon's face, it would have been enough of a prize just for that. 

‘The pain of the butchers nails recede for a fleeting moment.  I long to embed Gorechild into flesh, to feel blood spray on my un-armoured flesh. It begs for satisfaction, as much as I, for Khorne demands satisfaction’  Khârn tenses his muscles and his fist grasps gorechild like a vice.
‘There have been whispers in the Eye of Terror, of new Imperial technologies; new Astartes. The loyalists seem to be learning, the Emperors first design was only a signifier of potential. The light turns green and the drop pod door lowers to the deck. I am the first! My followers do not dare enter before me, as they would be riding down to the planet as corpses. I harness my self into the station, the harness contracts; holding me in place for the drop. Anticipation burns in my veins as I cut my fingers on Gorechilds teeth, smearing the blood over my face and arm. My followers attend to their own oath of moment. In the time of the Great Crusade and the Heresy as the loyalists call it, we would have sworn on our brotherhood. No more! The legion is dead and I care no longer for brotherhood, my followers are just potential blood spilling. That is why they follow me, they are true disciples of Khorne and they owe me nothing... nor I them. All the blood and skulls we reap, are for the glory of Khorne and Khorne will have his fill. I hear the other Warband’s hold on to their mistakenly belief in the Legions. They have not come to the realisation that Legions were armies of the Emperor. The Emperor, I laugh when I here that cursed name. They hate him, they hate him because they are told to hate him, or because they are old enough that the bitter defeat at Terra still lingers in their minds. He is nothing to me other than another prize, another skull on my belt, a great prize nonetheless. They hate our loyalist brothers, I laugh. I would kill the followers of the gods as I would any other warrior. Khorne cares not from whence the blood flows, only that it flows. 
The drop ship door closed followed by a clunk and swoosh of stabilisers and detaching cabling. The automated countdown began, counting back from twenty. The warriors anticipation was at its peak, which was compounded by the automated countdown voice, that sang vows of carnage. The rest of the warriors were talking to one another, acting like hardened veterans, though they were not of the old order of Astartes. They were of the new breed, made up by a constant influx of new recruits. The Butcherhorde had been bolstered swith new recruits since the opportunity that was the great rift, it was now larger than it had ever been. Even its armouries swelled, sporting many more heavy armaments, tanks and daemon engines. The new recruits were chosen and trained by senchals and whoever was the most senior veteran Berzerkers and lead by the Bucherhorde’s most senior surviving veteran, currently of which happened to be Krall. Khârn went through warriors quickly, whether to the enemy or by his own hand. Krall, was the one that Khârn had left with the burden of creating and training new recruits, he was also the closest thing that could be called an apothecary on the ship, a title he wished to be rid of. Krall was a true Berzerker and cared for nothing other than war. Khârn had no time for anything but the bloodletting and his warriors were left to organise the warband. Khârn only made the most vital of decisions, in regards to structure or organisation within the Butcherhorde. Khârn would make all the decisions and planning when it came to warfare, but when his feet touched the ground and his hand was clamped around Gorechild, he would go off on his own, seeking out trophies for Khorne. He had no time to babysit his warband.
Raik’nn stood agitated as the seconds of the countdown were marked.
‘So we take the city now?’ he said.
Khârn said nothing, he relished at the idea of fighting Russ’ dogs, they were true warriors and never disappointed, especially when it came to a good bloodletting. They had come to defend this pathetic world, the name of which Khârn hadn’t even bothered to memorise. There had been confirmation that Bjorn the Fellhanded was on this planet, which was the only reason Khârn had deigned to agree to come, as per the Warmasters “orders”. Warmaster... Khârn laughed.
‘How arrogant this upstart has become, there was only one Warmaster and that label is now tainted with failure and weakness, as the first Captian will find out sooner or later himself.’ Khârn loathed Abaddon as well as his subordinate Urkanthos, he was a pretender in Kharns view. He fought in the Black Legion’s name, but he paid only lip service to Khorne and Khârn hated him for it. Abaddon was smart enough to keep those two apart, though Urkanthos was now a Daemon Prince of Khorne, not just an ordinary Chosen of the Black Legion. Khârn relished the thought of going toe to toe with Urkanthos, testing his recent apotheosis would be a pleasure.
Bjorn was a name that Khârn had also not remembered from the days of the Great Crusade and the subsequent Horus Heresey, but he’d heard tales of the Dreadnought who fought alongside Russ and led the legion thereafter. His skull would make a perfect trophy to hang on Khârn’s chains.
Khârn and his Berzerkers had already fought on the surface, though he wasn’t going to trundle along towards the Cities defences, with the heavy armoured tank divisions. No that was not the Butcherhorde’s way, even if it were a tactically sound descision. Khârn had ordered most of the warband to fly into to orbit on Thunderhawk gunships, where they could resupply, reorganise into squads and droppod assault into enemy lines. The droppod slipped its moorings firing out of the port at the speed of a bullet. The interior shook, though it was almost relaxing in comparison to when the pod would reach the atmosphere of the planet.
The Butherhorde stood in their harness’. Joking and boasting about who would get first blood.
‘Younglings.’ thought Khârn in disapproval.
A sonic boom exploded as the pod hit the atmosphere, the integrity of the pod screamed in the language of Ceremite against the deluge of inertia and atmosphere.
It was at this time that the squad fell silent, the tense point between being shot down by anti-air fire or crashing off course; or worse, into diving into a body of water, that would promise a slow death.
There was a dark aura around Khârn, he exuded quit menace, even Astartes felt the danger and threat of violence in Khârn’s presence. The few times which he would deign to speak to his fellow warriors was laconic, his gravelled voice held absolute authority and brooked no argument from his Berzerkers. Khârn was not respected for his place as leader, if such a position could ever be conferred to Khârn. He was respected purely by his prowess on the battle field and the fighting pits. In the fighting pits, Khârn was unassailable, it was hard for him to even make sport of his fellow warriors, unless he fought multiple attackers at once. There were always challengers to his throne ‘sanguis extremis’ was a fight to the death on aboard the sandy pits of the Conqueror. No challenger has ever took his title as the Chosen of Khorne in all ten thousand years. When he fought in battle he was a hurricane of death and carnage, he sought after the biggest prize, known to take down Imperial knights single handedly, he has slain Hive Tyrants, Ork warboss’, Eldar Avatars, he has taken skulls of every race and subspecies in the galaxy. The deeds committed during his career as a warrior and servant of Khorne, would be laughed at as primitive legend if people had heard the list of his accomplishments. No loyalist could come within the same universe as Khârn, his kill-counter numbering in the millions. Ten thousand years of carnage wrought upon the worlds of the Imperium at the hands of Khârn: Terran born, legend of legion, Captain, traitor and now Khorne warlord. Khârn is not what or whom he used to be, ten thousand years of untold savagery had turned Khârn into a merciless killer. A killer is all that he is; killer is all that he wants to be. He is the favoured of the blood god, the human manifestation of the war gods character. It was rumoured that Khârn was even above his Primarch Angron in the blood Gods favour; however, those were just unsubstantial whispers in the dark.
The dropod began to shudder, the noise was deafening. It was a cacophony of screaming acceleration, whistling of atmosphere and intermitting flakk explosions that described in audio, a droppod assault. It took seconds before the droppods retros burned, counteracting the acceleration, nevertheless the drop pod hit like a meteor. If anything had been below it, it would most likely have been destroyed. A drop pod was a weapon in and of itself, it hit with such force that no unaugmented-human could ever survive the landing. The restraints lifted from the squad as the doors dropped open, each of which landed with a loud thud. Dust was everywhere, Khârn had to turn on his infra-red imaging in his helmet lenses, he was already firing into the haze with his plasma pistol. Bolts where flying everywhere, pinging and exploding off the drop-pod’s hull, heavy ordnance could be heard going off everywhere, as well as the distinctive electronic buzz of plasma weaponry. Khârn’s pistol hit red humanoid shadows, exploding in blood clouds noted in the heat signature across his visor. He revved Gorechild and ducked under a combat knife that was aimed towards his head. He swung the chainaxe upwards from his right side in an inverse grip, digging into the crotch of his assailant. As the chainaxe hit ceremite, Khârn holstered his pistol and grabbed Gorechild by two hands, pulling upwards and making short work of bisecting the would be attacker. The cloud of dust was dissipating, he switched from infra-red back to the normal light spectrum. Khârn saw his assailants face, it was a helmet of unknown mark.
‘New astartes... The rumours where right’ Khârn grunted as his chainaxe came up from the corpses head.
‘A good try’ Khârn said as he looked for his next victim. The rest of his squad were getting stuck in, he could see the other dreadclaw droppods, approving of the precision of the formation. Khârn always fought using dreadclaws and would destroy armadas or whole worlds in order to get the right navigation specialists and drop pod coordinators.
An explosion tore through the left flank showering Khârn in rubble and shell fragmentations, which dug into his armour, few of which cut into his arm. He relished at the pain, savouring it and using it to focus his mind. Khârn heard the heavy movements of a walker machine, he turned to his left and saw a massive shadow behind a dust cloud, Khârn knew well enough that it had to be a dreadnought.
‘TRAITOR!’ the dreadnought said in a deep booming electronic voice.
It was far larger than an Astartes MKIV dreadnought, it was not the old contemptor type dreadnought either. it was of similar designed as an MKIV, it carried a variant of assault cannon and a massive power fist, that swiped a horizontal arc towards Khârn. Khârn ducked and side stepping towards the right, trying to get around the towering machine. It swung back with its powerfist, so predictable thought Khârn, the attack was aimed lower this time, stopping Khârn from rolling under. In expectation Khârn jumped over the fist, twisting his body into a spin though the air. He landed on his feet and jumped into a diving roll, knowing that the back would be exposed, from extending so far over its own left flank. He drove Gorechild into the power plant, digging in enough to climb up onto its top armour, but not forceful enough that it would blow them both up. The dreadnought shook violently trying to get him off, but Khârn simply applied his weight along with every violent movement of the dreadnought. He pulled Gorechild’s axe head from the powerplant, palming it as he turned over towards the front facing and began cutting into the sarcophagus. Ceremite flew everywhere, the sound of Gorechild screaming against the armour, intensifying every time Khârn bared down on the axe. Blood flew out of the front facing armour, denoting to Khârn that he had reached the pilot inside. The machine slumped over onto its front facing. Khârn looked up from his kill and took in the sight of the battle, Brzerkers were fighting in amongst the Space Wolves, bolts and heavy weapons spraying across the battlefield, coupled with sporadic explosions. He was at home. Khârn could see ordnance shelling the loyalists, knowing instantly that the tanks and daemon engines had converged behind them. Just as had expected, Khârn could concentrate on breaking the loyalists line now and he turned his sights towards the city he headed.
Khârn beelined for the front line, cutting a bloody path through the loyalist forces, leaving his fellow warriors behind. A rage and hatred enveloped him, driving his limbs like pistons and with his hate-born focus he fired his plasma pistol with deadly efficiency. He shot past the closet enemy, killing the ones second in line and leaving Gorechild to deal with the ones up front. He shot and cleaved his way through the enemy, felling dozens as he got closer to the enemies entrenched position. These new Astartes were physically more superior to other loyalist Astartes; tougher, stronger and faster Khârn had noticed. Nowhere near as strong as Khârn or his fellow Berzerkers, being that they were blood blessed by Khorne. The Primaris as they were called didn’t have the same experience as their loyalist brethren, they made mistakes their brothers would not. Khârn felt as if they were trained differently as well, as though they had not been trained at the Fang. They still fell like paper to Khârn’s chainblade, it sliced through them with little protest. He was still looking for his first adequate skull to affix to the chains draped from his belt. Khârn would stride into battle with the chains unadorned, finding the best prizes to take back to the Conqueror. He had full halls in the battleship dedicated to his skulls, boasting more than any non-daemon followers of the Gods.
Khârn was getting closer to the front line, the suppressing fire becoming more saturated, taking glancing hits and reeling from bolts detonating off his armour. He could hear the pinging and clanging of arms hitting or deflected off the tank traps around him. He was in no-mans land and fifty metres ahead there were the dug in trenches. In between the trenches and Khârn were barricades, tank traps and barbed wire defences, Khârn assumed mines were also buried in the ground. He opened his vox while he ran.
‘Khârn!’ He announced.
‘I need ordnance 200 feet from my position, converge on my point and get some heavy support down here, after every 2 minutes I want that ordnance to fall back from the enemy position a further fifty feet and if you hit me I will flay you alive.’
Tank ordnance and artillery started to shell down on the loyalists position, with far greater intensity than before. They were dug in deep and were reinforced with heavy weapons and automated pintle mounted heavy weapons within bunkers.
Khârn grunted a feral animal sigh. He needed skulls.
‘I loathe this, I need skulls worthy of the Throne. I long for the pleasure of flaying the skin from their heads; such a precious ritual. Feeling the blood slide around my fingers, crushing their eyeballs with my fists or stabbing them with a knife, feeling the knife hit the back of the skull. I have promised my God a bounty and every moment I wait on this line, I lose skulls to ordnance. I need into that city, I need a worthy opponent for Gorechilds teeth. These Primaris marines, they do not have suitable skulls, maybe if I find their leader I can take his head from his shoulders. The city is so close and I am relegated to fighting here. The nails twitch causing a momentary surge of pain as they demand satisfaction.’
Khârn ran straight into the enemy lines, firing his plasma pistol towards the trenches.
‘Raik’nn!’ voxed Khârn.
‘Defilers are on their way, a few minutes and they should be here to bust through that line’ He was yelling with hate induced glee, firing his firing his bolt pistol and slaying enemies with his chainaxe. As it revved with glee.
‘If they are not here in the next few minutes, I will add a millennium to their debt, they will never fight in front of the skull throne again, if I have anything to say about it.’
Khârn closing in on the trenches, ignoring the cover at either sides of him. The enemy could not believe their eyes. A single Astartes running towards their front lines, It was ridiculous.
High energy lascannon beams shot past Khârn and sheared into the enemy lines along with whistling of havoc launchers exploding into the trenches, sending mud and rubble into the air from the loyalist position, reaper autocannon fire sang in concert with the other munitions, adding a rhythm to the punishing assault.
They trundled into the fray on their four crab-like appendages, standing twenty feet tall and to add insult to injury, there were three of them heading for the Cadian and Space Wolves entrenched line. They walked with a fast and violent stuttering motion, completely bizarre and freakish in the nature to which, these daemon machine amalgamations moved, nothing like the machines of the Imperium. They sported daemon heads that looked like old earth mediaeval helmets, eyes ablaze with blue warp energies, sat atop their tank-like upper torso, which also housed their long ranged weaponry. Some had power scourges to flay infantry stupid enough to come between their two massive Defiler claws. They were an absolutely terrifying sight to behold, even for the fearless ranks of Astartes. For a human it took an incredibly resilient mind not to crumple in the face of such a monster. Cadian forces; however, were hardened warriors, used to seeing the terrors of the galaxy, few fled or were rendered catatonic and those that did were summarily executed by their commissars to maintain moral.
The fire was intense, the Butcherhorde and loyalists both replied in kind, however the daemon engines had fire-superiority. The loyalists were throwing everything they had at the massive daemon constructs. Khârn was so close to the trenches, he could taste their fear and more importantly their blood. He strove passed a myriad of barbed-wire, plasteel barricades and tank traps. He ducked and dived from tracer-fire and braced as explosions went off near him, showering him in rubble; It did not slow him down. He came towards a barricade and jumped onto it pushing off with one foot into a loping jump, Gorechild held behind his head. The Cadian soldiers looked up, aghast in horror as Khârn screamed at the top of his lungs, he came down in a thunderous crash, cutting right through one soldier, completely cleaving him in two. He landed on two others, seven tonnes of Astartes and power armour crushing them, killing one instantly. From that point on Khârn was a whirlwind of death and gore. He went through twenty Cadians in the span of seconds, their human physiology barely being able to make out his movements with any clarity, let alone being able to mount any useful reaction or defense to this warrior God of legend.
Khârn was running through trench after trench, killing Cadians like a razor through paper. He came across Astartes squads that were spread throughout the Cadian forces, they offered far more sport than of their human counterparts, but it still wasn’t enough. Khârn had killed hundreds of Cadians and dozens of these new Primaris marines, dispatching them in the time it took for the rest of the Butcherhorde to get in amongst the trenches. The rest of Khârn’s Butcherhord began making haste through the trenches, they cleared the way for the Defilers to travel over the trenches, without being molested by infantry or anti-tank weaponry. The entrance to the city was theirs.

Flashes of brilliant light appeared in formation, throughout and above the trenches.
‘Terminators.’ Khârn grumbled.
Shapes of Wolfguard appeared from the light, coruscating energy and plasma dissipating around them. They were veterans of the Space Wolves chapter, hardened fighters who had fought for centuries. Khârn did not give them a chance to get orientated as he ran towards them, bearing down on his left flank, savagely bounding across the trenches and closing in on the closest of the terminator squads. They were kitted out with close combat weaponry: thunder hammers, powerfists and lightning claws, some were also holding stormshields. Khârn could see the outline of the shields energy fields, they flickered when bolt rounds struck against the fields perimeter. The Wolfguard howled like Fenrisian wolves as Khârn sprinted towards them. He would not be able to tear through these warriors as quickly as their kin. They braced for Khârn’s attack, and attack he did. He launched himself into the Wolfguard, swinging wildly and parrying against lightning claw and thunder hammer strikes. The Wolfguard visibly shocked by Kharns speed and ferocity. Khârn brought Gorechild down against one of the Wolfguard’s stormshield, the sound of the energy field was deafening, Khârn tilted his head to the right, weaving away from a thunderclaw aimed at his head, his shoulders following as the claws energy field burn the air. He landed a front kick onto the thunder hammer wielder, barrelling him back. Khârn cut right, digging Gorechild into the face of one of the Wolfguard. He felt such satisfaction at the force of the blow, sending a violent shudder through the axe handle. He couldn’t celebrate any longer as a powerfist rammed against his paldran, his dark aura protecting him from the brunt of the attack. Armour was crushed in a booming metallic sound, sparks raining across Kharns helmet. He duct under another swipe from a lightning claw and drove his axe along with him, swinging it upwards and cleaving into the Wolfguard’s gorget. Gorechilds teeth cut through the ceremite, reaching into the flesh of the Wolfguard’s face. As he held the axe embedded in the face of the lighting clawed Wolfguard, he pulled free and sidestepped, dodging one of the Wolfguard that had lunged into him, the wolf intending on taking him to the ground, where his remaining squad members could end him. Khârn swung his axe round to decapitate the Wolfguard as he barralled past Khârn’s right. The whole top of the armour came off like a tin can, the axe had cut through the middle of the Wolfguard’s face. It was an impressive feet, by any loyalist standards, Khârn however had superhuman strength, far in excess of his loyalist cousins. He had to bring up his axe two-handed to counter a strike from a powerfist, its powerfield exploding in plasma and lightning. He skidded back a few feet from the kinetic force, while another wolfguard swung his thunderhammer towards Khârn. Khârn used the momentum of the last attack and rolled over onto his back, swinging Gorechild up and amputating the arm that bore the thunderhammer. The Wolfguard screamed through the vox in his helmet, amplifying his unrestrained bellowing. Before the scream had ended Khârn had fliped onto his feet and dug Gorechild into the Wolfguard’s chest, choosing that particular strike in order to push against the Wolfguard’s chest enabling him to parry the next opponents blow, rather than having to swing through the Wolfguard and having to turn around in a swinging arc. This attack would give Khârn plenty of time to introduce the Wolfguard’s powerfist to Gorechilds teeth.
Khârn parried the next blow as planned and with only two Wolfguards left, it was over in seconds, he had driven Gorechild through one face and bisected the last Wolfguard, taking time to savour the kills as he did so. He savoured every drop of blood and gore that spattered off his unarmoured arm, he screamed in absolute rage into the bisected face of his last victim. Khârn was not as commonly thought; a mindless killer, some times he gave in to the nails, but he was mostly always in control. He savoured the psychotic rage that welled up within him, this time he growled to control it. He was far more the cold-blooded killer; akin to a criminal serial killer, more restrained than one of his mindless fellow warriors, unless he gave into the nail. Then he would put his fellow warriors to shame. He loved his rage, he gloried in it, but he would not have lasted ten thousand years of constant war, if he were like the rest of his Berzerkers or those of other warbands that shared his dedication to the Blood God. Khârn was not afraid of death like the other Chaos lords who clung desperetly to their power and their lives, Khârn knew he was dead already, he just needed to acrue as many skulls to take with him as he could.
Khârn took a second to take in the battle around him, the Defilers were making fast progress over the trenches, he clocked on to a number of Berzerkers fighting a squad of Wolfguard to his left, the Wolves had been pushed back and were nearing into the city. There was what looked to be a Captian with them, in a strange mark of armour. It looked bulky like terminator armour, though the head was encased like that of the Cataphractii armour of the Horus Heresy era. The shoulder guards were more reminiscent of power armour, the torso curved outwards like the bow of a boat. He wielded a power sword along with a powerfist, and a mounted stormbolter by the look of it. He ran like a predator towards his next prize, like one of the Warp Talons or that of a Bloodhound savouring the taste of its pray before the kill.

Bjorn was coordinating the defences of the city, Daegan had just taken leave to reinforce the front lines, the forces had been decimated with such speed, that it forced Bjorn to allow Daegan to fight from the front line. He would have liked to have him in the city centre, but he needed Daegan to lead the Wolfguard at the front. Bjorn had created killing fields throughout the city, bottlenecking the enemy to punish them at dead ends, which they would be facing automated heavy weapon turrets, Cadian infantry and Bloodclaws and their varients hidden in the buildings. He had ordered for buildings to bedemolished in order to cut off streets. The enemy would have to pay in blood to get to the main force, that was fortified in the centre of the city. The city was not defended like other Imperial worlds, in fact the world did not have any significant defences at all. Everything the Cadian forces and the Rout had to protect themselves were the defences they had created. If it were not for the Great Rift, this world would have been last in priority to be defended, the Imperium could no longer afford to lose worlds to the traitors. Every world they take is a foothold into the materium, a foothold in which they can use to supply and use as a base to further their foothold into the rest of the Imperium.
Bjorn had been more active in the decades of the Great Rift, it was Guilliman’s return that had lit a fire within him, it had lit a fire more strong than the needs for his leadership during these times. He had a renaissance in hope; hope that Russ would come back from his personal crusade. He had begun to lose hope of never having the one question answered, that had haunted him all this time. Why… Why did his Primarch leave him? Logic and ego told him that it was because he was best fitted to lead the legion in Russ’ absence, but no matter how much logic or reassuring he could apply to his situation, he still felt as he did when Russ first left him. He also brought to mind his discussion with Russ, while fighting the Alpha Legion fleet, after the Istavaan V massacre. Russ had been scrying the future with his rbone runes and had showed Bjorn, that in all possible futures he saw Bjorn entwined to him.
‘So why leave?’ Bjorn asked himself?
He felt like a failure, all his accomplishments leading the Rout was for naught, not until Russ could come back and confirm his notions of logic or dispel his fear. He remembered his friend Winterclaw and how the brave whelp had spoken sense to him, making him lead the Rout after his self-pitying absentia spent pining in Russ’ old chambers. Even after taking a beating from Bjorn, he continued to speak sense to him. Bjorn was dangerously close to killing the young pup and still Winterclaw persisted undaunted. He liked Winterclaw, especially for that. How long ago that was, could drive a mortal insane to think about. Nine millennia since first being interred within the dreadnought sarcophagus, nine millennia since killing that loathed greater daemon of Nurgle.
Luck favours the prepared an old earth scientist had once penned, though they would really need luck on top of their preparedness, the City was at a serious risk of being taken and no old earth saying could ensure survival here, especially with, which the speed the traitors had run through their defences, it was indicitive of the savage World Eaters. Word had just come in an hour ago that the Dark Angels had arrived in system, probably from another war against the Rift, as it was now nicknamed amongst loyalist forces. The Rout were loathed to accept aid by the Dark Angels, ever since their Primarch’s brawl on Dulan. That battle had led to so much bad blood between the two Chapters. Bjorn however had talked to Russ about the fight with the Lion, Russ never felt any of the enmity that the Lion or both their legions felt. Bjorn was from Fenris and its people were as quick to forget about fights as fast as they were to start them, no warrior was unbeaten. What bothered Russ was the Lion’s constant insistence on resuming their fight. Russ knew that they were evenly matched, he didn’t need to fight again to realise that. The Lion; however, couldn’t accept that, he won knocking out the Lion when his guard was down. Russ didn’t care, even if his guard was down he still accepted the Lion won. In Fenris you are not afforded good luck or fairness growing up on the extreme and unforgiving death world. Russ learned that the Lion’s weakness was pride, he knew if they fought again that he’d win, not because he was better but because he was the Emperors executioner and if he can find a weakness in an enemy, he could defeat them. Just like he did against Horus, his weakness was arrogance though Russ found out his own weakness that day, his mercy, ironic when he thought about it. If Russ had seen Horus for what he became and how lost in the path of Chaos he was, Russ knew that could have saved the Emperor. Bjorn had heard that Russ could never forgive himself for that, it was what Bjorn had suspected forced Russ to leave that day.
Bjorn strode around the centre of the last killing-field, he drew awe from all the Cadian soldiers around him in his titanic dreadnought war-plate. He was a warmachine even in the literal sense and before he was interred he was an active chapter master. Dreadnoughts were rare, but rarer were entombed chapter masters, he was an avatar of war in every sense of the word. Even the Rout and other Astartes held him in august reverence, he lived in the time that the Emperor walked Terra and traveled the stars; not enthroned on the Golden Throne, a corpse clinging to life in order to protect the species, that he was now.
‘If the Emperor failed; all failed’ Bjorn thought at that moment.
Two more Dreadnoughts walked into the centre of the killing field, automated heavy weapons platforms targeting their movements.
‘A fortress is built with blood and toil. Only by blood and toil may it be taken.’ Stated Longtooth in the booming metallic sound that eminated from his sarcophagus.
Bjorn smiled at the quote by the Primarch.
‘Aye.’ replied Bjorn as he clenched true claw into a fist.
‘We’ll have a scrap on our hands soon.’ Bjorn stated.
‘What of our brother chapter?’ Asked the newest whelp to be added to the ranks of the ancients.
‘We cannot wait, nor rely on them for saviour, the murdermake is ours to ply. Now take to the ranks, the humans will need inspiring for what is to come, pour some Mjod into their guts’ Replied Bjorn.

Khârn was sprinting as he closed the distance towards the leader of the loyalists, the Captain he had assumed. The Captain was on the back-foot as he was assailed by Raik’nn and two other Berzerkers. Three of the captain’s Wolfguard were lying on the ground, bathing in crimson ten feet from where they fought. Raik’nn swung at the Captain, which was expertly parried with the power blade he bore. Khârn reached them, he cleaved Gorechild into Raik’nn’s back, killing him instantly, he front kicked the Captain separating him from the fray, leaving the other Berzerkers to deal with the captains surviving Wolfguard. The other two Berzerkers knew to distance themselves from Khârn and the Captain, lest they also fall under the merciless embrace of Gorechild.
The Wolf Lord was stunned, he knew the length and extent of the traitorous nature of the great enemy, though he had never seen such disregard for fellow warriors.
‘Why, he was your brother.’ Daegan asked out of pure curiosity.
‘Khorne cares not from whence the blood flows.’ replied Khârn.
Khârn charged into Daegan swinging Gorechild towards his face. Daegan managed to block the powerful blow, straining against Khârn’s overpowering strength. Khârn leaned into Daegan and spoke with surprising calm.
‘Khorne only cares that it flows.’
Khârn pulled back and Daegan was forced forwards by his own momentum, Khârn sidestepped, while screaming in a hateful roar and with one swing he liberated the Captain of his precious head. Gorechild was still revving, the chain teeth covered in blood and flesh. Khârn looked up from the Captain’s corpse and saw that the entrance to the City was now fully taken, no loyalists stood in their way. He bent down and tore a wolf pelt from the headless corpse that was now the Captain and he began to clean Gorechild. He had a sudden flashback to Armatura, during the great Crusade when his legion fought alongside the Word Bearers during the invasion of the Ultramar system. He had remembered picking Gorechild up from the rubble, where his Primarch Angron had discarded the broken weapon, uncaring as his belief that superstitious attachment to weapons was unlucky. Khârn laughed at that notion, with his long experience and understanding of the warp, Angron could not be any more wrong, everything had meaning and meaning and symbolism had power. A click of static burst into Kharns ear, ending his reminiscence.
‘The offerings for the daemonancy are on rout to your direction Lord.’
‘I have warned you before, call me lord one more time and I will skin while you still have the clarity to ponder your failure.’ Khârn cut the vox, he did not want to hear the helpless mewling of the admiral; begging forgiveness. He looked out towards the horizon, Defilers were walking into their current position, standing down and awaiting further command. A Berzerker walked up towards Khârn, taking off his helm.
‘I don’t understand why we need the ritual, the city is ours to take.’ Sgarath pointed out while gesturing with a swing of his arm, taking in the carnage left on the field.
‘Khorne is making himself known to this battlefield, that is all the understanding you need.’

Khârn stood motionless staring out towards their deployment, waiting impatiently as were the rest of the Butcherhorde. They spent time rearranging into squads, cleaning their weapons and scouting the perimeter of their position, the restraint they all had to find to wait, never got easier and was the same in every battle, sometimes it would be too much and the Berzerkers would give in the the bloodletting. Rhino transports broke the dust and smoke clouds, speeding past fires and breaking through barricades with their dozerblades. They broke the tension within the ranks as they came to a halt at the Butcherhorde’s position, servitors could be seen disembarking with ammunition boxes and other power cells and other various forms of ammo. One of the transports had a Bloodthirster skull on the front facing armour, Khârn looked in amusement, knowing what was to come from the ritual. Bloodthirsters were the highest order of Khorne daemons, acting as daemon generals. They were the complete and utter, indisputable, manifestation of war. They were inexorable in their will and wholly terrifying to behold in battle. Khârn had encountered them many times throughout his years of service to the Blood God, he even had one pounce on him once, stopping Khârn from killing the Warmaster: Ezekyle Abaddon.
The doors to the Rhino opened and white robed humans solemnly disembarked from the vehicle, eight of them in total, sporting faces of wilful determination, an aspiring champion of the Butcherhorde could be seen joining the sacrifice. They brandished knives from their robes and began to cut themselves, painting esoteric symbols on the ground with their blood. They waited in the centre of each symbol they made, positioning themselves in a circle surrounding the aspiring champion. The sky was already turning as the battlefield was charged with etheric energy, Khârn signalled to eight of his Butcherhorde to step forwards and take a place in front of each of the pledges, refusing to kill anyone from behind. Khârn walked over and stood in front of the Aspiring Champion, he gave him a respectful nod and with complete synchronicity all eight pledges and the Champion’s heads were removed from their shoulders. There was ephemeral warpflame rising from the painted symbols, shadows of humanoid shaped daemons, sputtering in and out of existence. A thunderous noise followed by violent cracking sounded and the warpflame wreathed shadows took a more permanent form, spinning round one another in a dance. The sky began to rain blood, at which point the Butcherhorde took off their helms to feel the raining blood on their faces, steam began rising up from their faces like a kill on a snow fallen winter. An intense red light shone from the centre of the dancing warpflamed silhouettes. Time stopped for the briefest of moments, it did not start back normally however, it slowed and the raining blood appeared completely still, part in due to the strobing of the red light, causing the illusion of frozen rain. The concrete bellow the red light and warplame began to crack, the ground shook and the onlookers had to steady themselves. The ground cracked open, boulders and rubble rose up in a mound and with that, a colossal roar erupted and the Butcherhorde watched on, as the shape of the Bloodthirster rose out from the ground, shouldering itself out, like some sort of a perverse child birth. The site was wrong to behold, even for those whom fervently worshipped the Chaos gods, only Khârn stood looking unimpressed. He had a look of pride for the birthing titan of war, it was the only brother Khârn named as such, it stood tall with its wings flapping. It looked at its wings and rolled its shoulders as if testing out its new physical form. Its wings then expanded showing its full span, holding aloft a massive, iron axe of Khorne, guilded in bronze with a detailed skull decoration. The other hand bore a barbed whip that the Bloodthirster cracked with a subsequent sonic boom, exploding the raining blood into an empty sphere. The Bloodthirster nodded to Khârn, instantly recognising the chosen of Khorne and the recognition was reciprocated, this was the Bloodthirster that had stopped Khârn from killing Abaddon. The silence amongst the Buthcerhorde was cut as the Bloodthrister spoke.
‘The crimson path is waiting. Chosen of Khorne! our master is pleased with your service and the skulls you have taken on this planet. I am here for the Fellhanded.’ the Bloodthirster demanded.
Rage took Khârn, followed by a look of outrage painted on his face, his prize being torn from his grasps was not something he’d allow.
‘The Wolf is mine, that is why I came to this pathetic planet.’ Khârn hissed through his teeth.
‘NO!’ the bloodthirster roared. The sound was deafening, it was passed the decibel threshold for non-augmented human’s, the closet servitors died instantly they slumped onto the ground, twitching. The sound radiated heat throughout the Butcherhorde.
‘Our realm has plans for this being. You will have your fill little one, an old friend of yours is coming to this planet, he is already on his way. A skull you have failed to take.’
The Buthcerhorde looked on in awed silence, some never having seen a greater daemon before. They were all having the same thought, stunned at the respect the daemon had for Khârn. They’d never known daemons to show respect to mortals, most didn’t know they could.
‘Azrael.’ Khârn said, the name earning disgust from Khârn.
‘We will take the city, when the time comes you will stay your hand. I am to have words with this
Wolf.’
Khârn looked puzzled, wondering what words the Bloodthirster could have with a loyalist. He dismissed it, knowing that he would soon find out.
‘Move out.’ Khârn ordered.
The Butcherhorde moved into formation, Khârn and the Bloodthirster took point walking at a steady pace between the buildings of the City, through the abandoned streets. They were aware that this was a shooting gallery; as all cities were, so they were mindful and walked cauciously. The Defilers supported them from their back flank, as did the rhinos that carried ammunition, providing small arms support with their havoc launchers and combi-bolters. The city seemed too silent, Khârn would have expected troops deployed in the buildings, providing superior position and would be perfect for enacting a war of attrition through each street. He voxed his other companies that were advancing into the city at other points, he warned them to watch out for ambushes. The Bloodthirster began flight and flapped its gargantuan wings, bobbing up towards the top of the buildings to get a birds-eye view of the City, then it was off out of sight.
The Buthcerhorde arrived at the end of the street, which opened up into a crossroad section.
‘Which way.’ asked Scorath.
‘It doesn’t matter, all of these roads reach the city centre. We go left.’ Replied Khârn.
They walked in formation, with Khârn taking point. He got to an intersection, stopping at the corner of the next road that led towards the city centre. He peered over the corner to look down the street. He saw rubble spread throughout the street and a large mound at the bottom, of what could only be a demolished building, easy enough to climb over Khârn thought. There was; however, something wrong with the sight of it. These were quintessential terrain for a city at siege from orbit and ground, but it looked contrived, too perfect for an ambush. Regardless he would take the bait, he signalled the rest of his forces with a chop of his hand and they walked around the corner. Khârn took point like he usually did, all of them walking with the alertness that fighting in cities brought. So many places to be ambushed from, every position taken by defenders in a city would have superior points of fire, high ground, corners and high vantage points, no warrior took urban warfare lightly. They got half way down the street and Khârn signalled for them to halt, raising an open palm.
‘COVER!’ was all Khârn could shout, before autocannon and bolter fire erupted in a gale of armour piercing bolts and shells, as well as a hail of lasers from above that could be no other than lasgun fire. Hell had erupted and the Butcherhorde instantly returned supressing fire. Khârn began to scale up the building and the other Berzerkers followed his lead. The rooms they reached offered no defence, the Cadian forces lasguns; useless against Astartes power armour. The Cadians tried to thrust hopelessly at their attackers with their bayonets, hoping to be lucky enough to stab through weak points in the Bezerker’s armour. The Berzerkers dove over the balconies and through windows and decorated the rooms with blood. The sounds of chainaxes and chainswords wailing in a revving murderous choir, echoing through the Khornate abattoir within the comfortably decorated rooms. The Defilers that stayed on the ground devastated the rest of the Cadian forces, firing at the windows and making short work of the soldiers inside with their havoc launchers and autocannons. They had the high vantage point, but the buildings supplied the havoc launchers with added shrapnel from the explosions; caving in roofs and floors as well as the walls and glass which stabbed into the human soldiers. It took them even less time destroying the automated autocannons, sending searing hot lascannon shots into the souless machines.
Khârn stood in a blood soaked room, looking down at the floor where the dead soldiers lay. Khârn had seen every death locked position a man could make. Some looked like they were sleeping, some looked like they were frozen into statues, mocking their last gestures of animation, taking the form of morbid art. Some looked surprised and fearful, some looked resigned and the most rare were those of whom, that looked as if they were beckoning death. The Cadians wore anti-auspex material over their uniforms, no wonder Khârn realised. His auspex showed nothing of the Cadians, while entering the ambush. Even with the ambush neutralised, the city would be full of these ambushes and the Buthcerhorde would be worn down, affording the reinforcements that had entered the system, time to bolster the loyalist forces. Khârn had received vox stating that three of his horde had died in the ambush. Three was too many; too many against Cadians. Other companies were reporting the same, they had all walked into similar ambushes and lost on average the same as Khârn’s company had lost. It was totally unacceptable to Khârn, the Space Wolves seemed not to be deploying their forces in the ambushes. Why that was puzzled Khârn, if they had they would have wrought far more damage. The Wolves were anything but cowards, but It mattered little to Khârn, he’d find out soon enough why they had been held back. It was tactically irrelevant in regards to the insufficient information he had, what mattered now was the task at hand. Khârn would not sit and guess what lay in wait for him, he would merely accept that the city centre was where the real fight would be and he would apply his tactics with that supposition in mind. He’d accept the ambushes as an inevitability. Khârn dove out the window, landing on the street and leaving his mark on the plasteel street. He heard the flapping of the Bloodthirster and looked up to confirm the avatar of war’s entrance.
The Bloodthirster landed to where Khârn stood and said as much as Khârn knew.
‘The city is full of these little ambushes, I can see these weaklings where your gadgets can’t, hiding like rats, they are cowards and know nothing of the beauty of warfare. I have secured a rout that will forgo all bloodshed, which pains me to do so, but we can mop these rats up when we’ve taken the centre.’
‘So they left themselves a supply rout.’ Khârn stated.
The Butcherhorde made time as they marched in step through the city towards the centre, the Bloodthirster showing them the way, flying up between the buildings. They came into other ambushes between the buildings, though far fewer than the impasse’s would have offered. There were no automated heavy weapons platforms, instead they they were greeted with Bloodclaws and Skyclaws dropping from the balconies. The Butcherhorde went through them quickly and efficiently, the wolves lack of experience, bleeding them. Bloodclaws and their variant units were new Space Wolves recruits; reckless in their lack of experience, but deadly in their ferocity. World Eaters were experienced, and far more ferocious. They had always fought with the understanding, that they would expect to be wounded in order to kill, they hated the pomp and ceremony of swordsmen like those of the hated Emperors Children. First cut in the pits of the Butchorhorde were an expectation rather than a reward or slight, like they were in other legions or warbands. Bezerkers were extremely hard to resist in close combat for this reason, they were ferocious and once started in the bloodletting, that kind of momentum was nigh impossible to stop. These young whelps were not the equal of the Butcherhorde, they hid however managed to kill a few of the Butcherhorde. Space Wolves were experts in close quarters, even these young pups put up a respectable defence.
Other than being assailed from the balconies, the Butcherhorde started to come into contact with Wolf Scouts, they made contact; engaged and quickly retreated back through the streets as Khârn’s forces advanced. They basically leapfrogged back towards the centre, causing Khârn’s company to slow down, the scouts were causing more casualties and not just with the weapons they carried, but also with explosives planted along the way. They deployed mines under rubble, as well as mounting explosives on the building walls, triggering them with detonators when the Butcherhorde came close enough.

Bjorn was assessing the progress of the World Eater forces through the city, the Wolfscouts were sending vox transmitions to Bjorn, informing him of their position and the point by point locations of the traitor forces, they noted the traitors numbers as well as their loses and also the loses the scouts were incurring. Bjorn was angered at the fact that the traitors had found a way through the labyrinth, somehow bypassing the killing fields. All he could do now was wait for the forces to converge on their bolstered position. The centre was filled with heavy support: Landraiders, Predators, Whirlwinds and Vindicators, as well as the new Primaris Repulsor. It had been so long since he had laid eyes on that technology, not long after the Great Scouring had Bjorn seen grav tech used in great numbers, when the Imperium had hounded the traitorous forces of Horus, all the way to the Eye of Terror. The cities centre forces consisted of four full Brigades of Cadian guard, which were manning defence barricades, weapons platforms and bunkers at each corner of the centre. The rest of Bjorn’s company were set up to support the Cadians, or were deployed inside and on top of the buildings with Longfangs and Hellblaster squads, as well as Wolf Scouts armed with heavy weapons and sniper riles. Bjorn arranged the formations towards the traitors front, with their backs to the other supply line they had created. There were rows upon rows of barricades, housing firing-lines and each subsequent barricade was position in a way, that angled upwards so that the firing-lines behind could at least get some vantage onto the field. They needed to maximise their fire as they would be outnumbered. Whatever would enter the centre would be funnelled through the streets and into the centre, where the traitors would be forced to pay a very large toll for their progress. The streets behind Bjorn’s forces would allow the loyalists to fall back into the streets and through their other supply line, providing another chock point that would be created as the traitors followed them from the centre. Soon the battle would begin in earnest. For the lack of defences the city had, Bjorn had created an ample defence, for which the traitors superior numbers would be mitigated.
‘Morkai, stirrs tonight.’ Said Dagmar in his booming Dreadnought voice.
‘Aye.’ replied Bjorn.
‘You’ve made a defence worthy of Dorn.’
‘I am in no mood to be jested young pup.’
‘I was being serious, you’ve made a fortress from nothing.’
‘Dorn would laugh at this, Anyone leader worth his salt, could have mustered this meagre defence. Remember, that you have to work with what you are given Dagmar. It was just a logical solution based on the terrain and resources at hand, where else would we have made defences, but if here and what else would you have used to defend it.’
‘But the killing fields.’
‘Ach, you would have a lot to learn, if your advancement through the Rout were not halted, due to Morkai biting your arse. We have lost this war, the Dark Angels may turn the war, but what has happened up until now, is my responsibility young pup, and I have failed.
‘But we have been outnumbered from the start.’
‘There are no excuses in war, there is only victory or defeat, success or failure. What can you take solace from when you’re dead or when you are forced to flee? The Sisters of Battle haven’t even gotten in system yet, they were supposed to be here days ago, so make sure to fight as if the Allfather and Russ were watching you, we may meet them soon enough’

The city centre erupted in a cacophony of ordnance, laser and bolt fire, it was the overture of violence both armies had been waiting in anticipation for. Khârn’s Butcherhorde were spread throughout the street, hugging the walls to either side of the Defiler daemon engines as they stomped their way through the street. The Defilers returned fire against the sea of shells, bolts and lasers, the noise was deafening. The Berzerkers started heading into the last building, giving berth to the centre by demolishing the walls and thereby creating an entrance that would take away the loyalists advantage, as they had intended for them to be funnelled through the last street. The Berzerkers were pouring into the buildings and began blowing holes in walls with frag grenades; gaining access to the other parts of the building, spreading out around the centre as much as possible for when they blew the wall. All that was between the Butcherhorde and the loyalist forces was a thin wall, they lay in silent anticipation for the moment they would blow the front walls.
‘That is enough of us through, the rest of our forces can enter through the streets when we engage the loyalists. More skulls for us to take.’ Khârn said with relish.
The Berzerkers could hardly contain themselves, they were trying to hold back a psychopathic wave of rage, that had been building up throughout the blood letting. They were close to fighting one another, but in the next few seconds they wouldn’t need to. Khârn pulled the pin in his grenade, casually throwing it against the others that had been attached to the wall. It went off with a staccato thud, followed up with a rhythmically sustained series of explosions. Dust and rubble covered the rooms and poured outside, the Berzerkers roared and started bellowing out their battle-cries ‘KILL MAIM BURN!’. It was like a Gregorian chant, to which the sound of their chainaxes revving added in its intimidation. The fire between foes was intense; warriors started dying in quick precession on both sides, the Butcherhorde taking the brunt of the losses due to their open ground position. One Defiler had exploded in a rain of metal and daemon flesh, showering the Berzerkers and unfortunately killing nearby Berzerkers that were unlucky enough to be so close to the dying goliath. Heavy support tanks consisting of Vindicators and Predators had made their way to the city centre, along with more companies of the Butcherhorde and other daemon engines. Forgefiends added to the heavy support fire, while Maulerfiends trundled on towards the barricades. The sky was alight with Heldrake daemon engines, fighting the Space Wolves air support; baying for air supremacy.
Khârn roared in psychopathic rage, sprinting ahead of his fellow Bezerkers. In seconds he had already reached the first barricade, launching himself over and landing in amongst the Cadian and Space Wolf forces.
‘I descend upon them, Gorechild begs for blood, craving the all too familiar red oil to slide over its teeth and sate its never ending hunger. The human runts die in droves, I unleash my existential rage upon their fear delayed action. Their terror making them forget how to soldier. Two Space Wolf warriors dive into my barricade, looking to repel me from my slaughter. I laugh knowing there is no hope for them, I taste their unworthiness and the speed at which I dispatch murder to them only proves as much.  I take their skulls, as their bodies stumble, falling to the ground as their heads roll away. The lack of challenge infuriates me, I have had no real trophies to skin and mount on my chains, I grow too impatient, Khorne will have his fill one way or the other.’
The rest of the Butcherhorde had caught up with Khârn, they took position in the first barricade, engaging the procedding barricade with suppressing fire. Those of which that had just entered, began to assault the next barricade, their fellow warriors, did away with the conventional tactic, which would have been to keep a suppressive fire, while the others climbed over. Their rage was palpable and they flung themselves upon the enemy without restraint. Khârn was at the forefront, already in the second barricade before the rest of his warriors. The remaining Defilers kept a torrent of fire against the loyalists dug in position. The arrival of the Maulerfiends began to take out the bunkers, slaughtering any warriors within. Meanwhile the Bloodthirster was causing bloody havoc amongst the loyalists breaking apart barricades and cleaving whole squads apart with every swing. It flew in cutting swathes through the loyalists amongst the barricades and then left as quickly to the air to attack the Long Fang and Hellblaster units deployed in the buildings. Its devestation was extreme wherever it went, it caused untold damage in the blink of an eye, its speed and efficiency was terrifying to behold. Seeing limitless rage and controlled efficiency acting as one was an alien sight. The Butcherhorde’s momentum was unstoppable now, like a tide crashing into rock.

Bjorn yelled out orders through his vox and Dreadnought speakers, while firing volleys from his Helfrost cannon. He was cursing himself for not planning against the traitors entrence to the city, how did he miss that. He was anxious to bring Trueclaw down upon his enemy, his choler had risen and soon there would be nothing left to do, but enjoy the true fighting that would begin when the traitors broke through the last barricade. Until then he would carry out his duties.
‘I want those Defilers taken out, focus all heavy weapons on them and bring them down, second priority are the Maulerfiends. Get aggressors into that fray down there, I don’t want those traitors breaking one more barricade.’
Bjorn blanked out, he grunted as a mass reactive shell exploded against his carapace. He was out for a second, shaking off the force of the attack and firing back towards the source the shell. His calibrated firing arc calculations suggested two solutions, the most accurate being a Defiler. Bjorn had suddenly regretted holding to this position, behind the barricades he was useless, he needed to assess the battlefield, but he would do far more use down there taking out the Daemon engines. Too late to do anything about it now, he thought.
‘You’ll pay for this… Traitorous scum.’

The Butcherhorde were making progress through the barricades, leaving a sea of blood and dead bodies at their feet. It was next to impossible for any of the two armies to fight with grace and not trip and stumble, while they traded blows with pistols and close combat weapons. Khârn reached the last barricade, cleaving his way through the defences, murdering anyone in sight with frightening savagery. The Cadian forces could hear his manic, bellowing battle cries over the sounds of battle. The Butcherhorde were like a bee hive, constantly droning ‘KILL MAIM BURN!’ and revving their chainaxes and chainswords. While the carnage was being made, units of Aggressors began strode forth, opening up with currents of fire from flamestorm gauntles, pouring searing hot promethium onto the Butcherhorde. Others fired volleys from their boltstorm guantlests and fragstorm genade launchers into the mass of the Berzerkers. Their fire was devastating, Berzerkers were being cut down and cooked alive by the promethium. They scrambled over the barricade walls, falling onto the dead Cadian and Space Wolves warriors as their bodies seared in excruciating pain. They helplessly clawed in pain at their armour, trying to pull it off. The rest of the Berzerkers dived for cover behind the barricades, others who were out of the firing line of the Aggressors started to climb over the last barricade, looking to assault the Aggressors.
The Bloodthirster saw the devastation wrought on the Berzerkers, It stood atop a building, surveying the carnage from its roof. It held a Long Fang’s corpse in his hand, crushing the armour around its waist. It threw the armoured body contemptuously against a wall, cracking against its crushing weight and thuddeding as it fell to the floor. The Khornate titan dove off the side of the roof and barrelled into a spinning dive towards the ground, accelerating all the way down. The Bloodthirster came to an abrupt halt, spreading its wings, which caught the air between its bulk and the ground, spread eagle like some dragon of old earth myth. The Bloodthirster strode right through the Aggressors, cleaving them with horizontal swings of its axe, bisecting the Aggressors three at a time, sending others flying over the battlefield. Their Gravis pattern armour served little to no resistance against the Bloodthirster’s might. The Berzerkers took the opportunity to spread out to new targets now unaccosted by the Aggressors previous attack. They were met with fire from heavy support tanks from the loyalists back line, though at such close distances many of their armaments were useless. With the Vindicator’s high calibre demolisher cannon inactive, the other vehicles made up for it, sending streaks of lascannon fire and assortments of shells, bolts and fragmentation launchers. Meanwhile the Bloodthirster had sighted his next victim, he saw a dreadnought, which turned its attention upon the greater daemon. It roared and drove straight for Bjorn, attacking him with relentless blows from its ancient axe.
Khârn sprinted straight for the heavy support, he took bolts and stubber fire upon his power armour, running with his pauldron aimed towards the enemy, taking the brunt away from vital parts of his body. He held his axe angled downwards protecting his naked arm, gripping Gorechild firmly by the handle, ready for the resultant bloodletting. As he got closer, He launched himself atop a Landraider, cutting off sponsons and pintle mounted weapons. After he disarmed the behemoth, he brought Gorechild down upon the hatch, tearing the thing off with his free hand after cutting through its hinges. He unholstered his plasma pistol and shot down the hatch, killing a marine instantly; his face erupting in plasma. He finished his kill off by throwing a couple of grenades down the hatch and then strove off to find his next kill.
The rest of the traitors were following Khârn’s lead, destroying tank after tank as they tried to retreat down the street. The only tank that managed to flee was the new Primaris Repulsor tank, it was extremely fast for a tank of its size, most in part due to the old grav plate technology, recently revived by Adept Belesarius Cawl. Behind Khârn’s metallic carnage, the Bloodthirster was battering Bjorn, putting him on his back foot, unrelenting to the point that Bjorn had no Idea that he was being cut off from his retreating forces.
‘I cannot find an opening.’ Bjorn was thinking to himself. He was parrying blow after blow from the beating. He was just managing to survive.
‘Its speed is incredible.’ he thought.
‘You will not win daemon.’ Shouted Bjorn. He was trying to talk to it, in order to distract it so he could find an opening to strike back.
‘That’s where you are wrong Wolf!’
The Bloodthirster backed off from Bjorn, allowing him to realise that he was now surrounded by the Butcherhorde. Hundreds of Berzerkers along with agitated daemon engines, were staring in silence at Bjorn and the Bloodthirster, other Bezerkers were cleaning up the remains.
‘I have a proposition for you Wolf.’ Said the Bloodthirster.
‘You can stick your proposition up yer arse, daemon.’ replied Bjorn.
‘We know where your Primarch is wolf.’
Wordless silence struck Bjorn, which was complimented by the diminuendo of the battlefield, a combination of crackling bonfires and breezing wind with the sporadic munitions going off in the distance. The word of his Primarch sent hope shooting through his being, as if the Astronomican had been directed towards him.
‘Lies.’ spat Bjorn.
The daemon smiled, relishing the struggle Bjorn was fighting.
‘You say that, but I can see the conflict within you over that name. We know exactly where he is and we want you to find him.’
‘Then I will not help you! Even if you are telling the truth, I will not forsake the Imperium in order to bring my Primarch home.’
‘We have foreseen what will happen if you say no. It will admittedly help us if you agree, but if you choose against it, it is of no concern to us, we have time on our hands. Your civilisation will fall, it is not a matter of if, only a matter of when.’
Bjorn was silent, working out this daemons truth and lies, trying to calculate what he should do.’
‘You know I will not do this.’ said Russ, hoping for a reason the Daemon could give him to find Russ.
‘We know there is a chance you will and a chance you won’t, we have foreseen this.’
‘You have no divination skills, servant of Khorne.’
‘Ah, we hate the use of psychic abilities in war and we are forbidden to use them, but we are still children of the warp. I can still see what will come to pass. I see your whole Imperium shattered, I see the ender of empires destroying your corpse Emperor. I see how you die wolf. There are two outcomes to this, either you accept and help your beloved Primarch, or I kill you where you stand.’
‘VLKA FENRYKA!’ screamed Bjorn.
Bjorn charged the Bloodthirster, shooting as he ran. The Helfrost cannon hit dead on, causing the Daemon to brace with its arms held up against the barrage, that was all the time Bjorn needed. He struck the Bloodthirster with Trueclaw slashing against its arms, blood and flesh flew into the air. The Greater daemon grunted as it took the attack, the claws biting deep. It pulled back its axe to strike Bjorn down, but Bjorn was already forcing Trueclaw into the daemons heart. All the claws had punch through into the Bloodthirsters chest, lightning wreathed from the daemons open wound and plasma swam in the wound, burning the daemon from the inside. The daemon roared and smashed Bjorn aside with its gargantuan axe, albiet the damage was done. It fell to one knee, its essence pouring out and the corporal energy tying it to the materium began to dissipate. It spasammed with one hand holding its body up from the ground. The Berzerkers were stunned at the sight, their war god’s material body; dying before them, worse was the speed at which Bjorn had dispatched their avatar. The Bloodthirster collapsed onto the ground, steam rising from its corpse. Khârn walked towards Bjorn, smirking through his helm.
‘Good kill wolf, I promised I wouldn’t take your skull and now you have relieved me of that oath. I am also glad you aren’t going to look after your bastard father, Khorne will delight in this.’
‘I’m glad that I could be of service traitor.’
Khârn launched at Bjorn without ceremony, cutting into Bjorn’s sarcophagus, the teeth grinding and chewing up ceremite plating; first blood to Khârn. Bjorn swung Trueclaw into Khârn’s side, knocking him onto his side. He rolled away with the momentum of the blow and flipped back onto his feet. Neither warrior used their long ranged weaponry, this was a contest of warriors, pride was at stake here. Bjorn had nothing left but his pride, for even if he killed Khârn, the Butcherhorde would swarm him. The two warriors swung and parried and blocked, both cutting into each others armour, leaving marks of honour for the victor. The duel had lasted 15 minutes, neither combatants showing any sign of fatigue. Khârn was faster, he had damaged Bjorn’s sarcophagus badly, another strike or two on the front facing of his armour and he’d reach flesh. Bjorn did not look good, Khârn had left rents and gashes all over his armour.
‘A skull worthy of my belt, finally I can give something to my blood god. I have already wounded him, the shedding of his ceremite is a poor facsimile of pure blood. I can already feel the kill coming, his blows are desperate, no matter how much I enjoy besting his attacks, I long to embed Gorechild into whatever is left of his body; inside that cursed tomb. The rage takes me, the hate seething through my veins. I can no longer hold myself back, he strikes me with a telegraphed swing. Charging the atmosphere with that pretty lightening claw of his and his little trinkets of gold decorating his armour, I hate him.’
Bjorn struck out, he caught Khârn with one of his claws, the lightning claw went straight through Khârn’s torso, Khârn bellowed out and in rage.
‘AAARRGGGHHHHHH! I am lost.
There was a clunk and thud that rang out against the plascrete road. Khârn came to, hearing the celebrating whoops and roars from his Bezerkers. Khârn had cut True claw from Bjorns arm, he noticed blood pouring out from his wound. He had actually floored Bjorn, his attacks were so wild and savage, that he had actually over powered a dreadnought. His strength had been immense as Khârn had let go, he had left Bjorn defenceless. Bjorn tried to get back up but he flailed helplessly on the ground. Khârn held Gorechild aloft, two hands holding the hilt, he charged Bjorn to great him with the killing stroke.

No final blow landed, instead there were flashes of extremely bright light, lightning forking outwards: teleportation flares. Khârn new what those flashes of brilliant light where, he raged in hatred, believing that he was going to be denied his trophy. Shadows appeared from the teleportation flare, in the distinctive shape of Indomitus pattern terminator armour. The teleportation flares dissipated and bone white Terminators were revealed, they let rip with their storm bolters, cyclone missile launchers and plasma cannons. The Butcherhorde replied in kind and the battle for the City began again. Khârn saw a familiar face leading the assault. It was none other than Azrael; chapter master of the Dark Angels. He had run from Khârn before and Khârn had promised Khorne that he would take his skull. He charged after him ignoring Bjorn, knowing he could collect his skull later. Khârn was going to be denied again as the Dark Angels had no intentions of fighting this battle. They, surrounded Bjorn and deployed a teleporter homer. Khârn roared as he charged at them psychotically, his hearts were exploding, he was closing in on them and he was disgusted at his desperation. One of the Dark Angels was working the beacon and within seconds they were gone. They had teleported back to their flagship in high orbit above the planet. Khârn could not contain his fury, both his trophies were gone, Azrael had slipped his grasp again. He looked to the sky, his eyes rolling into the back of his skull, his body was tense and twitching, his muscles contracted with extreme pressure. Khârn roared into the sky, it was like the combined raving screams of an insane asylum. He turned the focus of his rage upon his Berzerkers, carving up two or three at a time, roaring and cursing as he planted Gorchild into one Berzerkers skull so hard that the shock in tremored up his fist and arm, breaking the chains around his wrist.

Bjorn regained consciousness onboard the Dark Angels flagship. Trueclaw was lying beside him, it was in relatively good shape considering the attack. Azrael stood over Bjorn, though it only seemed as such, as Bjorns dreadnought torso was taller in width lying down than the Chapter master was standing at full height, Azrael bowed solemnly in respect to Bjorn. Bjorn had known the Emperor at the time that he walked the stars, he had fought throughout the Great Crusade, suffered the Horus Heresy and helped enact the retribution that was the Great Scouring. He was a legend amongst not just Imperial citizens, but even amongst the Adeptus Astartes. His kill counter had more kills than whole chapters, he was a relic from the past and had served the Imperium and given more to mankind than any other Astartes or Imperial soldier. The Dark Angels had their bitter rivalries with the Wolves, but they had nothing but respect for Bjorn. It also helped that, unlike the rest of the Rout, Bjorn actually liked the Dark Angels and every time they fought together they meshed and worked together really well. Two other Dark Angels went over to knell beside Azrael, Bjorn grunted in protestation, however.
‘Rise brother... I should be bowing to you. If it weren’t for you and your Chapters help, I’d be lying on the red snow.’
‘We feared you dead. We have reinforced your fleet, we’ll get you back with your brothers. More vessels have appeared in system, though we do not know if they are friend or foe. Until we can ascertain their intentions, we will stay in orbit. The Traitors don’t seem to be unleashing their fleet upon us, so you will have time to fix your armour. You can feel free to use our tech-priests in the time being. Our inner circle will hold council on how we will go forth from here. We’re glad you’re alive Fellhanded.’

This day would never be forgotten by the Butcherhorde, Khârn had decimated most of his company, as well as many other Berzerkers from other companies. From that day forward, Khârn cursed Azrael’s name and began an obsession of finding the coward that had slipped his grasp for a second time. Khârn was lying on the apothecarion table, Krall seeing to his wound. The mark the wolf had left would take time to heal. The rest of his wounds would be healed within a day or two, mostly superficial. Krall spent a long time taking out all the shrapnel from Khârn’s arm and as Khârn sat in silence, the shame weighed heavily upon him. The butchers nails had made themselves known not long after the battle, pounding and screwing into his mind. He had ten thousand years of knowing the pain of the nails, but every now and then, the pain was close to unbearable. He would be down in the fighting pits as soon as Krall had stopped bumbling about with his various medical tools. Khârn would break the ceasefire, between the World Eaters and the loyalists. The Black Legion had entered the system and each army were using the amount of time it would take for the Black Legion to converge on their position to re-arm, repair and plan for the next engagement. It would be void war again and Khârn would be the first in the boarding party to break into the Dark Angels fleet. Khârn would take the two skulls he had promised Khorne.