The rain comes swiftly. The loud rumbling of thunder sets a morbid tone over the plains lying at the feet of the Great Mountain of Shemnoch, a newly-revived but surprisingly unprepared Necron Tomb World. Shemnoch's two massive moons are barely visible overhead, their magnificence absorbed into the black sky above, darker than the emptiest void of space. Underneath the intermittent flashes of lightning streaking across the heavens, an immense horde of Necron warriors are seen further entrenching themselves into the nearby cliff faces of their mountain, while the best companies of the Imperial Fists charge towards the battlements with reckless abandon and a lust for glory.
After a sustained period of intense orbital bombardment, an ocean of yellow flows over the hastily-built Necron fortifications, and the genetically-engineered super-soldiers rip and tear their way through the initial line formations like a chainsword through flesh. The Space Marine platoons navigating their way through the trenches of the Necron army murder with furious zeal, all eagerly awaiting the arrival of a worthy opponent with which to test their mettle. Permeating the air above the battle is a tumult of death, made glorious along with the clamor of power swords and meltaguns disintegrating metallic limbs. The bellows of the conquering legionnaires echo throughout the ranks of the Imperial Fists, raising their spirits and their pride to near-fanaticism.
The remaining Necron Lords and line formations retreat further underground into the bowels of the mountains, once their losses are deemed substantial. Many within the retreating forces of xenos are snatched and destroyed by the Space Marines, who cautiously follow their regrouping foes and advance into the depths of the underground Tomb. To their astonishment, inside the largest Atrium of the Great Mountain is an uncountable amalgamation of Monoliths and Obelisks, sustained by legions of Canoptek Spiders and Heavy Destroyers. Laid out before the Imperial Fists is an onslaught of ancient machinery and proxies of horrific genocide. Nevertheless, the fearless soldiers clasp their weapons tighter than before, and rejoin their brothers in the reaping of mayhem.
A brutal massacre ensues immediately, as the Necrons seek to exploit their adversary's incredibly brief spell of surprise and vulnerability. Casualties on both sides are unthinkable. Men and machine hurtle themselves at each other, with no apparent stratagem and no regard for self-preservation. The tide slowly turns as entire platoons of Centurion Devastators scale the walls of the inner tomb and rain holy fire onto the armored enemy installations. Their twin-linked lascannons vaporize entire columns of Necron soldiers. The Centurions immobilize scores of mechanized mobile fortresses, making them easy prey to targeted attacks from the Venerable Dreadnought platoons. Amidst the pandemonium, the Necron menace initiates its final retreat into the Crypt of their Tomb World, a sealed Inner Sanctum behind 1000 yards of reinforced rock and steel. This monstrous installation personified the word "impregnable"…
That is, until Vidos Harn, the Imperial Fists' Chief Librarian, silences the remaining soldiers with a broad wave of his hand. His eyes lock onto the front entrance of the Crypt, and he begins wading through the ranks of his brothers as his eyes close completely. He begins chanting his sacred creeds, marching solemnly towards the front of the Space Marine ranks, hanging his head downwards in prayer. His fellow Marines hear his exalted words, and turn to regard his presence and revel in it. His voice slowly crescendos and reaches its loudest volume as his open greave thrusts upwards towards the ceiling of the Atrium. A bright light is seen manifesting at his ankles, and in the blink of an eye, his body is engulfed in a white flame, striking awe throughout the entire legion. The earth beneath him quakes, and the air screams. The blinding flame subsides, and the remaining Imperial Fists gaze upon a living visage of murderous purity.
Clasped in Vidos' hand is the legendary hammer, Stonebane. Its brilliance pierces through the darkness of the mountain like diamonds through blackened coal, and Vidos repositions himself in front of the vast Crypt's entryway. Those who witness the birth of the renowned tool of destruction feel a renewed sense of homicidal wrath, and all begin chanting warrior tomes to bolster their morale, preparing for what could be the last battle for the Necrons on planet Shemnoch.
The hammer, now held in both of Vidos' hands, sways backwards behind him. Its face nearly grazes the rocky ground, while Vidos' face is red with rage and vehemence. He lets out a mighty roar, and in one swing the hammer launches forward, lodging itself into the colossal vault door before him. The world beneath the feet of the Imperial Fists trembles violently, throwing some off-balance. A cloud of rock dust explodes from where Stonebane encounters the outer walls. The dust clears, and a mighty rift in the Crypt's earthworks is revealed to the Space Marines, who rejoice in exaltation.
With every swing of Stonebane, the Necron monstrosities slowly come to terms with their fates. Millions of years of immortality and patience had taught them to treat defeats as preludes to ultimate victory, and loss as necessary sacrifices. No defeats, however, had ever been as despondent as this one was. They had been crushed. After hours of painful self-reflection, they slowly realized their final stand will, indeed, be final. And the Imperial Fists would be there to deliver them to their ultimate downfall.
As the murmur of the Space Marines outside their door grew louder and louder, one among the Necrons rose from the bowels of the Inner Sanctum to speak with his demoralized troops. His eyes glowed an evil green, like emeralds from Hell. He cradled in his hand an orb with an equally daemonic aura, and shouted words in his native tongue which perturbed the orb's state. His movements became more and more erratic, as did the behaviors of the orb in his hand. Just as Stonebane made its final strike into the heart of the Crypt, the Necron army found itself invigorated with otherworldly determination. Vidos Harn stood back from his final blow at the Crypt's walls to gaze into the Inner Sanctum and witness the Necron's final defeat, but was instead met with the lifeless stare of Galmakh the Moon Killer, rallying his remaining troops.
The Necron Overlord's Hyperphase Sword shimmered with energy as it stood by its master, as did his warscythe. Vidos walked through the hole in the Crypt's walls, and was followed by the rest of his Space Marine brethren. As they all saw the invincible enemy that stood before them, they were equally struck with fear and excitement. Finally! An opponent whose vigor would rival that of their own. Galmakh stood at least 5 feet taller than any of the Imperial Fists, making him exceptionally intimidating and would most likely make him difficult to kill. Vidos smiled to himself, and gripped Stonebane in his hands as he slowly began to march towards Galmakh's position. The Overlord matched the pace with which Vidos had set forth, and soon both armies were charging at each other. Vidos and Galmakh locked eyes, and once they were within 50 feet of each other, both knew that no matter how long the battle lasted, one fact remained true: one of them was going to die.