Sagyar Mazan
Day 23
The earth moved as hundreds of booted feet ran by. Lying still, armour locked and set to minimal power, he lay in the volcanic ash and dirt. His sensors were on passive, bolter mag-locked to the side, effectively useless, and a Legion-forged blade clutched in his hand, dried blood marring its once pristine surface.
Below him, deep in the endless tunnels and caverns, sat nearly eighty Orks. They were feasting, eating their smaller sub-species gretchin. Sounds of guttural laughter sounded odd here, many things had become strange since the Khagan betrayed them.
The vox clicked once, twice. Torghun Khan responded with his own clicks, three in rapid succession.
Enemy unaware.
Take them swiftly.
Throughout the ridgeline two dozen ash-covered forms rose, revealing ivory, gold and red colouring. Their armour began to power on, sensors went to active, their helms alighting with information and data-statistics. Most did not carry bolters, ammunition was beyond scarce and what little was left was conserved, but all carried power swords or chainswords, power spears, chainglaives or chainaxes. Torghun did not mind the lack of firepower. Since the primarch's betrayal, close combat was all that could cool his burning anger.
The White Scars moved to the Orks, as quiet as Mark II plate would allow. They moved like hungry predators, desperate for the kill but patient to ensure its success. They had laid on the ridgeline for three days, waiting for the Orks below to deploy in the ever-going war in Chondax's caverns. Hundreds left, leaving only this small amount to guard their supply depot. It was not the first depot Torghun had destroyed, nor would it be the last. With no chance for resupply, the Space Marines were forced to scavenge from their dead and the xenos. Deplorable, but for survival some distasteful things must come to pass. Some Legions may have struggled without consistent resupply, or would not adapt well. For the Fifth Legion, it was not the first time they had gone without, making do with what they have or could take; it was a factor of life.
The khan led his men as they neared the greenskin perimeter. Three were lookouts, though clearly they felt safe this far in Ork territory. Three Astartes approached and three Orks fell, the sound of their bodies crumpling to the ground covered by the other xenos' feasting and noise.
Encircling the enemy took several minutes, another eight of the beasts were killed as the Scars readied for the charge. No words were spoken, only clicks. Even Orks could be monitoring vox traffic, but the clicks would likely be associated with interference. Torghun was more than happy to exploit such oversight.
When in position, the khan clicked once. Attack.
The Scars emerged from behind various rocks and ashen piles, surging forward. Torghun decapitated a large brute before it was aware they were under attack. Torghun dodged another's axe swing, penetrating the Ork with his sword, the power sword cutting through flesh as easy as a hot monomolecular sharp knife through butter.
A curse in Low Gothic brought his attention to the left. One of his battle-brother's chainsword became stuck in the thick muscle and compacted sinew of a greenskin's chest. Another Ork was coming to kill the entangled Astartes. It rose its own weapon, a metal tipped cudgel. A flash of light from the ridgeline blinked and the beast was hit with a bolt, its chest exploding. It continued to crawl towards the battle-brother, but the legionnaire had retrieved his blade and executed the wounded xenos.
Torghun saw more flashes from the ridgeline, the snipers there using their reserve of bolts to kill threatening Orks or save brothers in trouble. The khan raised his sword in salute, and entered back into the melee.
The battle, though a more appropriate word would have been skirmish, ended several minutes later. No casualties suffered by the Astartes, all of the enemy were dead; their bodies covered with promethium jelly and set aflame. Compatible ammunition was taken and distributed amongst the legionnaires. Torghun's bolter now held eleven bolts, less than half of what it could carry.
Opening the vox, he spoke for the first time in days. "Well done, brothers. We return to base."
The twenty-seven Space Marines left the cavern chamber, heading towards their sanctum of relative safety.
Day 24
The home base, nicknamed Sanctuary by several White Scars with a dark sense of humour, was a ramshackle collection of armoured vehicles, weapon turrets and waning spirits situated into a deep alcove in one of Chondax's monolithic caverns, one of a quite extensive system.
Targutai Yesugei, zadyin arga of the Fifth Legion, walked amidst his brothers. He did not comfort them as that was the duty of the few remaining Chaplains, but he did note the mood. It was oppressive, brooding, and worse. Since Jaghatai decided to purge his Legion of those whose loyalty was first to the Emperor, the survivors were becoming morbid, uncaring whether they lived or die. They saw no hope. Yesugei hoped to change that.
As he walked towards the command Land Raider, Yesugei noted and responded to the bows of head and clenched fist to chest salute, but he saw some of his brothers' scowl at him. He knew why. Almost all the loyalist legionnaires were Terran or from other worlds, but Yesugei was Chogorian. One of the first Chogorians inducted into the Legion, and one who fought beside the Khagan on Chogoris before the Imperium's arrival. His link to the Khagan was looked on upon with… suspicion.
Yesugei knew that the primarch's relation with the Emperor had always been fragile, and Horus' first actions as Warmaster had alienated Jaghatai, but the Stormseer still found it difficult that what had come to pass had happened. The Land Raider was flanked by three legionnaires of the Horde of the Earth, which had been deployed almost in its entire.
After passing them, he opened a vox channel with the occupant inside. "Noyan-Khan, I must speak with you."
"Enter."
Yesugei entered the modified Space Marine tank, designed for a more command function rather than combat, it featured several vox-casters, long-range auspex sensors and more. The White Scar looking over a data-slate was old, having been one of the first legionnaires of the V when it was founded on Terra. When the primarch had been discovered by the Master of Mankind, Jemulan had been a captain. After adopting Chogorian titles, he had been khan, then raised to Noyan-Khan. Jemulan was the only one of that rank to be deemed more loyal to the Emperor than the Great Khan. Now, he led the survivors in their war against the Orks that infested the planet.
The officer turned to the Stormseer. "Yes, Yesugei?" The voice was tired, so very tired.
"I may have a way for us to contact the Imperium."
Jemulan's gaze sharpened on the other Scar. "Are you sure? Do not say this lightly, weather-maker. The others do not need to be led on by false hope."
Yesugei nodded in understanding. "I have conferred with my fellow zadyin arga, and we believe we can channel a psychic pulse to act as a beacon, a flare if you will."
"You are not astropaths, your powers lay elsewhere."
The Stormseer tilted his head in acknowledgement of the statement. "Quite so, however we have theorised if we combine our psychic potential and lend our power to a single Stormseer who acts as the conduit to power the signal we could create this beacon-flare."
Jemulan nodded, trusting his brother's information.
"Risks?"
"There are two. First, the Orks have few if any psykers in their ranks, the weirdboyz, but they as a species are sensitive to the warp, able to detect significant or prolonged psychic use. They will know our location and will attack."
"And the second?"
"We Stormseers will be forced to open ourselves up to the warp, allowing potential yaksha interference. We will need to be watched, and if need be, eliminated."
Jemulan pondered on this for a few seconds. "There are indeed risks, but it is better than waiting to die." The Noyan-Khan stood up, "Very well, Yesugei, you have my permission to proceed. Be careful, brother."
"I always am."
Day 27
It took three days to prepare. Soul-searching and mind purification readied the nineteen Stormseers for the task ahead. A chamber adjourning to the principal cavern, lined with crystals and nuggets of raw metals, was selected for the ritual. Yesegui was in the centre, lines of power drawn in the black sand, with the other eighteen surrounding him. All stood in a circle, ringed with wards, weak and temporary as they were it was still better than nothing. Jemulan had informed the others, and they readied themselves for battle.
Yesugei noted three squads entering the chamber, taking position around the Astartes psykers. The commander moved towards Yesugei.
"Ah, Torghun Khan, it is good to see you again."
"Likewise, Stormseer," the Terran responded, formally while others were around. Since the war began in Chondax, Torghun and Yesugei had become acquaintances, discussing their purpose in the Great Crusade and their respective duties. That acquaintance had developed into a respectful friendship.
"You know what to do?" he asked the line officer. Torghun nodded. "Good. Then we shall begin."
Yesugei raised his staff, impaling it in the ground. "Brothers," he spoke to the other weather-makers, "open yourselves to the elements, open your minds, draw on the energy there, but be wary. Predators stalk here."
Within moments, they began to chant, lending their strength to Yesugei, whose staff glowed lightning white-blue. Yesugei built up the power in him, knowing that when he unleashed it, the warp-spawn would start to approach and the Orks would be alerted. Eyes clenched, he waited for the power to build to where he would no longer be able to contain it.
It became painful, intoxicating in its agony, his senses enhanced beyond measure and darkness surrounded him, but he ignored it. The yaksha would not tempt him, no matter their strength.
Gripping his staff, he opened his eyes and they emitted the same white-blue colour as the staff.
"Let us begin."
For hours the Stormseers sent their psychic pulse into the Immaterium, acting akin to a lighthouse, but instead of guiding, it was trying to attract attention.
While the zadyin arga stood immobile, their minds so focused on the matter on hand, Torghun watched them warily. He did not have an aversion to psykers, but what they were doing was incredibly dangerous. The khan walked around the statuesque Astartes, his own men as wary and watchful as he. Giving a word of encouragement, or checking equipment was all he could do for the moment.
His vox was tied to his squad's frequency, but the main frequency was also monitored. Therefore, Torghun heard when the Noyan-Khan spoke, "The Orks are here."
Sanctuary had been chosen for its isolation from the other caverns, as well as being easily defendable. If well supplied, the defenders could hold off an attack indefinitely. But the supply situation was dire, forcing Jemulan Noyan-Khan to form ranks to block the small entrance to Sanctuary, with those with shields and spears in the front with several more in support while what few heavy weapons remained were atop the three Land Raiders that had survived.
The first sign of the xenos was the distant yelling and war-cheering. Then came the rumbling of the ground; the last was their approach.
"Hold," he voxed, his own shield and power spear raised and readied, the shield interlocking with those of his nearest brothers. Tactical information flooded his visor and he processed the necessary information and discarded the irrelevant.
The Orks came rushing towards them, hundreds, then thousands as more and more appeared, an endless green river.
"Hold, brothers." The green sea was rapidly approaching. "We fight for the Emperor, brothers. We are of His making, His design. We will not fail, we will be rescued, but we must deny the enemy."
The throaty roar of the greenskins echoed in the enclosed tunnel. They were close now, seventy metres... sixty metres... fifty metres.
"Fire!"
The heavy bolters, lascannons, and the single plasma cannon unleashed their ordinance upon the xenos, tearing through the front ranks, killing nearly a hundred in the opening salvo, but it did not greatly thin the ranks. Despite the weight of fire, many Orks broke through, such was their number.
The Orks that met the Space Marines met a wall of seventy-three storm shields. Storm shields, used in boarding actions were as tall as each Astartes, wide enough to protect them and as thick as a hand's span. Jemulan pierced an Ork through the head, his power spear easily passing through the thick skull.
"Push!" The wall of ceramite and plasteel took a step, forcing some Orks to fall down, only to be killed by the second rank of legionnaires, whose swords quickly became drenched in gore.
Jemulan's spear impaled an Ork's chest, killing it, but its fellows held on to the spear outside its power field, not allowing retrieval. "Down!" he ordered.
The first three ranks knelt whilst the fourth and fifth unloaded an entire clip of bolter fire into the Orks. As the fire ended, the legionnaires rose. Jemulan retrieved his spear from dead alien hands. "Push!"
A battle-brother fell, helm cracked open by a jumping Ork with an axe. The line shifted to cover the small gap left by the fallen legionnaire. The Ork was quickly killed by those behind the dead Scar. The shield and spear were picked up and the line made whole again.
"Push!" The rate of fire from behind was declining, ammo was running out, energy charges depleting and plasma coils overheating.
Hundreds of greenskins were dead, only a single legionnaire dead, but that ratio would not last.
Finish the beacon, Yesugei, finish it!
It appeared as a blue fire in their mind's eye. Yesugei stood beside it, directing the flows, concentrating them. The other eighteen psyker Astartes gave their power to him, fuelling him. In the Immaterium, they stood in an open field on Chogoris, surrounded by ko'tesh stalk-grass.
A howl of malevolence reached them.
+They come.+
In the real world they were immobile, but here they could move, they could fight. Only he could not participate; the directing and managing of the flows taking all of his focus.
The stalks rustled and warp spawn emerged, taking on various predator forms from Chogoris. The psykers raised their blades and staffs; no bolter would harm them, only ancient weapons would banish ancient beings in this realm.
As the psykers fought, knowing that if they lost here then they would be open to possession, they did so with contained fury, expertly blocking, dodging and executing blows. Yesugei was proud of them, but he knew, as they did too, that not all would survive.
Jaiso Buia was the first to die, his legs cut out from under him by a yaksha imitating a foko'rai predator. When Jaiso fell, he continued to fight but a dozen yaksha fell upon him, and his death-screams were of defiance.
"Torghun, one has fallen! One has fallen!" Yesugei screamed as more daemons approached.
+…has fallen. One has fallen!+
The words were whispered, but they came from within. Torghun knew who sent them. His eyes scanned the Stormseers, looking for any sign. All were immobile still, their faces locked in concentration.
Must have been the yaksha…
Stormseer Jaiso Buia began to shake.
One of his legionnaires moved to assist. "Brother, are you-"
The Stormseer's staff lashed out, caving in the chestplate of the Astartes, crushing organs and killing him instantly.
Jaiso opened his eyes and they simmered red with death.
"Jaiso…" warned Torghun, drawing his blade.
A deep, hateful voice responded, the words dripping with murderous promise. "Not… any… more."
Torghun rushed the yaksha, sword activated and the daemon readied its staff which now warped into a mace.
The other Astartes rushed to meet the possessed Stormseer.
The daemon backhanded Torghun, sending him flying into the crystalline wall. It grabbed a legionnaire's helm, crushing it like rotten fruit with a squeeze. Another brother unloaded his bolter into the beast, weakening it, but not killing it. Torghun pushed himself up from where he lay, gritted his teeth, and re-joined the fray.
Hours had passed. The ammunition was all but gone, the Orks never ending. Plasma coils were fried; the lascannon only had enough power to fire six, perhaps seven shots. The Noyan-Khan sidestepped a spiked hammer's blow, allowing the Astartes behind him to kill the hammer's bearer.
"Push!"
Another step, another hundred dead Orks, and another two dead White Scars; over forty Scars were dead now.
Hurry, Yesugei, do it now!
The fire was higher now, reaching into the clouds. It was ready, this inferno.
Turning to look at his brothers, he saw six were dead, their bodies now possessed in the Materium.
Kneeling into the dirt, he wrote sigils of power and protection, speaking in Khorchin.
Once finished, he stood again. "Brothers!" he yelled. "Stand fast."
Holding his staff with both hands, he slammed it into the earth and the flame spiralled farther into the sky with more flames spreading outwards from it to encompass them all.
Torghun decapitated the fourth possessed Stormseer, killed before it was able to manifest, the shaking was the sign of possession. He had lost thirteen brothers to kill four and two remained. As the Space Marines barred their blades to fight the remaining two, a blue wave of energy passed from Yesguei throughout the chamber. The two possessed fell down, banished. The wave continued to expand outwards.
Another Ork was killed, but his spear was lost, pulled into the mass of bodies. Jemulan pulled his sword from its scabbard. Raising it, he was about to shout an order when a blue wave passed through him. It did nothing to him and his men, but the Orks fell down, writhing in agony and death-throes. Blood trickled from their eyes, nose, mouth, and ears.
The legionnaires stood on guard for a moment, wary of tricks but the dying Orks allowed a cheer to erupt from them, swords upraised and chests beaten by armoured fists.
It was over. The signal had been sent. It had been sent!
Day 29
It took two days for the zadyin arga to awaken, their bodies having gone into a deep sleep to recover from their exhaustive ordeal. A hundred Scars stood guard, partly as protectors, and partly as executioners if the men who woke were not the same as those that had drifted to sleep. Thirteen Stormseers had fallen asleep, but only ten rose whole in spirit and mind. Three faced internal struggle and were given the Emperor's Peace.
Yesugei was one of those that awoken, and he felt tired, drained and spent, but content.
"Did it work?" asked Jemulan, he stood in front the Stormseers, his armour blackened and dirtied from combat.
"Yes. The flare has been lit, shown to all who could see. We can only hope someone noticed it and comes to discover its nature."
Jemulan grunted. "The best we could have hoped for."
Yesugei titled his head in agreement.
The Stormseer straightened before his commander, steadying himself on rock. "How many Orks are left?"
Jemulan's frown deepened. "All within fifty kilometres of here were killed by the pulse, but there are still some thousands more."
Jemulan turned to look over the recovering legionnaires. What he saw filled him with satisfaction at their resilience.
"And we will kill them all."
Day 337
The sun rose over Chondax, a red, rising tumour breaking the horizon as it moved upwards.
Haren watched the ball of fusion for hours, the temperature rapidly rising. His spirit was tainted with melancholically, his body and soul weary from the three hundred and thirty-seven days of hell. It was nearing a year since the Purge, and the surviving Space Marines numbered barely a third of what they once had been when they descended to the surface in what was thought would be the last battle for the planet.
Since the psychic pulse sent into the Immaterium, the Astartes had combed through the caverns, killing what few xenos remained. The last significant Ork threat had been eliminated three months ago. Now there were few, if any, left alive, and they cowered from the superior legionnaires.
A gauntlet rested on his shoulder. Turning, he nodded to his second, Sanco.
The fourteen Astartes ushered across Chondax's broken surface, traversing thirty kilometres in two hours of semi-rough terrain. They eventually came to a chasm: their entry point. Descending into the earth, they climbed downwards; using combat blades to arrest their fall, the journey took another half-hour before they reached ground.
Once all fourteen descended they ran quickly towards base, reaching Sanctuary soon after. Arriving amidst frantic activity, he noticed something different. The atmosphere was charged, electric, but not from any generator or warp power. Haren saw Hasar racing across the vast cavern. Rushing to him, he grabbed the psyker's arm.
"What is happening? Why was I called back from my recon mission?" he asked.
"Six hours ago several ships entered the system."
"Orks?" he demanded, alarmed.
"No, Imperial. We have made vox contact. Sixteenth Legion, Sons of Horus." Hasar stopped, a smile rising upon his weary face. "Haren, help has arrived."
Day 338
It took nearly twenty-four hours for the XVI squadron of warships to enter Chondax's high orbit. Captain Tybalt Marr of the Eighteenth Company, Sons of Horus Legion, led the entirety of his company's dropship contingent to the black surface of the planet below. Landing at the pre-arranged coordinates, he walked down the ramp to an impressive sight.
Three thousand Space Marines stood before him, their armour and weaponry broken, their livery and Legion colours all but gone, their armour a streaked greyish-black mess. Hundreds looked on the verge of death, most impoverished as their bodies had been recycling the same waste for most of a year to keep their body in some form of functioning shape. Several stood in the front, obviously the commanders. The moved to him and he to them.
Removing his helm, the others following suit, the sea-green and black armoured Astartes looked at them, watching as they stood there bodies half-broken, but wills strong as iron. Marr recognized the grizzled veteran at the fore.
Saluting, he inclined his head respectfully. "Jemulan Noyan-Khan, it is good to see you alive."
"It is good to see you as well, Captain Marr, but I am no longer Noyan-Khan for that was my name as a White Scar, a brotherhood I am no longer a part of. We dropped our Chogorian names and traditions many months ago." Jemulan looked towards his brothers. "We have left behind our names that once we carried while serving the Warhawk. No longer am I known as Jemulan Noyan-Khan of the Horde of the Earth, but Commander Rel Felsar. These beside me were once known as Stormseer Targutai Yesugei and Torghun Khan, now called Chief Librarian Arghun Hasar and Captain Haren Svensellen. We are no longer White Scars, nor even Fifth Legion. We are Sagyar Mazan, the broken brotherhood, the suicide sons. We will join the greater war. We will not stop until the Arch-Traitor is dead. We will not stop until the Fifth Primarch's skull lies before the Golden Throne!" The last brought throaty cheers from the former Scars.
Marr nodded at that in admiration.
"That is good, Commander Felsar. I have orders from my primarch to bring you into the Imperial fold, to help us fight back at the traitors. It took many months to get here, months longer than expected, but now we can re-join the war."
"Is this squadron all you've brought from Terra?" asked Captain Svensellen, hesitantly.
Marr shook his head minutely. "This is but a scouting element. The Warmaster has dispatched most of the XVI to fight the traitors. He remains on the Throneworld to coordinate the war effort, with an honour guard and a strategic reserve."
Haren nodded at that, contented.
"Now," gestured Marr, "let us leave this rock."
The Sagyar Mazan needed no further encouragement, quickly filling the assembled dropships' empty holds. Over ten thousand White Scars loyalists were sent to be purged; now only three thousand one hundred and sixty-two survived, now styling themselves the Sagyar Mazan. But those survivors were ready to fight the traitors, but more importantly ready to fight for the Emperor against their father and brothers.