Storm Heralds Reading List
Book 1 Maledicti Venator, Serrati Stellas, Tenebris Resurget, Finis Fide, In Tergum Cultro, Omni Honore, Carpe Posterum, Vacuus Cymba, Noctem Oritur.
Book 2 Umbram Ignis, Ancra Mortis, Fame Cimex, Crux Lapis, Saeva Abyssi.
Book 3 Captum Ante, Venenum Filios, Locum Ignotum, Domus Discordia.
Book 4 Cincere Tempestas, Ignis in Vacui, Indomitus Bellum.
*Authors note: the following story is set before the novel Dark Imperium: Plague Wars and Armour of Fate*
Extract from Imperial Crusades of the new age: Vol I
Following the final defeat of the Ebon Assembly the Indomitus Crusade could confidently declare that Terra was at last secure from the immediate threat of invasion. This victory had come at the end of a near decade of constant warfare that had consumed Segmentum Solar and while it did not mean that the fighting stopped, it did mark a turning point in the wider war.
From the inception of the Crusade the Lord Commander had been lending his staggering genius to the restoration and improvement of the Imperium itself. Governments were reorganised at the planetary, interstellar and sector-wide levels, while industries and trade routes were restructured and military forces strengthened. He had also applied his breathtaking diplomatic skills to rebuilding strategic alliances and persuading rebellious worlds to submit. Countless authenticated accounts exist of mutinous governors repenting their deeds before the Primarch, their defiance wilting to nothing when tested against his sheer presence, superb oratory and incisive political skill. Indeed Historitors estimate that for every world the crusade reconquered through force, at least one other was brought back into the fold through Roboute Guilliman's words alone.
Fighting still raged throughout Segmentum Solar but Guilliman was confident that the institutions he had established could expand upon his work, without his further presence. The Primarch now determined that the time had come to look further afield and move the crusade into other Segmentums.
This proved to be a most contentious issue, for many senior commanders violently disagreed as to the correct course. Lord Marshall Hellbrecht of the Black Templars, by far the largest contributors to the Crusade, proposed moving through the Nachmund Gauntlet to confront the horrors assailing Imperium Nihilus. However Lord Militant Xandar demanded the Crusade sail for Segmentum Pacificus, to liberate the besieged worlds surrounding Hydraphur. In contrast Captain Cato Sicarius, commander of the Primarch's Victrix Guard, argued for advancing into Segmentum Ultima, to end the Plague Wars assailing Ultramar. So fierce were these arguments that some even proposed dividing the Crusade and splitting their forces to confront the enemy on every front.
Roboute Guilliman listened to all these proposals but then made his own choice. With irrefutable logic Guilliman explained that while all these endeavours were worthy, the cost in manpower and materials were beyond the depleted Imperium's current ability to support. Yes, brave souls were dying, but without the means to save them the Crusade could not afford to be divided nor distracted. Only with the proper support could the Indomitus Crusade hope to save the wider galaxy, thus the first priority must be to secure more resources for the Imperium, to rebuild the industries and logistics necessary to support such titanic endeavours.
So it was that the Lord Commander ordered the Indomitus Crusade to set course for Segmentum Tempestas, the least badly affected region of the galaxy and so the one with the most easily accessed resources. This would require the bulk of the Crusade to first pass through the Saint Karyl Trail.
Indomitus Bellum Chapter 1
Fire and smoke, that was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. Bright flames licking at toppled crates, spewing black smoke into the confined space of the hold. His autosenses filled his vision with a plethora of warnings, a blizzard of blinking icons making it hard to see. It took a moment of fierce concentration to activate the neural link to his armour and then he dismissed the majority of the icons, leaving only essential read-outs.
The first thing he did was to check his armour's integrity and he was pleased to find his Mark X plate was undamaged, it had sealed his external vents to shut out the smoke but the internal oxygen recycling system had cut in smoothly. His bio-signs were also stable, no significant injuries been taken while he was unconscious and he was fully functional. Lastly he checked the chronometers and was relieved to find that only a minute had passed since he had blacked out, not that meant much whilst in the warp. All seemed in order, except that he had no explanation for his blacking out, it was like there was a hole in his memory. One minute he had been supervising a gang of Adsecularis, collecting supplies from the hold, the next he had been laid out on the floor. It was puzzling in the extreme and he was determined to find an answer.
With that Primaris Lieutenant Henrique Smyth sat up, his armour purring smoothly to match his movements. Smyth turned his head to take in the scene and saw the hold was strewn with fallen crates, the weighty boxes randomly scattered everywhere. Flames arose as some of the more volatile contents ignited, thankfully this wasn't an armoury, where lethal munitions were stored but there were still enough unstable chemicals to make this place a dangerous environment.
Smyth spied his Mark II bolt rifle upon the floor and he stooped to pick it up, muttering a techna-Lingus chant to appease its spirit. As he did so he brushed against a crate and it shifted to reveal a boot. Smyth was curious and knocked the crate aside with one hand, revealing an Adsecularis prone on the deck. Smyth was conditioned for war, trained and hardened to resist anything, but the sight of the tech-thrall made his gore rise. The menial labourer was a cyborg like all Mechanicus workers, but one so lowly he was barely a step above a servitor. Yet the man was now bereft of his augmetics, all of them having been neatly excised from his body. They were laid out in a neat pile beside him, leaving the organic components to rot. To someone trained on Mars that was more harrowing than if they removed his biological organs in a ritualistic murder.
Smyth's head snapped up and he saw more bodies, each one ended in a different manner. Some had been smeared over the walls, others turned inside out or stretched from the high ceiling until their feet touched the floor. One had even been neatly sliced into wafer-thin segments and hung from the bare metal wall, like a medicae's diagram of the nervous system. There was no sign of any killer present, but Smyth wasn't expecting any, this was the unmistakable touch of the Warp. Smyth gripped his bolt rifle tighter and moved towards a secondary personnel hatch. He was about half-way there when he heard a groan and his autosenses detected movement. He hurriedly tossed aside a crate and beneath he found an Adsecularis, the menial battered and bruised but still alive. The labourer looked up with bleary eyes and said, "Controller?"
Smyth hastily grabbed the thrall and pulled him upright barking, "On your feet!"
The thrall wobbled as he stood but his implants steadied him and he looked up to ask, "Directive?"
"We're getting out of here," Smyth answered as he strode to the hatch, "Follow me."
"Compli…" the thrall began but then broke down in fits of coughing and said, "Why… why can't I… breathe?"
Smyth stepped up to the hatch and stowed his rifle as he said, "Oxygen deprivation, the fire is consuming the breathable air. You will die if we don't get out of here."
The thrall staggered to his side and between coughs asked, "What happened to the ship?"
Smyth was fiddling with the runepad, trying to open the door but answered, "No information available, we don't know."
The thrall doubled over and coughed furiously but Smyth barked, "Speak to me, tell me your name. Tell me the name of the man who is going to get out of here alive."
"X10-473-alpha-d," the thrall spat.
Smyth gave up on the dead controls and moved to grip the door itself, his digits tore into the metal and he snapped, "Stand ready X10, when I open this door the oxygen will rush in, the fire will spread quickly. You need to get through fast."
He didn't wait for a response but heaved mightily, physically wrenching the door open. Metal squealed as he sheered the locks from their mountings but he was a Primaris Marine and no mere door could resist his strength. With one heave he opened the hatch and clean air rushed in. Behind him the fires surged as the oxygen hit but before it could reach them X10 was squeezing under his arm and then Smyth dove forward, pulling the door shut behind him. The pair staggered out into the corridor beyond and Smyth's armour unlocked, letting external air within. Smyth took up his bolt rifle and swept the section but found nobody present, nobody living anyway, the area was bereft of crew. Like all imperial vessels, the walls were covered in pipes and mechanisms but these were broken and sparking, shattered beyond repair and Smyth flinched at the damage to the blessed devices. The Lieutenant tried his vox but got no response and since he had no indications which way to go he picked a direction at random and set off. X10 trailed in his wake and asked, "I don't understand, how could this happen?"
Smyth peered ahead and replied, "The last I knew the Omnissiah's Bounty was moving ahead of the main Crusade fleet, trying to reach our rendezvous. We were still days from Warp Translation but something must have surprised us."
"The Empyrean?" X10 asked with a fearful tone.
"Possibly," Smyth stated as he stepped over a dead body.
"Omnissiah preserve us," X10 muttered as he made the sign of the Cog.
Suddenly Smyth saw movement ahead and his rifle snapped up as something bulky emerged into his vision. His finger tightened on the trigger but at the last instant he relented as he recognised the familiar bulk of Mark X plate. From out of a side passage came a squad of Intercessors, led by the welcome sight of his good friend Sergeant Yones. The Sergeant's plate was almost identical to his own, clean lines painted with the proud colours of the Unnumbered Sons, the Primarch's personal army.
Smyth put up his rifle and called out, "Hail!"
Yones looked over then gestured his squad to guard the approaches as he called back, "Lieutenant, by the Red Sands are we glad to see you! We haven't seen anyone living for hours."
Smyth jogged over and inquired, "Hours? By my measure it's been minutes."
Yones responded, "A side effect of the emergency Translation, we've been sweeping the ship looking for survivors."
Smyth held up a hand and said, "Wait, start at the beginning, what have I missed?"
Yones sighed, "We were in the Warp and all seemed normal but then something inexplicable occurred. Captain Kieva ordered an emergency translation but it was rough going, the Omnissiah's Bounty was crippled in the jump, we're adrift in the void."
"At least we are in realspace," Smyth stated, "Why can't I reach anybody on the vox?"
Yones replied dismissively, "The mysteries of the Omnissiah are beyond my ken."
Suddenly the deck heaved beneath them and debris rained down from the broken ceiling. X10 cried fearfully, "Daemons have come for our souls!"
Furiously Smyth rebuked him, "Where is your logic? That was a spatial shift; the ship is in a gravity well."
"Gravity!" Yones started in shock, "Surely we can't be that close to a planet?!"
"No wonder the Translation was so rough," Smyth commented as the heaving got worse.
The whole ship began to shudder, an Astartes Strike Cruiser quivering like a new-born colt on wobbly legs. Everybody swayed with the movements but then a klaxon began to wail and a monotone voice blurted out of vox hailers, "Abandon ship, abandon ship, all hands abandon ship."
X10 sounded incredulous as he cried, "Error-shunt-abort, it can't be possible."
Yet Smyth had already sprung into a jog and called, "Don't stand there like a slipped cog, move it!"
Everybody leapt into motion, racing down the corridor and Yones shouted, "Where are we going?"
Smyth yelled back, "There's a secondary launch bay not too far away, we can make it if we hurry."
With immense strides the Lieutenant led the party down shaking corridors and through quivering hatches. With every step the tremors in the deck got worse and the ship began to keen loudly as bits of machinery fell from the ceiling. Smyth felt shorn fragments of metal pinging off his Ceramite pauldrons, like he was running through a hailstorm and the noise in his ears grew steadily higher in pitch.
Yones was leading his Intercessors one step behind but he spat, "That's no gravity shift, that's atmospheric drag."
"Grit in the Cogs, we're even deeper in the well than I realised," Smyth growled, "Faster everybody, we can still make it!"
Smyth redoubled his pace, hearing the wheeze of X10 labouring to keep up. He daren't slow though, for the Strike Cruiser was screaming in pain and its life was measured in mere minutes. He saw a familiar sign on the wall as he approached a junction and dove down a side passage, leading the party towards the launch bay. Yet just as they came around the turn there was an immense roar and the ship heaved like it was a nautical boat crashing through an ocean wave. The impact made debris cascade from the ceiling and piles of refuse slammed down, filling the junction with shattered bits of metal.
Smyth spun on his heel and leapt at the tangled metal, throwing wreckage aside with frantic haste. In moments he pulled Yones from the snarl of wreckage and the Sergeant wasted not a moment to join him in freeing the rest of the squad. They emerged one by one, their noble plate scratched to hell but not one of them had perished. Yet when Smyth found the body of the Adsecularis he was dismayed to find only a crushed and bleeding mass of sundered flesh: the Tech-Thrall was dead. Smyth grimaced in frustration, but there was nothing to be done so he abandoned X10's body and left him behind.
Together the squad raced down the passages, taking turns from memory alone. Smyth was at the front but he grew concerned as the ships' agony became excruciating and he knew the Omnissiah Bounty was in its last death throes. Just as he thought they were done for they burst into the launch bay to spy the blessed sight of an Overlord Gunship, its assault ramps open to admit a squad of Aggressors.
Smyth waved his party on, shouting, "Get inside now!"
The Primaris hurled themselves up the ramp as the pilot called, "Anymore coming?"
Smyth shook his head saying, "The others should have headed for the main bay or the drop-pods, we're the last."
The ramps began to whine closed behind them and Smyth threw himself into a grav-harness, muttering Mechanicus litanies all the while. The Overlord shuddered as it lifted off the deck and Smyth's head hit the sides as it spun on its axis and drove forward on maximum thrust, then the gunship cleared the bay and dove out into the turbulent air. Smyth's world became a nightmare kaleidoscope of spin and bone-rattling forces, accompanied by the wails of the damned as turbulence clawed at the gunship. Yet the Overlord was an advanced design, the finest product of Mars and it proved true as it broke away from the flaming mass of the dying Strike Cruiser.
After a minute the rattling died down and Yones breathed out, "That was too close."
"We escaped," Smyth replied, "We can only trust the others made it out too."
"No ship, no Astropaths, no idea where we are," Yones muttered, "What are we to do?"
Smyth leaned back in his grav-harness and stated levelly, "We link up with our forces and find a way to survive, then we figure out what the hell just happened."