(WH40k and all their subsidiary themes is the property of Games Workshop, and the Reclaimers of Dorn are the claimed homebrew of Chapter Master Valrak, a YouTube personality who I very heavily recommend you all go check out, he updates on new 40k content on an almost daily basis.)
Kastilas, Hive World
Near Cadian Sector
Year 110.M42
"To all xeno assholes in the cathedral, this is your last chance to exit the building and face the Emperor's Justice, or we'll bury you in there!"
The threat blasted from the Macharius tank's laud-hailer wasn't as hollow as it seemed. The battalion had the cathedral surrounded, hundreds of men and women ready to storm the structure from all sides. Dozens of Leman Russ tanks and Chimera fighting vehicles sat in a circle of steel, guns trained on the high stained glass windows, engines rumbling and trigger fingers ready. They'd all the firepower they needed, boasting flamers, grenade launchers, heavy bolters and even a few humming plasma and melta guns. Every so often, a window would open and a brief firefight would break out as the troops in that area tried to pick off the target beyond, and then silence again.
But Major Roland Luker knew the truth. The threat -was- hollow. Bringing the holy building down was not truly a real option, not with the consequences in mind. Which meant instead that the Guardsmen assembled would have to breach from multiple points, brave a dozen fatal funnels and take on whatever concentration of enemies was inside. While the charge would be led by the experienced veterans of the Grenadiers, the estimated losses almost made Luker want to risk the wrath he'd face for just destroying the cathedral.
He dropped the vox handset, rubbing his temples in frustration. Madness. The colonel was ordering him in, but if the Canoness was true to her word, none of them would live through the day. Which left 9th Battalion out here, barricades deployed, taking potshots at anything that moved with just lasguns while watching out for snipers, unable to move in or withdraw.
"Frakkin' madness," he grunted. His gunner turned, a questioning look on his face, but Luker just waved him off, wordlessly. There had to be a way to get this done. Luker had served for 13 years, and in that time he'd stood against greenskins, hunted for Dark Eldar and was supposed to be tossed back into the eternal fight against the Traitor Legions once more. But this little detour has been to fight an enemy no one in the regiment had ever faced.
"Damn genestealers…" Luker muttered.
Abruptly, his vox buzzed with an incoming message.
"Uh, Major. You've got incoming. Over."
Sergeant Hawthorne, tasked with keeping the roads clear and securing the rear flanks for the battalion. If he'd been forced to let someone in, that had to be someone of rank. Luker groaned, but reached up to toggle the reply.
"Commissar Antorius back from HQ? Over."
"Ah, no Major. Over."
"Cannoness making good on her threats then? Over."
"No sir. It's-"
But before the sergeant could make good on who exactly was approaching from the rear, there came a dull clanging from outside the tank. Twice. Almost as if they'd just hit something. Luker frowned. No. Something had hit -them-. Something had...knocked?
The vox channel was overridden, as someone imposed their command level authority onto it.
"Am I speaking to the Major in charge of these Guardsmen?"
The voice was deep, echoing, and screamed regal nature. He'd heard this kind of voice before. Luker immediately straightened up, now very attentive as he keyed the reply toggle.
"Yes sir. I'll assume that was you knocking just now."
A chuckle. A Thronedamned Astartes chuckled over the vox.
"Indeed. Why don't you step out, Major? We have a bit to discuss."
Luker had served with Astartes before. The Raptors on Tyrador, and the White Scars on Dantius. Both times, he had been beyond awed and impressed by what he'd seen of the Emperor's Angels carving into the enemies of Man.
But he'd never seen Primaris Marines before.
If a typical Guardsman was blessed to see an Astartes in their service, it was a miracle to witness the newly unleashed giants that now strode their way into the fight. And currently, as he stood next to the Saint Savage, his Macharius Vanquisher tank, he felt smaller than ever before, staring up as these demigods loomed over him, and he'd personally taken on an ork Nob single-handed. But this was...something else.
Next to him was Captain Anyse Sturginson, commander of 9th Battalion's Grenadiers. She was a tall woman, taller than the Major, but right now all she could do was glance back and forth between the Primaris Marines before them and Major Luker, a look of dumbstruck awe on her face. Her lho stick dangled from her gaping mouth, barely held onto, as she experienced the rare treat of being dwarfed herself.
There were three of them, all in regal silver plate armor, the icon of a clenched Fist in a golden field on their pauldrons. The first was the only one of the three to wear a helmet; in the glow from his plasma incinerator, it was like the older helms some of the Raptors had worn, but smoother, streamlined. The massive man shifted uneasily, armored gauntlets adjusting their grip on the glowing rifle.
The other two did not wear helms. One bore a power sword as long as Luker himself, his perhaps once handsome face so scarred it was almost hard to find eyes were they not so bright. His hair was black as the void, with a strip of grey through it, and he wore a perpetual smirk that told of supreme confidence.
The last was the largest, if not through the Terminator-esque armor he wore, then surely the aura of authority he projected. His head shaved bald and his face not quite as scarred as the other, he seemed at ease, as if he was right where he belonged. Aside from the scars, the evidence of his centuries of service were evident in the row of service studs across his brow, and the wisdom radiating from his eyes. In one hand, the head planted firmly on the ground, was an intimidating warhammer, it's head shaped into a massive fist on each side. Even without the sparking power field around it, the mass alone would splatter a normal man to gristle. Major Luker was suddenly unsure of himself, in the presence of a trio of powerful beings with more experience than even the oldest of Imperial commanders.
The Marine with the hammer stepped forward, gazing down (way down) at the Guard officers before him.
"I am High Reclaimer Valrak," the giant said before gesturing to the Marine with the sword. "This is Lord Reclaimer Larrairus of my First Phalangite," then a gesture to the helmed Primaris. "And Brother-Sergeant Tyrol, of the same." Whereas Larriarus at least attempted a disarming smile, unnatural as it seemed, Tyrol simply nodded, hardly moving otherwise. "We are of the Reclaimers of Dorn," Valrak continued. "And we are here to assist."
Finally, Luker found his voice, and saluted to the Chapter Master. "Major Luker, milord. Commanding officer of the 9th Armored Fist Battalion, of the 105th Phalanx Vanguard Regiment."
"Oof, that's a mouthful," the Marine called Larrairus quipped before chortling a little.
Luker swallowed, steeling himself to continue, still a little thrown by a Space Marine doing something as ordinary as chuckling of all things. He gestured to Sturginson, who (a former hive ganger, never one for formalities) continued gawking at the Astartes, though she'd at least kept the presence of mind to close her mouth around the smoke.
"This is Captain Anyse Sturginson, commander of the 2nd Veteran Grenadiers Company, my current 2-eye-see." Finally getting the hint, Sturginson quickly dropped the lho-stick, pulling off a decent salute.
"Sirs."
Luker nodded, glad they had that out of the way.
"You'll forgive us our surprise, High Reclaimer. We weren't told Astartes were inbound."
"You wouldn't have," Valrak replied. "We only just landed. We ourselves were made aware of our destination after we disembarked." The High Reclaimer gestured towards the besieged cathedral, just in time for a cultist sniper to take a potshot at the assembled Marines. The slug cracked overhead, causing many nearby Guardsmen to immediately retake cover, the Major and Captain both pressing against the bulk of the tank. The Astartes barely reacted at all, aside from the one named Tyrol tilting his head back and, after ascertaining the shot's origin, casually lifting the plasma incinerator and, with but a second's pause, loosing a blue bolt. The shot smashed through the stone wall, and from the inhuman shriek, had been a killing blow. Many Guardsmen nearby whooped in celebration, but Luker winced, hissing as he tried to calculate how mad the Sisters would be about that.
"You seem to have enough men here and powerful weapons. Why not simply destroy the xenos from this spot?" Valrak continued. The Major shook his head, standing up fully once he'd seen the situation was safe enough for the time being as he turned back to the Astartes. Sturginson, to her credit, kept the structure covered, eyes scanning for targets as she called out orders to her Grenadiers over the vox.
"Not that simple, milord. This cathedral is named the 'Bastion of Souls Heroic'. The local Sororitas compound have a Canoness, real ballbus-..." Luker paused, trying to think of a different turn of phrase as he tried to describe the hellacious white-haired woman. "A real hardliner. She's named the Bastion holy ground. Means destroying it is akin to desecrating a relic, in her eyes." Luker cleared his throat as Valrak blinked, clearly taken aback by the statement, before he finished with "Even if the place is occupied by, say, xenos and heretics."
"Ah. So you hold back, not out of fear of the enemy, but because of politics," Valrak finished, realization dawning on his face.
"Yes, milord. The Canoness says that if I order the attack, she'll burn me, my officers and any tankers that fire on the building. I've got Colonel Narvis on the vox with Regimental HQ in one ear ordering me to attack before the cultists dig in too hard, and in the other ear the Canoness is screaming that she'll kill us all if we so much as scratch the walls." Luker shook his head, his hand toying with his holster as he glanced around the side of the tank again, anxiety climbing as he eyed up the structure. "The only option is to try and storm the place with troopers. And who knows what they've got in there. My men are more than willing to try, but we're already estimating heavy casualties just by basic assumption."
Valrak hummed, a sound that almost sounded like a high-capacity hauler truck passing down a highway. His fingers drummed on the haft of the thunder hammer, a chorus of descending clicks that repeated again and again. He seemed to be caught in thought about something for a moment, dark eyes studying the cathedral for a moment, flitting from door to window to wall.
Lord Reclaimer Larrairus stepped closer, gesturing with his sword, the tip dancing from a shattered window down the facade of the cathedral, ending on the front doors, surrounded by barricades and the dead Guardsmen that tried the first and only direct breach through that entrance.
"High Reclaimer, our goal is inside that building. Surely if we were the ones to go in for it, we could keep structural damage to a minimum while clearing it of hostile xenos and retrieve our prize."
"Sorry, prize?" Luker asked, glancing from him to Valrak. "Are you not here to assist us?"
"By your good fortune, Major, we are." Valrak shot Larrairus a strange look, an expression Luker could not comprehend, before continuing. "Though it so happens we are here for ulterior reasons. The cathedral contains a relic that is precious to our chapter. It is the reason we have come. The fact that your men are in need of our particular skills at the moment we arrive, I cannot say. It seems the Emperor is indeed looking out for you, Son of Phalanx." Suddenly, Valrak considered his own statement, looking up as he watched the cathedral carefully. "Are you aware, Major, that the Imperial Fists' own fortress-monastery, their largest voidborne craft, is named the Phalanx?"
"Really?" Luker exclaimed, genuinely surprised and now curious. "No, I had not. Our world was only settled a few centuries after the Horus Heresy."
"Truly? I see it more than coincidence, then, that those from the world named after Dorn's own fortress in the stars were to meet the Reclaimers here, at this time." Valrak strode forward, retrieving a helm from his waist and sliding it over his head as Larrairus did the same, forming up with Brother-Sergeant Tyrol. "Remain here, Major. We'll pick up the slack."
"Uh, High Reclaimer? What of the structure?" Luker shifted uncomfortably, and the conversation had carried back to Captain Sturgensen, who turned and hustled back from her cover, realizing that her commander (who had been cool under fire when not long ago orks had climbed aboard his tank mere meters away) was extremely nervous under the circumstance.
"I doubt the Canoness will speak out against us," Valrak replied, his voice projected out the vox-grills of his helm, decorated with gold trim to signify his status, the red lenses seemingly burning bright, projecting none of the wisdom and humor of the Space Marine underneath, only the cold and efficient killer he and all Astartes were at heart. "Our business is our own here. We are not held accountable to the Guard, the planetary government or the Sororitas."
"My Lords," Sturginson piped up at last, apparently wanting to jump on the damage control bandwagon as she quickly saw where this situation was heading. "The scouts managed to infiltrate the building for a few moments before they were killed. We've identified several possible breach points based on activity, and they-" Unfortunately, the Grenadier officer had to step aside as the three Primaris Marines strode forward, readying weapons as they seemed to make a beeline straight towards the front of the cathedral, AKA the most lethal part of the structure. "Uh, Major? They're heading towards the front door."
Another sniper shot, this one bouncing off of Valrak's armor. This time, Larrairus drew a bolt pistol from his belt, and with a pair of well-placed shots another sniper fell from the building, this time falling forward through a stained glass window to plummet to the ground thirty feet below, landing with an unpleasant crunch and a splatter of purple blood. Definitely some sort of hybrid cultist.
"Worry not, Major," said Valrak over the vox as the High Reclaimer readied his thunder hammer, the twin fist heads sparking as he spun it eagerly, preparing for the fight just ahead of them. "Our task is an easy one. All we must do is walk in and kill whatever is in front of us. The hard task falls to you. Gun down whatever exits this Bastion, Major. I am counting on you and your men."
And with that, and a single swing, the three Reclaimers were through the doors.
The noise of battle started almost immediately. Inhuman shrieks, volleys of autogun and shotgun fire, the hum of power weapons and crash of armor impacting stone. For several minutes, the Phalanxians held their breaths, not daring to move. Lasguns were charged, shotguns loaded, specialist weapons primed and heavy bolters loaded. The tankers, getting the picture, had ordered the use of anti-personnel weapons, opting to let the big guns stay silent. It was a forest of rapid fire death, just waiting for the first enemy to poke his head out, the muffled noises of death inside the Bastion echoing through the courtyard.
Major Luker stood in the command cupola of the Saint Savage, thumbs on the firing stud of the pintle-mounted heavy stubber, biting his lip as he waited, status reports rolling back to him through the vox.
The first one was a genestealer hybrid, stumbling out a side door and tumbling before looking up, having enough time to look surprised and getting his head vaporised by a single las-bolt. But as sudden as this appearance was, contact reports suddenly started popping up all across the perimeter, and weapons fire cracked through the air. The stained glass windows shattered, doors were battered down and even walls cracked open as hybrid human cultists were shoving past each other, trying to make it out of the cathedral. But all that happened was they ran into the 9th Battalion's gunline. A storm of las, bolt and slug fire ripped through the air, punctuated by plasma shots and melta blasts. Chimera multi-lasers sent lines of laser fire chasing after those that got though the initial barrage, Grenadier held flamers enforced literal cones of fire, frag grenades carved pockmarks out of the ground in small craters as fountains of gore erupted. And hybrids died in droves so thick, the rear of the wave were literally tripping over their dead.
They didn't get it all their way. Volleys of desperately aimed bullets were sent back their way, and more than one trooper was dropped at his position. But the Grenadiers were hardened veterans, the experienced shock troops of the 105th. They held their positions, and if a gunner was dropped in a spray of crimson blood, the man or woman next to them immediately grabbed such a valuable asset while the unit medic dragged the casualty out of harm's way.
It got bad when the purestrain genestealers started pouring out. Major Luker had just chattered off a burst of fire at a group of hybrid cultists with mining picks and saws (seriously?) when the front entrance, what little was left of it, exploded outwards, and he was suddenly witness to a cluster of flailing carapace and claws. The nightmarish creatures immediately bolted for the Saint Savage, evidently with some sort of idea about who was in command. Luker recovered after only a heartbeat, putting a burst into one from the stubber, while the tank's gunners began carving up the others with more high-caliber fire. The Guardsmen around the Major's tank quickly added their fire to the storm, and even with their stiff carapace armor, purple and green ichor sloshed and splashed across the ground, one corpse after another joining his fellows in the pile.
But a lucky few somehow managed to evade the entire storm, and leapt onto the Macharius tank, murder in their alien eyes as they focused on the officer now literally just within arms reach, now they were safely past all the guns. For a moment, Luker was caught frozen as he faced down three monsters, their four arms each grasping and snapping in midair. Judging from the rips they'd torn in the outer plate just climbing up, these things possessed a monstrous amount of strength. They'd have no trouble carving him up.
The staredown only lasted a moment. The other Grenadiers hadn't realized what had happened, or were recovering from the shock of their sudden charge.
"MAJOR!"
The creatures charged. Luker fired off the last five rounds on his belt before the breech locked open. The sound of the firing pin falling on an empty chamber was one of the loudest he'd ever heard in his life. The blood began rushing in his ears as, running on adrenaline and autopilot, Luker ducked down, both hands grasping. They were almost within arms' reach now.
Captain Sturginson aimed her boltgun from the hip, squeezing off shots as she tried her best not to put Luker in anymore danger, but her rational mind told her that if she didn't kill these things her commander was dead regardless. Her shots caught one, and the last part of her quick burst turned its insides to little more than purple paste, but that left two.
And then, when one Genestealer pounced in a manner that could only be described as feral, the Major stood up again, bolt pistol in hand. He fired, the sound deafening in his rushing ears. The first shot bounced off hard plate, so he fired again. And again. And again. He emptied the entire mag into this monster's visage, not even realizing he had killed it with the fourth shot, he had fired the massive weapon so fast. As the body fell away, headless, the final genestealer closed with him, its cruel and cold gaze radiating excitement, bloodlust and victory, its clawed arms outstretched and its mouth open in anticipation.
Which was when Luker rose from the cupola and slammed the crackling power fist into the creature's face. The creature's momentum kept it falling straight towards him, but the powerfield and force the Major put into the swing exploded the armored face, spraying ichor all over the tank and the officer both. It could even be claimed the genestealer never felt the killing blow.
Luker fell forward, the genestealer sent flying off the side of the tank, stumbling to one knee and straightening up again as he looked down from the top of the turret at the killing field. The cathedral being so large, he could only see the front and south sides from here. What he saw, however, was enough. As the Grenadiers moved in from the barricades, sweeping the piles of dead and finishing off whoever was left with quickshots from long guns and pistols or a swift bayonet stab in the throat, Luker took a quick estimate of the number of bodies he saw before him, then doubled it to get a guess of just how much damage they'd caused on the far side. The number he came up with was a minimum of at least four hundred hybrids and an unknown number of purebred strains.
"Not bad," he muttered, holstering his bolt pistol and powering down the fist as Captain Sturginson scrambled up the tank, dashing over to him in a heartbeat.
"Major! Are you okay?"
"Fine, Captain," Luker replied, smiling tiredly as he looked out on the field of corpses, seeing his men picking through the dead and dying meticulously. "Just fine."
Reports from other elements were just as positive. For over four-hundred enemy dead, the 9th had only taken a dozen lethal casualties and just a little over twice that in wounded. For the return they got, it had been a landslide victory. The Guardsmen began to celebrate as they moved to the gruesome task of cleanup. A work party was started, hauling the dead over to a corner of the cathedral grounds to prepare to burn the tainted bastards.
Luker was sitting on top of the Saint, being fussed over by a medic and Captain Sturginson now (it turned out the last genestealer had gotten at his shoulder after all, and he hadn't even felt the claw cut through, so sharp it had been) when High Reclaimer Valrak and his battle brothers emerged. No one had wanted to venture in after them, so they had waited several minutes for the Marines to come out. But they too looked to be in high spirits. High Reclaimer Valrak had an easy lope to his gait (easy as one could get in Gravis armor), Lord Reclaimer Larrairus had removed his helmet and was looking around at the death and destruction with an approving gaze and even Tyrol seemed more at ease, plasma gun in one hand and a large, bulky case in the other. All three's power armor was battered, dented and pitted where bullets and blades had bounced off, splattered with blood and ichor and charred in certain places, but the Marines seemed just fine otherwise.
"Hail, High Reclaimer," Major Luker called from the top of the Saint. "We tried to save some for you, milord, but it seems the xenos had no chance to hold long enough." Valrak extended a hand in greeting, calling out "Wonderful! For a moment, I thought we had stolen all the glory, but it looks like it was had instead by you, Major!" He glanced around, nodding approvingly, impressed even. "Well done! Truly!"
Several Guardsmen nearby, tanker and Grenadier alike, cheered and raised their weapons in salute, and Luker stood up, snapping to a quick salute from the top of the tank.
"You have our thanks, My Lord!" he called out. "This could have gone a lot worse had you not arrived!"
Valrak paused for a moment, staring up at Luker for a moment before he called out "Take care, Major. This Crusade will go on past both your and my own lives, I fear. Continue the Emperor's work, keep up the fight as you have already. I suspect this may not be the last time we meet each other."
And with that, the three Primaris Marines continued to stride away, the Guardsmen making a breach in the line for them to continue, past the security checkpoint and off, into the streets, before they walked out of sight. Most likely to take whatever it was they'd been sent to retrieve and ensure it was bundled away safely. Good, Luker thought. They'd accomplished their mission, taken few losses and were now set to return to base and prepare for the real fight ahead of them. And the Canoness would have no way to raise hell over their treatment of the cathedral. All in all, a good day.
Until the message came down the line.
"Major!" called a Grenadier nearby, hustling over to the tank. "Sir, there's more bodies inside!"
"What do you expect, Corporal?" Luker replied, still trying to get the worst of the xenos residue off of him. "Three Primaris Marines were in there. It's going to be a bit messy."
Sturginson chuckled at his weak attempt at humor. But the Guardsman insisted.
"Sir! It's not like out here, sir."
That got Luker's attention, and he considered the soldier a moment before finally deciding to simply bite the bullet.
"What's not like out here?"
He was wrong.
If his estimations for the number of dead cultists, hybrids and purestrain were around four-hundred, the massive cathedral had to be absolutely carpeted in at least twice as much as that. It would be easier to tell, of course, if the entire building hadn't been covered by chunks, puddles and other piles of barely recognizable residue. As Luker and Sturginson stepped carefully through the gore covering the cathedral, several other soldiers nearby wretched, trying to hold down their lunches. Veteran Guardsmen who had literally witnessed some of the worst horrors this galaxy had to throw at them were stunned speechless by the sight of limbs torn and sent flying, exploded heads, literal piles of corpses and rivers of blood underfoot so strong it was very likely one would slip.
The line of troopers were silent as they made their way down the cathedral, carefully navigating the smashed pews and stacks of corpses. There were scorch marks that could only come from plasma, some pews, columns and walls carried clean but savage cuts from a blade, and the bodies that had exploded? At least a few had to be from the thunder hammer.
They found the Patriarch at the far end, at the altar, smashed across its surface, the floor and the pipe organ at the back wall. Apparently, whoever had cut his torso in half and exploded his head hadn't given him time to remain a threat. This would make their job much easier, as now other cults would be directionless.
But now, they had over a thousand bodies to dispose of.
On their way out, Luker glanced up to see something off. A pedestal, which sat empty off to the side. At first, he wouldn't think much of it, as there were a dozen other pedestals, all holding some form of relic (holy scriptures, skulls of heroes, legendary weapons). But the label simply read 'FIST OF DORN'. So far as Major Luker could tell, something had been set here not long ago and he was starting to wonder about some of Valrak's claims earlier. Some form of relic had clearly been placed here before the Astartes had breached. They had been searching for something, and slaughtered hundreds of genestealer hybrids to get it.
Something strange was hanging around the Reclaimers of Dorn...
Investigative Notes: Kastilas' remaining genestealers were purged within two local months once the Patriarch was killed, as follows other Cult patterns we have seen. After this incident, the 105th Regiment was given free reign to prosecute several other sites how they wished, and all used the same method of simply bringing down the structure in question on top of the xenos inside. While Battlegroup Cirra does possess infantry formations suitable to such city-fighting like the 329th Roane Deepers, I am curious as to why a mechanized regiment with heavy tanks was deployed to an urban location. As for the Reclaimers of Dorn, their agenda is their own, and we have no authority over them since Lord Guilliman gave them their leave to pursue [EXPUNGED FROM RECORD]. The relic in question was undoubtedly [EXPUNGED FROM RECORD] which fits with the description given by this account and the Reclaimers' own goals. I must investigate further.