"The Fifth Legion always had our respect," said Khârn. "More than could be said for the Third."- Khârn: Eater of Worlds
On a Warhammer 40K Facebook group I'm a part of, one of the guys posted the above quote while reviewing the book it came from, and upon reading it and wondering about this previously unheard of respect between the Vth and XIIth Legions, I got inspired and came up with this during a slow day at work yesterday- as far as I know, the only campaign that saw the World Eaters and White Scars on the same field before the Heresy was Ullanor, so I've concocted this with a bit of inspiration from Butcher's Nails. I like to think the World Eaters found common ground with the Scars in the fact they made no secret of the fact they loved killing and felt no shame at their mastery of that, and Kharn respected the Vth's ability as warriors if nothing else. Hopefully this drabble of mine is enough to do that idea justice.
Note: Just a few translation points, in case you're wondering: The word "Orokhoos" which I've used a few times in this means "Vermin" (it's Mongolian standing in for Khorchin), while the phrase 'Nil ann ach cleasai, agus tá an iomad measa aige air féin' is eldar, translating as "The Trickster thinks too much of himself" (I decided to include this after thinking that like Perturabo, given the White Scars have a history fighting with Dark Eldar, I imagine the Khan would have picked up a few things).
Enjoy!
A keening screech came as the chain-axe cut through indigo hued armour like paper, biting into the flesh and bone of the eldar reaver's sternum. Khârn kicked the dying xenos away, pivoting on his heel to decapitate a second trying to take him from behind, this one female, armed with a barbed spear, her head bouncing across the sand in a whirl of dyed red hair.
This battle was not meant to have been fought: the XIIth Legion had only dropped out of the Warp near Thapsus to refuel and resupply before moving on- the Warmaster was demanding their assistance in aiding his legion and Guilliman's martinets in stamping out insurrection on a nearby planet- when distress calls from the desert world, begging any Imperial forces close enough to respond, had reached them. With the Nails afire in the back of his skull, Khârn struggled for a moment to remember who they were defending…
'Miners!' he recalled, the memory of Lotara's briefing swimming to the surface of his mind through the blood haze in a brief moment of clarity; though sparsely populated, most of Thapsus's industry was devoted to the mines that provided ores vital to the Imperium's war machine, the loss of which could not be countenanced. Three mining facilities had already been taken, their workers taken for slaves or put to the sword by the aliens, by the time the World Eaters had made planetfall and Angron had made the legion move like the devil to reach the fourth under attack before the eldar slipped away. Khârn knew his Primarch well enough to know Angron didn't give a damn about saving the miners at risk from the xenos or preventing the dip in productivity the Imperium's manufactoria in the sector would suffer were Thapsus's mines to cease work; the lord of the XIIth Legion simply wouldn't allow the eldar to humiliate him by slipping away without bloodying them first.
Khârn glowered at the third eldar to face him, futilely clawing at the ceramite of his vambrace as the equerry choked the life from the xenos with contemptuous ease. He'd fought eldar before- he remembered scorpion-clawed shadows stalking him through the jungles of Scylla III, and fighting shrieking, white armoured warrior women with a blade in each hand in the blizzards on Orestes- but these creatures reminded him more of Curze's legion of degenerate sadists than any breed of xenos he'd fought before, not just in appearance, clad as they were in spike festooned armour the shade of Eighth Legion warplate, adorned with all manner of horrific, fetishistic totems- earrings and body piercings made from sharpened, scrimshawed human bone, necklaces and pendants of severed ears and fingers, cloaks of human skin, some still fresh and bloody from flaying, skulls of children hanging on chains from belts, bodies of miners and Imperial Army soldiers, some still twitching, being dragged behind alien anti-grav transports- it was their manner, cruel and revelling in drawing out their kills. As the battle unfolded, Khârn could see the eldar were toying with the World Eaters- they had the advantage of speed and manoeuvrability, and as more and more of his brethren lost themselves to the Nails, they flung themselves at the enemy pell-mell, making it easy for the aliens to separate them into ever smaller groups cut off from one another.
Even then, the eldar seemed in no hurry to make the kill- 'They like to play with their food' Khârn mused- though the aliens weren't having it all their own way; indeed, in some cases they looked to have bitten off more than they could chew- one eldar witch with vibrant dyed hair and a serrated dagger in each hand was so intent on inflicting a thousand cuts on the legionary in front of her, she failed to heed any other threats until Kargos barrelled into her from the left, bearing her to the ground and splitting her skull with his axe. Another eldar reaver who'd pinned a legionary to the sand with a barbed harpoon to the chest unexpectedly found the tables turned as he was ripped away by a length of barbed wire torn from the ruined fences around the mine entrance that Skane was using to garrotte him.
Suddenly, the eldar let out a jubilant whoop- Khârn's head jerked up; in the distance he could see dust being kicked up, moving in their direction, vehicles approaching at high speed. 'Waiting for reinforcements' the 8th Company captain cursed 'buying time by toying with us'. One of the blade-shaped anti-grav craft of the raiders broke off from the battle to greet the incoming new arrivals, but something was wrong; even obscured by the heat haze of the Thapsus desert and the dust and sand they were kicking up, Khârn could not see indigo- unless his eyes had failed him, he thought he could pick out red, white and gold-
"HAI CHOGORIS! FOR THE ORDU OF JAGHATAI!" the leader of the pack, clad head to heel in snow-white ceramite trimmed with crimson, a plume of horsehair dyed the same bright red streaming behind him from his helm's crest, roared as his jetbike hurtled towards the approaching eldar raider craft. The vessel's prow gunner had time enough to gawp before the Astartes' power lance punched through his throat. The vessel veered into a sharp nosedive as a following jetbike shredded its pilot and remaining crew with bolter fire. The raider craft smashed into earth, sending blades of shrapnel and broken fuselage flying, the Vth Legion jetbikes jinking and weaving away as they made to pursue the vessel's ilk whilst their ground-based brethren wove their bikes around the wreckage with the fluid ease of their Chogorian horse-master ancestors, a wedge formation of white-armoured bikers slamming like an arrow into the greatest concentration of eldar warriors, white overwhelming indigo as tulwar clashed with scimitar and the staccato roar of bolter fire drowned out the hiss of splinter weapon discharge. As the wedge formation impacted with the enemy, it split apart, changing from a single arrowhead to the blades of a trident, White Scars cleaving through the alien lines to reach and help their beleaguered XIIth Legion brethren break out of their encirclements.
As Khârn watched, he saw the warrior leading the attack level his bike at the ground and dive like a missile, leaving his fellows chasing down eldar craft in the sky, plunging like a raptor towards earth, pulling up in the last instant before colliding with the earth, but knocking a knot of eldar- wielding nets and tridents, of all thing- flat. Before the jetbike came to a halt, the White Scar had leapt from the saddle, unsheathing the guandao mag-locked to his back and hurling himself at the stunned eldar he'd just flattened. The first died with a foot of energy-wrapped steel through her chest. The guandao decapitated a second trying to regain his feet, the Chogorian using the momentum of his swing to carry him forward, slamming the blade of his weapon into the earth and leaping into the air, slamming both boots into the sternum of another lithe xenos. The sound of bone breaking was audible.
As Khârn and his 8th Company brethren fought their way to link up with their Vth Legion kin, Khârn found himself admiring the skill and passion of the White Scars. The Fifth Legion were not one he knew well- none did, given the propensity of the sons of Chogoris to keep to themselves- but from what he'd heard of them, he'd thought of them as savages, marauders and shamans, little better than Russ's barbarians or Magnus's sorcerers, but watching them now, Khârn saw a skill in the craft of war, a mastery of their weapons that would match the Third Legion. 'Exceed it, even' Khârn mused- the White Scars did not waste their time with any of the preening or overly fanciful bladeplay endemic to Fulgrim's band of peacocks. The White Scars dispensed with such frippery, every blow of a sword or lunge of a spear methodical and direct, aimed with a precision to rival Guilliman's XIIIth, displaying such mastery in the art of the kill.
But it was not that which held Khârn's attention- all of the Legiones Astartes were masters in the art of war, though they each pursued their craft in different ways- it was the laughter. Clear, rich, jubilant, the White Scars laughed with joyous abandon as they cut the eldar apart. In that laughter, Khârn felt appreciation for the sons of the Khan- for years, he'd argued with his Legion's detractors that the World Eaters were simply honest in that they made no secret of the fact they revelled in the act of killing. It was something they excelled at and they saw no reason not to take pleasure in that mastery. The howls of laughter as Chogorian-forged tulwars and daos severed heads and pierced hearts told Khârn that the White Scars too revelled in that knowledge, took pride in their skills at bringing death. While their Legions were too disparate to likely ever forge close bonds, that shared appreciation, each in their own way, for what they did, of knowing what they excelled at and taking no shame in that knowledge gave them common ground.
An eldar reaver going for the Chogorian's back fell with a scream, spine bifurcated by Khârn's chainaxe; the White Scar spun round at the sound, whirling on his heel to take another eldar witch on the 8th Company captain's flank through the belly with a metre of steel, punching her clean off her feet.
"Well met" the White Scar called in greeting, his High Gothic accented but intelligible, not stopping in his fluid butchery of the foe, casually backhanding another alien in the jaw with the hand he had raised to acknowledge his kinsman. "Didn't expect to ever have to thank a World Eater, but stranger things have happened in this Crusade! You are Khârn, are you not? Equerry to your Primarch? Where is Lord Angron? His brother would speak with him"
"If Jaghatai Khan desires words with his brother, he will find my Legion's lord in there" Khârn replied, gesturing to the peak of Mount Cato, into whose depths the mine they were defending plunged. Upon hearing from survivor reports the xenos chain of command had established themselves inside the peak, Angron had gone haring off into the mountain, determined to have blood, the Devourers trailing hopelessly in his wake.
The White Scar nodded and spoke in Chogorian into the vox built within his helmet. Khârn could hear the screech of engines signalling a Stormbird beginning its attack run, but the White Scar captain addressed Khârn before he could witness the craft.
"You have our thanks for slowing these creatures down enough for us to catch them. Our lord swore to take all their heads for their massacres on the shipping lanes close to our Legion's present course, but they proved too elusive to pin down. When your Legion broke warp at Thapsus and chose to assault, you kept them busy long enough for Shiban Khan to find and cut off their route of escape; the gate they planned to use to flee back into the Warp is no more, our Techmarines have seen to that. The eldar will find no way out from here; the Great Khan has sworn Thapsus shall be their grave!"
"Then why do we waste time with words when there are xenos graves to be filled?!" Khârn roared, gunning his chain-axe to life, Skane, Kargos and others of the 8th Company bellowing in agreement. "Your reputation precedes you, and I wish to see if you hit as hard as your namesake!" the World Eater captain demanded of the Lord of Summer Lightning. Jubal Khan gave a bark of laughter, nodding in agreement.
"Aye! Let us test speed against savagery and see who reaps the greater tally!"
Khârn swept a hand across the battlefield, indicating the hacked and maimed corpses clad in indigo armour split open and bent beyond recognition, the clear handiwork of chain-axes. "I would say the XIIth have made a good start!"
Jubal Khan laughed, knocking down an eldar marauder with the haft of his guandao, not taking his eyes off Khârn as he stamped on the alien's throat hard. "This battle is not over yet!" the White Scar retorted as he made to where his jetbike had come to an idling stop.
The keshig deployed swiftly as the Stormbird, designation 'Tianlong' touched down on the landing platform at the summit of Mount Cato. The moment they were down, the craft lifted off, moving to provide fire support to the battle raging at the mountain's foot. The arrival of the Vth in support of the XIIth had seen the battle move into its endgame- faced with the wrath of two Astarte legions, the eldar raiders were desperately trying to break away – 'Not that they will find a way out' Qin Xa mused with no small satisfaction- 'Shiban has seen to that'.
The vox within the helm of his Cataphractii war-plate suddenly screeched with static, but the gist of the report that followed was digested in seconds. "INCOMING!" the captain of the keshig roared at his men- heads jerked up, catching sight of at least thirteen craft inbound- one of the blade-shaped troop carriers the eldar favoured, its flanks covered by half a dozen xenos jetbikes on either side, their riders whooping and hooting as they came on. The warriors of the keshig readied themselves for battle, assessing their chances- the weapons on the jetbikes weren't likely to penetrate their armour baring a lucky shot, and their own weapons would rip the lightly clad eldar apart, but the lance weapons on the transport closing in would be capable of doing damage. Out in the open, the keshig closed ranks around their charge- they wouldn't get into cover before the aliens were in firing range- raising their storm bolters, picking targets.
"Concentrate your fire on the crew!" Qin Xa ordered; their best chance was to either down the raider craft or force it to break off before its weapons were in range-
The screech of missiles being fired cut through the hooting and hollering of the xenos mob, their war cries and taunts turning into shrieks as the Stormbird came at them from below. Four eldar raiders and their bikes disintegrated into gobbets of broken metal and shredded meat as the Tianlong's heavy bolters opened up. The two dreadstrike missiles the gunship had loosed streaked at their target- one missed, taking out an eldar reaver who veered into its path while trying to jink out of danger as the White Scar Terminators opened fire as well, but the second slammed into the raider vessel's engines on the starboard side, the force of impact all but blowing the transport in two at the stern, its pilot and rear gunners torn apart. The remaining gunner clinging to the prow screamed, genuine terror evident even through its full helm as the raider craft plummeted straight towards the landing platform.
"Get clear! Move! MOVE!" Qin Xa bellowed, the ten battle brothers moving back towards the loading bay doors leading into the facility within the mine- once they'd have been used to allow cargo lifters and power loaders access to the platform to load up Arvus lighters and Aquila transports with the ore mined and processed within the facility before the crafts transported it to vessels waiting in orbit to be shipped out to the wider Imperium, but now the doors were buckled and torn, ripped open by lance weaponry, burn scars and blood defacing the metal.
The raider crashed into the platform side on, shrapnel and broken fuselage sent flying in all directions- Qin Xa cursed as a trio of dagger-sized metal fragments carved deep gouges into his pauldrons and greaves, seeing Tömörbaatar sent staggering as part of a weapon mount, broken off by the impact, collided with his breastplate. The eldar craft's momentum carried it along the platform, sending up sparks and a horrific keening screech of tortured metal, coming to a stop just before its mangled prow collided with the ruined bay door, its jetbike escorts breaking off like quail before the raptor and the Tianlong's pilot roaring in jubilant triumph at the kill.
"A fine strike" the mellifluous voice of the figure at the keshig's centre complimented the Stormbird's pilot. "Remain on station; we may require a quick extraction. Be ready if we call"
"As you command, Khagan" the pilot assured the Primarch. At that, a desperate gasp to the right of the keshig caught all their attentions; helms whirled rounds, hands clutched power blades and raised storm bolters ready for combat. Amazingly, the raider's prow gunner had survived the crash, helm lost, revealing a female visage scraped and bloodied, dragging herself away from the wreckage on her hands, legs clearly broken, armour ruined beyond repair. Qin Xa raised his bolter to make an end of it when the Primarch's hand on his shoulder stopped him. The hiss of metal scraping as the Khan unsheathed the tulwar at his waist with his right hand, removing the gold dragon-helm he wore with his left was audible even over the crackle of flames as he stalked over to the crippled alien with panther-like grace and stamped on her broken leg.
Where is your master?" the Khagan demanded of the wounded alien when its screams had finally stopped. Even crippled and wounded, the eldar raider still had the strength to spit in defiance; the keshig raised their bolters at the insult but the Khan waved them down.
"Mon-keigh filth!" the eldar hissed, baring blood-flecked teeth, violet eyes redolent with hate and pain. "You think to command me, deluded godling?! The House of Irunahr will not fall to such as you apes- your berserker brother will fall to our lord in the depths and you will follow suit! You will learn nothing from me that will help you change that, mon-keigh scum!" the eldar finished, spitting in the Primarch's face. Qin Xa and the keshig bristled, eager to tear the xenos bitch apart, but Jaghatai seemed more amused than offended by the display of defiance.
"Better than you have said the same, orokhoos. I still stand, the roads to my hearth decorated with their skulls. Keep your secrets, I do not want them. Your skull will satisfy me"
The tulwar in his hands swept up and then came down, the last keening shriek cut off abruptly with the crunch of metal biting through meat. The Khan's laughter as he lifted the trophy aloft was one of genuine amusement, bemusing Qin Xa and the keshig.
"An epitome of xenos arrogance! You all saw my Twelfth Legion brother at the triumph on Ullanor, and we've all heard tales of what he's capable of- do you really think filth such as this"- punctuating his words with a kick at the truncated corpse- "could lay low Angron?! And if they were so confident of victory, why would they be trying to run?" the Khan noted, nodding at the wrecked transport.
"An extraction" Qin Xa noted. "If that craft was coming to meet them, something was coming up to this level. Running from Lord Angron, perhaps? Jubal says he and forces had already gone in…"
"That would be my guess" Jaghatai agreed. We move fast, we will catch them between us. Why should the World Eaters have all the glory? My vow still stands- I want their lord's head to decorate the Swordstorm's bridge!"
The passage down through the mining facility was a grim one. On every level of the facility, bodies were strewn- not just miners, but security staff and Imperial Army personnel from the Thapsus garrison who, judging from the position of the bodies and the evidence of small arms fire, had died trying to hold ground to let the civilians try and escape the raiders. Judging from the state of the bodies, none had died cleanly…or quickly. The walls of the first four floors down from the landing platform were sprayed with arterial crimson and pockmarked with las and autogun fire, as well as evidence of splinter weaponry.
'Playing with their food, as always' Qin Xa cursed internally, remembering the similar state of the gutted merchant ships the raiders had left in their wake for the White Scars to find.
On the fifth floor down, they started to find alien bodies- some clearly having fallen to the small arms fire of the Imperial Army troops, but further in, they saw ones who showed the clear signs of wounds inflicted by bolter fire- chests blown wide open or limbs torn clean off- along with others that had clearly died at close quarters- the brutal, ragged-edged wounds inflicted by chain axes or the clean, cauterised handiwork of power weaponry.
Seventh level down, the keshig came upon their first survivor- a fellow Astartes, clad in battered Cataphractii war-plate, white and blue, though so stained with black and crimson that only patches of the original colour remained. The World Eater was propped up against a wall just before an open set of doors leading to a gantry that would take them into what looked like a vast cavern festooned with machinery, helmetless, his face a ruin of broken bone and torn meat twisted into a final snarl, surrounded by a gorgon's mane of metal cable. Qin Xa didn't bother to vox for an Apothecary; anyone with eyes could see the World Eater didn't have long left. The remains of his right hand were trying to grasp the haft of a power axe lying where it had fallen on the metal decking floor, but it was out of reach and he was too weak to move to reclaim it.
The Khan stepped forward from the midst of his warriors and picked the weapon up, placing it in the Astartes' grip. The Terminator grunted an acknowledgement, as much of an admission of gratitude as could be expected from one of the XIIth Legion, and most likely all his ruined physiology was capable of. The warrior looked up, his remaining eye widening as he recognised he was in a Primarch's presence.
"Lord Jaghatai. I'd stand to greet you, but I think I'd be dead before I made it halfway up" the warrior remarked, voice barely more than a guttural rasp.
"Rest easy, nephew" the Khan replied, placing a hand on the World Eater's breastplate to keep him motionless. "Who are you, warrior?"
"Rheikr, of the Devourers"
"My brother's guards"
Rheikr's reply was half laugh, half choking cough. "For all the good that we do. We were cut off, separated; what's left of my brothers are alone or in small groups, fighting all over this labyrinth and our lord…he's somewhere in there" Rheikr's head jerked down the gantry, further into the cave beyond. "Your brother has the scent of the warlord in charge of these pirate scum and nothing will do but that he claims their skull himself. That's the last I heard, before they took me apart…"
"Who took you apart?"
"Enemy elites" Rheikr's face contorted into a grimace at the memory. "Horned helms, indigo armour covered in enough spikes to make a greenskin envious, wielding two handed power swords, or whatever the aliens have for such. Waited until I was up to my elbows in the guts of their lesser ilk, then came at me like carnodons, made me look like a child, cut me up like a steer. Parts of me, only held together by this armour" the Devourer chuckled morbidly.
"How many?" Jaghatai pressed.
"Two did for me; wouldn't think there's many more. Saw Barst take one down for certain. Think I saw more pass me to go join their master…can't be sure, mind's not what it was, even without the Nails digging in…bastards didn't even bother to finish me…"
Suddenly, the grim silence was broken by a bloodcurdling roar from within the cavern that would have done a rampaging theropod proud. The Primarch's enhanced hearing and the sensors built into the keshig's war-plate picked up other sounds as the bestial war cry died away- the clash of blade on blade, the revving of a chain-axe roaring to life and screaming. Reikhr chuckled darkly.
"We underestimated them. They underestimated him"
"Where is your lord, Reikhr? Where is my brother?" Jaghatai demanded.
Another coughing fit overcame the World Eater, all but robbing his words of cohesion. "Platform…above the pit…makes sense…open space…surround him…Lord Angron there…with the enemy…what's left"
"They will not escape us!" Qin Xa insisted, the rest of the keshig muttering oaths of affirmation. Reikhr's face contorted into a smile, or something approximating it which was all his ruined visage was capable of, looking surprised, amused and intrigued all at once.
"Fine words, White Scar. Would like to have… seen you prove them"
"Would have enjoyed doing it, World Eater" the captain of the keshig replied. Reihkr didn't answer, his expression dull, his remaining eye glassy, staring sightlessly at the opposite wall. The Khan closed his eye in a final gesture of respect- he'd fought to the last, spitting defiance; that merited recognition. Two of the keshig moved Reikhr's body into a side chamber that had been used to store equipment- the World Eater's bulk all but filled it. The Khan had no notion how Angron's warriors honoured their fallen, but he would not let scavengers despoil the Devourer's body before such rites could be performed.
"Move out" Jaghatai demanded. "No mercy. The warriors who laid Reikhr low…slay them all. Tear the preening orokhoos to pieces and laugh in their faces as they try to stop you! Let us see what passes for skill amongst their misbegotten kind…and let us find them wanting!"
The crackle of flames, the charnel reek of blood, smoke, charring flesh and voided bowels, the stench that had pervaded every battlefield since the men of Old Terra had used blades of bronze and iron to kill one another.
The two closest things to demi-gods to be found in the godless universe their father sought to forge stood staring into the flames of the bonfire their sons had raised, watching xenos armour deform and crack, pallid flesh smoulder and blacken in the heat of their funeral pyre, the behemoth stood closest to the flames clad in bronze and red ceramite, growling softly like a caged beast, a living breathing, scarred edifice to the brutality and savagery of war, gauntleted fingers beating a tattoo as they opened and closed round the chain-axe hafts in their grip, accompanied by the jangle and chime of metal rattling from the skull-adorned chains at the warrior's waist or the gorgon's mane of cables around the snarling visage that glowered into the flames.
The second figure, stood slightly behind the first, was clad in white armour, trimmed with crimson, its purity speckled with alien gore and defaced by blade cuts and the impacts of small arms fire. The figure stood in silence, his weather-beaten face contemplative as he studied the remains of the fallen enemy, giving a discrete nod to the Legion menials that it was safe to approach as they dragged another xenos corpse to the pyre, the mortals hastily discarding their burden and then retreating, not wanting to linger in the presence of two such unpredictable Primarchs.
The silence between the two would have been awkward even without the circumstances of the unexpected meeting; neither the Khan nor the Red Angel knew each other well- this had to have been their first meeting since Ullanor, and even at that glorious triumph, the brothers had only observed one another from a distance, the closest they'd come to interaction begrudging nods from a distance. They were too different to form a close accord; the Khan believed in precision and elegance in warfare, whereas his brother lived for unbridled, unrestrained slaughter. Jaghatai used his sons to their full potential, honing and guiding them in pursuit of ever greater perfection in the art of the hunt, while Angron was content to throw his own into meat grinder after meat grinder, caring nothing for how many lives were ground into the dirt so long as it bought victory.
When Angron finally spoke, the words were halting, reluctant. "If you expect thanks, Jaghatai, you will be disappointed. I did not ask for your help, either on this world or in that mountain"
"Unlike Guilliman or Russ, I do not expect acknowledgement for such things" the Khan answered. "I know you are not made for such displays and I hardly need a laurel wreath by way of thanks. Nor do I seek unnecessary glory. I'm not Fulgrim"
"True" Angron conceded, a soft chuckle that sounded like a small avalanche escaping the World Eaters' Primarch. "Your Legion and mine aren't so different; your Scars live for the pleasure of the kill as much as my World Eaters, and they do it very well. I don't remember much" the Primarch admitted, angrily clutching a handful of the serpentine cables wired into his cranium "but what I do…"
'The snake-creature sank its fangs into the meat of the Primarch's right cheek, but whatever effect it expected its bite to have, whether it expected the pain of the bite or whatever venom its fangs might have contained to cripple its foe, didn't happen. Angron's response was much more effective- a mouth of iron dentition, filled to scalpel-sharp fangs buried themselves in the flesh at the juncture of the serpentine alien's neck and shoulder, and Angron jerked his head back, ripping out a fist-sized chunk of green and black scaled meat, accompanied by a gouting spray of arterial spurt. The snake-breed xenos shrieked, but Angron didn't give it a chance to recover; shrugging its coils off him, one colossal fist grabbed it by the throat while the other gripped its jagged armour at the base where humanoid torso joined serpentine tail, lifted it off the ground and began to bend. The alien thrashed and screeched , desperate even against the blood loss of its wound, but the Primarch's grip was inexorable. The snap of spinal bone breaking as Angron bent the xenos in half put an end to its struggles, the Lord of the XIIth casting it aside like a broken toy, the serpentine corpse smashing through the railings of the platform upon which they fought and disappearing into the depths of the mine shaft over which the platform loomed.
Even through the fog of the Nails, he could make out on the platform below, two of his warriors, Devourers by their armour, desperately trying to reach him, being fended off by the efforts of a dozen eldar warriors, clad in the ubiquitous indigo armour of their foe, festooned with spikes and crowned with horned full helms. The warriors moved far swifter than their heavy armour would suggest, certainly quick enough to keep the cataphractii-clad Astartes at bay. Even if Angron had felt inclined to go to the aid of his 'bodyguards', he had his own problems; two more of the four-armed serpent-men came at him, two arms wielding serrated machetes of xenos design, the other two reloading and firing splinter rifles continuously, though Angron paid no heed to the pinpricks of their toxic ammunition. These creatures, however, had learned from the death of their counterpart, darting forward whenever Angron's wild swings left an opening and then dodging back, usually seconds before Gorefather or Gorechild found meat. The Nails screeched and raged in the back of his mind, demanding blood but the damn serpents wouldn't stay still long enough for him to land a killing blow.
Nor were they the only problem he had to deal with.
"STAND STILL, YOU PRANCING ALIEN GUTTERSNIPES!" Angron bellowed as another envenomed dagger in the hands of an eldar harlot carved another furrow in his left vambrace as Angron instinctively protected his face. His attacker, one of a pair of female eldar clad in figure-hugging black bodysuits the same hue as their ebon hair, darted back as Angron's left fist swung at her head, hissing and sneering derisively as she and her kin jabbed and slashed at him with poisoned blades. Angron had dismissively considered them courtesans on first sight, servicing the pleasure of the xenos master of this raiding force the World Eaters had confronted, until he'd seen one of the xenos bitches drive a blade into the eye socket of one of his Devourers, the warrior too lost to the Nails to realise he'd lost his helm, too engrossed in slowly pulling out the guts of the foe in front of him to notice another sneaking up from behind. Several festering wounds on the Primarch's neck, cheeks and brow were testament to their skill- their poniards couldn't kill him, but they were an annoyance and like the snakes, the eldar harlots wouldn't stay still long enough for him to get a good hit.
"Such fine sport, mon-keigh" a cultured male voice sneered and Angron raised his left shoulder to protect his head as another pistol shot was made at him. The leader of the eldar raiders, clad in elaborate plate armour the same indigo hue as his underlings, though trimmed at the edges with silver filigree, his pallid, haughty features contorting into a mocking laugh as the xenos warlord watched Angron angrily lay about himself in a desperate bid to catch something. At the same time, an angry cry came as one of the two Devourers collapsed; two of the horn-helmed eldar warriors sank twin-handed power swords through armour into meat, one in the Astartes' chest, the other in his gut. The last remaining Terminator- Barst, the name swinging to the surface of Angron's mind through the bite of the Nails- gave a roar of anger, trying to charge in to avenge his brother, but the warriors fell back before his charge, moving to encircle Barst like dogs at a bear-baiting. The eldar war leader laughed at the sight, safe behind his warriors.
"Your warriors would give us such sport in the arenas, and you…it is a shame I cannot take you alive- a mon-keigh god prince would be a fine offering to the lords of the Dark City, enough to ensure my prosperity for generations…but I fear not. Even the merest trace of Kharneth's bloody taint cannot be allowed to contaminate Commorragh …INCUBI!" the eldar lord bellowed at the horn-helms, their heads pricking up at the command. "End this! Prove your worth and put an end to these sorry-"
"HAI CHOGORIS!" the howl came from the far side of the cavernous chamber. The Incubus closest to the source of the noise whirled…and was promptly torn to pieces as a hail of storm bolter fire opened up, losing its right arm, and then its head as a trio of bolts slammed into its helmet-decapitation was near-instantaneous as the bolts detonated. Caught off guard, the Devourer Barst didn't wait for the rest of the Incubi to recover- a second eldar warrior collapsed with a shriek as a power axe bit into the back of its skull. A third xenos tried to strike at Barst's exposed back, only to be knocked aside as a figure in white ceramite, moving with panther-like speed and grace darted into the midst of the eldar elite, the white amidst the indigo vibrant even to the Nails-lost. Barst's would be killed crumpled as the golden hilt of a power sword, a tulwar of Chogorian design, slammed into its face; Barst's axe fell, ensuring the alien wouldn't get back up. Cut down from six to three, the remaining Incubi turned to face their new foe- warriors in Cataphractii plate, the white of pristine snow in contrast to the dull bone white of the XIIth, trimmed with crimson rather than blue. Six hung back in reserve, pelting the gantries and upper mining platforms leading to the eldar's position with storm bolter fire as the remaining six, including one whose armour's elaborate detail marked out a captain, raised daos and tulwars crackling with energy as the power swords activated. Confident his Terminator plate clad sons could deal with the aliens, the white-clad figure who'd aided Barst charged up the metal staircase to the highest platform, where Angron and his foes stood. Even with his mind savaged by the Nails, the need to kill driving him on, Angron could make out details, mystifying though they were to see- tanned, weather-beaten skin from a lifetime beneath scouring winds, grassland skies and desert suns, a long, old scar running down the left side of the face, a moustache and top knot of long black hair, threaded with sharpened bones and tribal fetishes and on his left shoulder, picked out in gold and ruby against the white, the lightning bolt sigil…
Angron had no idea why the Khan and the White Scars were there and it made no difference- the Red Angel wasted no time in wondering, he just took advantage. The eldar lord and his retinue turned to face the Khan and Angron struck; one of the snake men shrieked as both arms on its right side were torn away by Gorefather's rending teeth. The force of the blow spun the creature around, in time for Gorechild to tear through armour, scales and meat to tear apart the alien's sternum. One of the eldar courtesans lunged at Jaghatai, but the Khan dodged away with feline grace, the blade in his hands sweeping up and then coming down, severing both of the eldar woman's outstretched hands at a stroke. The hands, still clutched around the poisoned blades, hit the metal decking at the same instant the Khan's blade went high, taking two-thirds of the xenos bitch's head off in the process.
The eldar warlord, drawing a scimitar that looked like it was carved from sun-bleached bone lunged forward, sparks flying as the Khan's power sword parried, the second eldar harlot waiting for an opening to assist her master. The last remaining snake creature lunged at Angron, the machetes in its hands slashing for his neck, trying to cut his throat…or they would have, had Gorechild not knocked them aside. Angron was too close for another swing, but a Primarch didn't need weapons to kill. The Red Angel's right hand found the alien's throat as the left came down on the thing's skull with all its might; hefting the boneless, limp body as a missile, Angron lobbed the dead snake-man at the two eldar fighting Jaghatai; the second courtesan didn't see it coming until too late, screaming as the serpent's body hit her midriff and they both went flying, smashing through the safety rail at the platform's edge, plummeting into the abyss. The eldar lord's haughty expression melted into a look of horror, accompanied by a final scream as the White Scar captain pinned the last Incubus beneath his boot and emptied the magazine of his storm bolter into the eldar's skull. Two White Scars Terminators lay dead, while a third and Barst needed support from others to stand- the Incubi had made the Astartes pay for the victory.
The Khan laughed at the dismay of his enemy. "Nil ann ach cleasai, agus tá an iomad measa aige air féin!" Jaghatai shouted, revelling in the look of stunned revulsion crossing the eldar lord's visage at being taunted in his own dialect by a mon-keigh barbarian. "What did you think you would achieve here?! Your warriors die at this mountain's base, the slaves you sought to steal are free, your means of egress from this world is closed forever…and my blade hungers for your skull, orokhoos!"
"You think this is a victory, mon-keigh?!" the eldar warlord snarled. "You may indeed kill me, but it won't make a difference- others will come, and the dregs of your precious Emperor's empire will continue to feed the Dark City's thirst! Soon enough, your brightest star will fall into darkness, and we will have an unguarded banquet table to glut ourselves when you fight-"
The alien's bravado was cut short as with another theropod roar, Angron, goaded to action by an angry pulse from the device wired into his cranium, charged forward- the eldar lord slashed out casually with the bone-sword in his hand, Angron bellowing as the blade carved a trench from right brow to left cheek, but the eldar's expression was one of astonished horror, as if he'd expected the blade cut to have far worse effect. It was still there when the Khan's tulwar impaled his heart'.
Angron's fingers touched the new scar carved through his face; the blade used to inflict it was in the hands of Vth Legion Techmarines, seeking to match it against previous samples of Eldar weapons tech before turning it over to the Mechanicum. Jaghatai had a strong suspicion it was a form of blade he'd seen before, not to mention his amazement Angron, even with a Primarch's superhuman constitution, had survived a blow from such a weapon. At the Khan's feet, the severed head of the Eldar warlord and the helms of the Incubi rested, more trophies for the bridge of the Swordstorm. Angron's gaze took in the trophies, nodding in approval at them.
"It was a fine stroke, Jaghatai, and I'm pleased to see you and I have a…appreciation for taking trophies. You and your Legion fought well here- I did not ask for your aid here, Jaghatai, and I think you and I are far too different to ever see eye to eye, but the skills you and your sons showed…as one warrior to another, you have my respect for that. It was…most impressive to watch you fight, if only so I can tell Fulgrim the next time I see him you would make him look like a fumbling child!"
Jaghatai nodded in acceptance, knowing it was the closest he would get to a compliment or thanks he would get from his berserker brother. Below, he could see white-armoured warriors of both Legions engaging in tales of bravado or sparring, testing their own skills at warfare against their brothers or demonstrating particular moves they'd used. The World Eaters and White Scars, much to the surprise of their lords, seemed to be getting on, a mutual respect forged in the heat of battle serving to let the two disparate Legions find some common ground.
It was the last time they would.
Terra, 0014. M31
Lion's Gate loomed overhead, elements of the Traitor garrison the Warmaster had left to hold it emerging to defend it. He could make out the arterial crimson of Lorgar's zealots and the deep purple of Fulgrim's degenerates, but the bulk of the forces forming up in front of the space port as the White Scars hurtled at them were World Eaters, howling and hooting at the prospect of combat. For a brief instant, the Khan wondered if any of the warriors closing the gap between the two forces had fought beside his own sons at Thapsus, if they still remembered battling side by side against a common foe on those sands, if any of them felt the same regret that that brief moment was gone, never to be again.
Then the Khan pushed it to the back of his mind, focusing on the task ahead, what Rogal and Sanguinius and their Father had trusted him to. 'Let us remind you why you respected us that day' Jaghatai mused as he shouted a command in Khorchin and the power lances of the Vth Legion's vanguard lowered for battle.