/tg/ Heresy Writefaggotry

This page details people, events, and organisations from The /tg/ Heresy, a fan re-working of the Warhammer 40,000 Universe.

This page is dedicated to all those contributors who are either with the project or have left. Be warned, some of this stuff is outdated. Check the actual pages of the Legions and other stuff mentioned to get the full picture and all of the truth.

Writefaggotry

Many writefags free time was lost to bring us this...

Assembled stories, snippets, and bits from the threads.

Before the Crusade

Praise to Chaos

The following was found scrawled across the hallways of a derelict vessel.

First and last, the Lord of Decay
Borne unto us under sickly skies of green
Ushered in to this world on seven dying breathes
Your birth cries were a balm of laughter

To you we owe eternity our stalwart friend
Who takes our pain and soothes our souls
Who shepherds our souls to the everlasting
We bless you Nurgle

Second born, the Changer of Ways
Within the womb of thunderous blue you could not wait
With naught but nine whispers you were free
A beacon of hope against the dark

To you we owe all wisdom our secret master
Who showed us the hope and sorcery
Who took our feeble forms and made them better
We bless you Tzeentch

Third born, Taker of Skulls
Your womb was a world drowned in red
Cut free from its flesh by eight empires
Your screams proclaimed your might

To you we owe power our mighty champion
Who blessed us with us with the strength to challenge
Who forged us the way of honor
We bless you Khorne

Fourth but not Final, the Prince of Pleasure
Your unborn slumber roused by pink flesh writhing in ecstasy
Waiting no more you took six perfected masters as your own
Your majesty stilled the cosmos

To you we owe all delights our perfected noble
Who polished our souls unto glory
Who takes us to revel in bliss
We bless you Slaanesh

Not all gods have been born to us the blessed
Three more slumber unborn; their hour not yet here
But if you listen their cries can be heard
Jostling in their cosmic womb for their chance

The Golden Tyrant, for you we wait
To you all will bow and beg their place
And in the gears of your great machine
All souls are put pieces of a puzzle

The Ashen Mother, for you we wait
The tender caress of your cloying roots
To your loving touch the walls of minds will crumble
And together we will all be one

The Black Renegade, for you we wait
Your guidance will exalt the soul to stand alone
The cries of division are a chorus to your ears
And the curses of your kin are but badges of honor

Thamoraz's Price

O mighty Lord of Decay, Grandfather Nurgle Who succors our souls and salves our despair Who shepherds us all from his garden of mirth Whose hand stays death and welcomes us all Remember your due, O Plague Lord

The terror of death that shows them your path The horror of blight that begs your caress With no reaper's due your garden'd run bare Without great Thamoraz none would come begging for you So remember your due, he asks only fear

O mighty changer of ways, Sorcerous Tzeentch Who evolves our souls and leads us to hope Who weaves our fates from his labyrinth of crystal Whose gifts grant sight and beckons us forward Remember your due, O Architect of Fate

The terror of ignorance that shows them your path The horror of stagnation that begs your release With no looming doom there'd be no drive to evolve Without great Thamoraz none would come begging for you So remember your due, he asks only fear

O mighty Blood God, Raging Khorne Who challenges our souls and leads us to red-ardor Who stokes our wrath from his throne of skulls Whose resolve bolsters our flesh and drives us on Remember your due, O Taker of Skulls

The terror of weakness that that shows them your path The horror of vulnerability that begs your vengence With no dreadful secrets your axe would sit dry Without great Thamoraz none would come begging for you So remember your due, he asks only fear

O mighty Lord of Excess, Prince Slaanesh Who exalts our souls and leads to perfection Who grants us bliss from her palace so grand Whose beauty inspires and ignites our passions Remember your due, O Dark Prince

The terror of deprivation that shows them your path The horror of poverty that begs your excess With no threatening loss none would seek ever more Without great Thamoraz none would come begging for you

The Skeleton in the Caves

As a babe, the Primarch whould come to be known as Golgothos crash landed on a desolate, grey planet known as Sepulchra. The surface of Sepulchra were inhospitable badlands, with gale force winds kicking up dust storms which could rip the flesh off a man. Fortunately, Golgothos' pod crashed with such force that it pierced through the surface into the caverns below, and it is in these caverns that Golgothos made his home.

As a child, Golgothos lived by foraging for caveworms and scraping moss off of walls. As he grew, he began to hunt larger and larger game. The beasts of Sepulchra fell to his bare hands, and Golgothos would consume everything, leaving only the bones behind.

However, Golgothos' life was not safe, for deep within the caverns lived a clan of Orks. Many times as he was feeding, Golgothos would be discovered by wandering Orks, and be forced to flee. For many years he was forced to live cautiously, fleeing before the echos of Ork grunts.

It was not until he was a man grown that Golgothos chose to face the Orks in battle. The Orks had driven all game from the caverns, and so Golgothos was starving. Delirious and exhausted, Golgothos wandered passageways he had never been to before. Stumbling around a bend, he happened upon three Orks, arguing over the roasting corpse of a cave drake. Golgothos attacked the Orks with a ferocity he did not know he had posessed, kicking, clawing, biting, with his screams of fury echoing across the planet. The Orks never stood a chance.

After that, armed with an Ork Choppa, Golgothos grew to enjoy hunting orks. The Orks came to call him "Da skellytun in da caves," and told eachother tales of the bony creature which ripped apart Orks with its bare hands. Eventually, Warboss Skullgub decided he had had enough, and rallied his Orks to hunt Golgothos.

For months, Skullgub harried Golgothos. While Golgothos was mighty, he could not face hordes of Orks at once, and so he was forced to make numerous tactical retreats. Fleeing before the echoing CLANKS of Skullgub's mega armour, Golgothos came upon a pair of massive metal blast doors. Golgothos had never seen anything man made before, and so he marveled at the doors. However, he was quickly ripped out of his confusion by the CLANK CLANK CLANK of skullgub's approach. Golgothos banged his fists against the control panel in desperation, and miraculously, the door opened.

Within, Golgothos found polished metal hallways, with deep recesses in the walls. In each recess he found the ancient, dusty remains of a man: Golgothos had happened upon a crashed Catacomb Ship from the dark age of technology. He went deeper into the ship, looking for some choke point or other tactical advantage, and found it: A door leading into a personal Tomb. He looked within, and found, laying on a Beir, a well dressed skeleton. The skeleton was decorated with gold jewelry and gems, as well as medals which marked him as a military officer. On the officer's hand, dull grey and coated with a layer of dust, was an ancient Power Fist. With his mighty new weapon, and an advantageous choke point, Golgothos was able to drive off Skullgub's Orks.

The Discovery had confused Golgothos, however. He had never seen another human being before, never even conceived of the possibility that there were others. And yet, here in this catacomb, he had found the skeletal remains of hundreds of men. Golgothos began to think that Men were gods, or perhaps demons, meant to torment the Orks. He spent the next few years guarding the catacombs, and tending to the remains of what he believed to be fallen gods.

Eventually, Skullgub managed to corner Golgothos away from home as he was hunting. Outnumbered, outmatched, and staring down the gob of a gigantic mega armoured warboss, Golgothos called out to the gods for aid. With a loud CRASH, the roof before him caved in, and before Golgothos' tear-filled eyes was a Drop Pod of the Imperium of Man. From this Drop Pod emerged the Emperor himself, along with some of his mighty Space Marines. The Emperor cleaved Skullgub in two with his mighty power sword, and the Marines made short work of the remaining Orks.

The Emperor offered Golgothos a mighty legion to lead, and Golgothos required no convincing. As far as Golgothos was concerned, before him stood the King of the Gods, and such a being should not be questioned. The Emperor did not approve of Golgothos' superstition, but at least it was superstition of human superiority. Golgothos was given the VI Legion, which he named The Entombed.

The Entombed maintain Golgothos' faith to this day, believing humans to be Gods, sent to punish impure and inferior xenos. They guard their fortress monastary, called the Catacomb, and pay much respect to the dead.

Great Crusade Era

Burning Worlds

The world was on fire.

One could not tell if it was day or night from the eternal glow, or the ash that choked the sky. The battlefield was a picture of hell, the hell man had once believed in before the Imperial Truth had swept such superstition away. But here and now, that mythical hell was reborn upon Yaga Prime, sending countless souls to damnation.

Striding through the flames, the Sons of Fire burned everything before them. The human defenders of this world, who had refused to abandon their gods and beliefs, were now either ash or small bands of fleeing survivors, each being run down and burned one after the other.

The war had been won in a single hour and twenty-seven minutes, though the battle still raged on three weeks later. One hour twenty-seven minutes. That had been how long it had taken for his ships to cripple the enemy fleet and fire-bomb every single major city on the planet. Over half the enemy flotilla had been lost in the opening salvos, the rest in the hours and days after. The wreckage now orbited the capital planet, the heart of this system. Following that, twenty-four Modalis-class atmospheric missiles had been launched from the Eternal Conflagration at the surface of Yaga Prime. Each targeted a key strategic location, major cities, strategic hubs, and within seconds billions had burned.

Thus, the war for Yaga Prime was won in one hour twenty-seven minutes. In the months that followed, all that remained was to complete the cull.

First Captain Kariman could feel the blistering heat inside the confines of his Terminator Plate. That meant that outside the temperature must be blistering, near that of the Plasma Reactors his suit had once been designed for.

He strode dispassionately through the carnage, through the fire, flanked by his standard bearer Kleast, the standard singed at the edges, and master of signal Amerauk. The first company was at the heart of the pursuit, passing the blazing hulks of tanks and troop carriers. The crackling sound of burning flesh was everywhere, and the smell, the smell of burned man. That smell was lodged in the nasal cavities of every last Son of Fire. Most loved that smell. Kariman disliked it. I am in the wrong Legion. I take no pleasure in what I have to do.

Most of his brothers took glee in burning all before them, the sickness that it seemed consumed more and more of his Brothers. Even before their Primarch had joined them, the Legion had taken to the use of flame weapons more often than not. Kariman had been young then, and had hoped their Primarch would be a great leader, one who could stand shoulder to shoulder with his Brothers as the Crusade pushed ever onwards.

Then they had found their liege lord, and all had changed.

“Kariman,” A deep, booming voice suddenly crackled through the vox.

He knew instantly who it was.

His Primarch. The Burned King. The Fire Rider. Inferox.

“You are needed. One of the Sigillite’s spawn has arrived to see our progress, and I need you here with me.”

“And why is that sire?”

“So you can restrain me if I get fed up of her twittering and want to see how well she burns.”

He could see in his kind’s eye the Primarch's mighty flame-claw gauntlets flexing. Inferox was hardly co-operative. He was pointed at a world, and told to burn it. To have a representative of the Regent of Terra come, had to mean something was up.

“I’m on my way,” Kariman began, but the line was already dead.

“Kleast? Contact Captain Tamyo and tell him command’s passed to him. I have been summoned.”

“The Primarch?”

“Who else?”

Kleast lowered the standard as he turned to Kariman. “Keep him calm. The last thing we need is another ‘accidental’ death. Emperor knows we've had enough of them in the past.”

Roses Crush The Best

Rosean, an oceanic world covered nearly entirely with water with the exception of a small continent containing its only landmass. It accounts for seventeen percent of the total surface area of the world only. The people of Rosean possess an advanced form of laser technology they had devised after years of isolation. The sudden appearance of the Imperium was at first met with glee, but demands for compliance soon found the small system and the solar empire at war. Lacking in voidships, the Roseans more than make up for this with their fearsome technology which the Imperium eagerly desires to dissect.

The Imperial amassed fleet sits behind one of the two moons of the planet. Heated debate has paralyzed the reclamation force for a week now. The Silver Cataphracts First Captain Sergei had been butting heads with very Primarch of the Mastodontii himself. It had to be getting serious, or else they wouldn't be calling her up. The Lacunan Lifewatch had been posted with the 66th Expedition Fleet with the intention of bringing back less than welcoming human worlds into the loving embrace of the Imperial Truth. But no one had requested the Major General's presence except if they needed to prolong an argument. The Astartes gave orders. They didn't hold meetings that involved the common soldiery, normally. The elevator climbed the many floors of 'Rosskar's Frown' in a flash, reaching the war room with a few minutes to spare before she was supposed to arrive. There were no windows in this section of the ship, as it was in the very heart of the numerous layers of plasteel and ceramite that made the vessel's hull.

Stepping with her right foot out, she stride forward with gloved hands in her coat pocket ever closer to the sounds of bickering Astartes. "Major General Francia?"The question came from her left. The man appeared to be young, but that told you nothing. Rejuvenant treatments were commonplace among the upper echelon of the Imperial Army. His uniform was a dulled white, that of snow. It was nothing remarkable, which was remarkable. It didn't have flashy glint or elaborate designs, but it didn't look like he made it back at his backwater of a homeworld either.

"I am Major General Alexey, of the Rosskar Strelky," It was only polite to greet one's comrade with a handshake, right? Francia didn't think so, and the gesture died between them.

"You're the Silver's dogs, huh?"

"Excuse me, miss?"

"You heard what I said. Your men don't think the Army is good enough for you, I understand."

The young-looking man was taken aback. He found his footing though, replying with a curt, "I did not expect you to be such a bitch."

A smug grin formed on the Lifeguard's commander. "There it is. Old Rosskan fire. Please don't waste my time with pleasantries, I know your people don't waste time with it and I don't either. Can we agree to be honest with each other? We have enough to deal with the Astartes. Alright?"

It appeared as if a weight was lifted off of Alexey's shoulders. The years of training in etiquette and manners melted away in no time. He slouched his back, pulling out a small winter cap to place on his head. "Glad we can find agreement even when others cannot." The yelling of the Captains still rung in the hallway.

"Let's go inside before they notice we're late."

It is an odd place to be between demi-gods. They are giants within armor to make a tank blush, wielding weaponry and strength not able to be conceived by the average soldier. The Lifeguard had fought for three campaigns alongside the Mastodontii, becoming quite accustomed to their tactics and strategies. Alexey had been raised from birth to assume his role as supreme commander of the Strelky, the grand auxiliary forces who support the Silver Cataphracts in their endeavors.

Currently First Captain Sergei 'The Bear' was having the same argument he'd been in with the damn Primarch of the Mastodontii, Tollund Ötztal. The Great Hunter.

As always, Sergei presented his case with the vigor and frozen fury of most Rosskans, "Those lasers will make a convention assault impossible. We'll have a hard enough time organizing out fleet to the orbit of the world so we aren't destroyed by surface-to-stellar batteries! We must move before more satellite defenses can be mustered! They've made another dozen in the time you've been having your 'talks'."

"Those discussions," always Tollund had a way with words that completely enraptured Francia, "As you so easily dismiss could lead to a completely peaceful solution. Even while that may fail, we are exploring completely bypassing those satellites and batteries by contacting sympathetic elements with Rosean. If you would only give it time, my brother."

"You! Are not! My fucking brother!" Sergei slams his Bolter into the table, smashing it and the weapon in two. "You will not see what is clearly necessary in front of you! This world has huge populations of algae which can be harvested to feed worlds which struggle to survive. And you want to preserve a few million when billions could suffer from our inaction? I have damn patience, but not the patience. To do. Nothing!"

If it had been any other Primarch Sergei would either be dead or demoted by now. Always his fiery temperament had brought him to blows with his own Primarch, who admired him for the tenacity that grew within him. Alexey had come to expect it by now, but he never lived in fear of it. Despite the rage Sergei never succumbed to it. No one had ever been hurt by it, except maybe Sergeo himself.

Tollund in regular expected fashion took the bluster and anger without a beat lost. The debate continued for hours, with what to do about this possibility or that outcome or any possible result of their actions. Sergei attempted to out think Tollund, to bring cold reason and hard facts into the equation. While Tollund spoke circles around the furious Captain by showing the clear virtue of handling this with the least amount of blood shed possible.

"The Imperium needs every soul. That includes our own and those of whom we wish to incorporate. You cannot rush progress, Captain."

Alexey spoke up at last, "Yes you can, Primarch. That is exactly what the Imperium is doing. That is what the Imperail Truth is, and that is the entirety of the Rosskan people's history for the past few centuries. Progress obtained from pure will and might."

The room fell silent. A Captain out speaking to the Primarch, this was a possibility. A human outright speaking against him, correcting him, and calling him wrongful was. It gave Francia more than plenty of reasons to take a few steps to the side when Tollund turned about. Instead of a angry glare, a friendly smile looked down upon the Strelky's Major General. "You agree with the Cataphracts philosophy? Not surprising. But you do not have authority here, despite being in such a prominent position within the militia forces of Rosskar. I will let you speak your mind, go on."

"Well, the Roseans obviously do not wish to be part of the Imperium. Their continued deployment of satellites, and the fact we much reach out to fringe groups and extremists to find support displays the sad fact that the majority of the population support this anti-Imperial sentiment. We must act quickly, as Sergei says. Not because he is a Silver Cataphract, but because every satellite represents another thousand or more crewmen dying in the upcoming void battle."

Francia stepped from the shadows to speak out against her colleague, before Tollund was able to reply. The Primarch saw the look in the woman's eyes, and happily allowed her the room. "So, you think just because we can't see the extent of the Pro-Imperial Rosean sentiment, we can't be sure that we could avoid even a space battle? We're talking about millions of lives, an advanced civilization that could even teach us something. This world deserves some time to allow us to reach out to them. If the Imperium struck out at the first signs of resistance, Rosskar would be ashes right now."

All debate was ended with the sound of thunder. A figure marched into the room that demanded immediate reverence and respect from everyone except Primarch Tollund. It was Alexandri, dressed in green and white with a golden power maul in one hand, a lighting claw in the other. His face bore a great, massive long brown beard that ran down the front of his huge suit of armor. The Silver Cataphracts progenitor seemed full of glee as he surveyed the room. "Sorry!" His voice boomed in the room, a making the soft voice of Tollund appear like a faint whisper. "The warp is a fickle mistress. Anyways, my forces have already taken up position on the opposite moon. Those lasers! Dear, they nearly sniped by shuttlecraft. Let us all be thankful they aren't that accurate? Haha!"

Sergei signed heavily, looking to his Primarch with a mix of annoyance and barely concealed anger, "I'm going to say you had a few on the way, didn't you, Alexandri?"

"Perhaps so, perhaps not. Where is my favorite nephew though?"

Alexey smiled wide at his Uncle, speaking up, "Here."

"Aaah! Alexey! I'm glad to see you, we must meet somewhere else when this is all over!"

Tollund actually grew annoyed by his fellow Primarch's actions. He wanted to speak with his brother on how best to solve the Rosean problem. Hopefully with his wise council, they would be able to avoid the complications experienced between himself and Sergei. "Brother, please. Could we speak about Rosean?" Alexandri turned to face his brother, "What about that shit heap of a world?"

"How are we going to deal with it!"

Sergei would never forget the look on Alexandri's face as he spoke the words, "It has already been dealt with, brother."

Tollund's face didn't have time to match up with the horror and revulsion as he uttered the words, "What did you just say?" "Yes, I had my flagship push the lesser moon into the sea. The tidal wave caused will sink the Rosean continent underneath the sea. The problem has been dealt with."

The room went silent. Both sides having been shocked by this act. Sergei was disgusted, Alexey was horrified. While others were left simply stunned Francia charged ahead to stand before the armored bulk of the Primarch. Her words spat forth like venom, her eyes filled with anger, "You act without the rest of us? You are callous, cruel man who on-" One swat was all it took for Alexandri to rip her into several pieces with his power claw. It was remarkable how a hulking giant such a Primarch can move so fast. A flick of the wrist, and a life was ended. "Tollund," Alexandri said flexing his surging blades, "See in the future that you keep better discipline amongst your lesser ranks. I will not suffer an insult like that again. Alexey! Let's go shoot something! I'm sure there must be something to hunt in the underholds!"

This was when Sergei, and Tollund, first began to truly despise Alexandri.

Lazerus Lies in Ashes

‘Kneel,’

One word. Not a word, a command. A command as unbreakable as the very laws of the universe. A command from a living god, from the very apotheosis of all man.

And yet the one commanded resisted.

‘What?’ Aubrey the Grey, Lord of the Eternal Zealots asked, almost confused, unaware of why his Father was doing this.

‘Kneel, Aubrey.’

Slowly but surely, Aubrey lowered himself to one knee.

The Emperor, a being of light and power, now spoke to the prostrate form of his son.

‘You are a general, my son. Not a healer. You were created for war, for conquest, to reunite the human race under the aegis of truth. The human race. Not that of any other species.’

‘I fight for all beings.’ Aubrey was no longer kneeling. He rose to his feet, his voice rising with him. ‘My Legion fights for your vision, for what you want the Imperium to be.’

+It is not my Imperium+

His words were now laced with power, enough power to destroy a million souls, the power that could force any being to comply with them.

+It is the Imperium of Man. Of Man, Aubrey. The empire of humanity. Tell me, were those, things that raised you men?+

Aubrey could not answer. He knew the truth, knew what was coming, He didn’t want to face it, but it was coming as unstoppably as the passage of time.

+Remember what I told you, the day we first met. Xenos are never to be trusted. They are treacherous, selfish beings that want nought but their own advancement, not ours. They would throw all mankind on the pyre for but a day more of life. They have used you, my son. Used you as a way to get what they want. Not what I want+

He now dropped his power and used his flesh voice, no less potently.

‘You are blind, my son. You cling to ancient perceptions, and endanger us all with them. Let this end, Aubrey. Let this end with you heeding my words.’

Aubrey still knelt where he was, trembling. Blood ran from one ear, running in a slow trail down his neck.

‘I am listening, father,’ he slowly said.

The then once more made his address, this time to the whole Legion. Every Astartes on all the ships orbiting Lazarus now heard these words.

+Eternal Zealots, hear me well. You, among all my Legions, are guilty of failure. You have won many victories, but they have all been hollow. You have embraced vipers to your breast, and nurtured the true foes of humanity+

+You allied with and supported xenos races, many of whom preyed on humanity during old night. You gave them our weapons and taught them about us. You armed our foes. While all others succeed and bring prosperity to the Imperium, you alone have failed me+

The emperor now gestured at the planet below, As light began to bloom upon its surface.

+So in punishment, Lazarus is forfeit. Even now your loyal, true brother Bohemond executes my orders. Lazarus burns, for all the crimes you have committed against me+

Aubrey stared as the fire spread across the planet, the image burning forever into his mind.

+Wage war as you were created to do. Serve the Imperium as you were born to do. Destroy all foes who dare to face us, leave no xenos between here and the eternal void. Take with you the lesson learned here this day. You kneel in the ruination found at the end of a false path. Let this be your Legion’s rebirth+

The primarch managed a weak ‘Father…’ but it was spoken to emptiness. Another sonic boom of displacing air heralded the Emperor’s return to his Flagship.

And as his homeworld burned, and all he had once knew was ripped away forever, Aubrey crashed to his knees at last.

Hints of Nikaea

It was on Ullanor, meeting on the Triumph Plain with the last blood of the slain greenskins still stinking in the air, that those who could see what was coming gathered to confer.

"Greetings, brother," Cyaxares had said, grinning across his strange ruddy face. "It has been too long."

Aubey the Grey, the prodigal son, bowed. "Indeed. Not since before, Father had words with me."

Cyaxares gave a reaffirming clasp onto Aubrey’s pauldron, resting his hand there. The old pain of Lazerus, and of his adoptive race, felt distant. For the moment. Darius spoke calmly, and as if he understood his woe, "Indeed. Fortunately the past is past. You are forgiven, one with the family again. How are you? You look leaner than you were, if such a thing were possible."

Aubrey gave an equivocal shrug. He had seen much in the Eye, had seen the truth of creation. It had worn at him, changed him in ways even now he had yet to understand.

Cyaxares led him to a pavilion, where several of his brothers were also gathered. "I dislike these gatherings," was the greeting Alexandri of the Silver Cataphracts gave as he looked out over the plain at the gathering masses. Alexandri was a cold soul, but he had just as good a reason to be here as the others.

"Good." Said the Voidwatcher who could quite possibly the most psykically powerful of all of those present, as he got up to face Aubrey. "We are all here. We need to confer."

"About the Librarius?" Aubrey asked.

"You must have heard the rumours," Alexandri replied.

The Voidwatcher grinned his signature sickening smile, "There are always rumours. Lumey can shout his ignorance as much as he likes. I think the rest of the Imperium is learning to ignore him."

"It is not just Lumey. Arelex, Krainos. There is no shortage to the ignorant. Many who fear us, who hate us. Who would see us and our numbers, culled."

"Worry less," said Cyaxares, "There will always be suspicion of the gifted. We have to manage it, to explain it."

The Voidwatcher snorted, "They will destroy what we have built. None of them rest easily with what our Father has allowed. If we do not guard what we have won–"

"You forget one thing," Darius said quickly, cutting off the tattooed son of Ostium.

"Which is?" the Voidwatcher shot back, annoyed at the interruption.

"Our father," said Cyaxares fondly, "He set this thing in motion – can you imagine him letting the attack dogs ruin it? Lumey and Arelex will be given their chance to fulminate, I have seen it. Our only task, my elusive friend, is to remain true to reason."

"Yes, but what if Father listens to them?" Snapped the Voidwatcher, now bearing teeth, "Do not blindly trust in our Father to do what we want him to. His decisions are His own, and He can change them if He wants."

"Indeed," Alexandri said, his voice deep and angered, "Which is why we must not let that happen. We must present a united front. Only together can we ensure that the witch-hunters do not win." He stressed the word ‘Witch’, with a snarl playing about his lips. Aubrey had heard that psyker covens had been present on Rosskar, and that was the origin of the Psykers of the 24th Legion. He had no psychic power in him, unlike the Voidwatcher, Cyaxres or even Otztal, who wasn’t present for Ullanor.

"Why do we need to do this? Has Father given an inkling of any plans to deal with the Librarius?" Aubrey asked.

"Why is he gathering fifteen of us here Aubrey?" The Voidwatcher replied, softening his tone as if talking to a child, "You can feel in the air can't you? An event is on the horizon. And if He’s going to do anything without first seeing to the Librarius, then He’s a bigger fool than I thought. And Father is many things, but never a fool."

"So, what do we do then?" Aubrey asked, dark thoughts already curling in his mind. He would converse with the Gods, and see how this could be turned to their benefit.

"We talk," Voidwatcher stated, "We create a united ideal. We ensure our message is the same. The power the Librarius grants to us. The ideas of the future. The psychic potential that all humans have, and which must be nurtured. The power that is our birthright. Appeal to what Father knows, what He Himself wants of us all. We do that, and we ensure nothing goes wrong."

"And what if we fail?" Alexandri replied his voice full of disbelief, "What if we lose, and the Librarius is abolished, and all Psychic powers disposed of."

"Once a mind is opened it can never be closed,"The Voidwatcher said, voice now drained of all emotion, "This will not go against us. It cannot, and we will make it so."

"And it won’t." Cyaxares smiled. "Don’t be so dour you two. This is merely a precaution. We don’t know exactly what’s to happen yet. We merely know something will happen. Keep calm and carry on." He then turned to Aubrey. "You’ve been silent Brother. What do you think of all this?"

Aubrey shrugged again. "We do not know enough yet to be this worried. Precautions are good, but I do not see what all the fuss should be about. When Father speaks, when we learn why we have all been summoned here, then we should make plans. Until then, I have other things to deal with. Now, must we linger on this dust-clogged plain all morning, or does the Imperium’s munificence here extend to something to eat?"

The Temptation of Onyx

Onyx Sat down to meditate in the Sanctum aboard the Everest. It had been a long-fought war against the monstrous creatures known as the Jormmund, and he was spent physically, as well as mentally. He had lost many brothers in this costly campaign, at least 20,000 by the Apothecaries' latest count. The Emperor had a statue erected in his legion's honor on the home world of the horrific titans, Jormungand. He was also gifted the grand Everest, a super battle cruiser in development since his discovery on Neolithus. The Emperor figured it a fitting reward for fighting off such a terrible foe, and presented it on the celebratory day of victory. Now, he could finally take respite from war and reclaim his senses. His eyes closed and his stern, chiseled expression froze on his face.

He saw himself standing with the other primarchs, and in front of them, the mighty Emperor addressing the people of Terra. He remembered this day, it was an announcement that all the sons of the glorious Emperor had been recovered, and that the Great Crusade could now fully begin. Onyx felt something, almost like inadequacy. He towered over many of the Primarchs, and even the Emperor himself. But that was not were his insecurities lied, no, he felt that he was just simply not a son of the father of mankind. All his life he had thought himself a normal man. Well, perhaps not normal, but at least a mortal. Now he was expected to be a son of the most god-like being in all of humanity. Then, all of a sudden, a flash of light blinded him temporarily. When his eyes had adjusted, he found himself on the plains of Jormungand, fighting in the Collossi wars. The cyclonic torpedo that had created the blinding flash dissipated into a plume of black smoke, and the surroundings became clear. This was the final hour of the war, the fall of the Jormmund. Instinctively, he turned to see the final titan: the largest of them all, bigger than 3 Emperor class titans combined. It straddled a craggy mountain like a mere footstool; It's twisted, gnarled arms crushing and pummeling his forces. "You did this. You felled the giants, as mighty as they were. Why do you doubt yourself, son of Neolithus?" Onyx turned to direction of the voice, and saw a blood-red space marine. He was taller than even he, and very clearly stronger. His armor was adorned with golden medals, sashes, and ornaments. At his side lay a massive chainaxe, pristine as if it had never been used.

"You think yourself mortal. This could not be farther from the truth. You are not only immortal, you are indestructible. A true immovable object, and an unstoppable force. No man could stand in your way, even the Emperor."

Onyx turned to see the final Jorrmund again. It was visibly tiring, and beginning to fall. "This is your power. Your might. Your fist. Not the Emperor's, not the Imperium's."

"And what of my men?" Onyx responded. "Are they not of mention?"

"They are your sons. It is only natural they inherit your incredible power."

The red marine positioned himself next to Onyx, and the two watched the final giant fall.

"The Emperor wishes to control you. Your power. His wishes are against your own, and as long as you remain under his yoke you will suffer the whip. The Emperor is weak, a false idol. He will lead you to disaster, and all of humanity will left to crawl among the remains of his failed "empire". Only a pathetic fool would follow such a weakling."

Onyx turned and thrust his fist into the figure's gut. The red marine was thrown from his feet, his armor was fractured, and blood leaked from the cracks.

"It is not wise to insult a man's father, lest you suffer the wrath if his sons."

The red marine choked on blood as his helmet and rebreather began to overflow with red ichor. Onyx pondered helping, or just killing him outright. Then the marine stood up.

"I've had enough of your excuses, astartes, so you can cast off that thin shroud of justice and morality you cling to. Embrace the bloodthirst that hungers within you; your need to kill is so overwhelming I can smell it. why do you continue to supress it?"

Onyx clenched his fists and his teeth, and charged at the red marine. The marine moved unnaturally fast, and struck Onyx in the jaw. Blood ran from his lip, and stained his white beard. Onyx laid against a rock, his jaw stinging with pain. How this... thing could manage to hurt him so easily was unthinkable to Onyx. He was disoriented, and came to just as a chainaxe descended from above him. Onyx rolled out of the way, narrowly escaping the spinning blade. He charged at the monster, grabbed the chainaxe, attempting to disarm the red being. As Onyx struggled, he realized the marine's appearance had changed. His many gold medals had morphed into various ghoulish trinkets and bones. His armor was covered in blood and viscera, and his mask had a haunting expression imprinted on it. His eyes glowed red, like a near-dead sun ready to burst. The red beast flung Onyx back, and raised his chainaxe.

"YOU DARE ATTACK ME IN MY OWN REALM? THE REALM OF CHAOS? I WILL MAKE YOU SUFFER BEYOND COMPREHENSION; I WILL MAKE YOU DIE A THOUSAND DEATHS OVER A THOUSAND EONS. YOU WILL KNOW FEAR, FOR I WILL TEACH IT TO YOU."

The chainaxe descended, then stopped. Onyx had grabbed the blade. His hands were hot with his blood, and his muscle strained against the massive bulk before him.

"No, daemon, know this; You were foolish to underestimate me."

Onyx pulled with his remaining strength, until the red behemoth finally gave way. Onyx ran at the stunned monster, and thrust the hilt through the downed beast's skull. The world began to crumble around him, as the currents and floes of the warp tore alart his vision and engulfed him.

Onyx awoke from his delusion covered in sweat, and collapsed to the floor. He struggled to his knees, gasping for breath as he called for his attendant to bring him a flask of water. He was shaken, perhaps even more than on Jormungand. He had won, defeated his spectral assailant; but at what consequence?

Gray and Gold

“Brennus! I must admit I was surprised when you called me to your ship while the planet is yet won, but here, to this forge? This does not seem like one of your celebrations.”

Brennus shook his head. “It is no celebration, brother. A...matter has arisen which I must call to your attention, privately.” He gestured to a small table near the wall, away from the massive bellows and the clutter of tools that dominated the workshop.

Aubrey sat, still puzzled. “Have my men shown some defect, or given offense?”

“No, hardly,” Brennus chuckled, sitting himself opposite his brother and pouring a measure of pale wine for both of them. “Your men are exemplary. You do not shy away from battle, but nor do you rush in as did the Emerald Doom. And giving your squad leaders medical training is wise indeed; the men to be healed must trust their healer, and you have made them close to the warriors they will treat.”

“You would not have called me here like this to pay compliments that could be spoken before any ears.” Aubrey took a draft of wine, and shuddered slightly. “This is powerful drink, brother. Do you wish me drunk before you reveal your purpose?”

Brennus sighed, drained his flagon, and gestured to the corner. “No Aubrey. But it may ease the blow. Sergeant?”

As Aubrey turned, Brennus noticed the way his brother's jaw seemed to nearly unhinge itself. The unhelmed Space Marine sergeant stepped from the dark corner he had occupied, along with his squad mates and a small group of the Horned Gods. But the marines were not what was so stunning about this gathering; surrounded by the wall of ceramite that was the Thunder Kings were a handful of strange, reptilian beings, each bearing a cloak with the sigil of the Eternal Zealots. They were unarmed, but the guns carried by their escorts were clearly not of legion make, and the damage sustained made it clear that these were the erstwhile allies whose corrosive fire had so piqued the High King's curiosity.

Brennus had, however inadvertently, discovered the presence of the Tarellian Auxiliary.

“Are you MAD, brother?!” The goblet flew into the wall, shattering into a thousand pieces, as Aubrey expressed his displeasure with his sibling. “Could you not simply leave well enough alone? Who have you told of this?! How many in your legion know that we have been shadowed by the Tarellians during this campaign?! Answer me!”

“Aubrey, my friend, be at ease.” Brennus, his hands out in a placating gesture, approached his brother. “As of this moment, none know of the incident save for you, I, and those of my legion here.” He indicated each member of the assembled legionaries in turn, finishing the movement at Ferdiad. “These are all men I know I can trust; you should know well to trust Ferdiad, given the amount of time you two have worked together.” He flashed the lopsided smile that would baffle so many, and placed a friendly hand on Aubrey's shoulder. “And I assume your own men know of their presence. But this can be kept as close to my chest as it needs to, brother. I have no desire to spread your secrets. But...”

“But what, Brennus?” Aubrey turned from his brother and toward the others in the room; Ferdiad caught a look in the primarch's eye that could have been anything from relief to terror. “Unless you wish to chastise me as did our father, I can see no purpose to this...confrontation.”

There was a deafening silence as Brennus collected his thoughts. “Brother, I...I simply do not understand. You know our father's beliefs on this subject. You must know of the history of our galaxy, and the depredations we have suffered at the hands of fomor like these. What could be your reasoning for associating with them? Do you not fear betrayal?”

Aubrey finally cracked a smile. “Fomor, brother? I am afraid I do not know this word.”

“Ahh. My apologies. On Alessia, the word is used to refer to a race of daemons of ages past. Their leader was a great monster, whose eye cast death wherever it glanced.” Brennus returned to the table and fetched another goblet, bringing it to his brother. “The hero who slew him became the god the tribes believe sired me. I will tell you the tale in full, another time.”

“So I see.” Aubrey sipped at the wine, and sighed aloud. “Imagine, brother, that when our father had come to Alessia, he denounced the race who raised you, who taught you everything, who sheltered you. He had no praise for the world of your founding, only admonishments against the only beings you had ever known. Would you so easily cast the men of Alessia aside? Would you give them no leave to prove themselves, to show that not all 'fomor' are treacherous, or monsters?”

His brother drank silently. These were not questions to which he had the answers.

“Brennus, I can tell that you do not approve. Do you feel no sympathy for these beings, who are but men in another shape?”

“Brother...” Aubrey turned to face Brennus as he continued to speak. “I will not chastise you for this. It is not my place to criticize, or scold you; I am not as Alexandri, with a heart of ice and stone. If you wish, I shall say nothing of this outside these doors, and nor shall my men. But, brother, if you will not cast these xenos from your service, then do me this favor: be on your guard. I should not like to see any of my siblings betrayed. Least of all those I would count as friends.”

Aubrey smiled, and returned his brother's earlier gesture, his hand lightly placed on the other primarch's shoulder. “I shall heed your words, my friend. Now, if we are finished, I would quite like to return my auxiliary to the surface with none the wiser.”

“I have but one more item, Aubrey.” Brennus strode over to his workbench, and selected a finely tooled leather belt from the clutter; as he returned, the Surgeon could see that there were two scabbards, each occupied by a combat knife, scaled for a primarch. “I have forged you a pair of rune blades. I call them Liath and Óir, or Gray and Gold in Alessian.” He held out the belt to his brother, showing the ornate buckle depicting the two fighting side by side on Centia, in the first battle of their campaign. “It would do me much honor if you would wear the blades in battle. Perhaps if you lose a sword, one will serve as a backup.”

Aubrey readily buckled the belt about his waist, adjusting the scabbards to rest just behind the hilts of his swords. “A precious gift indeed, my brother; many thanks. I shall strive to use them in a way that brings honor to us both.” As he drew Óir from it's sheath, and flipped the blade into the air, he grinned wickedly at his brother. “And now, Brennus, I believe that you and I have a planet still to conquer.”

Brennus smiled his lopsided smile once again, as his dear friend caught the blade and returned it to the sheath. “Lead on, Surgeon,” he laughed, slapping Aubrey on the back. “Lead on.”

Hektor Heresy Era

The Duel at Isstvan V

Removed due to continuity problems. To be re-written.

The Razing of Neolithus

Onyx was rushed onboard the Everest on a SM heavily customized thunderhawk made for ground-to-space troop transport called the Condor. He had taken heavy damage during the battle on Isstvan V, and the SM were forced to retreat in the face of numerous opposition and superior firepower. Roughly 30,000 died in the retreat, leaving only half of the legion alive. The Stone Fleet had been ground to dust by the traitorous fleets, leaving only the Everest intact. Fortunately, the ship was built like none other, and could stave off the encroaching ships during the retreat as well as carry the 20,000 fleeting marines. Onyx was transported to a medicae station on the lower cargo deck of the Everest's 12th kilometre-division. The towering giant lay on a massive adamantium workbench, with numerous apothecaries on loan from the Scions of Europa tending to his wounds. He had sustained 7 bolter rounds to his shoulder, 10 to his torso, a vicious burn on his leg, and a chainsword gash across his chest (which they hoped was not tainted by chaos). The wounds were healing, but slowly and not enough to prevent blood loss. The apothecaries came to an agreement and carefully removed the many stone-like plates of his armor from the injury sites. The primarch was tended to with both caution and urgency, for the battle may have ended, but the war waged on. Kranios's forces were surely going to Neolithus as well, and with chaos at their behest, they may very well have been there before them. Onyx awoke on the table, the apothecaries having finished healing him to the best of their abilities. Jorteng Tark and Brenn Corundus, Onyx's highest ranking captains, were waiting for him. Jorteng was a rough marine, with a blocky figure, wide shoulders, and a face like a poorly-chiseled hunk of granite with a braided black beard and a buzz-cut. Brenn was more charismatic, with a slightly more rounded face and just an intimation of shaven facial hair on his younger-looking chin. "My lord-brother, are you awake?" Corundus asked the roused primarch. "Aye, brother. What in the Emperor's name happened?" Onyx groaned, fatigue draining his words. "The damned traitors got the best of us. Turns out the Mastodontii 'ave gone heretic, as well as the Horns and the Gorgers. They caught us by surprise, attacked our flank. We were thrown into a meat grinder, and the only way out was up." Jorteng relayed. "lost my left hand to a Gorger Tomahawk's chainaxe." Jorten raised his bandaged stump to emphasize his point. Onyx put his face in his hands and sighed deeply. He rose. "How many." Brenn glanced at Tark. "How many died in the retreat." Tark broke the silence. "Twenty-eight chapters and portions of the rest. In total, Thirty Thousand." Onyx's face darkened. "They have died honorably, giving their lives so that we may carry on. What is our heading?" Corundus rose and briefed the Primarch. "Twelve months out to Neolithus. We're taking the tempestus corridor, which would usually make the trip faster, but the damned warp storms are slowing us down. We're afraid Kranios and his dogs might get there first." "Prepare all able-bodied troops for combat. Salvage or repare as many vehicles and equipment as we can, and get me another suit. Let us show the Horns of Ruin how the Legion of Stone treats traitors."

The Everest and its small convoy arrived just outside Neolithian orbit, entering combat positions as they closed in on the space around the planet. Kranios's fleet was busy hammering away at the formidable planetary defenses, and making worrying progress. The Horns of Destruction rampaged across the planet's surface, destroying military and civilian structures alike. The Neolithian serfs were slowing them down significantly, but they were no space marines and the Horns continued to advance. The lord-admiral of the Everest, Regis Tungsten, moved into his battle-station. "Engage the long-range cannons! load the torpedo bays and prepare for enemy retaliation! SHOW THEM NO MERCY!" The gargantuan guns of the beastly cruiser peppered the fleet as the Everest drew nearer to the surface. Onyx and the remaining 20,000 marines prepared for a large-scale deep-strike across the continent. Small hatches on the underbelly of the Everest flung open, and a shower of adamantine canisters carrying deadly cargo fell through the sky. The Stone Men rained literal hell upon the Horns, decimating their somewhat-outnumbered forces. Onyx was suspicious of Kranios, for he was not one to restrain the use of overwhelming force, yet he had withheld most of his troops fleet-side. Regardless, the Stone Men cascaded like a wave of rock through the attacking marines, until only the fleet above remained, constantly bombarding the surface. "Onyx Lithus to Everest, we have taken planetside with minimal resistance. What is your situation?" A nervous vox transmuter answered the call. "We're taking heavy fire, but she can handle it. I don't know if we can beat them, sir, we've only got one battleship. Granted, she's the Everest, I just don't think we have the logistical ability." "Affirmative. Retreat to the outer perimeter of the system. We can hold the planet while we hail for backup. Onyx out."

Then the bombardment stopped. Smoke rolled across the rocky crags of Neolithus, silence ringing in the air. Kranios's fleet descended to high-atmospheric geocentric orbit, hanging 10 kilometers away from Onyx's position. "What the hell are they doing?" Brenn said through the vox transmitter. Then Onyx felt something in his gut. A deep, ancient instinct burned into his soul resurfacing in his chest that told him one thing: flee "Retreat!" Onyx hastily shouted. Onyx's veteran legionnares understood the severity of his tone. They boarded their co dprs as quickly as they could, while the rest hesitated for but a moment. Then the sky grew dark, a faint burning smell drifted across the plains. a beam of pure, chaotic energy burst forth from a massive planet-directed cannon on Kranios's flagship. The typhonic storm of daemonic energy tore through the atmosphere and washed over the land like a torrent of water. Onyx watched in horror as the land was torn, burnt, shredded, and disintegrated in a flood of daemons and chaos. The marines that had not boarded the shuttles in time were either annihilated by chaos energy, thrashed and eaten by daemons, or plucked from reality by massive tendrils of unholy gods. The few survivors rendezvoused at the battered Everest, as the planet below burned and swarmed with tempestuous evil. A dark silence blanketed the ship as they all came to terms with the unimaginable. Neolithus was dead, a casualty of the war, along with countless Stone Marines. The cacophonous sounds of cannon fire were the only thing audible in the massive conclaves within the ship, for none had a word to speak. Finally, Onyx broke the silence; "Captain Corundus, how... how many remain." Corundus responded woefully "A large portion of the veteran chapter and some others. We managed to rescue the last class of neophytes from the planet, if it helps our position at all." Then Onyx rose to address his last 1,000 men.

"Brothers, if I even have honor left to call you that, hear me. I must claim responsibility for these events which have lain heavily upon my heart, for it is through my inaction and inability we have failed so terribly." Brenn Corundus, who was standing next to him, interceded by loudly whispering "Brother Onyx, you cannot blame this wholly on yourself, it naught be-" "I must take responsibility for that which I am responsible." Onyx said, his tremendous voice wavering. "I do not have the right, nor privilege to order you on this mission. I will, however, ask you as a brother in arms, to follow me." A marine with a shoddily constructed prosthetic leg and a stump of bandages where his right arm should be stepped forward. "I am Sergeant Ural of the Petran Wolves, 4th chapter of the Stone Legion. my arm was lopped off by a halberd at Isstvan, and it was there I thought would be my grave. My squad was pinned down behind a rock formation at the front of the line, with no hope for rescue. Then I saw him. Brother Onyx lead a one-man charge into the enemy's forces. He drew the fire from our squad unto himself, allowing us time to move positions. We joined the larger charge and move forward at Onyx's back, holding the line. When he fell I wavered naught, for I knew my duty now. I covered the apothecaries as they carried him away, for his spirit still remained in me as if he were still there. Brother Onyx, I would follow you into the eye of terror." Onyx stood quiet. The marine sergeant bashed his left fist on his chest-plate. Another joined in, and soon the entire hall was filled with the unified sound of a thousand marines.

"FOR NEOLITHUS!" a marine shouted.

"FOR ISSTVAN!" shouted another. "FOR OUR BROTHERS!" Onyx felt a new vigor inside of him. He called for the Admiral on his radio. "Admiral Tungsten, how many torpedoes do we have left?" "About a hundred boarding torpedoes, and 9 hundred breaching torpedoes." "Good. I have a plan." "I heard your speech, Onyx. I only have one thing to ask." "What is it, Regis?" "Go tear that bastard Kranios a new asshole"

Onyx and the only able-bodied marines left piled into the boarding torpedoes, and the Everest's many cannons hesitated for a brief moment. A storm of torpedoes was fired from ever tube on the ship, lighting the sky with fire and smoke. Kranios began to fire upon the swarm. "Where are those torpedoes headed?" Kranios shouted from his immense throne. "The cruiser to our forward port side, my lord. I'm afraid the cloud is too dense for us to destroy them all." buzzed a dark mechanicus priest. Kranios laughed. "Those marines were weak anyway."

The Talon of Rage was struck by a massive barrage of missiles, sending the ship lurching to it's side. There was minimal critical damage, but the hull was shredded to bits. a dark mechanicus tech marine arrived at a hull breach to assess the damage. He saw a huge projectile that had crashed through the wall. What he didn't see was the armored fist that went straight through his chest.

"The Talon of Rage is still operational my lord, but it seems that they have lost communications." "It matters not, they must be so overwhelmed by grief that they have lost their sense! Wasting your entire torpedo store on a light cruiser? Bah!" Kranios let out a horribly deep and thundering laugh. "Continue firing on the ship. She'll be dead in no-" "Uhh, sir?" "What is it, welp?" "The Talon is turning around." "What?"

The Talon fired its port side boosters, spinning the massive ship around to face the Flagship, Kranios's Pinnacle of Doom. Suddenly it fired its forward engines, crashing through several frigates on its path of destruction. the Pinnacle fired a volley of missiles and cannon shots, but it was too late. The Talon slammed into the side of the Pinnacle, tearing a hole straight through the Gloriana-class flagship. "Sir! We've got boarders!" Kranios was visibly upset. He slammed his fist down on his throne. "THAT BASTARD! SEND IN OUR TROOPS! IF IT'S A FIGHT HE WANTS I'LL GIVE HIM A GODDAMNED FIGHT!"

The Horns of Ruin were at a huge disadvantage within the cramped halls of the starship, unable to use explosives or heavier weapons. They charged endlessly into the Stone Men Veterans, crushed by their fists and incinerated by their meltaguns. The SM flooded in from the Talon of Rage, sweeping through the ship like a wave of vengeance. The column of marines made it to the entrance of the ship's bridge with Onyx at the head. Onyx turned to his men. "You all have shown incredible bravery and valor. I am proud to have lead you all, but now I must ask you to return to the Everest. This is something I must do alone. Kranios's men will not fire on their own ships without his command, so you can escape safely." The Marines hesitantly piled into the shuttles, but they understood their primarch's orders. This was the last time they would see him. Onyx received a call on his vox. It was Captain Corundus: "It's been an honor serving under you, brother." "I shall be seeing our brother soon, I think. As well as our ancestors." Onyx said wistfully.

Onyx ascended the long, black staircase into Kranios's throne room. He sat upon a dark throne adorned with numerous symbols and trophies of chaos. It was massive, with a huge transparent, domed ceiling. Columns of bone and spikes adorned the walls. Kranios rose from his black throne and spoke in his storming voice. "Welcome, brother, to my arena! Do you like it? I think it needs something on the walls, I was thinking about adding your blood to it, after I break your spine and sacrifice you to the dark gods!" Onyx walked to the center of the arena and glared at Kranios for a few moments. "What's wrong, grox got your tongue? speak!" Kranios shouted, slightly annoyed. Onyx muttered only three words: "You will die." Kranios pulled a massive warhammer in the shape of a ram from the rack next to his throne. He let out a thunderous laugh and lept into the arena below. Onyx and Kranios walked towards eachother, weapons at the ready. Onyx's power fists crackled with super-charged energy. Kranios's daemonic hammer glowed intensely with red taint, and sizzled with dark miasma. Kranios let out a war cry and ran towards Onyx. Onyx did the same. The black warhammer collided with Onyx's fist, pushing both of them back. Onyx recovered and swung at Kranios, but Kranios stopped his fist with the head of his hammer. Kranios raised his massive weapon and swung three times, only to be blocked by Onyx's huge fists. Kranios swung one more time, letting out another war cry. Onyx grabbed the hammer with his right hand, the daemonic taint corroding his hand armor. He threw the hammer away in one swift move, then used his left fist to uppercut Kranios in the gut. Kranios landed a few feet away, and Onyx ran towards the fallen primarch with burning death in his eyes. Kranios called out through his vox, his voice gurgled by blood in his mouth. "THE HORN! BRING OUT THE HORN!" Two huge doors beneath Kranios's throne swung open, flooding the room with chaotic energy. Onyx felt his strength drain, and he stumbled backwards, then fell to his knees in fatigue. A talon-shaped object within a containment field on a mechanical pedastal was wheeled in. Kranios rose with replenished vigor. "This is a chaos artifact, which I have affectionately named "the Horn of Ruin". The most powerful ever discovered. I can use it to unleash warp storms at will, like with your pathetic planet. But this object does not just unleash souls, it can also absorb them, and harness them." Kranios approached the arcane trinket. "It would have taken me years to do this, perhaps even decades at the rate I was going. But, with the souls of over 30,000 space marines I should have more than enough!" Kranios shoved his hand into the containment field, and grabbed the horn with an iron grip. Energy shot through his arm, and Kranios grit his teeth and bore the pain, as chaotic taint spread throughout his body. His armor cracked and warped as his body transformed into something hideous. His right arm was replaced with a gargantuan claw with a massive cannon fused to it. His left became a twisted, clawed hand with an assault cannon sinewed to the bone. The giant creature rose with its new digitigrade legs, a clubbed tail swinging behind it. Two leathery wings stretched from its spined back, and multiple sets of horns sprung from its face. "NOW DO YOU SEE? THE TRUE POWER OF CHAOS?" Onyx struggled to his feet, and raised his fists to fight without a word. Kranios grew enraged at his audacity, and charged at him. Kranios slammed into Onyx, sending him back several feet while leaving a rut in the metal floor. Onyx lept towards Kranios and the two tumbled backwards, but Kranios used his new, inhuman strength to toss Onyx off of him. Onyx struggled to his feet, but Kranios knocked him back with his claw-arm, and lept over to him with his giant wings. Onyx spat blood from an unknown injury. Kranios placed his taloned foot on Onyx's chest, using his now incredible weight to hold the Primarch down. Onyx's armor creaked and groaned under the monstrous being's heel. Onyx writhed and pushed with all his might, to no avail. Kranios waved his hand towards the pedastal of the Horn, and the artifact levitated to his grasp. "Ha, Onyx the Indestructible: brought down by Kranios, the Destroyer! a fitting end to your failures, don't you think?" Kranios pointed his massive claw-cannon towards Onyx's face. "Now I shall put an end to your legion, forever." The cannon began to glow red with heat as the demolisher charge inside powered up. Then, to Kranios's surprise, Onyx thrust his hand onto the barrel and clasped down with the force of a heavy servitor, warping the tube. Kranios recoiled in response, but it was too late. The round detonated destroying Onyx's power fist and Kranios's daemonic appendage. Onyx grit his teeth, bearing the immense pain and bleeding in his right hand which was now sans one power fist. Kranios howled in pain and anger at his shredded grasper, letting up slightly on Onyx's chest. Onyx dug his remaining power glove into Kranios's leg, twisting it with a few dozen snapping noises. Kranios fell backwards, limping on his shattered leg, though his claw had begun to regenerate. Then Onyx sent his fist straight into the beast's skull, shattering his remaining power glove. Kranios dropped the Horn, but Onyx deftly caught it before it dropped to the ground. The artifact sent waves of unimaginable pain through his arms, but he still maintained his grip. Chaotic energy shot through his arms, and his eyes, ears, and nose began to bleed. He felt his knees begin to wobble. Kranios recovered, and taunted Onyx while regenerated. "You seriously think you could handle its power? You will be snuffed out like candle in a storm!" Kranios derided. Then, Onyx gripped the object with his second hand, holding each end with his bare hands. His palms had begun to burn. He felt his mind slipping. Then he saw it. a dream, or some kind of vision in which he saw his brothers, sacrificing their lives to save him. He closed his eyes and strained against the object, creating tiny fractures. It was then that Kranios realized that Onyx was not trying to control the Horn. The Horn shattered clean in half, unleashing a torrent of pure, golden energy. Onyx's armor liquified and his body disintegrated, but he knew he would be with good company soon. Kranios's daemonic form was vaporized, layer by layer, until all that remained was a shard of his soul. The cascade of warp energy consumed the entire ship, wrenching adamantium like twigs and burning plasteel like dry leaves. A single, heavily garbled message reached the Everest: "G...ellar"

The crew of the Everest looked on in awe as the Black Fleet of Kranios was blown into pieces by the expanding explosion. The message reached the vox operator, and they immediately pulled the switch to activate the gellar field just as the wave collided with the ship. They tumbled in the currents of pure energy like a toy boat in a hurricane, and everyone held fast to their stations as they were flung around. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the maelstrom was sucked back into some infinitesimal point far beyond their line of sight. "Status report" Regis said, coming back to his feet. "We've been knocked just outside the system, but aside from that and the heavy battle damage we're unscathed." "Good, I-" Then the ship shook as if it was struck by a wave of force, and before their very eyes a black casm tore itself into creation. Recognizing a black hole, and a damned huge one at that, Regis Tungsten ordered the ship to turn around and fire all forward engines. The ship listed agonizingly slowly, as the empty hole in space-time grew with every passing moment. The ship began to creak and moan under the immense gravity, and the nuclear engines fired at maximum power. "We're not going fast enough, we need to make a warp jump!" "We can't! we're not going forward!" The Everest strained and shook violently, as the black horizon quickly approached behind them. "How many power cores are still operational?" "12, sir" "Overload all of them and funnel them all into the main engine." "Sir! we'll destroy the engines!" "We won't have need of engines if we're dead, boy, now do it!" The nuclear power cores began to shake and heat violently, as the energy poured into the engine giving it a small boost. The Everest remained trapped just beyond the event horizon, until the forward engine exploded with the power of a supernova. The ship hurtled forward, propelled by the explosion away from the dark stellar remnant, and dissapeared into the warp.

Blood in the Void

Please note, this is part 1 of the battle between the Iron Rangers and Scale Bearers. It is still a WIP, and will be concluded.

The ships hung listless in the void. They formed a large cone, pointed and ready, but at what was unknown. The ships seemed to hang at seemingly discordant angles, but the trained observer could see beneath the mirage. They had been put there with absolute care, tended to and properly positioned to provide the maximum firepower to every angle. A great, grey and black ship hung in the middle, dwarfing the multiple kilometer long Cruisers around it. Tiran knew that ship, and this fleet. It had to be Merrill. Tiran was late to the battle. The Warp was unusually restless and caused numerous delays in their travels. He hoped he wasn't too late.

He took a closer look at the ships. Where almost every other primarch built their ships up with decorations, armor, and equipment, Merrill stripped his down to almost nothing. He had been inside them before, and knew how sparse the interiors were. The Iron Rangers tore everything out they couldn't use or wasn't necessary, leaving husks of their former glory. And the fleet was incredibly numerous, though the individual ships were smaller. Tiran guessed that only about half the fleet was actually manned. The rest were decoys and “suicide ships,” As Merrill called them. They weren't meant to survive a prolonged battle, just be shoved into a formation firing wildly to distract an opponent.

“My lord, you are being hailed.” It must be Merrill. Why wasn't he down on the surface, though? Maybe they had already won?

“Let him through.”

A holo of the friendly Primarch shimmered into existence, and there was his brother. Slight and unassuming as always. He gave out a small smile, from which there seemed to be little warmth. Then again, “warm” was not a word many would use to describe him. To be fair, though, neither was “cold.” He was simply...Merrill.

“Greetings, brother, two of us for one world?”

Merrill's smile turned into a more predatory look. “Hektor wants this planet smashed as an example. There will be no mercy awarded.”

Tiran thought for a second. “It still seems a bit... excessive.”

Merrill shrugged in response. “It's not for me to decide. Orders from Hektor. Tiran, I had been thinking. Care for me to send over a few Milwyr Cŵn to partner with your forces?”

“Merrill, are you finally looking for a bit of glory for your Chapter? Are you ill?”

Merrill laughed. “No, no, I just figured it would make things easier. They can clear a path for your cavalry to charge right out of the gates. I'll be working on taking out some of the heavy defenses and priority targets, there seems no reason why some of my men can't help you out with your tasks.”

“Fair enough, send them over to the following ships...”

-

Cellweirwyr walked the ship bay of the Emperor's Shadow, giving last minute talks to the men about to leave. The 25 squads of Milwyr Cŵn had been on standby for several hours, ever since receiving word of the approaching fleet. He went over the plan with individual groups a few times. 5 squads per ship. One was to secure they landing bay. Two were to take over the bridge. Two more were to eliminate the Sors.

Most Marines would be placing Oaths on their armor now, but the Milwyr Cŵn were different. They were wearing their sashes. Not many knew the purpose of the sash, a custom brought from their home world. It was far superior to any oath. It meant one thing. Victory or vanquish. In the case of these Marines, it might mean both.

Normally, Merrill would be down here, preparing them. But this op was Cellweirwyr duty. Merrill was to keep Tiran occupied. The entire operation left to his Equerry, and Cellweirwyr was not about to let his primarch down.

The signal light went off. Good, the Scale Bearers were letting the troops board. The men who were smoking put out their lho-sticks and boarded, solemn as a grave.

-

Hela Blaidd was the first to step out of the Raven and into the Pes Lacerta. They were greeted by a small contingent of Scale Bearers. The green and gold livery of the Bearers was an interesting reflection of the green, tan, and brown of the Rangers. The Space Marines greeted each other politely, shaking hands. Blaidd was the first to speak officially.

“My squad and Medelwr over there are supposed to link up at the bridge to discuss plans. Would you kindly show us the way?”

The Bearer, Captain Albier Tosor, nodded. “Absolutely. It's an honor to be working with the Rangers again. I've heard rumors about missions the Milwyr Cŵn have done in the past.” He said, guiding with his hand. “Is it true you are responsible for killing 6 Ork leaders simultaneously at Ullanor?”

“Well, yes, but I wasn't part of that mission, we were busy in another sector-” Llwynog Gwaedlyd, in charge of the secondary objective, coughed. “Right, I had forgotten. We don't get to see other forces much. You don't suppose that Cysgodol and Malwr squads could go see the Sors? We were curious.”

“I suppose we have enough time to let you see them before we board our drop ships. Captain Nikkus, would you care to escort them?” The Captain stepped forward and gave consent. “And what of your other squad?”

Blaidd chuckled. “They drew the short straw. They are to stay and ensure the ships are ready for departure.”

“Fair enough. Please, follow me.” As they departed, Blaidd subtly activated his signal beacon once. Phase 1 was complete.

-

“... So, you can cover the x axis, while I cover the y?” Asked Merrill. He was refferring to the axis of a plane, rotating his ships to allow broadside firing in all directions.

“By all means,” stated Tiran.

One of Merrill's personal Milwyr Cŵn tugged on his ear, behind the hologram. That meant that all troops were on board and heading to their respective objectives.

Excellent.

“Normally I'd suggest we move out immediately, but let's wait for our men to link up and discuss their plans. I'd rather not have us going into battle with any confusion as to our respective roles.”

“That I agree on. I'll send out word for my men to contact me when they are fully debriefed.”

With that, Merrill gave assent, and ordered his ships to join the fleet, moving them into a ready position.

-

Dynon Nikkus led the guest squad through the ship towards the Sor cages. As far as he could tell, the Squad Leaders were Llwynog Gwaedlyd and Cynddeiriog Broch (Cysgodol and Malwr squads, respectively). It was hard to tell though, as they all talked as equals. There was no use of rank or title, and they all seemed to use first names. He had heard of unusual rank structures within the fellow Legion, but this was a little hard to figure out.

Their loadouts were also unusual. All had power spears. A few of them had extremely specialized gear that he couldn't grasp what it was for. Two had a mess of communications devices. The majority wielded a variety of combi-bolters. A couple had long-barreled Bolters. They were loaded down with grenades of all kinds that Nikkus knew about, and some he had to guess. A few even had demo packs. Terra, one even had an auxiliary grenade launcher on his forearm. The oddest part was the armor, though. Most Legions gave their elite forces the best armor available, and these men seemed to be wearing practically skeletonized power armor. Aside from the Mk 6 helmets at their belts, everything was shaved down at the joints. Armor was thinner wherever structurally possible. Even their pauldrons were barely there.

As they walked, they exchanged friendly banter. Discussed past actions, battles they had been in, methods of fighting. The Rangers asked about Sor feeding and rearing, and the Bearers inquired on living behind enemy lines.

At last, they reached the cages.

“So these are the Sors, eh?” asked one of the Marines. “Beautiful creatures.”

The Sors seemed uneasy, and as the Ranger approached the cage, it became extremely agitated. It started roaring and rearing up, causing Nikkus to get in between the Ranger and the creature. “This is odd. They normally don't act this way.” He started to try and soothe it, making small noises and speaking in a calming tone.

“It's a shame though,” stated Llwynog. Nikkus didn't have time to respond before the spear slid through his neck. He tried to strike back, but was tripped. He took a knee to the stomach on his way to the ground, followed by a kick to the head. As his vision faded from him, the scene unraveled. Rangers slaughtering the few Scale Bearers that were there, some of them tossing explosives into the Sor pens. He struggled to get up, to fight back, to get revenge on these cowards. Another boot hit him in the skull. Again and again it struck, until there was nothing functional remaining.

-

Hela Blaidd shoved the corpse from the console, tearing out several neural connections in the process. He hurriedly attached them to his hookups and took appraisal of the situation. Arth Rhedeg was already attaching demo charges to various bits of machinery. Clochdar Gigfran was busy getting into the ship's internal defensive systems. Gwalch Deifio, weapons. Blaidd Udo, internal comms. Medelwr and the Helwyr not busy with taking over the ship were preparing defensive positions. Then the ship hit Blaidd's consciousness. It was like being slammed in the head with a thunder hammer, and he reeled from it. He recovered quickly enough, but clearly attracted some confused and worried looks.

“I'm fine, just not used to handling something this...massive.” That seemed to placate the others. They went to work, shutting off onboard comms and security systems.

Gigfran activated the security system in the armory, turning off its friend-or-foe recognition. “This'll keep them busy for a bit.”

Blaidd Udo was yelling at Arth as to where, exactly, to place the charges so the comms couldn't be reconnected. He must have already severed the internal system.

Hela Blaidd simply steered the ship, rotating the sides to aim one at the Imperator Rex, and the other at the Stelio Regis.

He then sent a brief “all accounted for” message to the Rex.

-

One of the ship's crew approached Tiran. “All ships state that they are ready.”

“Did you hear that, Rogerius?”

“I did, brother. And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry.” He swept his hand, and the command deck was engulfed in chaos.

-

Once they fired a salvo into their neighboring Scale Bearer ships, Hela Blaidd disconnected from the console, as did the other members of Helwyr squad. They left the bridge of the ship, running back towards their vessel. Raising their own comms, they reached Tawelwch squad, back at the landing bay. “Everything clear?”

“Roger. Just clearing up a little problem we had.”

“Cysgodol?”

“Charges in place, ready for your command.”

Blaidd signaled Arth. “Detonate in exactly 10 seconds. Out.”

They ran out of the room, sealing the blast doors behind them. That should give the Scale Bearers pause in their recovery attempts. They turned and ran at full speed down the deck, back towards the launching bay.

The ship reverberated from the explosions at either end. There was minimal resistance in their route, as Blaidd imagined that the Scale Bearers were too busy dealing with the rogue security gun emplacements in the armory. Not to mention the sudden lack of comms. But there was still some, and there would be more, after the blasts.

-

The Imperius Rex was reeling. Damn Merrill. All their targeting systems were jammed or flooded with targets. Their communications with other ships were jammed. Damn that man. Damn Aubrey. Damn those bastards, those renegades, those “traitors.” Tiran didn't even notice the words hiss forth from his mouth. He clenched his fists, glaring at the scene in front of him, trying to make sense of it all. Silence finally fell as he put his fist through a nearby console.

“What. Do. We. Know?”

The men around him stared, awestruck.

“WHAT. DO. WE. KNOW?” He shouted. They snapped out of their daze.

“Communications are jammed.” “Tracking and targeting is jammed, offline, or blind.” “Visuals are reporting mostly unresponsive.”

Another volley rocked into the ship. Merrill. That man will die, thought Tiran. He took a deep breath. “Fine. Continue to try communications with the other vessels. Don't stop. Try every frequency, every bandwidth. Don't stop until you find one that's not jammed. Weapons! Switch to manual aiming and firing. I know it's far less accurate, but it's better to shoot inaccurately than sit here and get slowly torn apart.”

-

The Emperor's Shadow passed another Scale Bearer's ship, hitting it with a full broadside. They were still reeling from the initial shock, but some were starting to reorganize. The Rex was beginning to shoot again, albeit occasional shots by individual guns. Tiran must have figured to order them to fire manually. Although Merrill was beginning to regret not adding more firepower to the ships he had. True, the armaments in his fleet were incredible for ships of their size, but he had to draw the line to save them in weight and structural integrity. Things were starting to get interesting.

He saw a few ships deploying Thunderhawks and Storm Eagles for short bursts, before they returned. Smart. They were using the dropships to gain insight into the battle formations. It was still probably too complex and cumbersome to be truly effective, but it was better than flying blind.

“Send an order to the fleet. Target their weapons systems and any dropships that are seen deployed. That takes priority. Have they found anything to beat our communications jam yet?” The man shook his head. “Excellent. Inform me when they have.” He sat back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together in front of his mouth. “Have Cellweirwyr report up here.”

-

Three of Malwr were already dead. Two more wounded. Two and four for Cysgodol, with Llwynog Gwaedlyd counted amongst the corpses. Resistance was getting heavier and heavier as they approached the landing bay. But that was to be expected, as explosions, screaming, and bolter fire have a way of attracting attention.

Broch slammed another Marine in the shoulder with a hammerfist, spun behind him, and ripped his knife through his former brother's throat. He kicked him to his knees and put a bolter round through the back of his head, just underneath the armor before spinning into a wild strike with his knife. It swung through empty air as the next Scale Bearer backed up, firing several rounds into Broch. One went through his shoulder, charge exploding against the bones of the joint. He reeled with the pain as Ddistaw Tylluan fired a plasma bolt through the attacker's chest.

Three and three. Well, at this point, they've already accomplished their mission. Broch struggled to get back up, with the help of Neidr Solet, the Milwyr Apothecary. Cwningen Hela, the Cygsodol Apothecary, had died already, trying to save Bêr Cryf. He gritted his teeth as Neidr cut through the remaining tissue, fully severing the arm, and packing the wound with bandages and medicae to stop the bleeding.

Broch looked around. They had made it less than halfway to the landing bay. They probably weren't going to make it there. He gave out as much of a chuckle as the pain would let him, pulled out a lho stick, and lit it.

“Well, friends, it looks like it's about that time.” He started to chant his death-song as he picked up his spear and continued down the corridor. A few seconds later, his voice was joined by a second, and a third...

-

Blaidd blasted the Scale Bearer in front of him with his combi-melta and charged headlong into the fray. Bolter rounds skidded off his armor and went narrowly wide as sheer momentum and battle-lust drove him forward. He stabbed one Bearer through the chest with his spear, pulling it out and spinning it around into another's head. He stopped bothering to count the dead anymore. He knew they didn't have enough. But it didn't matter. Hand signals were no longer used, he ignored all communication, he just sprinted forward, letting loose a sound equal parts primal fury and the laughter of a madman. He was lost in the hunt.

The other remaining members of the squad, he wasn't even sure who, or if they were in his squad, followed closely behind. Only the close combat specialists were staying near him. As they progressed, they let loose a steady wave of death.

A steady stream of blood issued forth from Blaidd's armor, and he wasn't sure if it was from him or his enemies. It didn't matter. All that mattered was taking down as many as possible. He vaguely heard the sound of death-songs behind and around him, but he paid no heed. He needed no death song. He was the fury. The rabid wolf amongst a flock of sheep. His screaming, his maniacal laughter, had a rhythm all its own, and would make a more fitting song than any his brothers would sing. 'This may be my last days' he thought, throwing the spear into another marine before charging into him, unleashing a short burst into the shocked Astartes' throat, but it will also be the last of as many as I can take with me.

-

Two of the Ravens had been destroyed in the Landing Bay. Tawelwch squad had constructed crude barriers out of the wreckage, in order to protect the other three and protect their grounds until the other squads could return. Only one had been wounded, in large part thanks to using the now destroyed craft as cover. The only man not behind the barrier was Chwerthin Arth, who had been digging through the wreckage for a “bigger gun,” whatever the Warp that meant. Tylluan Hylif let off an exasperated sigh, taking another drag from his lho stick. That lunatic was going to get everyone killed one day. Tylluan just hoped it wasn't today.

“Next round incoming!” Tylluan grabbed his long-barreled combi-plasma, waiting for them to start pushing through the door. A grenade came in first, of course, so they all took cover. As soon as it went off, they were back up, firing at the Marines trying to push their way through.

Sound took a second stage for a second. The best way to describe it was paper tearing at 175 decibels. 2 Scale Bearers had been vaporized, a third nearly cut in half. Tylluan looked to the side to see Arth knocked over, holding... Holding a damn assault cannon from the destroyed Raven. The man let out a raucous laugh as he got back up, bracing himself and letting off another burst. Ammunition was wrapped around his chest, and dragging behind him for at least 5 metres. This time he stayed upright. He made his way to the barrier, letting off another burst before dropping for cover, still laughing.

“You're joking, right?”

He shrugged. “I told you I needed a bigger gun.”

“How did you even fire that thing?”

Arth showed him some wires, taped to a piece of metal with a button attached. “Jury rigged it. At least now, we'll get some decent firepower. I figure if I'm careful, I can probably get about 50 bursts out of it.”

He let go with another. “Forty-nine.” He said, with a smile.

-

Merrill frowned. Of the 5 missions he had assigned, only two had come back. One was entirely dead. Another had their Ravens destroyed, and were fighting for another vessel. Likely dead. The last, unknown. Any attempt at communication had only received brief reports and the sound of bolterfire. Cellweiriwr sat next to him, watching the screens intently, and listening for further information. Of the 5 Battle Barges they had sabotaged, 2 were also coming back online, their crews proving to be intelligent as they abandoned the primary bridge for the secondary. It still took time to reroute all of the systems, but it was an advantage. The Scale Bearers had managed to find some frequency not blocked by Merrill's jamming signal, and were starting to become more organized. And while the targeting jammers were still working, they had exhausted some of their more mundane methods. Weapons were firing more accurately every minute. Merrill was very quickly losing the advantage, and had too few kills to account for it.

“Use the suicide ships.” One of the crew members turned. “Have 5 suicide ships move into the middle of their formation, deploying all weaponry at all viable targets. Then ram the Rex, and detonate upon impact.”

“But, sir, we don't have many of these, and without the full weight of the Mechanicum behind us, we may not be able to replace it.”

“I understand you problems, Admiral, however we are losing the advantage. If we can break up their formation and create more confusion, we can retake it.”

The man nodded and began to distribute orders.

“And Admiral,” Merrill moved fluidly, covering the distance of the bridge before the Admiral could turn around. “If you ever publicly question me again, I swear your skull will decorate the spear at the prow of this ship.”

Merrill calmly walked back and sat down. Cellweirwyr leaned over and said, “You shouldn't mistreat these men. We'll need them later. And you know that fear is not always the best motivator.” His only response was a stare that would freeze most men where they stood. Cellweirwyr shrugged. “You know I speak the truth.” Merrill's gaze let up, and he nodded and returned focus to the myriad of displays and screens around them.

-

The bridge of the Imperius Rex was a screaming sea of chaos. Requests for, and responses to, damage and status reports. Those suicide vessels weren't large, but they packed a hell of a punch. Several weapons batteries were damaged or destroyed. Whole decks were opened to the void. Several other ships were crippled or damn close. If Tiran had clenched his fists any tighter, they would start bleeding. But he refused to fall to the anger. He would keep calm and collected. Going up against any other Primarch required that mindset. He just had to figure out what Merrill's plan was. It was like watching a swarm of locusts in the void. He had taken at least a dozen of the Ranger's fleet, plus the five that hit the Rex. But Merrill could afford that many ships. More than Tiran could afford the 5 he had lost so far.

He knew 2 of the sabotaged vessels were coming back online, and a third was in the process. The fleet was working with as minimal communications as they were able. They didn't know what the enemy could hear. He suddenly hatched a plan. “Admiral, send a message to the fleet, we're going ahead, full burn. Immediately.”

“Sir, what about the ships that are crippled or still suffering from the sabotage?”

Tiran gritted his teeth. “Have every ship deploy every Storm Eagle and Thunderhawk to pick up as many men from those ships as they can carry. If this works, and with no small amount of luck, we might just be able to pick them up in a return trip.”

-

Orders were issued across the deck of the Emperor's Shadow, as the tangled web of the Iron Rangers' fleet stirred into action. It was a complex tapestry of quick strikes, diving throughout and within the Scale Bearers' fleet, delivering as much punishment with a barrage from the broadsides of the ship, then exiting before the Bearers could do much damage.

Something was changing, though. Tiran's ships were moving together, and they were moving ahead at full burn.

Merrill leaned forward. “Brother, are you fleeing? Where's your pride, man?”

“Sir?” The Admiral asked.

Merrill waved a dismissive hand. “Follow ahead, continue the attack.”

“What of the remainder of his fleet?”

“They're heavy with the wounded and dead, and their ships are crippled. They're not going anywhere.” Merrill said, leaning back in his seat.

The admiral nodded and returned his attention to the deck, barking out orders to the crew.

“There's something else going on...” The primarch quietly stated.

Cellweirwyr gave him a sideways glance. “He's retreating. It makes sense.”

“No... Tiran would never leave his wounded behind. He's doing something else. He has a plan of some sort.”

Merrill called for the Admiral. “Give the Scale Bearers some space. I don't know what they're up to, but I want some distance from them.”

-

Tiran took the helm. He barked out orders for a new formation, using code words to ensure his brother couldn't understand him. He hoped this gambit would pay off.

-

Merrick dove over the barricade, arms full of magazines. Not a second later, the air above erupted full of bolter shells.

Arth quickly let out another burst from his patchwork behemoth before ducking back into cover. Tylluan tossed another frag grenade over the barricade, snatching a couple of blood soaked magazines from Merrick's pile, as did the other members of the team.

“Any friendlies out there?”

Merrick shook his head while he reloaded. “Just more Scale Bearers.”

“Frell. Of course. What the frell is taking them?” He launched another blast of plasma over the barricade, taking down another Marine. He vented the gun. “Arth, how many bursts are left?”

The bear of a man looked at the remaining belt, and then stood up, releasing another wave of death on the Scale Bearers. “Nine.”

They heard the chanting before they saw anything. The unique sound of an Iron Rangers death song.

“ALRIGHT, LET'S GIVE THEM A WARM WELCOME!” The team lept up as one, firing at the entrance, taking down as many Scale Bearers as they could. Arth decided to use his boltgun, and Tylluan silently thanked the gods. Rhys went down with a shot to the eyepiece, blood and brain matter exploding from the back of his helmet and trickling down the empty eye socket.

A small team of Iron Rangers burst forth from a side corridor, blood streaming from spears, knives, fists, and feet as they carved a bloody path through their former bretheren. Cynddeiriog Broch led the charge, minus one arm, as a teammate fired the auxiliary grenade launcher attached to his arm. They sprinted down the bay, diving behind cover with the remaining team. A couple were carried on the backs of others.

Warp, there were only about 5 left that were fully operational. Broch made his way towards Tylluan, hand on his spear, bolter slung, lho stick in his mouth. “Got a torch?” He said, glancing at the missing arm to reinforce his point. Tylluan helped him out. “Thank the gods.” He set down his spear while inhaling, picked up his bolter, and exhaled a cloud of smoke through his nose like some great beast of old. “Nice little hole you've got here. Any word from Blaidd?”

Tylluan shook his head. “Last we heard, he was going berserk, butchering his way up here, likely heavily wounded, and not expected to survive. They lost several men, but didn't say how many.”

They ducked farther into the barricade as another burst of fire ripped over their heads. A second later, they were up and firing a response. With a distinctive thump of a grenade launcher, the intersection was engulfed in flame.

“Personal recipe,” Amren Yates stated proudly. “Should keep them off our backs for a few minutes.”

“AND YOU DIDN'T USE THEM EARLIER?” Yelled Broch, releasing a quick burst.

Yates shrugged. “I only have a few. Seemed like the right time to use one.”

-

The fleet burned forwards, chased by beams of energy and missiles streaking in their direction. On the bridge of the Imperius Rex, Tiran stood before his throne, issuing orders to the various consoles. He leaned forwards, intent on the screens and words being shouted below. Though they had beaten the range of Me-no. That traitor's jamming devices, he knew that once they were back within range, they would fall victim. But this time, they would be prepared.

-

Merrill watched from the command deck with curious, predatory eyes. His prey's scent was heavy in his nostrils. Suddenly, the enemy fleet split apart.

Were they trying to disperse?

...no... They were turning to charge.

“Tiran, you magnificent bastard!” Merrill laughed. “All hands, prepare for evasive maneuvers. Let the entire fleet know. Lotus Maneuver.”

The hands on the bridge looked quizzically for a second, then proceeded to relay the information.

“What is it?” Asked Cellweirwyr.

“He's learning.” Merrill smiled. He had no idea if Tiran's gamble would work, but it would be a glorious sight.

-

Blaidd let out several ragged breaths, arms soaked to the elbows in gore. He crouched above another Scale Bearer's corpse, cutting a finger off the marine's hand. The squad's apothecary, Bran Hier, used the short pause to attempt to check him for injuries, of which he had no doubt were numerous. The defenses were becoming lighter and lighter.

Blaidd tried to get up, but was tripped and forced to the deck, Bran not yet finished with his analysis.

“He's got a few fractures, several deep lacerations, a concussion, missing a few fingers on his left hand, and a couple on his right are only connected because they're being held in place by the armor.” Bran connected a tube from a vial in his pack to a connector in the struggling marine's armor, and blood started to move through it. “Small blood transfusion should help him out. Not sure how much he's lost, but it's enough to wonder how the bastard was still standing.”

A couple of the other marines nodded, bolters pointed down corridors to avoid any surprises. Not that it should matter terribly, there were a couple of surprises waiting for the Scale Bearers who tried to follow their path.

“It seems that they're not as concerned about us.” Stated Gwalch.

Bran nodded assent. “Perhaps they're evacuating?” He paused, wrestling Blaidd's arm down and away from the transfusion tube. “I'm just hoping that we can get to the Raven. Any word from the others?,” he asked Udo.

The man shook his head. “I haven't been able to reach them. I think the vox was damaged, and we don't have time for me to tear it apart and make a full inspection.”

Blaidd started screaming and struggling again, and Bran had to slam him back to the ground. He re-ran the numbers. Blaidd's sudden insanity did help keep the casualties down, unfortunately the close combat specialists took the brunt as a result. Of their original twenty, they were down to 12 combat-ready marines, with another 3 wounded. It seemed calming Blaidd down was out of the question.

“THE BLOOD MUST FLOW,” screamed Blaidd, before lapsing back into unintelligible noise.

“Well, that's four coherent words so far,” chuckled Gwalch.

“Yes, but I'm going to have to sedate him. His lunacy might cost us from here out. And I don't want to travel in a small, confined box with him like this. I don't care how long or short the trip is. Once we get back to the Shadow, we can see about getting him back to sanity. I'm just waiting to finish this transfusion, no telling how it could react with his system without enough blood.”

He finished the transfusion, and used the Narthecium to inject something in the raging man's neck. They held him down until he lapsed into unconsciousness.

“Alright, grab him. Udo, keep trying on the vox.” Udo let out an exasperated sigh and followed through, talking into the mic as they moved.

-

Tiran grabbed the vox mic. “RAMMING SPEED. FIRE AT WILL.”

-

The death-songs began anew. The assault cannon had long since been emptied. Arth looked more like a boy who had his favorite puppy taken than a man about to die. Their magazines were running low, and the press outside the doors was too heavy to risk another run to restock. One by one, the Milwyr Cŵn took out their lho sticks and ignited them. They hung their sashes by the barricades, and counted their rounds.

Not enough.

Another grenade came through the door, and the collected squads ducked behind cover and their corpses. As it went off, they jumped back up, firing their weapons in semi-automatic, every round finding home in the body of a Scale Bearer. They moved back down and changed positions slightly before the Scale Bearers could get any beads on targets. When they raised again, one less man joined them.

-

The Scale Bearers fleet pushed forward, faster than one would think possible for anything so massive. From afar, it would have seemed a dart, the ships were so close together. Tightly they dove towards the Iron Rangers fleet, engines pushing as hard as they ever had. Lasers seared through the black as they moved, and the Iron Rangers fleet stayed on course. As the two fleets converged, Merrill's fleet exploded into a blossom of steel, enveloping and entwining the smaller fleet. Mighty broadsides belched fire and metal as the smaller faster craft swarmed and spun, spinning while ejecting salvos of missiles and beams of nuclear fire in circles at their enemies. Hulls burst and ruptured, and decks were ripped in half as the dance played out amongst the stars. More died than either side had time to count, floating to the rhythm of Merrill's laughter and Tiran's rage.

As quickly as it came, it was over, the Scale Bearers through the formation, and continuing onwards, not slowing in the slightest. The Iron Rangers banked and turned in place, desperately trying to change course to stay with their prey. Before they had a chance to finish, the Scale Bearers fleet was beyond them.

-

Onwards they pushed through the corridors. Ever onwards. Scale Bearers occasionally appeared, and were cut down as quickly as they came. Heavy with the wounded, the squad continued to push. More desperate than determined. Their earlier luck came back to haunt them with a vengeance. They had more wounded in the past few minutes than their entire trip before Hela Blaidd had collapsed. Bran tossed another frag grenade down their next corridor before two marines turned it, firing long bursts down the hallway. We have come so far, thought Bran, “WE'RE NOT DYING NOW, BROTHERS!,” He cried, putting false motivation in the yell, “LET'S SHOW THEM WHAT THE MILWYR CŴN CAN DO BEFORE THEY DIE.”

Briefly reinvigorated, they pushed forwards, fighting, not as men desiring to live, but as men desperate to win, even at the costs of their own lives.

-

Merrill cursed and yelled as his fleet attempted to match speeds. It was obvious to all that was not an option. But still they tried, pushing harder than the ships were meant to. But the Mechanicum of Mars made the finest ships, and they held together, even as the Scale Bearers fleet shrunk in their viewscreens.

-

A sudden cacophony of noise erupted from the corridors, and Tylluan risked a brief glance over the barricade. The Scale Bearers were being pushed out of their defenses.

“We've got incoming friendlies!”

They jumped up, engaging the Scale Bearers with what little ammunition they had left as their missing brethren pushed them into the open. As they did so, Gwalch Deifio came into view, dragging a wounded marine behind him. Followed by another, and another. Few remained, and all were carrying, dragging, or supporting someone wounded.

“DO WE HAVE ANYTHING READY TO FLY?”

Tylluan responded in the positive as they dragged themselves to the barricades.

“Get it ready to fly, let those who can still fight hold here until the wounded are on board,” said Bran Hier.

Collectively, they moved. They started loading the wounded into the awaiting Raven.

“What about this one?” Questioned Neidr Solet, indicating Hela Blaidd.

“Leave him sedated.” Bran thought for a second. “And restrain him. I don't want to take any chances.”

Neidr looked confused, but complied, and the engines of the craft began to spool to life.

-

The long, thin formation of the Scale Bearers didn't even slow as it approached its crippled and broken ships. Thunderhawks and Storm Eagles spread from the corpses as swarms of small insects towards the larger craft, flying desperately to be able to land on board without the larger ships slowing. As they landed, many crashed into the decks or against the hulls, but most made it somewhat safely.

-

The ramp closed as the last Milwyr Cŵn boarded the vessel. The craft lifted, and began to push forwards, as the Pes Lacerta collapsed around them, being ripped apart by the passing Scale Bearer's fleet.

-

Merrill watched hopelessly as the enemy fleet jumped into the Warp, safeties be damned. He calmly sat back down, placing his fingertips together, index fingers placed against his lips.

“Cell, dispatch a team to the remaining vessels. Search for survivors. Kill any Scale Bearers, and bring any remaining Milwyr Cŵn back. Find me a trustworthy group for an upcoming operation. No more than a Troupe. Make sure there are a few Milwyr Cŵn squads. I'll debrief you in a short period. Admiral, could you come here please?”

The man came forward as Cellweirwyr left the bridge to perform his duties.

“Tell me our astropath managed to identify their warp signature.”

“He did, sir.”

“Excellent. Have a message sent to Hektor, explaining that the majority of their fleet is crippled and routed. I am currently regrouping and assessing my losses before continuing the pursuit of my prey. Assure him that the Scale Bearers will fall by my next report.”

One of the lights on the console flickered to life, and Merrill flipped a small switch.

“Sir, I have something to report.” It was Cellweirwyr.

“Go ahead.”

“We've found survivors.”

Merrill smiled. It was a good hunt.

Conclave: The Traitors Move Out

To be rewritten due to continuity problems.

The Burning of Alessia

His grey eyes flickered across the assembled data-screens, darting from one end of the cycling display to the other. The faint green backlight from the screens were all that illuminated the large circular chamber, with the logic engines and tactical displays making up the vast majority of the room's walls.

He drew in a slow breath, turning over this puzzle in his mind. This was his throne-room, his sanctum, his greatest hall—and today he had naught left to him but one final tribe, the eponymous Thunder Kings, where twelve ought together stand. He did not bear his sword and shield today, and the screens did not display the miasma of information he found so much beauty and truth in. There was nothing to command today, and his patience—infinite as it was—had long begun to set into weariness and bitterness.

Agrica had stood with him, solemn and silent as a statue throughout it all. The tall, fair-haired Astartes looked as if he might have been handsome once, but a lifetime of war had imparted upon him a steel jaw and plentiful other skin regrafts along his face. He'd kept his eyes forward for all these long weeks, imparting some small . . comfort to the brooding Primarch. He didn't have to stay. He should have gone, to fight for whomever he thought best, but he did.

It was a long while before Brennus finally spoke, his ordinarily calm, thunderous voice now sounding soft, and solemn.

“I know now my failure,” he said, looking towards Agrica. If the Astartes was alarmed, he gave no notice, and merely turned to straight back at his progenitor. “Where one legion should stand, I have created twelve. Respectively united by shared fraternity, perhaps—but what was I but their commander, in truth? Not a father.”

Agrica said nothing. Not yet.

Brennus continued, pausing only briefly to examine his son's expression. As he looked back towards the screens and continued, a wry smile now appeared on his face.

“It is fitting that only one tribe remains. Only one legion. Agrica, I am proud and flattered that you waited here, where you need not have. There must be one legion. One,” the Primarch spat out. His form shook as an uncharacteristic vehemence seized him, his throne groaning as he now—after weeks—finally stood.

“Not all that have fallen are vanquished,” faithfully intoned Agrica, bobbing his head slightly forward.

Brennus let out a withering sigh, each heavy step causing the machines around him to rattle. He stalked towards the heavy door leading out from his throne-room, pausing just one pace before it. Agrica now too moved forward, taking up a position beside his master. “We are not yet fallen,” Brennus whispered, “Not yet. I cannot forgive Selioax, however—and I cannot forgive Alessia. It must burn.”

And though it pained him, Agrica agreed.

Battle of Rai

Primarch Gaspard Lumey stood hunched over a star map, brightly lit by a sea of colorful emblems. One disappeared, a traitor light cruiser torn apart by a lance broadside. Another flashed and turned red, an allied Overlord class battlecruiser "Righteous Hatred" taking critical damage and requesting assistance. The battle for Rai, the home world of the traitorous Life Bringer legion has been going on for over a whole day now, with little signs of progress. The Void Angels and 73rd fleet of the Imperial Navy tasked with pacification of this important bastion and staging ground for the murderous Chaos space marines thought it an easy job, yet an unexpectedly fast return of the bulk of Life Bringer fleet turned what was supposed to be a quick and overwhelming strike into a painfully slow crawl, the punishing fire from enemy ships and defense stations exacting a heavy toll for every small advance.

Finally, he found just what he was looking for. "Heaven's Fury", a heavy strike cruiser at the core of Life Bringer formation, lost its Void shields and could be finished off with a concentrated attack. Lumey shouted orders into his vox and immediately several Imperial ships moved in on the crippled vessel: 4 Navy battlecruisers surrounding "Nurgle's Grave", a battle barge of the Entombed legion, transporting Primarch Golgothos himself. With a powerful barrage "Heaven's Fury" was no more and behind her charred wreckage was an opening, a clear line to the Life Bringer flagship "Light of Heart". Reaching the ancient Gloriana-class vessel through the hell of missiles, lance blasts and plasma fire won't be easy, but even a single moment was enough for Golgothos. Caestus assault rams and boarding torpedoes launched from the "Nurgle's Grave", alongside a swarm of fighter squadrons from the Navy ships providing escort. The operation was a success, most of the boarding craft making hull contact with the "Light of Heart" while her point defense batteries were busy annihilating their fighter support.

Golgothos stepped through the breach aboard the Life Bringer flagship and looked around. It was different from how he remembered her after his last visit during Crusade days. Still the same white banners with the bandaged heart symbol of the Life Bringers, still the same orderly hallways, yet somehow not right. Maybe the smell picked up by his sensors, maybe the weird slick grease coating some spots on the walls, something those usually orderly marines wouldn't have tolerated before. There was no time for sight seeing though, Life Bringer tactical squads were already taking position down the hall while the heavy dreadnoughts of the Entombed and Void Angel breacher squads were still hurrying in. "We should be in about 4th deck on the port side right now" - the voice of the Void Angel epistolary Pierre De Valois was quiet and confident. "According to the blueprints the way to the bridge is to the right, through the main hall. We would be exposed from ..."

"MOVE OUT!"

With that the Entombed walked forward, the dreadnoughts crushing the scrambling Life Bringers with their assault cannons. Void Angels followed, leaving a few squads to guard the boarding rams. Soon enough they were facing serious resistance and Pierre almost recoiled in shock. "These... things, what ARE they? Did they poison themselves?" he asked, still finding it hard to believe that the shambling mutants and vomit-inducing plague marines standing against him were once his brothers in the Emperor's service. "That's what they have become, and they will die for it!" answered Golgothos while crushing a plague marine's head in his power fist. To Pierre's surprise he was extremely fast, the masterfully piloted chassis moving with speed he didn't think possible for such a huge war machine, and with the Entombed at the front the boarders were moving quickly as they cut their way through the rushing defenders. As they closed in towards the bridge the advance slowed. The Life Bringers positioned devastator squads with lascannons and missile launchers behind hastily improvised barricades and brought out their elite.

Seraph Guard terminators, now appearing as rotten, bloated caricatures of the once noble Life Bringer first company, shrugged off heavy bolter fire and plasma blasts like mere annoyance while breaking apart the Entombed with power fists and forcing Void Angels into cover behind the dreadnoughts with a relentless hail of chem-filled bolter rounds. Golgothos slowed a bit, taking some time to overlook the battlefield between attacks. His sensors picked up his prey, a large terminator armored figure moving among the wounded Life Bringers. It would fire a few bursts at the boarders, only to kneel over another body for a moment. A few movements and the enemy just thought dead once again rose up to his feet and continued the fight. Without a single word, Golgothos and the Entombed charged at Johannes, sweeping aside the Seraph Guard squad blocking the path. "I greet you as well, brother" - the Life Bringer primarch spoke as he narrowly avoided the blast from the dreadnought demolisher cannon. "There is so much pain and sorrow in this galaxy, it is a shame you would not help us cure it." Another cannon shot was the only answer the leader of the Entombed chose to respond with. As the two primarchs faced each other in a duel Pierre quickly ordered his troops to take position and hold back the rest of the Life Bringers.

Golgothos could handle Vrach, the Void Angels just had to keep it a fair fight.

While the skies of Rai were alight by the space battle above it, Thunderhawks marked with the insignia of the Scale Bearers legion dispatched the space marines and their faithful warbeasts into the thick jungle. The Scale Bearers could only send one company to assist the Void Angels in this mission and opted to use the confusion in space to sneak their single strike cruiser behind Life Bringer defenses, dropping onto the homeworld of the traitor legion undetected. Accustomed to this kind of environment, the Scale Bearers easily moved through the vegetation, cutting a path through tough vines with their chainswords. It didn't take long until they came upon the overgrown white walls of Abeni Asha enclave. Abeni Asha was one the largest settlements on Rai and a highly important strategic location, housing the primary spaceport and many military supply depots, but it wasn't their target. Engaging the PDF there would have drawn significant attention from the Life Bringers in orbit and severely endanger the civilian population they sought to liberate. Instead, the Scale Bearers moved towards an isolated compound a fair distance away from the enclave, known only as facility 1-23.

The guards on the outer perimeter were silently disposed of, the marines left by the Life Bringers in reserve no match for the mighty Sors and veteran Astartes of the Scale Bearers. Having taken a key card from a guard and easily hacked the security lock the Emperor's space marines entered facility 1-23 without sounding the alarm. What they saw inside would unnerve even the battle-hardened warriors. Facility 1-23 was a Life Bringer laboratory focused on bioweapon research. Corridors with formerly white walls, now coated in some disgusting, sticky substance, connected room after room full of containment tanks filled with horrifying mutated creatures. Carefully sealed refrigerators preserving test tubes whose contents are better left unknown. Isolated small hospitals, where human and alien test subjects were attended by plague-ridden cultists in sickeningly slimy white-red hazmat suits. The Scale Bearers knew immediately: this place had to be purged. It was not a task to be taken lightly, however, even a single containment leak could doom the whole planet. The space marines dispersed, tactical squads set melta charges and prepared remote detonators while the captain took the company apothecary and techmarine to the main logic engine. Its database held research logs describing each experiment and the fate of every prisoner in excruciating, clinically precise detail, and the Scale Bearer specialists used this knowledge to direct their assault squads as they hacked security systems and utilized the facility's own emergency protocols to safely eradicate the products of this heretical science. The operation didn't succeed, however. A single Life Bringer apothecary, away from his lab as the Scale Bearers entered it, noticed the intrusion and reported it to the flagship. Hiding from the space marines he couldn't hope to defeat alone, the vile plague marine snuck to a secondary control terminal and executed his primarch's order. Even he couldn't have predicted what was about to happen.

Space fleets continued to clash against each other in a bitter stalemate as the boarding party aboard the "Light of Heart" stood at its last breath. Reduced to less than a third of their original strength, the Entombed and Void Angel Astartes still stood defiantly, refusing to back away from the Life Bringers that just didn't seem to die. Pierre De Valois has been fighting a Life Bringer sorcerer. The enemy was stronger, but Pierre was faster and his swift and sudden strikes whittled down the decaying body of Nurgle's champion as he masterfully deflected psychic assaults against his mind. Next to him a similar scene was unfolding between the dueling primarchs, Golgothos earth-shattering blows meeting against quick and surgically precise swipes of Johannes lightning claw. Golgothos dreadnought frame was heavily damaged, his armor riddled with corroded holes and the powerful demolisher cannon long since silenced due to severed control cables and a jammed joint. Nevertheless, he was clearly the superior fighter and Johannes Vrach looked even worse, bleeding putrid ichor from uncountable wounds all over his corrupted body. It was in this moment that the news of Scale Bearer attack on facility 1-23 reached Johannes and he gave the order that defined the fate of the sector: "So Rai is lost then. Release containment at all labs, all ships retreat. Set course for the Eye of Terror." Turning towards Golgothos he promised to return here eventually, but his words were cut short by deafening screams erupting from everywhere at once.

Pierre has locked his blade against the sorcerer's force staff a moment ago, yet now both bitter opponents were merely propping themselves against each other, struggling to even stand as the tortured wails of billions of souls barraged their minds. Barely enduring the cacophony he turned his head towards the nearest view port and immediately saw its source: Rai. What has been a lush jungle with busy enclaves where millions of people lived and worked has become a giant ball of writhing red biomass, an unholy mix of living concrete, metal and demonic flesh rapidly growing gigantic tendrils which lashed and grabbed unfortunate ships in orbit while the pained screams of the entire planet echoed across the Warp. Turning his head away Pierre heard the screams mixing with maniacal laughter as he saw the body of the Life Bringer primarch twist and burst, the flesh of Johannes Vrach merging with the metal of his armor upon his ascension to daemonhood. Leaning unsteadily on the hilt of his blade which he had almost subconsciously thrust in the heart of the falling sorcerer, Pierre could barely make out the silhouette of Golgothos delivering a crushing blow to the demon prince and Life Bringers hurrying to aid their progenitor as the entombed primarch turned towards his battle brothers. He couldn't hear what Golgothos ordered, only feel himself picked up by a cold dreadnought power fist before drifting into unconsciousness, overwhelmed by the screams of pain around him.

At the command center of the Imperial forces, Gaspard Lumey frantically contacted the fleet, straining his voice to the limit to be heard over the deafening wails. The Life Bringers were fleeing, yet the unnatural abomination on Rai was an even greater threat, infecting every starship its tendrils touched and turning it into more of itself, another screaming demonic monstrosity rushing towards the Emperor's servants, firing its weapons at everything in range and corrupting more ships in turn. It was a relief to hear most of the Scale Bearers managed to teleport away from ground zero and escaped the gruesome fate of the majority of warships caught too close to the planet, but the battle was not yet won. With perfectly coordinated efforts under Lumey's command, the Void Angels and Imperial Navy routed and destroyed the terrifyingly deadly, but thankfully mindless infected vessels. Only when the Void Angels consigned Rai to Exterminatus and completely annihilated the writhing monstrosity on its surface did the endless screams finally stop and the battle end in victory. This mission has claimed the lives of many, the majority of the 73rd fleet a sizable number of Void Angel ships have met their end at the hands of the insane Chaos space marines and the corrupting tendrils of their unexpected creation. While the Imperial soldiers counted their losses, one of the Entombed Undertakers delivered a list, reporting primarch Golgothos, around a hundred of their most experienced venerable dreadnoughts and the battle barge "Nurgle's Grave" with her entire crew and techmarine support staff as killed in action. Before Lumey could protest, the "Nurgle's Grave" activated her warp drive and jumped in last known escape direction of the Life Bringers, straight into the Eye of Terror.

The entire sector was quarantined under explicit order of the Void Angel primarch following the event. Though few in the Imperium know what happened there, since the participating voidsmen had the memories of battle wiped from their minds and none of the chapters of Adeptus Astartes want to speak about it, the region of space has gained a reputation as cursed area and few dare to go near. Enforcing the quarantine is a quiet, uneventful position for the Navy crews, yet despite this few volunteer for it, fearing the tales of frequent nightmares and astropaths hearing faint screams echoing between the unsalvaged wreckages in the old starship graveyard surrounding this dead planet.

End of the Line

This article or section has been selected for Exterminatus by the Ordo Editant. The Emperor Corrects.

“The Lord General's orders are as follows: Task Force Gleaming Sceptor shall proceed to Phase Line Chronus, engage and destroy all traitoro-” There was a sudden flash of static. He felt a breeze brush his shoulder, and as he turned his head he caught the faintest glimpse of a Maledictum medium tanks' turret flittering in the air. As secondary explosions ripped apart the now topless Maledictum, Vox Caster Luxus's own opened topped APC popped reflective smoke and accelerated. As the driver and stub gunner began to argue over whether it was a lucky artillery round or a sign of Traitor encirclement, Luxus returned to his transcription of the transmission. Blood still stained the Vox Casting equipment from his predecessor: Lux himself had been hastily trained to replace the previous caster and had never handled anything more complex than an autogun's receiving mechanism until two nights ago.

“HQ, this is 3rd Battalion, D Company, please restate and confirm orders, over?”

There was another explosion, this time forward, a low hill blocking line of sight. B company had already wheeled off to the right flank in the event the traitors had successfully maneuvered around the screening battalions. A Mastadonii lance had been probing their column the last three days, and HQ had been silent on their whereabouts. “HQ, this is 3-” Lux was again cut off, this time by a gruff voice almost as explosive as the Maledictum had been. “Clear this net! Primary thrust will commence in T-minus 3 minutes, mark. The Emperor expects nothing short of decisive victory, and today we, the 27th Gregorus Armored Infantry, will do part in His just cause.” With that the Vox was silent. Luxus reached forward and knocked on the drivers helmet. “Get us to the Colonel!”

Luxus was barely audible over the great din of whirring treads as the great might of the 27th Gergorus Armored Infantry Regiment, Heavy, began to regroup with their parent companies and battalions. Luxus' transport zigged and zagged between the various columns, coming alongside and matching speed with a Baneblade, the barrel adorned with a white petaled carnivorous flower and flanked by a dozen other similar vehicles. Luxus stepped onto the side railing of his own carrier, grabbing onto the side of the formidable weapon bastion. He continued his climb to the turret.

There, observing his squadron of Baneblades was Colonel Morgrest, his blue eyes and large, weatherworn face eyeing the quickly approaching hills in front of him.

“Colonel!” Morgrest looked. A short, young looking trooper in a misfitted maroon uniform offered forth a piece of parchment. Morgrest glanced at it and nodded to Luxus who began the short scamper back to his crawler. His own vehicle's Vox had been stripped long before it arrived here on Zhuko V, where his unit had not so much as finished disembarking when they had been ushered to awaiting tanks, neatly arrayed in rows with field manuals placed on every crew station seat.

Many, such as him, were lucky to have been drivers and communicators aboard the roving Ranch Rigs that tended the Avian cattle of Gregorus. Most however were from the commercial cities, not overly suited for grunt work much less the teamwork and technical skills required for tankmenship. Their loses in the last few weeks had reflected that. He swithced his makeshift Vox repeater to the squadron net. “Assume wedge formation, my Mourning Gloria shall take point. Do not drop out under any circumstances: if you are not out of fuel or ammo, then you are not out of the fight! All crews, turn down.” And with that, the Colonel descended into the red lighted confines of his steed, sealing the hatch over him.

“All vehicles, fast advance!” As one, the baneblades increased their speed. For as far as the eye could see to the left and to the right, the tan and maroon war machines of the 27th roared forward, a wall of armor. Over the line of hills, smoke and tracers could be seen pouring into the air. The Colonel glanced at a wall mounted chronometer.

“Driver, decelerate by 1/8th.” The timing would have to be perfect. “All crews, prepare for contact.”

Just as the Vox clicked off, the hills infront of them exploded into a wall of dirt and silt. Jetbike riding engineers had rigged the hill for demolition the night before, and now the only remaining obstacle between him and the enemies of his newly beloved Emperor was gone. His squadron charged into the breach, their mighty guns blaring...

“Driver, adjust heading 1.4 degrees. Gunner, target Stormblade, Fire! Left bastion, suppress war engine crew. Driver, mine field 40 meters. Right bastion, prioritze medium chassises. Second Gunner, mine... layer front , bearing 47. Bastion gunners, weapons free. Hulls 2 and 7, tighten formation!” And so it went. Order were given, reports were taken in, ground was gained. Slowly, the vox chatter grew quiter and quiter as the vehicles of his squadron slowly joined the other metal pyres that threatened to be confused for the Zhuko V's sun rising in the south.

The Lord General emerged from his opulent Command Chariot to the distinct sounds of bickering adults, a sound he had not been able to grow used to even with his many years of conquests. “I tell you they have all gone traitor. I know these farmers all too well!” The rolly polly face of General Kerimeistn rose from the crowd of officers and intelligents techs that were crouched over the primary command board. General Kerimeistn swiftly made his way to the Lord General and bowed before him. “Your Lordship, due tell them how I warned you time and time again that mere agricultural workers at the helms of such tremendous machines would only invite disaster and turncoatism.” The Lord General was not listening. He pushed aside Kerimeistn: the rest of his officers, dressed in the finest Exiran Blue with the occasional Maroons and yellows of other units attached to his division, rose to allow the Lord General a view of the active map. An Exiran officer stepped forward. “Sir, Task Force Gleaming Scepter consisting of the 37th Gregorus Armored Infantry, the 2123th Exiran Armored Brigade and the 782 Exiran Armored Brigade, per your orders, advanced from phase line Baptize to phase line Chronus. The 2123th and 782nd managed to reach and hold the position. Most of the 37th was annihilated, but it appears several formations have advanced beyond phase line Chronus.”

“To join the traitors,” snarled Kerimeistn. The Exiran officer narrowed his eyes at the General. “Actually, Lord General, judging from the reports we are receiving, they have been destroying traitors. A great abundance of them. Infact...” he turned to look at the Vox operators, a large command set sitting at the foot of the map screen in the center of the field tent.

The Vox operator looked up from his set. “They count 400 confirmed kills. Most likely more, but traitor indirect fires forced our scout tanks back.”

A stunned silence fell across those gathered.

The officer turned back to the board. “They appear to heading in a straight path. We put them 90 klicks past Phase Line Chronus. All attempts to reach them by Vox have failed.” The silence continued until finally, the Lord General spoke.

“The next time you have to teach an infantry formation the proud tenants of mechanized warfare, General Kerimeistn, make sure you teach them how to read a map. I am glad to see though, that your lessons in cowardice have gone completely unheeded.” General Kerimeistn fumed, his face turning red while sweat began to bead upon his forehead. The Lord General stepped away from the screen table and returned to his command vehicle. - Another two hours past. Targets for a time had grown sparser. Now, there was a noticeable uptick. At first, contact was being made every 30 minutes. There was a burst of fire from the right bastoon gun. Its gunners had already been killed, but the Colonel only cared that that span had just now been reduced to five minutes. They were nearing the enemy, but not fast enough. “Technician, how many more meters can we squeeze from her?” A pained voice rose up from the depths of the warmachine “ The gauges reached empty four klicks ago my Colonel, we shall be immobile soon.”

The Baneblade suddenly entered a clearing. All around them were hulks, chassis, the faint outlines of their rotting crews dispersed between, yet here was a patch of undtrodden, prestine low grass that had by some miracle remained virgin in this orgy of steel and shell. It was as good a place as any. By now their handiwork had caught up to them: a thick black cloud of acrid smoke from a hundred burning vehicles now hung all around them. The Baneblade was beginning to slow. The driver cursed, and despite all his pounding upon the Accel-pedal the Baneblade only crawled, then came to a halt. “Driver, running lights!” The Colonel unlocked his hatch and opened it. The blood soaked torso of a traitor tanker slid off the cupula. It thudded against the hull of the Baneblade, coming to rest on the green earth with a sickening plop. All was quiet, save for the wind pushing the thick cloud ever farther north. Beyond the initial ring of flood light illuminated husks, all was black save for a few lingering fires.

1st Gunner Norus slid over and tugged on the Colonel's boots. “Morgrest, we've no more shells. Does that mean we're finally...out of it, sir?” The Colonel felt it before he heard it. Even with the tons of armor and machinery below him, the vibrations reverberated. It was coming from all directions now, and faintly, just faintly he could hear the creeking of treads and the blaring of war horns. The Colonel reached and drew his sidearm. It was a ranch pistol, a high caliber, revolving weapon, its hilt a white pearl made of the egg carapace of his homeworld. Within it were seven rounds. “Far from it Norus...far from it.” The baneblades flood lights died.

The Mastodon comes to Zhuko V

Month Five of the Zhuko V Campaign. High Orbit The Battle Barge Chukotka, Flagship of Ice Shaman Issitoq.

Issitoq, High ṣālman of the Legion stood on the embarkation deck and watched as the lander slowly settled before him. Part of him was glad that the ship was here, that the occupant was here to take over from him in the prosecution of the Zhuko Campaign. But just as much of him knew that the reason he was here was because Issitoq had failed, his mission to secure the output of Zhuko V had not gone according to the Warmaster’s designs, and now there would be hell to pay.

On either side of Issitoq were three hundred of the Mastodontii Legion standing at parade on either side of the lander, at the front a row of Terminators in full regalia with weapons held at their sides. All of them bore the marks of their new fidelity, the star of the Primordial Truth and the marks of Hektor the true master of mankind. They sat ill with Issitoq. Even now, even after all this time the marks of the darker powers still made him feel ill at ease.

A figure clad in mighty armour emerged from the shuttle. Everyone, apart from Issitoq, immediately stood to attention, standing taller in the presence of their gene-sire.

Tollund Ötztal stepped slowly down the ramp. His very presence was enough to inspire total and unreserved attention from all those before him. Issitoq however saw more than just his presence. He saw the bleakness which hung around him like a shroud, his stance was a little more crabbed, and yet the aura around him had been augmented. His armour was graven all over with dark runes, and Issitoq noted the weapon he was carrying. It was not his usual spear, Tizheruk, forged anew by the hand of the Emperor. It was a black maul, an immense mace covered in blasphemous sigils.

“My worthy brother gave this to me. He said it would come in handy to destroy the warmachines of the false Emperor.” Ötztal smiled at his old friend. Even now his smile was infectious. Issitoq could not help but smile in return, though the smile did not reach his eyes.

His Primarch had spent the last few years immersing himself in the teachings of his brother Aubrey, sacrificing dozens of worlds to the Primordial Truth. His sons followed him in their worship, the worship of the ones who would save humanity from the darkness that the Emperor wouldn’t. Issitoq found it hard to believe that the path of the Warped Ones was any better than the path the Emperor had set them. Both were flawed. Both were at fault. Neither was right.

Ötztal strode beside Issitoq as they headed for the bridge. “It seems that you’ve been having some trouble with the locals. They’ve refused the boon we’ve offered them.” His expression darkened. “Well we will have to enlighten them then. And I’ve brought enough men to ensure we do so.”

The Primarch had not come alone. Aside from the troops deployed to crush the hated Silver Cataphracts on Rosskar and those few serving alongside their fellows across the burning Imperium, the entire Legion was now deployed to this cause. The Primarch’s own Flagship, the Starspear and its vast holds filled to the brim with tanks now orbited Zhuko V. A Titan Ark carried an entire additional Titan Legion, the Legio Yachê, the Snow Stalkers. And hundreds of armoured regiments loyal to the Warmaster had also come, eager to spill blood for their lord. Enough power to subjugate entire stellar empires was now poised to be unleashed upon Zhuko V. The planet would drown in a tide of iron.

The Saber of Terra

Terra was burning.

Weeks of Bombardment followed by days of brutal bloodshed had torn and disfigured the face of the throneworld. The forces of the bastard Warmaster were even now grinding towards the palace, tightening the noose around the Imperial Throne. Every man and woman who could were even now fighting back as hard as they could, doing everything possible to slow the attacks, to buy as much time as possible before they reached the shadow of the Palace, and the real struggle began.

Arturia Eld, Lord of the Knights of Accolon had immediately mustered her household and marched south with ten of her Knights, leaving the rest to stand beside the Regent of Terra and his Astartes. She was under no impressions that her knights could hold back the tide, but she could bleed the traitors, hammering them time and time again to inflict as much damage as possible and support the beleaguered Imperial Army forces.

The distant scene visible in her mount’s mechanical eyes was a shattered graveyard of twisted metal and fire. A hellscape of blazing craters, scores of wrecked tanks and thousands of dismembered bodies.

Thousands of giant warriors bearing the Eye Star of the Warmaster pushed forward behind heavy breacher shields. Against small-arms fire and even medium gauge weapons they offered effective protection, but against the kinds of guns the defenders had trained on them, they just weren’t up to the job. Each advance left a trail of bodies, limbless corpses and tributaries of blood to fill craters with red lakes. Thousands of Astartes were falling, yet thousands more were advancing.

‘Come on, my lord,’ urged Dux Cynric, one of her foremost Knights. ‘Let’s break them! Smash each one apart in turn until we roll the entire line up.’

She wanted to give the order. Oh, how she wanted to give that order. But she had fought a thousand battles before and she could clearly see the danger.

‘Yes, we could break one, probably two, maybe even three of the shieldwalls, but that will be all,’ she replied, feeling Caliburn’s ire at her refusal to ride. ‘Then we would be overwhelmed by the artillery and dragged down by their infantry. An ignoble death. Hardly knightly. No, there are other targets for us, ones which will make a far greater difference to the struggle.’

Her keen eyes scanned around, until they were immediately drawn to an up-armoured Spartan as it smashed through a rockcrete wall, slamming down on bollard tank traps and crushing them beneath its weight.

A banner streamed from the rear of both track guards, each bearing a serpentine caduceus. Gunfire sparked from the Spartan’s armour and Raeven saw the direct hit of a lascannon strike its flank where the right-side quad sponson had been sheared off. It should have blown a hole right into the vehicle.

Instead, the energy of the shot dissipated at the moment of impact and a bloom of fire enveloped the tank, setting the twin serpent banners ablaze.

‘Flare shield,’ she said, recognising similar tech to the ion shields of Caliburn.

This was a target worthy of her Knights.

‘Rally to me!’ she commanded. ‘Target is the Spartan to your ten. Cearl, Guoroar, Anirin, blow her open.’

‘Aye my lord!’ came the chorus of voices, as her knights began to move. Cearl, the ‘Wallbreaker’ took up position. His Castellan Knight was a heavy weapons platform, ideal for destroying large targets. Targets like that Spartan.

His Laser Destroyer opened up, the beams being barely blocked by the Spartan’s Flare Shield. The Spartan slowly turned, bringing its quad lascannons to bear, but Cearl was a master of snap fire, and he moved with it, denying it the chance to pummel his armour.

Meanwhile it had given the chance for Guoroar and Anirin to close, and now they were within range of their Errants Thermal Cannons.

With a hiss and a roar they opened up, and the Flare shield, already overtaxed by Cearl’s fire was unable to stop them.

The Spartan shuddered as its armour was turned to slag.

The front of the Spartan pistoned open in front of Arturia’s eyes. She saw something move in the space within, something that glinted dully in the fire.

And emerging from the Spartan…

Aubrey the Grey, bastard son, chosen of the gods, his armour blackened was down on one knee, one hand pressed to the side of his Spartan, as though mourning its passing. Blood slicked one side of his dark battleplate and a length of pipework pierced his side like a spear.

Arturia glared down at the traitor Primaerch, and she had never felt so sure, so righteous in the anticipation of a kill. Her arms burned hot with the readiness of her stubber cannons and the crackling energy of her mighty warblade.

She was a knight. She would fight this traitorous whoreson in fair and single combat, would kill him, and thus give the loyalists a true morale boost. They would see their foes were not all powerful gods, they could bleed and die like any man or woman.

‘This target is mine.’ commanded Arturia.

I should be dead.

Nerve endings on fire. Pain. Pain like he’d never known. Not even when he’d faced the kiss of Bohemonds mighty blade on Isstvan V.

I should be dead.

No time to reflect that he wasn’t. Deal with the pain. Force it down into the pit. Endure it later.

Aubrey rose to face the mighty Knight standing before him. The knight hadn’t simply killed him while he was down. Now that he was standing, it gestured, make a short bow and flourished its warblade.

It wants to fight.

He smiled. It had been too long since he had matched blades with a worthy foe. And instead of simply killing him, this Knight would willingly give away the advantages it had mere seconds ago, and cross blades with one it had no hope of matching.

"...Your faith, it is a cancer..." he whispered, as he unsheathed his twin blades.

Emerald eyes flashed dangerously, like venomous serpents towards the optics of the Knight, his gaze seemingly piercing through the screen as they blazed with the fury of a demi-god.

"I shall remove it."

He dived as the Knight’s blade sped towards him, parrying with Jörmun while Gandr flicked out, aiming at the Knight’s servos. At the last second the Knight stepped out of the way before bringing another crashing blow from its huge sword. He caught nit with both blades, before slashing Gandr across the Knight’s chest and the strange markings there. The knight smashed him back with its other arm, before once again bring its blade to bear.

This was not like any duel he had fought before. This Knight was good. Better than anything he had fought outside of his own brothers. It seemed to know where his blows would land, and moved with surprising swiftness to counter them, and could move its own blade with a speed and dexterity that he had never seen a Knight do.

Aubrey launched a series of blistering blows, glancing off the Knight’s thick pauldrons and forcing it to withdraw. He would make this engine and its pilot fight on his terms. Then, he would end it.

The Knight was tough. It absorbed every strike that connected, sucking the power out of the blows, taking the hits and coming back for more. Its armoured form could take more punishment then he had anticipated. It was covered in blade scars, but still fought. His own armour was cracked, the servos wheezing as they struggled to keep him moving at speed.

As he parried another mighty blade-strike, Aubrey felt himself tiring at last. Only rarely had he felt more than trivial stirrings of fatigue. He had fought the greatest champions of xenos races, had brought down creatures that stood as tall as Warhound Titans, had carved his way through fields of greenskins as violent and unending as the tides of the sea on Ullanor and slain his brother on the murder fields of Isstvan, and still he felt tired, exhausted by the competition with this Knight.

Aubrey rolled to his feet and ripped Gandr through a knot of pneumatics at the Knight’s ankle joint. It staggered, gyroscopic servos screaming as they fought to keep the war machine upright. Jörmun then flicked out and severed the Servos in the Knight’s gun arm. As it did, the Knight's blade tore into his shoulder, tearing the pauldron off and sending a spray of blood everywhere. Aubrey snarled in pain as the two broke from combat, facing each other, ready for the final confrontation, until the false peace was shattered.

One of the Knight’s standing guard went down, its upper torso detonating in a cherry red fireball. Aubrey turned to see a squadron of three Fellblades roaring over the wall, guns now thundering at the Knights.

Three Knights were all but obliterated in seconds. A fourth threw its ion shield up just quick enough to deflect the full force of a high-density shell that nevertheless ripped its entire arm and most of its shoulder away.

The Knights were monstrously outgunned and they knew it. The hunting horn of the lead Knight standing before him loosed an ululating blast and they retreated, quit the field of battle. The lead knight made a gesture with its warblade before it turned to flee. Aubrey knew that gesture.

‘This is not done. We will fight again.’

Aubrey relished the thought. Forget his brothers, enslaved for the whims of their false father, that knight, whoever it was in there was a truly worthy opponent, one who he could gift to the Gods, when the Palace fell and Terra was the Warmasters.

Arturia rose from the folding camp-seat and poured a large goblet of wine. Her movements were somewhat stiff. Caliburn had been damaged by the whoreson Aubrey’s attacks, and the repercussions of the Knight’s hurt were borne by her body.

He had been a hard fight. Maybe the hardest of her life. She had learned to fight from a young age, had mastered it. There was no man alive on Cattegirn who could defeat her in swordplay. And until now, she had believed there was no man who could defeat her in bladework when he was bonded with Caliburn.

But Aubrey was as fast as a striking serpent, and it had taken all her preternatural skills to keep up with him. She was only glad his blades were ineffective at cutting the armoured hide of Caliburn.

With the local Imperial commander dead, the task of coordinating the military retreat towards the next line of defence had fallen to her. The Regent of Terra Himself had asked it of her, and she was glad to help him. Anything to keep her mind off her defeat. That task alone was hard enough, but Arturia also had to deal with an ever-growing civilian component. Refugees were streaming in from the north and east, desperate to flee the advancing traitors.

She’d welcomed the burden, the role so consuming it kept her from dwelling on the loss of her Knights, and on her defeat. But now she had more time to reflect, and it all came back.

Dux Guoroar was gone. A brave young man, who she had commended personally for his conduct on 37-04. Dux Oswine, who loved drinking and fighting in equal measure. Dux Pendar, Dux Bors and Dux Korin also. Five of her bravest and best. Five of her Knights, her warriors. All dead by the hand of the traitors.

They would pay. She was a Knight, she would never stoop to their level. But she would make them bleed to avenge her slain warriors. She was the King of Cattegirn and the Lord of the Knights of Accolon. On her honour there would be justice.

‘My lord?’ Dux Aneirin poked his head into the tent.

Arturia turned to him. ‘News?’ she asked. She had been keeping tabs on the global war situation, and so far it did not look good.

‘The Emperor’s Praetorian. He wishes to speak to you. There’s a lander to bear you back to the palace.’

Arturia had been expecting something like this, but not yet. Not now. ‘Fine. Have Thegn Bedieve take over in my absence.’ She hoped the Emperor’s Praetorian had good reason for summoning her.

The Assault on Ostium

The Forgotten Ones

Captain Aesis, master of the Black Augurs 8th company, marched over the icy plains of Stalwart IX. Behind him his command squad moved through the piles of imperialist corpses that littered the planets icefields. The battle had been short - the mortals that the False Emperor had sent to face them were no match for a company of astartes, especially not one led by one so mighty as he, and it chafed him. He had not met a worthy opponent since he slew Eris Varghun, the previous captain of the eighth, at the beginning of what the imperial fools called the Hektor Heresy. The loyalist had pleaded for his life, and out of respect for his last wish, Aesis had completely ignored him and proceeded to chain his maddened, miserable soul to his power sword. Now he wished he hadn't.

"Dark Gods bring me a decent opponent," he muttered under his breath. As he did so, the shadows ahead of him blurred and Kalon was there. Taller than he and without a jump pack, the smoke-wreathed epistolary was one of very few people he trusted. He held, as he always did, the daemon-maul Extortium, a length of hellsteel as tall as he was, topped with a spiked obsidian skull twice the size of a normal mans. It was testament to the incredible strength of this man that he bore it without any sign of discomfort - indeed, he was carrying it casually in one hand.

"Aesis," he said gruffly,"you well?"

The Silver Library

Alexandri Anon's version of the Black Library. These are the collection of (hopefully) epic tales that will be at least 20,000 words long and could be 150,000 words.

Currently there the only story being written is The Holocaust on Rosskar.

The Holocaust on Rosskar(Silver Cataphracts Novel)

Eyes But Not Ears(Eyes of the Emperor Novel)

The Fallen Angels(Winged Victory to Void Angels Novel)

Ivory and Ice(The Mastadontii Novel)

A Line Without Beginning(Black Augers Novel)

The Galaxy's Cure(Eternal Zealots Novel)

The Many Deaths Of the Scribes(War Scribes Novel)

The Walls Arise(Bulwark/Ramparts Novel)