GAH! So much has happened over the course of the new year, that I haven't given this story much attention, but I'm finally back. So here we go...

The skies were burning.

High above the opulent streets of Rabona, the Tracker stood on the studded steeple of its church; gazing in petrified awe along the subsidiary citizens below as burning stars filled the sky, which had gone from a vivid shade of blue and white to a most infuriated tinge of violet. Could it be more of the scarlet angels of death that so blessed them hours prior with their xenophobic battlelust? If so, these ones heralded far more truculent tidings as if their mere presence scalded the sky, making it writhe in agony like a mother labouring to deliver some deformed abberations into existence.

As the meteors began to pound the earth, one by one with the ominous symphony of war drums, Dietrich leapt from her perch and tore down towards the street with unearthly precision as she spotted Anastasia, Nina, Phina and Keira in the town square, the latter three ushering the panicking citizens to their homes, whilst the Winged Number 7 merely stood, observing the hellish spectacle with a veneer of grim serenity.

"Anastasia!" called Dietrich, landing down by the other Claymores, her face pale.

"Dietrich, I see you have a report from your watch" Anastasia greeted her, her snark devoid of any irony; only filled with hollow obstinance.

"This is hardly something to scoff at, Ana!" the younger warrior snapped, incredulous to her comrade's unbecoming repartee. "Those meteors look like the same ones that brought those Blood Ravens here. But look at the sky!" she cried out, pointing upwards to the churning heavens. "Whatever's happening, it's clear these ones won't be as 'civil' as our last visitors. We need to organise a defence for the city, have the ramparts garrisoned, call up any reserves from the barracks!"

In response to Dietrich's growing alarm, Anastasia merely placed a firm hand on her shoulder, with a soft tenderness that took the Tracker's mind away from the brewing cataclysm as the elder warrior narrowed her eyes, her lucid expression now hardened into a stern glare.

"I've sent Nina and Keira to round up the townspeople". Anastasia growled, her voice hard with dour grit as she led Dietrich towards the ramparts. "They are to remain indoors, but also to prepare for evacuation should the city fall. Raftela has kept the little ones barricaded underground in the cathedral's crypt. Nike has called up all able soldiers for combat; our total amount is 575 men, combined with the 30 Claymores stationed here, gives us just over 600 troops. As well as 10 trebuchets and ballistas posted on the walls"

Dietrich forced her mind to comprehend this sudden mood swing before playing along. "What about Sid and Galk?"

"They will command separate units" replied Anastasia robotically. "Galk will lead the footmen stationed at the main gates, whilst Sid will take charge of the archers on the ramparts.

Upon hearing this, Dietrich grew forlorn as a dark realisation dawned upon her. "Ana". she whispered "A few hours ago, five mysterious warriors wearing strange armour and wielding strange weapons fell from the sky in balls of fire and from what I heard from Helen and Deneve, they put them through hell when they engaged, even when they were outnumbered two to one". The Winged Warrior's efficient facade showed no sign of cracking, but her mind became flooded with doubt. Dietrich was right. A few meteors; some strange warriors appear and manage to overwhelm the most powerful Claymores of their time.

And now the skies were practically searing with enough fire to unleash an army upon them.

What good are a few men with comparatively useless weapons and antiquated siege engines against an army of grim reapers?

Dietrich and Anastasia held their mutual gaze, both doing their best to curb their nerves before an alarm rang.

"MONSTERS HEADING WEST TOWARDS THE CITY!"

At this, the two Silver Sisters dashed towards the west wall, joining the terrified soldiers as an army of murderous berserkers bearing the standard of the Word Bearers charged towards the city, flanked by Lesser Demons of Khorne, all snarling and roaring to spill blood in the name of the Dark Gods.

"Ana, what do we do?" Dietrich gasped, her voice stolen by her horror.

"Begin the evacuation". Ana growled. "Send the people out of the rear gates first, with an armed escort. If they get within range of the Church, have the trainees and priests join them. But until then, they are to remain underground!"

"There's dozens of people hauled up near the main entrance!" Dietrich replied helplessly. "The moment those things get in...it'll be a massacre".

Ana's mask twitched. "Loss of life is a consequence of war. That's why we help the ones who have the greatest chance first, so that their safety is ensured and not forsaken like the rest".

She then turned to Dietrich and gripped her shoulders tight. "Your squad is waiting for you". She whispered airily.

At this, Dietrich's eyes welled, knowing that death was scuttling towards them, but forced herself off of Anastasia to prepare for war.

And thus, did fire and brimstone covent the great capital of Rabona, unleashed by the dark apostles of Lorgar.


Meanwhile, back on the mainland, the ground team were making for the capital of Monet will all speed. Throughout the journey, most of the group kept quiet, too overwhelmed by the insidious chaos that lay in wait for them or simply steeling themselves for the oncoming bloodbath. Clare and Raki were seated next to Cyrus, who, despite being squeezed intimately close besides each other, refrained from any outward displays of affection, as the Scout Sergeant's grim countenance extinguished any hopeful sentiments between the two, Cynthia rode alongside a Devastator Marine, a six-foot missile launcher slung behind his back; she kept quiet in the face of her stoic driver, Helen and Deneve accompanied Tarkus; the former looking queasy from remaining still at such intense speed, whilst Deneve stared at Tarkus' Bolter with fascinated intent.

Within the hour, they had left the moorish Northern wastes and headed down into more even grasslands. As they made their way forth, Diomedes sat in the forefront of the pelt, he could not help but let his mind run wild at the thought of the forces of Chaos finding their way so quickly to an untouched Feudal World. It made no sense. Suddenly, his mind jumped back to the Aurelian Crusade, and the ruination of the late Chapter Master Kyras, who sought to soak the entire sector in blood, fire and brimstone through his arrogant spittle.

Leading on his ascension to Daemonhood, Kyras had to manoeuvre around the wanton bloodshed that transpired across the sub-sector. He had caused dozens of battle-brothers to putrefy through his bastardised piety, drew the jaws of the Inquisition to the sub-sector for an immutable bloodbath all the while allowing xenos and heretics to pick at the scraps of the hunt.

But Azariah's action had led to a dire blessing in disguise.

In allowing the chaos of eternal war that had slipped through every crevice of the galaxy, Kyras had done nothing but exacerbate the gory pandemonium to the point where not only was the Imperium divided by apostasy and mania, but the Black Legion as well.

For every alien filth that poured themselves upon the Imperium like a poisonous torrent, more would practice their bloodletting upon the forces of Chaos; for the demented pleasures of war, in the name of their own dying kin or merely ravenous hunger. And to escalate the madness further, Kyras glorified the wanton killings as a personal tribute to Khorne; a war god who would loathe to find himself exalted by a cowardly sorcerer who claimed the souls taken by greater warriors. Blood Ravens, The Black Legion, Orks, Eldar, Tyranids, and the Imperial Guard; all were to be cut down and elevate Kyras into the folds of the Warp.

And after all that most iniquitous of promises and boasts; and his sullied ascendence into a Daemon Prince, Azariah Kyras fell to the bombardment cannons of a Battle Barge; millions of bloody sacrifices wasted on a presumptuous traitor. The death of the rogue champion of Chaos had cost all, even the relentless Black Legion too much for too little. They had lost favour with their gods.

But the hydra would merely throw its other heads at their prey and to allow any left unspoiled by the Ruinous Powers was a corresponding offence.

Diomedes mentally cursed himself for not giving Martellus more specific instructions. Knowing who and why they were fighting was the very mantra of the Blood Ravens. But the aforementioned bloodletting had left the Captain's mind weary and imprecise, more so for the other 'Heroes of Aurelia'. Instead, he decided to clear his mind by questioning the Abhuman riding with him.

"You are this world's protectors', yes?" he said abruptly over the roar of their bikes, causing Miria to snap to in surprise. Given the lackluster social skills of both parties, a simple question like that was an oddity.

"What does it matter to you?" Miria asked, sitting up straight to meet the gargantuan Captain.

"You were once human. All of you were. Yet as Claymores, you tread the boundaries between human and beast. Who were you all, before you were converted?" Diomedes inquired intently, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of him.

Miria looked skeptical. "We barely know anything about you. Why should we indulge our history when you have not done the same? In fact, you never gave us a true explanation for your origins or your purpose."

Diomedes merely grunted in response, still keeping the majority of his focus on their locomotion. "Orphans, Foundlings, Survivors. That was the cradle for this world's ultimate warriors, designed to be physically, mentally and perhaps even spiritually superior to men". Miria's attention was now entirely on the Honour Guard Captain. "A legion made to cut out the rot festering within humanity, to fight an eternal war against the abominations that threaten your kin, serving as a rally point for your fellow brother and sisters-in-arms".

Then, Diomedes' tone grew melancholic. "But when the monsters have fallen from precedence and you are the last ones standing, who are you then?"

At this remark, Miria stifled her outrage at his audacity. "What do you want from me, Apollo?" she growled.

Taken aback by her audacity, Diomedes peered at her from his iron stallion; "I want to know, Miria" he retorted, his furrowed glare masking the suppressed ire he felt towards the Phantom's obstinance. Having forsaken your own humanity in service to a corrupt hierarchy, no doubt rendered pariahs and fear mongers amongst the peasantry and having naught to your names but the rotting husks of your prey lying in the ground and the blood of the innocent weeping with them, are you and your sisters truly the guardians of these people or are you just another weapon created to serve and destroy in the name of your masters?"

He cast out this cold inquiry like a spent ammunition shell. And his target had discarded her fury for musing; all of her past days swarmed through her mind, she remembered her beloved Hilda, the former Number 6 exhausted from battle and the constant fire in her soul screaming to be released. When she reached her limit, all she could do was plead for euthanization, which she entrusted to the Number 4, Ophelia via Black Card.

But 'Rippling' Ophelia had no interest in mercy, only in the passionate thrills of battle and slaughter.

She ripped up Hilda's card and in doing so, damned her to the brief, painful orgasm of Awakening. By the time Miria and her team had arrived to execute the deed, she had spawned herself into a humane creature of human shape and stance, but standing over twenty feet tall, her limbs spiralling into tendrils akin to a defiled mummy and coral-like protrusions that decorated her head and shoulders.

The battle was unusually quick, as Miria unravelled the beast's wraps, splattering purple everywhere, leaving the helpless horror to crash into the ground. But once she thrust her blade towards her prey's neck, the Awakened Being opened up her coils and revealed the untarnished corpse of Hilda.

She remembered it. The nauseating disbelief she felt when she saw her cough up scarlet before going eternally still, the tears that stung her face as she cradled what was left in lament. And the rage she felt at seeing her closest companion; the only source of comfort she had in the catacombs of the island, be slaughtered like any other human they had failed to protect. It still made her teeth gnash just thinking about it. That and Ophelia's smug hiss as she channeled her fury with her Yoki before reeling back to deprive the barbarian of her bloody pleasure.

But above all else, the Organisation left Ophelia's crime; a grievous action, synonymous with treason unpunished. For why berate a single-digit? A perfect killer who only inhaled death's aromas alone on the battlefield. When it came to eliminating Yoma - or potential opponents, Ophelia was their pride and joy.

Returning abruptly to Diomedes, looking down at his path in detached fixation, his head however, still bared backwards in expectation for an answer, she addressed him. "Both" she replied monotonously. "In response to your earlier question, Diomedes. We are shield and sword to these people. The Organisation's roots can be traced to the mainland, where their war with the Asarakam started it all. They wanted a missing link that could sway the tide to their liking. And so they set up the Organisation on the island to conduct research; let loose dozens, if not hundreds of Yoma to feed on the residents. That's where we came in".

"And so you fought, until you could not stomach the rot any longer and you deserted".

Miria scowled, images of the past rekindling themselves. "Seven years ago, the Organisation handpicked us for a suicide mission against an army of Awakened Beings. The mission was set up to remove any traitorous elements from out ranks. With every wave that swarmed over us, we grew weaker and fell, one by one. The only ones who got out of that battle alive were me, Clare, Helen, Deneve, Cynthia, Yuma and another who died in battle several weeks ago". Miria held back a choke, but she betrayed a pained gulp. "For seven long years did we plan to dismantle the Organisation and put an end to their farce. And when it was all over, after all that blood had been spilt, we wanted nothing more to do with any of this. We had lost too much already, we weren't about to lose more by charging off on some righteous crusade. Yet here we are with you". Here eyes shot a glimmer of contemptuous barb towards Diomedes.

"I wonder, Captain. As an obvious veteran of war, do you know how much one's threshold for grief and pain can endure? We may conceal it, but we are at breaking point after the hell we've been through"

Diomedes merely sighed, an unexpected pitiless sound that resonated from his helmet . "You claim you've been through hell. That you've suffered like no other else? Perhaps you Claymores have suffered, but what you have fought is nothing compared to the horrors that have washed upon your shores. I have lost countless billions in service to our Imperium, I have seen men ravaged and fouled by infernal wretches. We have spent our entire lives in war. There is nothing else for any of us".

"There is no peace amongst the stars. Only an eternity of carnage, slaughter and the laughter of the thirsting gods" Diomedes concluded, quite fittingly as Tarkus came up on his vox.

"Captain, we're nearing the capital, but our scanners are detecting heavy movement several meters ahead!"

"Heretics?"

"No, too few in number, and much bigger"

There was a brief silence as Diomedes processed this information before a loud, piercing roar rattled the earth as the Captain was suddenly thrown off of his bike, crashing into the fields, his head spinning from the sheer velocity of the impact.

Miria lept from the bike, spiralling gracefully onto the ground as she got a good look at what had attacked them and gaped in sheer horror.

It was no servant of Chaos.

It was an Asarakam.

Standing well over thirty feet tall, a creature of vague human stature, but with legs set in digitigrade stance, covered in scaly plumage like some hellish reptillian bird. It's limbs were conjoined with dual muscle tendons, giving them the appearance of a forearm's bones and all sheathed with talons, Large, leathery wings unfurled from its back and a long, plated tail ended behind it, splitting into bladed tendrils. It was truly an aberration of nature.

The rest of the squad wasted no time. Having been briefed on the operation of the turret, The Claymores immediately opened fire, their enhanced strength shrugging off the immense recoil from the heavy bolter. The Blood Ravens led the assault, circling the monster and raining fire from their twin bolters upon the Dragon Kin. The shots tore towards the beast, who simply thrusted its wings towards the deadly projectiles. The creature's wings were too heavy to lift the leviathan off the ground; they were naught but glorified shields, yet fairly effective against the ammunition as its wings withstood most of the barrage.

Miria dashed towards the distracted monster; unleashing her Phantom upon the Asarakam. Aiming for the tendons at the joints, limbs and wings, she slashed upwards, her sword digging through the softer pieces of flesh, drawing bright violet from the lacerated plates. Joining her, Diomedes strapped on his jump back, and Lightning Claw and promptly executed a Assault Jump right down on the Asarakam's neck, as he pealed away part of its scales and unloaded his Plasma Pistol into the gaping wound.

Howling in distressed rage, the Asarakam vigourously shook the Space Marine off of its head and lunged at Miria, its claws cleaving the earth beneath her as she darted away. Its tail lashed out like a huge cat o'nine tails as it swept in the path of one of the Bikes. Clare and Raki jumped out of the sidecar, rolling across the grass. Snatching a quick look at the beast's unguarded flanks, the couple gave each other a knowing look. Clare ran up the creature's back, chipping away at the Asarakam's thick skin with her Quicksword. Raki on the other hand, sprinted underneath the Dragon's kin's legs and jammed his blade into the softer tissues of its inner thigh.

This only exacerbated the beast's annoyance. In response, it leapt into the air, sending Clare flying off and the resulting shockwave hurtling Raki across the fields.

"NO!" Clare screamed as she swooped down towards the ground, catching her husband's massive frame in her lithe arms as she set him down.

"Raki, are you OK?" she asked frantically, cradling his muscular body in her lap.

"Don't stop now, above you!" Raki roared as the Asarakam dove back down towards them. Without pause, Clare scooped Raki into her arms and leapt away as the Dragon's Kin smashed down, sending an explosion of debris.

The Devastator Marine came to an abrupt stop, raising his missile launcher and fired a rocket at the beast. The projectile let out a mighty explosion which burnt off a large portion of the creature's upper body, exposing bright muscle tissue. At this, the remaining Attack Bikes opened fire on the exposed wound, splattering blood everywhere. Screeching in agony, the wounded behemoth swiped the bikes away with its tail, sending their occupants flying. Cynthia attempted a counter-attack, but the creature turned and back-handed her with its trunk-like arm.

The Devastator Marine fired again, this time aiming for its right arm. Sure enough, the arm was ripped apart by the explosion. The Asarakam was now screaming so loudly it seemed as if it simply summon a gale to sweep the group away into the air. But it was suddenly silenced when Cyrus shot its left eye with his Sniper Rifle, the round exiting through the roof of its head. Now the beast's cries dropped down to a soft, almost whimpering hum, as it swayed side-to-side, attempting to steady itself before Miria and Diomedes leapt upon its head once more, driving their blades into the bullet whole in its skull, eviscerating its brain, promptly letting the husk lump to the ground like a stone.

Everyone regained their footing as they surveyed the damage. Although they were mostly intact, the same couldn't be said for their bikes, which lay ruined in the grass. As the squad gathered around the cooling corpse, Helen rounded on Diomedes. "I heard your little chat with Miria on the way over. What we've fought is nothing compared to what you have faced, huh?"

"Mind your tongue, Claymore". Diomedes boomed. "The creature has fallen all the same. And you have proven your abilities in battle...for the most part".

"Oh, fuck you! Not all of us are interested in showing off in the middle of a fight, unlike some people". Helen retorted. Deneve betrayed a small smirk at this; Helen's hot-tempered personality may have given others the impression of a braggart, but she was more of a troublemaker than she was a showoff. And she was going to try her luck against an armoured giant.

"Enough, both of you" Miria snapped, growing sick of the constant animosity between the warriors. "We've just been attacked by an Asarakam; a creature indeed beyond anything we've faced before, but idle boast and petty rivalries are something neither of us can afford".

Helen bit her tongue and said no more, Diomedes meanwhile walked over to the Asarakam corpse to inspect it.

"This creature's skin is imperishable. Only explosives had any real effect on it". Said Diomedes, ripping out a large chunk of flesh from the body. "Tarkus, what do you make of this?"

"The Asarakam's abilities denote immense strength, speed and resilience, Captain" replied Tarkus.

"I could have told you that". Helen muttered under her breath.

"However, deploying armoured units as a counter-offensive would be ineffectual - The beast's speed would easily evade their cannons and its strength would allow it to rip them apart with ease. I'd recommend handheld explosives - frag grenades, demolition packs, missiles. Anything that's easy to carry and possesses enough firepower to destroy them".

"Blades are a plausible option as well, Captain". Cyrus growled, dipping a gloved finger into the creature's violet blood. "The Claymores have their uses in battle; and their experience with similar beings could be crucial". He gave the Claymores a berth to keep their conversation private.

"You suggest we allow them to fight our own battles for us?" Diomedes whispered icily.

"I'm suggesting that we take advantage of their abilities. Our numbers are thin enough as it is. We can't risk losing any more brothers in battle to foolish bravado".

"I concur with Cyrus, Captain". Tarkus agreed. "Standing by the Claymores will give us a greater foothold in this fight. And so far their word remains true, it would be a reasonable gamble".

A reasonable gamble. Diomedes let that sink it. To trust the word of Abhumans; beings split between human and monster. So much of their tactics during the Aurelian Crusades, even before that, as far back as the Tartarus campaign had been made on gambles. When Angelos nearly doomed the chapter by refusing to heed Farseer Macha's warnings about the Maledictum, the 'Heroes of Aurelia' defying orders from their Chapter Master to purge the rot in the chapter.

If the Claymores could play the part, could they truly stand together against common enemies on both sides? Could they even be assimilated into the divine halo of the Imperium?

A legion of female warriors possessing powers rivalling that of the Imperium's most gifted psykers. As long as they were kept in line, it would be in their best interest. The Emperor's vision was to spread knowledge and unite the galaxy's denizens; any who bore human blood and swore fealty to him held his blessing. His stasis had darkened the Imperium's view on such matters, with the Inquisition's puritan codes erasing the existence of countless subspecies, but right now change appeared to be their only true salvation, and they had business to attend to with these beasts.

"How far till Monet?" Diomedes asked Tarkus, awaiting good news.

"Literally a few kilometres south away" Tarkus reported, gesturing to a series of hills, where upon close inspection, a faint trail of smoke emitted from the horizon.

Diomedes nodded and turned to the Claymores. "We make the rest of the journey on foot. Given the presence of this creature and the smoke towards our destination, it is likely Monet may be under attack by more of them".

"Asarakam, or these forces of Chaos?" Cynthia asked.

"Pick one" Helen sneered. "Either way, we definitely have our work cut out for us".

"Let's move" Miria ordered, as the Claymores rounded up behind her, joining the already departing Blood Ravens up the hills.

They all trudged at a determined pace, all of them preparing for another battle. Whilst the others steeled themselves, Diomedes activated his vox. "Martellus, do you copy? Have you evacuated the remaining Claymores?"

"Negative, Captain". There was a lot of static coming from the comm. "I have sent the Thunderhawks to the island, but the Retribution is engaged with suppressing fire against the Heretic Vessels. The Judgement of Carrion so far remains a non-threat, having only engaged the enemy, but I fear something else may be controlling that ship".

"Any news from the Ordo Malleus?"

"They have sent reinforcements, but they are days away. In the meantime, I will keep the Retribution at safe distance from the invaders and provide additional support for your squad".

"Thank you, Martellus. Diomedes, out". Diomedes' mind went blank momentarily. Everything seemed to be falling apart, and they had only been on this planet for a few days at most.

"I take it this Martellus is watching over us from above" Deneve posed non pointedly

"He is sending transports to protect Rabona". Tarkus reported. "Given the circumstances, I say we will all need them once this is over".

"And you honestly think this will end in a matter of days?" Raki asked, a sincere questioning in his voice.

"We have endured campaigns that have lasted for centuries" Tarkus replied. "As a skirmish with the forces of Chaos goes, this could last up to a decade unless you know how to deal with them".

"So we could be spending an entire generation fighting demons, fanatics and monsters?" Helen groaned, rolling her eyes. "Fucking wonderful".

Miria raised a hand for silence. "Quiet!" she hissed as a soft gust echoed in the distance. "Do you hear that?"

Everyone stopped and listened. The gust was getting louder and louder...

Clare began to piece it together; "Sounds like...something's falling"

The noise grew so loud and the wind so strong that the grass beneath them began to billow as they all looked up to see a massive Rok, bathed in flame and smog, hurtling several hundred feet above their heads before it disappeared over the horizon.

A dull thud sounded across the valley like a funeral bell. At this, everyone began to run up the hill to survey their new arrival. Once they had reached the top, they only stopped in fixated disquiet.

There before them stood the great capital of Monet. An immense city, peopled with spires ranging from opulent metal to unyielding stone, standing alongside a sweeping mass of mountains. At the base of the city, a huge gleaming dome was crowned in the middle of the city. And the sheer girth of this first city was clothed in great stone walls, peppered with heavy cannons, garrisons of troops and mangonels.

It was also burning.

The city of Monet was being assailed by waves of invaders, one clad in macabre crimson,gunmetal armour, the other a green wave of brutish-looking savages wielding the most barbaric, crude weaponry in the galaxy. And in the middle, several dozen Asarakam tearing indiscriminately through the flooding bloodbath.

All it took was the feverish horror of that image for the Silver-eyed Witches to draw their blades, the Angels of Death to raise their axes and charge into the fray.

Good God! This took forever! Anyway, shit's about to go down. There will be plenty of action in the next chapter. Anyway, like, critique and see you guys in a bit.