From Fires of Betrayal
…dirt red with blood, stone stained by betrayal, sky black with hate.
Astartes in blue and white emerge from entry-scorched drop-pods, chainswords and chainaxes whirring with death. Over the vox, he could hear the screams of shock and of the dying from the Salamanders and Death Guard.
Must keep moving, must keep moving. Everything was going wrong.
A creature of night approached him, bolter raised. He killed the murderer with three bolts, armour and body shredded. The wailing death-cry of Mankind's Unity was deafening.
Moving further into the city, all he saw was death, death, death…
The thud of knocking brought him out of meditative half-sleep. The Space Marine pushed himself up, moving to the door. Opening it, he looked out upon four Astartes of the Sanguinary Guard.
"Make yourself presentable. The Angel requires your presence." He nodded, closing the door. When it opened again, he wore the crimson and black of the Blood Angels, rank epaulets of a captain, and the haunted expression of one who had lost everything.
The Guards escorted him to the Golden Tower, the centre of the fortress-monastery on Baal. Thinking of his homeworld brought not happiness but sorrow. The Ninth Legion had arrived home not in victory or celebration, but to replenish losses suffered on Bellanor. In a single day the Legion had lost a third of its legionnaires. The several thousand on the planet would help replace those now dead, but it wouldn't do so fully. Recruits from Baal Primus and Baal Secundus, the primarch's homeworld, had been transported to Baal itself for integration into depleted companies. Unlike his company, some survived in reduced form. Those companies, like his, that were a handful of Space Marines were to be disbanded; the remnant joined to depleted units that still held a command infrastructure. The thought was bitter but he understood the necessity.
Through the Corridor of Purification were reliefs on two sides. The left relief depicted Sanguinius and followers cleansing the Baal Trinity of mutant hordes, while the right side showed the primarch and the Emperor conquering the stars. It was supposed to encourage whoever walked through, to show them that under the guidance of the Emperor and His sons nothing would stop humanity from becoming the dominant species in the galaxy. Unfortunately, he thought wryly, the reliefs and its designers never thought to think that the Imperium's greatest threat would come not externally, but from within. Just a year ago, it would have seemed impossible.
Now though, three Loyal Legions had been caught in the meat-grinder of Bellanor, with two nearly destroyed. The Space Wolves had attacked Prospero, but failed to kill the Cyclops. News of Fulgrim being declared War Commander swept through the Imperium, encouraging those downtrodden or rebellious to join him. Much had happened in a year. The Exodus, the regrouping at Talas Station, the battles fought to get home, and then the months spent repairing the fleet and taking in Neophytes, rushing them to the rank of full battle-brother and rushing Aspirant to Neophyte. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Nothing was confirmed, but rumour was the Legion would deploy again in a month once repairs were finished. The War Commander would not reach Terra easily, not with the Ninth Legion to fight against him every step of the way.
The Corridor was lined with golden armoured Guards, their safety of the primarch paramount in their minds. Vulkan had fallen, put into stasis to prevent death, but the chances that the Lord of Drakes would live were low. If the Angel were to fall… well, he did not know if the Legion would survive such a tragedy.
Opening the doors before him, the Blood Angel captain stepped inside the Golden Tower, the personal residence of their lord. The Silver Tower was the command centre for Legion operations, the Bronze Tower the centre of training, from newest Aspirant to veteran Astartes, and the Black Tower held prisoners.
The Angel did not sit on his throne, but was to the side, looking at a hololithic projection of the civil war-ridden galaxy. The captain moved to the appropriate distance and took a knee of subservience.
Sanguinius the Angel, the Golden Warrior of Baal and other such highly praised titles, spoke then. "Rise, Captain Gustavius. Come, stand beside me." The pearl-white and black feathers of his wings were beacons to the officer.
He rose from kneeing and walked towards his father. Standing beside him, he felt insignificant, a dust speck on the glory of the Emperors genetic brilliance. Gustavius may be an Angel, but he paled in comparison to the Angel.
"Tell me, what do you see?" The primarch's voice was not unkind, bringing serenity to Gustavius, but he knew this was only one aspect of the Ninth Son. The kind spoken diplomat could become the unforgiving conqueror in but a moment. But there was something different to Sanguinius, something he had that several of his brothers did not. Humanity. They all may have fought for it, the primarchs and their transhuman sons, but Sanguinius was perhaps the closest of them all to it. He represented light in the darkness, hope in times of despair, and so much more.
Gustavius paid attention to the holo before him, his critical eye missing nothing. After a moment's study, he spoke the ugly truth, "We're losing."
Sanguinius nodded, but gestured for his son to continue.
"The White Scars raid and pillage a thousand worlds, their cargo holds full of slaves and riches. Their exploits and insatiable desires have made many swear allegiance to the War Commander, hoping this would save them from the scions of Jaghatai. This usually works, but not always. Their disruption of Imperial supply lines has led to dire consequences for hundreds of worlds." His gaze went to another part of the galaxy. "Ultramar has not been heard from since before the Massacre, their borders blocked by a warp storm of great magnitude, one that is becoming stronger as time goes on. The bulk of the Word Bearers and Iron Hands are believed to be within, laying waste to the Five Hundred Worlds. Elsewhere, in the Arcurean Sector, the Dark Angels and Alpha Legion have begun to contest for dominance with no end in sight. In more central matters, the Eighth Legion acts as the War Commander's vanguard, softening up Fortress Worlds and ensuing such fear and chaos reign that many star systems join Fulgrim, though some worlds, like Murdock, are used as ghastly examples to those that defy the traitors. Driving towards the Segmentum Solar are the Arch-Traitor's principal fleets. The World Eaters protect the flanks, while the Sons of Fulgrim, with Thousand Son and Black Legion forces in support, push towards the Sol System. "
"Accurate observation. Tell me, what do you think of this world." The primarch manipulated the controls, and the galaxy map faded to show a star system, the rune of the Mechanicum above it.
"Forge World Raloxxia Minor, population estimated around eighteen billion, slightly larger than Terra in planetary size but far denser. It orbits the gas giant Raloxxia Major. Since being brought to compliance fourteen decades ago, principal exports had been heavy artillery guns of various types, accompanying shells of all calibres and specialty, alongside necessary replacement parts. Loyalty is to the Arch-Traitor and the Dark Mechanicum."
"Very good, Gustavius, now read this," Sanguinius handed him a data-slate. It detailed import-export ratios, as well as current production for the Forge World alongside any information deemed important by Imperial spies.
After a moment, he spoke. "This must be wrong?"
"Why do you say that?"
"The Raloxxians are importing four times as much as before, yet are only producing a third of what they used to."
"Intercepted reports say that it is due to local loyalist sabotage and faulty production lines."
"Then they are lying, purposeful false statements" Gustavius said matter-of-factly. A ghost of a smile touched the Angel's lips before he motioned him to continue.
"According to this data," he waved the data-slate, "a decade ago, Raloxxia Prime was undergoing a planet-wide industrial upgrade. They were scheduled to finish just months before the Heresy began, so it could not be faulty production lines. And no matter how serious or strong the loyalist resistance is, it wouldn't be able to affect the numbers to this degree. These statistics tell it as if there is open warfare down there, not subterfuge or minor sabotaging."
"Then why lie?"
"To cover something up, most like. Perhaps they are building a Titan Legion, or large warships, or some third option. But," he paused, thinking, "Since the Forge World has only a small Titan Legion, their infrastructure for it wouldn't allow rapid growth, and the planet doesn't sport heavy orbital construction so it would be waste of time and resources to create something with more tonnage than a heavy cruiser. In my opinion, it would have to be the third option."
"Which is?"
"Some kind of super-heavy artillery gun of immense scale and power, likely several. They have the experience, the machinery and the isolation from the frontlines."
"And why would they do that?"
"Because," Gustavius began to feel dread, "when the traitors reach Terra, they will need such weapons to break down the Palace's walls."
Sanguinius nodded again, this time solemnly. The primarch had suspected, but now had his concerns confirmed.
"What would you recommend?"
Gustavius thought for a moment. "Barring a planetary invasion with all assets available, I'd recommend a strike team, no more than ten specialists, possibly less. Infiltrate and sabotage."
Sanguinius moved to his throne. Gustavius followed, standing before the Angel as if in judgment.
"Captain Gustavius, do you know why I called you here?"
"I believe so. My past familiarity with infiltration."
"Correct. We do not have the skills like the Raven Guard, but what you accomplished during our flight home saved thousands of legionnaires. Now, I ask you to save not only legionnaires, but likely the Imperium as well. I ask only for volunteers. I will warn you that the mission amounts to suicide. We cannot risk more Astartes to retrieve you. Do you accept?"
He did not hesitate in answering.
"Yes, sire. I accept."
Gustavius began to recruit from amongst his brethren. The primarch had allowed him to select eight others to accompany him on this mission; those that could be useful yet their sacrifice would not impede the Legion. The first he found atop the highest level of the Wardens Keep. The black armoured Astartes were unhappy he walked in their private sanctum, but a writ bearing the Angel's orders and signature allowed him access anywhere. The Warden he had in mind was in a viewing chamber, looking out across the rad-wastes.
Gustavius walked in, his presence known by his armour's purring hum.
"Yes," croaked the sitter.
"I have a mission and I want you with me."
"Will I kill many traitors?"
"Yes."
The Warden turned around, his face a ruined mess. One eye was gone, lost at Bellanor, the rest of the flesh fused together by discharge from a traitor's plasma rifle.
"Good," spoke Warden Raze. "I'll join you."
The second individual was Sergeant Tober, found in the Bronze Tower overseeing newly inducted battle-brothers training. The Blood Angel captain stepped up to beside his old mentor and friend. Tober glanced at him, then back to the two legionnaires fighting the training servitors.
Gustavius watched for a moment, fascinated by their speed.
"Who are they?" he asked.
"Paulus and Gallard, twin true brothers; they are some of my best from this year's induction."
"Their synchronisation with one another is seamless. Servitor difficulty?"
"Max lethality."
"Then they must be very good."
"They are."
"Good, I'll need them."
Tober sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that. If they go, then I will too. I cannot in good conscience let two star pupils go off without my supervision."
"I was hoping you'd say that. Meet me at the western landing pads tomorrow at sunrise."
"Yes, sir."
After leaving the Bronze Tower Gustavius made way to the Range. Hundreds of legionnaires were practising their aim, but he was only looking for one. Sniper Taggar was cleaning his weapon.
Approaching the sniper, Gustavius stood before the specialist. Taggar looked up.
"Will you join me on a mission to hurt the traitors' war effort?"
Taggar, whose larynx had been ruined by phosphex fumes, nodded.
Better than staying here, he signed.
The next one was in the Librarium, studying over a tome. Lighted candles were the only light in which to guide him.
Gustavius opened his mouth but stopped when the psyker spoke.
"No need, captain. I've already had this talk with you." Librarian Cassak looked up. "I will go, of course."
By the time the star of Baal began to set, Gustavius had recruited Sergeant Tober, Warden Raze, Librarian Cassak, Sniper-Specialist Taggar, battle-brothers Gallard, Paulus, demolitions expert Hesten, and Scout Mykrof. It was an ideal infiltration squad.
The next morning, before boarding the Fire Raptor that would carry them to near-orbit, Gustavius told them the likelihood of retrieval, or rather the lack thereof. He said that whoever wished to remain behind could, and would suffer no censorship. None shirked away, and all boarded the dropship. It carried them from the surface to the scout ship Athica in near-orbit. As the Legion entered the final stages of repairs, Athica, a small, barely armed starship, entered the warp and made way to the Raloxxian System.
The journey would take five weeks. During that time each Space Marine trained and went over the schematics of Raloxxia Minor's primary manufactora centres. The local resistance had narrowed the special construction to the Tassiki Basin. They devised strategies and fall-backs, to react to any scenario, but their first objective when planet-side was establishing contact with local loyalists.
"How will we reach the surface?" asked Tober.
All nine of them were in the scout ship's small briefing chamber, three days into their journey. Gustavius looked at his second then brought up a holo-map of the system. The dirty brown orb of Raloxxia Minor orbited the larger orange and purple Raloxxia Major. Pointing at it, he began to explain.
"Every local year, Raloxxia Minor enters a close proximity zone with its gas giant neighbour Raloxxia Major, a gas giant larger than Sol's Jupiter. This event is known locally as the Disturbance. The two planets' gravity causes massive gravitic disturbance for four days, as well as heavy acid storms across Minor. During this time all interplanetary communications, aside from astropathic and extremely short-range vox, are down. Transportation is the same, as well as augurs. We will approach via dropship just as the Disturbance is beginning, allowing us a brief time to arrive undetected."
"Enemy assets?" inquired Hesten.
"Unknown Skitarii numbers, likely in the hundreds of thousands, plus many combat servitors and likely a small detachment of Knights."
"Legion presence?" asked Raze.
"It appears that there are several squads of Iron Hands on planet, with several hundred garrisoned on the outlying planet Raloxxia Extremis, a cold, barren place."
"Iron Hands? Are they not all with Manus in Ultramar?" Gallard arched an eyebrow in confusion.
"Most yes, but not all. There are known contingents of Iron Hands and Word Bearers across the Imperium, outside of Guilliman's Realm."
"Why are so many Iron Hands on Extremis and not Minor? Why put them so far away?" asked Paulus.
"Unknown, likely local politics; certain factions of the Dark Mechanicum seem more touchy about its independence than the loyal Mechanicum."
Gustavius looked out across his brothers, seeing their determination for the battle to come.
"We will land and rendezvous with the Raloxxian loyalists. They have given us several locations to find them. We will visit them in turn until contact is made. From there we find the weapon or weapons, cripple them and as much advanced machinery as possible. We will attempt retrieval back to the Athica, but if it or we are unable to rendezvous with one another, then we must lay low. We will hide amongst the resistance, assisting them in their guerrilla war, until we can be retrieved or the world liberated. Questions?"
There were none. The briefing was dismissed for the day. Each legionnaire trained or readied their equipment. As Gustavius settled in his quarters to the condition of armour and weapons, he found that his anger and misgivings that has haunted him since Bellanor were beginning to fade. Now… now all that was left was performing his duty one last time.
The air was heavy with incense and charged with tension.
Fabricator-General Tolkron of Raloxxia sat in his throne of office, the seats of his subordinates filled. In the corner of the room, away from most of the Adepts' eyes but in direct sight of himself, stood the Wanderer, arms folded watching critically. The black and silver livery of the legionnaire's armour clearly announced to all his allegiance.
Tolkron was almost entirely machine; his brain and spinal cord were all that was left of a once weak life of flesh. He had risen high in rank on the Forge World Raloxxia, but had only been a mid-level Adept until news of the Heresy spread like a virus through the Imperium. With news that Sacred Mars was divided by war and Kelbor-Hal assassinated by Imperial Assassins, Tolkron knew that they must join Chrom's faction of the Mechanicum if their traditions and dedication for the advancement of knowledge were to be preserved. The former Fabricator-General and Fabricator Locum of Raloxxia had not thought so, and quickly found themselves terminated. In the chaos that followed, Tolkron installed himself as ruler of the Raloxxia System, and placed those that shared like-minded interests into positions of power.
When representatives from the War Commander arrived months after the Dropsite Massacre, they had found a Forge World loyal to the Phoenician and the Dark Mechanicum. Tolkron had expected to supply the rebellion with Raloxxia's heavy artillery guns, but it seemed Fulgrim had something different in mind. Six super-heavy siege guns were ordered, and the foundations for them had been laid. Legionnaires of the Tenth Legion were tasked by the War Commander and Ferrus Manus to assist in the development and to act as the weapons' last line of defence. At first great strides had been made. Now, almost a year later, the progress of the weapons' construction began running into various problems, subsequently causing the Gorgon's chosen overseer to not be pleased.
Tolkron looked at the Iron Hand, and if he had kept enough of human mannerisms, he might have sighed in relief that it was the Wanderer and not the Ironwrought who stood there. Tolkron stood, his mechanical legs clicking as he moved. It was time to begin.
"The Disturbance is almost upon us. Report on your Forges."
Each Adept, from highest to lowest in station, spoke of how their Forge continued production, despite setbacks ranging from industrial sabotage to assassination of key personnel. The loyalists were making work difficult and were beginning to put the planet entire behind schedule. Each gave answers, each gave excuses. Nonetheless, facts were presented and he must accept them, less he appear weak-willed and unstable before the legionnaire. Orders of random round-ups of possible seditionists, summary executions and more followed. It was all he could do. As the meeting came to an end, he spoke to them one last time.
"Very well," he said. "You are all dismissed." Servos whined, mechadendrites whirred and twisted as the Adepts departed. The Iron Hand remained.
Tolkron's augmetic eyes were expressionless, but the chemical imbalance in his body spoke of annoyance.
"Yes, Wanderer Sullek?"
The Space Marine moved from the dim edges of the room to the full brightness of its centre, and admittedly was an impressive figure to behold. Covering up the armour was a simple charcoal-grey cloak; it denoted the rank of Wanderer and was a sign of the primarch's favour, as it linked any Astartes wearing it to their primarch's past on Medusa. The bolt pistol and combat knife paled to the majestic weapon locked to the Space Marine's back. It was a heavily modified Medusan mag-bow, another symbol of the Sullek's rank. It had been whispered during the Great Crusade that every mag-bow had been created by Manus himself, though the truth of the matter was known only to the Tenth Legion.
When the Wanderer spoke, his voice was still human, odd to hear here in the upper hierarchy of Raloxxia. "The Ironwrought is growing tired of your excuses these past months. Behind schedule is not easily forgiven amongst the Iron Tenth. You must do better or you might find yourself replaced."
Tolkron moved closer to the Wanderer, faded torn red cloak of office trailing behind him.
"You dare threaten me here in my sanctum? On my world?"
Sullek removed his helm, showing one eye that was bionic and the other which was metallic grey, common on his homeworld.
"I dare nothing, merely present facts. Also," the transhuman's features hardened like rock, "this may be your world, but it is Fulgrim's Imperium. You have a degree of sovereignty, as benefitting your organisation and rank, but do not think yourself above the emperor-to-be."
"The Ironwrought needs me-"
"False. We need this world, and if the current leadership does not follow our instructions precisely, well… this world has already experienced a regime change. It can certainly do so again. Another, more compliant leader could easily be selected."
The thought of killing the Iron Hand passed through Tolkron's mind, but he stayed his hand. Killing Sullek would bring a moment's satisfaction, but the Ironwrought would return for inspection after the Disturbance. If he were to find his agent dead, then Tolkron would be killed and replaced.
"Tell the Ironwrought that we will double our efforts, limits will be emplaced on current standard production and other projects will be put on hold. Is this satisfactory?"
Sullek stood there, impassive and silent for a moment. "It is," he said at last. "But there must be more drastic action. I will hunt down the loyalist remnant and remove them from the equation. I will succeed where you and yours failed." Tolkron's protest died in his voice-box at Sullek's next words. "I invoke Article 4 of the Legion's agreement with your world. The loyalists are impeding construction of the super-heavies, and therefore are a threat to them. You have had your chance to finish them off, now it is my turn."
The Iron Hand turned to leave, but stopped in the door's arch.
"Do keep in mind, Fabricator General, that if the Ironwrought is not content with your progress or you try to impede my efforts, he will let him know." The stress on that word warned Tolkron who it would be. Tolkron stared at the Astartes back until Sullek left the chamber and the doors closed.
Over Raloxxia Minor hundreds of bulk carriers, cargo haulers and more moved to and from the planet during the final day of authorised transport. During the last six hours, warning klaxons and automated caution messages were sent to every ship in orbit. Ships were either berthed in fully enclosed magnetically-shielded orbital docks or the vast landing fields planet-side where they were lowered into the ground for protection.
Long and mid-range augurs were disabled, leaving only auspex, but those would largely be ineffective in distances exceeding one kilometre. As Raloxxia Minor readied itself for the close proximity with Major, sensors did not detect the small unmarked dropship entering orbit near the Tassiki Basin, nor its departure twenty minutes later.
They moved like ghosts into the metal world of Raloxxia Minor. Minutes after disembarking from the Fire Raptor, they had discovered an abandoned warehouse in the outlying slums of the Basin, far from the heavily inhabited districts of the inner Basin. The warehouse itself was nothing special, rather it was falling apart, nothing valuable within: an ideal locale for hiding temporarily. At least until contact had been made.
Half an hour after landing, Gustavius motioned for the strike team to witness the Disturbance. Minor and Major neared one another and all nine legionnaires felt the increasing pressure come and go. A building of pressure in their inner ears and sense of heaviness resting on their shoulders were the only physical effects. All their sensitive equipment, except their power armours' sensors, which were shielded, had been disabled to preserve them during the opening stage of the Disturbance. As the Disturbance neared its climax, a loud thunderclap rang through the air, piercing and deep. Nothing appeared different. Major dominated the sky, a large multi-coloured gaseous orb. The air felt heavier, but he knew it was not.
Within hours, violent acid storms would pour down, further hampering the traitors' ability of surveillance and communication. Turning to his brothers, the Blood Angel captain ordered them to set up positions while he would go make contact with the resistance.
It took two days, but at one of the rendezvous points detailed in the mission brief contact had been made. Communiques were quietly, but swiftly, exchanged between the Space Marines and the Mechanicum loyalists. After twelve local hours of hesitant and cautious exchange, it appeared the traitors were clamping down on resistance cells, Gustavius found himself in a hardened underground bunker, surrounded by banks of cogitators and thick, twisting cables. Tober and Raze stood with him, standing before a Mechanicum Adept. Her name, if one could put a gender to the barely human machine before him, was Nhadi. Her tri-augmetic eyes whirred as they looked at them, calculating, observant. Their talk had lasted an hour, now silence reigned in her office.
She tapped her steel tipped fingers against the desk. A left over from her days as flesh? "Your plan risks the integrity of the resistance. Not just the ones in the Basin area, but across the entire planet." Her voice was monotone, a voice-box for a larynx long removed and replaced.
"Yes," Gustavius admitted. "It risks much, but we need for it to happen."
"It will destroy us." It was hard to discern what she was feeling, with her deadpan mechanical voice and lack of facial features. Was her adamant desire to preserve the resistance fading? He hoped so.
"Perhaps. But better this world burn than Terra. The weapons being made here will have the firepower to break down the walls of the Imperial Palace. That cannot be allowed to happen. What do you think will happen to the Mechanicum if Fulgrim wins? I can promise you, it will not bode well for Mars."
Nhadi stared at him for a moment, steel finger still tapping her desk. The tapping stopped and she rose.
"Very well, I will oversee the preparations. Now leave," she said briskly, "I must prepare."
Gustavius nodded and departed the room. His legionnaires, who had waited patiently against the wall, hands on bolters and sword pommels, moved to them.
"She will do it," Gustavius said as they formed a circle. "They will guide us in, using their spies within the Basin. Preceding our inception, they will launch an assault on the Basin's defences, drawing as much of the Skitarii as possible."
They all nodded.
"It will take several days for them to ready, but it will happen. For now, we wait here. I want two on watch at all times, in rotating twenty-four hour shifts.
"Sergeant Tober, I want you to man the primary entryway into this underground maze. Taggar, I want you above, hidden and observant. The reports of increased traitor activity in the area concern me." The two Angels affirmed the order. Gustavius looked at the eight brave souls with him and made a small smile. "It won't be long now."
Seventeen hours into his watch shift, the last day of the Disturbance, Sergeant Tober checked the security footage over the carefully hidden vid- and pict-capturers. He looked over the grainy monitors, the Raloxxian resistance forced to use leftover equipment and scraps scavenged from junkyards. The footage showed him the interior of the underground Mechanicum hideout, as well as much of the surrounding area outside.
"Any change?" he asked.
The captain on duty, a Skitarii officer named Helex, looked up. If he was annoyed at the hourly question, he gave no sign of it. "No, sir, it is quiet out there."
Tober scanned the screens, seeing a few ground cars and cargo-8s in several vid-feeds but nothing else. "That's what worries me," he said. "Anything on the network?"
The captain checked the data-files and shook his head. "No, sir. Cell Eleven was late in sending its update, but only by sixteen minutes which can easily be blamed on the Disturbance."
"How far away is Cell Eleven?"
"About forty kilometres."
"I see. Keep me informed," Tober said as he turned around to resume his position at the void-sealed blast door that was carefully camouflaged on the other side to prevent detection, whether it be through physical or technological means.
The door clunked as its locks disengaged from the wall and swung open, revealing a recon squad moving in. The seven troopers shook off the acid rain that had pelted their clothing. Their faces were covered in rebreather-masks and protective headwear against the storm. They saluted as they walked by Tober. One seemed surprised, but that was to be expected. Not all, if fact most of the resistance did not know the Emperor's Angels were here.
The door quickly shut behind them.
The recon team he had trailed for the past two hours disappeared into a half-destroyed foundry. Likely the entrance to an underground bunker lay within.
Wanderer Sullek shifted in his cloak, hidden amongst refuse and industrial waste containers a kilometre away. Opening a link to his fifty-Astartes strong unit located not too far away, supported by some of Tolkorn's supposedly elite Skitarii.
"Sergeant Casgert," he said.
"Sir," came the augmetic voice.
"Rendezvous on me. We have some scum to extinguish."
Sniper-Specialist Taggar had been monitoring the highway traffic for nearly seventeen and a half hours. Nothing alarming occurred, traffic going to and fro from the Basin's heart to outwards to the outlying districts that housed the hab-units until five Rhinos, thirteen Chimeras, three massive cargo-16s and two Knights thundered off the highway off-ramp to the principal roadway leading to the bunker.
His vox-link, connected to Captain Gustavius, was open and he began clicking in code, his only way to communicate non-physically since Bellanor.
Enemy convoy approaching. Heavily armed. Knights, Skitarii and Astartes. Will delay as long as I can.
…long as I can.
Gustavius looked up from the sewage schematics of Fabricator-General Tolkron's Forge and paused, digesting the information Taggar had sent him.
"Understood," he said. "Brothers," he said on the squad channel. "Traitor convoy is approaching, heavily armed and armoured. Taggar is going to delay them, but we need to move."
They began to gather their weapons and supplies as Gustavius made his way to Adept Nhadi's office. He didn't waste time knocking.
The Adept looked up from her cogitator, mechandendrites tapping away at the keyboard.
"We've been discovered. Traitors are heading here now."
Nhadi stopped tapping away, and her mechandendrites withdrew into the inside of her red robe.
"We have to initiate the attack now. Are your forces ready?" he asked her.
"Only sixty-eight percent are," she responded.
"That'll have to do. Tell the Basin forces to attack the Forge and the others to attack supply depots, railways, and communication hubs."
"Very well. The attack on the Forge won't succeed, though. It isn't enough-"
"It doesn't have to succeed. It just needs to distract."
Nhadi paused, contemplating, her fingers tapping on her desk. She stopped. "I understand. I'll give the order."
"Good. We'll fight our way out."
"No," Nhadi said, moving to the back wall, clustered with spare parts. A small section of the wall shuddered aside, showing a small entrance, just large enough for an Astartes to crawl through. "You and your squad will sneak out here, link up with my second, a tech-priest named Rashadd. He'll be waiting on the other side of this tunnel. Gather your legionnaires."
"You're not coming?"
"No. I've been hiding for months, I won't do so any longer." Something akin to a chuckle escaped her. "If the Raloxxian resistance is to die today, I will die with it. Here, take this," she handed him a data-chip, incredibly small in his gauntlet. "This will upload a virus to the traitors' cogitator system. They'll be unit locked so you will have to upload to each cogitator individually. Now, leave. Gather your legionnaires and leave."
"Thank you, Adept," he bowed his head in respect. She returned it. Gustavius left her office, motioning for his squad to come. "Tober, hurry, we are leaving."
"I'm not leaving, sir."
Gustavius switched to a private link. "Why are you staying, brother?"
"It would take too long to get below to your sub-level." It was true. He was half an hour, if not more, above where the other Baalite legionnaires were. "If I stay here, I can hold them off a bit longer in support of Taggar."
Gustavius hesitated, but he understood what his friend was saying. "Die well, brother."
The link was terminated and Gustavius gathered his men and they left through Nhadi's door, it closing behind them as she saw them off.
Taggar watched as the traitors disembarked from their vehicles, advancing on where the bunker was hidden. Fifty legionnaires mad up the core of the attacking force, with hundreds of well-armed Skitarii in support. He lined up on an Iron Hand sergeant and waited for the battle to begin. It didn't take long. The loyal Raloxxians began to fire upon their traitorous comrades. Lasfire and autogun bullets shredded through the advancing ranks of enemy Skitarii, but only nicking the paint off Astartes armour.
Taggar's aim was true, reticule over the Iron Hand commander's head, and fired. The bolt was armour piercing and went in and out the traitor sergeant, easily, splattering grey matter and metal over his Rhino from where he stood commanding. Taggar's weapon ejected the empty shell, loading another within half a second. He fired again, killing another Iron Hand. Gun ejected shell and another slid into place.
Tober fired from the cover of the foundry's walls, killing a half dozen Skitarii. Beside him fought the bunker's security and staff, having departed the bunker. The close confines of the underground base would have favoured the Iron hands, leaving the loyalists best chance at resisting to be above ground in the ruins of the foundry. There would be none to escape, save his squad. All would fight to the death to delay the traitors and make them focus here and not elsewhere. The few support staff not involved with battle were busily burning and purging their records so as not to give away any other loyalist cells located in the Tassiki Basin and beyond.
He emptied the clip into the mass of Skitarii running at him, killing most. Reloading, he kicked one Skitarii, sending him backwards into a support column, chestplate caved in. A traitor Space Marine, carrying a storm shield, advanced on him, shooting from the fire slot. Two loyal Skitarii were blown apart, one of them Captain Helex.
Grimacing, Tober chucked a grenade at the legionnaire, set on a two-second diffuse. The Iron Hand reacted instantly, facing the shield downwards to the grenade to block the blast. It did so, but emerging from the smoke and fire was Tober, gun hovering over the legionnaire's red eye lenses. A single shot dug into the Medusan's cranium and a micro-second later exploded. The headless legionnaire fell backward.
Grabbing the storm shield, Tober withdrew to the foundry's walls, firing as he retreated. More and more loyalists were being killed. One of the Knights charged, but was stopped by several krak grenade launchers hitting its leg, causing it to stumble onto the ground facedown. More grenades and what heavy weapons the loyalists had assaulted the Knight, eventually causing it to explode. The shrapnel tore into the traitors' rear ranks of Skitarii. The other fired from a distance, not wanting to get too close and suffer a similar fate. A smokestack, hit by the Knight's firepower, fell amidst the loyal Raloxxians, killing dozens and stunning over a hundred. The foundry's walls creaked and cracked as the structural integrity weakened.
An Iron Hand emerged from a secondary entrance, shield raised and killing the poorly armed defenders stationed there, when a sniper bolt from behind blew out his chest onto the inside of the shield.
The second sniper magazine was flicked from the rifle, empty, and a third was rammed home in its place. The targeted legionnaire fell, a thumb-sized hole near his spine, exiting out the chest and carrying with it crimson coloured gore. Tober raised a clenched fist into the air, signalling thanks, knowing Taggar could see him through the smoke and soot. Saving brothers was something Taggar was good at.
Taggar killed two legionnaires and three Skitarii officers when he heard something from behind, a… soft ruffling of a cloak. Turning, he saw an Iron Hand clad in a torn cloak hanging proudly from the Medusan's shoulders. A mag-bow was pointed at Taggar's face.
"Hello, little Angel," the Medusan taunted via his external speakers, his voice a monotone lifeless melody. Taggar reached for the bolt pistol mag-locked to his hip, knowing he was not quick enough but not deigning to die without the attempt and the mag-bow fired.
Tober looked to the tower where Taggar had been sniping from. That support had stopped nearly twenty minutes ago. He knew what that meant. He also knew that he was about to die. The foundry's defenders all lay dead, only a scant handful had retreated to the bunker, closing the door behind them but that would buy only seconds. The enemy dead was littered amongst the loyal.
Tober's bolter and bolt pistol had run out of ammo, and he was surrounded by six Iron Hands, their shields raised, swords or spears ready, another dozen aimed their bolters at him. Why hadn't they killed him yet?
Skitarii soldiers joined their ceramite masters in aiming their weapons at him. Tober lay on the ground, left leg severed by a power sword, right leg shattered from a krak grenade. Bolt holes dotted his chest and a combat blade was wedged into his abdomen. Blood leaked from him in torrents, not even the Larraman Cells flooding through his bloodstream could stem the flow.
The traitors stood around him, their murdering temporarily halted, and that pause ended as a cloaked traitor approached. Tober knew at once what the legionnaire was: a Wanderer. The Wanderer approached him, kneeling in the rain-drenched mud where blood and oil mixed freely. A serrated blade, similar to Barbaran design, was pulled from a scabbard on the traitor's chest.
Tober expected questioning, but he was made of stern willpower and would resist their tortures. The Iron Hand seemed to sense that. "Pity," the traitor grumbled as the blade pierced Tober's eye into the brain, killing him.
Gustavius sat in the transport compartment of a cargo-12 as it thudded down the highway towards Tolkron's Forge. Escaping from resistance headquarters seemed dishonourable to some of his brethren, but Gustavius knew that the future would hold no honour, only victory or death. Only war.
The surviving seven members of the original squad sat on canisters and plasteel crates as their vehicle thundered away from the now demolished base. The driver was tech-priest Rashadd, who had been Nhadi's second and now the leading member of the loyalist Mechanicum on the planet. The cargo-12 took an off ramp and descended into one of the many tunnel systems honeycombed through the upper layers of Raloxxia Minor.
Gustavius and Rashadd had spoken earlier. They would infiltrate the Forge using the sewage tunnels. A thought struck him.
"Will there be an enemy presence in the sewers?"
"There shouldn't be, least where you are going. The tunnel you will access officially does not exist. Nhadi oversaw all tunnel construction and sewage for the former Fabricator-General and she knew of this pathway and when the traitors launched their coup she destroyed the only physical copies but one that noted the access tunnel. The last one was with her and I assure you she destroyed it before the traitors got their hands on it."
Gustavius cut the link, pleased. Though that relief at an easy insertion faded as he knew he lost two brothers at the resistance base, one of them a good friend. But even in such loss, he saw an opportunity. That raid undoubtedly cost the traitors some legionnaires and every one that died there would be one less he would face at the Forge.
It took hours to descend to the insertion point located in sub-level 42J, but eventually they arrived. Rashadd removed a hidden access gate, allowing the Blood Angels to sneak into Tolkron's Forge. Rashadd did not come with them. He would lead the assault on the outer defences to distract the traitors. Gustavius knew the chances of Rashadd surviving were low and he knew that the tech-priest would die, so the captain patted the Raloxxian resistance commander on the shoulder and murmured thanks. The gateway closed, enclosing them in darkness.
Now the mission truly began.
Sullek oversaw his Techmarine and borrowed tech-priests look over the resistance's cogitators and paperwork. Unfortunately, when the Iron Hands had been spotted, the entire closed off database had been purged and scrapped three times, leaving nothing but faint data-echoes that may or may not contain anything pertinent. The paperwork had been set afire and very little had been saved before destroyed. A few loyalists had been captured and interrogated and they spoke of other Space Marines that had used the chaos of the raid to escape, though to where they did not know. The one person who might have known had been Adept Nhadi, but she had committed suicide rather than be taken prisoner. She was thorough too. A plasma pistol had melted her brain and internal cranium micro-cogitator unit, making it unable to retrieve anything from her. Sullek did not enjoy eating grey matter to secure information but he would have done so if there was anything left to consume.
Though he did not what the actions or mission of the Ninth Legion Astartes was, he could guess. He needed to return to the Forge immediately.
Sullek walked out of the bunker complex. Seeing the place secured, as several more companies of Skitarii arrived, Sullek and the remaining Iron Hands made their way back to the Forge. He wished the Disturbance was over already. He needed to contact the Ironwrought on Raloxxia Extremis straight away.
Hours had passed, the Blood Angel squad having covered much ground, nearing their target. According to resistance intelligence, the super heavy siege engines were being constructed in the deepest levels of the Forge, away from prying eyes and orbital bombardment.
In a traditional assault, it would have taken many hours, if not days, to fight through the Dark Mechanicum's defences to reach the Legion's target. Thanks to Nhadi and Rashadd, they were able to slip in undetected. More crawling, hunched walking, and quiet infiltration bore fruit when Gustavius saw the mission targets for the first time.
The cavern where they were located was nearly twenty kilometres by fifteen, a tall and dominating command tower located in the centre for supervision, and housed within the cavern were six artillery pieces that dwarfed all others. Not even the genius or ambition of Perturabo and his warsmiths had constructed something so arrogant in design or purpose. Each siege engine was a kilometre and a half long, the barrel itself seven hundred metres long and judging by the muzzle size it could fire a 5300mm shell. The siege engines were on mobile tracks, allowing some form of mobility, but Gustavius saw heavily modified vehicles which would assist in moving the vehicle via thick cabling. Constructing so deep in the earth would have seemed odd if not for that fact that the ceiling above, over five kilometres away, could be opened and dozens of similar levels would retract to allow the airlift of the siege guns to occur with specially designed mass haulers to transport them to Dark Mechanicum starships. Thankfully, it appeared only one gun was completed, at least externally, and the rest were in various stages of completion. Materials and equipment littered the ground all over the area, power cabling situated above the ground to allow vehciles to travel about freely without risk of running over an electrical powerline.
Hundreds of enginseers, tech-priests and servitors worked in the cavern, sparks from plasma and las welders flying into the air. Gustavius did not see any guards, which was welcome news; though he was sure some priests could fight back ably, unknown weapons hidden beneath their dirty red robes. The Space Marines, laden with explosives, descended into the ironworks. Servitors were ignored as they seemed to be sub-par intelligent at best but enginseers and tech-priests were killed as silently as possible, their corpses hidden amongst equipment. All the while they laid melta-bombs on the siege engines. Mykrof was able to sneak onto the barrel of several cannons to place meltas at critical junctures to cause maximum damage.
They hurried, knowing the Raloxxian assault would happen any minute now, if not already having occurred. It was hard to tell due to the cavern being so far away from any perceived threats. The planting and arming of explosives proceeded for some time but eventually the enemy had found out about the infiltrators in their midst.
An enginseer had turned a corner, her approach covered by the rumbling of a line of cargo-8s rumbling by, heavy with metal. She had been looking at a data-slate when the corpse of a co-worker fell to the ground, a throwing knife from Raze jutting from the co-worker's chest near the heart. The enginseer screamed; her voice still human and ringing loud in the cavern, echoing to alert nearby traitors. Quickly alarms began to ring, loud klaxons and bursts of what Gustavius assumed was lingua-technis.
"Go loud," he said, shooting his bolter and watching as the explosive bolt shell ruptured her chest cavity. "Plant explosives on anything that looks valuable. Mykrof, Hesten, Gallard and Paulus, finish planting explosives on the rest of the siege engines and anything else you see here. Cassak and Raze, with me to the command tower." He looked at his brothers, proud of them. "I am overriding all of our explosives to detonate either in one hour or upon my death."
They nodded, ready.
"Die well, brothers."
"Die well, captain." The two groups split up, heading towards their objectives.
Fabricator-General Tolkron watched as the Raloxxian resistance launched a massive attack against his Forge. Though his soldiers took heavy losses in holding back the loyalists, Tolkron was not worried. Judging by his analytical mind, the loyalists would do little damage to his Forge, less than eight percent which could be quickly repaired. He would gladly take eight percent Forge damage if it meant the loyalists in the Basin were destroyed. The weather had cleared somewhat, the Disturbance being in its final stages, and reports of attacks from resistance cells on Dark Mechanicum facilities and infrastructure annoyed him somewhat, but again if the resistance was destroyed such minor inconveniencies would be well worth it.
His good mood was interrupted by a binaric blurt from his adjutant.
My lord Fabricator-General, the siege engines are under attack!
What?! he demanded, turning to bring up visual feeds of the cavern onto his primary vid-monitor.
Ninth Legion Astartes have infiltrated the cavern, killing the work crews and setting explosives.
This dread news was confirmed as he watched Space Marines in the colours of Sanguinius wreak damage on a year of hard labour and heavy investment.
Though he hated to, Tolkron opened a vox-link to Sullek and informed the Wanderer. He was only half-surprised to find that Sullek was already nearly there, accompanied by all surviving Iron Hands and many of the battle robots stationed on Raloxxia Minor. If the loyalists were stopped, Tolkron might live. If not… then there would another Fabricator-General for the Forge World soon enough.
Gustavius decapitated a heavily armoured Skitarii officer that was protecting the doorway into the command tower's central hub. Bursting in, they eliminated the two dozen tech-priests and servitors. Four battle robots were supposed to protect the staff, but quickly found themselves destroyed by well-placed shots from Gustavius, Cassak and Raze. The other two left the room to take their positions in separate corridors on different levels, both leading to the command tower's centre.
Gustavius went to the main control cogitator console. Inserting the data-chip, it quickly found data-records for the siege engines, their schematics, progress reports and testing. The data-chip began to delete it all, and then inserted a virus to corrupt whatever files might have been left over. That done, he pulled the data-chip out and physically destroyed the cogitator with several shots from his bolt pistol, sparks and small fires erupting within, the unique smell of electrical fire emanating potently. They doubtless had backups elsewhere, but anything and everything must be exploited to hurt the enemy. The hundreds of Dark Mechanicum personnel they had killed would hurt any future effort to construct heavy siege engines later on.
Gustavius moved onto the next cogitator to repeat the process.
Battle robots began to deploy in their hundreds, commanded only by a handful of Iron Hands. Wanderer Sullek noted this and blink-clicked it off his helm's visual feed. He knew he faced seven remaining Angels, with four in the cavern attaching explosives to the priceless super heavies, while three more were in the command tower. The whole cavern ran off a locked data-system, independent of the Forge's other projects so the damage being done there was more so than it typically would have been.
While the battle robots would hunt down the four in the cavern, he would take the ones in the command tower. From vid-captures, he saw who he was soon to face. One was clearly an officer. One was clad in Chaplain-black colour. Wardens, the IX calls them. A threat to be sure, but the one that worried Sullek the most was the Librarian.
The Iron Tenth used Librarians within its ranks as they were undeniably effective, vital even, in warfare, but that did not stop Ferrus Manus from disliking the order and their abilities. The Gorgon, inspired by artefacts from the Dark Age of Technology, and using his vaunted intellect crafted an anti-psyker device that once donned would allow the wearer to be 'invisible' to a psyker's aetheric sight. Called the Masks of the Gorgon, Sullek put one onto his helm, it magnetically locking into place. The front of the helm became covered by a smooth surface where acid etched algorithms and sigils resided to ward off the witch and the daemon. The spiked portion that dotted the top part of the Mask focused the energy necessary to become immune to warp-based attacks.
None of the other Astartes had one, for the Masks were incredibly rare, but as a Wanderer, chosen by Manus and assigned to the Ironwrought, Sullek had the great honour to carry one.
Now it was time to kill Angels.
Librarian Cassak saw the traitors via his witch-sight before he heard them with Mark IV autosenses. Natural eyesight had long evaded him in the waning years of the Great Crusade. His gift resided not any visible forms of attack or defence like lightning or fire but showed him what would happen in the next thirty seconds, allowing him to base strategy off that. The range for his gift was not far-reaching, the reason why he could not warn Gustavius or the resistance of the traitors arriving to the hidden base because he could not 'see' it as it was too far away from his range.
But here in the command tower, he could sense the enemy approaching. The first Iron Hand to emerge from the corner fell to the ground, dead by bolt fire. The next two were killed by an expertly placed grenade. Another three were killed by his staff's power-field enabled physical blow when he closed with them.
Killing six traitors and knowing six more were on their way made him pleased, which made the mag-bow bolt that lodged itself in his throat a shocking surprise. When a figure with odd helm ornamentation fell from the ceiling, landing crouched; Cassak could still not see him but could hear the thud of ceramite boots and the hum and thumpff of the mag-bow firing again.
Raze knew something befell Cassak when the sounds of combat ceased and his brother did not report the events. The six Astartes that emerged from the corridor's stairwell immediately were fired upon by him. One died immediately, bolts tearing through armour, augmetics and flesh with ease. Three more died as they attempted to corner him. The last one he killed died with Raze's Crozius Arcanum bisecting him. A lowly battle-brother and another that had remained hidden killed him, one with bolter fire and the other from a mag-bow.
Raze clattered the floor, nearly dead, and spoke quickly as the Wanderer raised his boot.
"Captain, two more-"
The Wanderer's boot fell.
Gustavius finished uploading the data-chip's virus when Raze voxed him, and when the door opened he opened fire. The Iron Hand that went down was the legionnaire, but the one behind shrugged off the shots. Some of his shots, well placed, only saw oil spill out, not blood.
One shot deformed the mag-bow, but the Iron Hand rushed him, knocking aside his half-empty bolt pistol, jabbing a blade into Gustavius' primary heart. The Wanderer wrenched Gustavius' helm off and head butted him.
"You have caused me many problems, Blood Angel." The accent was thick and rough, very Medusan. "I'm surprised you pretty curs knew about this," the Wanderer gestured towards the plexiglass window overlooking the cavern. Gunfire exchanged down there between the Blood Angels and the traitors hunting them. Over the course of uploading the virus, he had been informed by Mykrof that Paulus and Gallard had died, surrounded by the bodies of two dozen battle robots. Hesten had been wounded badly and was covering Mykrof's escape. The charges had been set on most of the siege engines. It would have to be enough.
"Your charges will be discovered. Your brethren hunted down." The traitor punched Gustavius' bare face, breaking his nose and cheekbone. The hand was augmetic judging by the force of the punch. "You've lost. And in the end, we will win."
The Wanderer raised the jagged blade, aiming it at Gustavius' forehead.
"Well," Gustavius slurred, his teeth having bitten through his tongue. His neck armour drenched in gore. "Sometimes the only victory is depriving your enemy of one."
The blade fell, the explosions began.
The Ironwrought stood in the Fabricator-General's chamber, hands clasped before him. Kneeling beside him was Fabricator-General Tolkron, red robe discarded, mechandendrites ripped from their sockets.
The two psykers before him, their flesh warped together and both murmured in agony. A purple-blue mist flowed from their mouths, forming a shadowy figure before them. That figure was only half-formed. Even most of a galaxy way, with countless astropathic calls and warp storms crisscrossing the Immaterium, especially the formidable Ruinstorm in between them, the signal was strong.
The figure solidified, looking almost akin to a hololith projection, albeit a grainy and flowing one.
Ferrus Manus, Primarch of the Tenth Legion, stood silent for perhaps a minute. His mere presence seemed to make the air heavier. The Ironwrought had not seen his father in person since prior to the Shadow crusade that stormed across Ultramar. Despite that, this warp-made projection was… accurately displayed his lord father's authority.
"Speak."
That single word made Tolkron flinch.
"A Blood Angel incursion occurred, sire."
"When?"
"Three days ago. They arrived just prior to the Disturbance. Four of the Hephaestus-class super heavy siege engines are destroyed in their entirety, one damaged beyond all recovery and the last one was lightly damaged. Can be repaired to former state then finished for deployment in four years. It will be easier and quicker to dismantle it and begin anew."
"Sullek?"
"Dead, as is the entire legionnaire contingent."
Manus did not respond for some time.
"Ironwrought."
"Yes, sire?"
Manus looked at the kneeling Dark Mechanicum leader. "Kill him."
Before Tolkron could respond, the Ironwrought's inactive power sword decapitated the Fabricator-General. The metal encased head rolled across the floor. The Adepts in the room stared at it but none were surprised, they had all known what would happen at this meeting.
"You failed me, my Ironwrought."
"Sire, forgive me-"
"Forgiveness?" the Gorgon's voice thundered. "If this was a universe of forgiveness, then we would never have to wage this war of dethronement. But this isn't, and we are." Manus looked at the assembled Adepts. "Adept Kos'ker."
The named Adept bowed. "Lord?"
"Due to the instability of Raloxxia Minor's Mechanicum, I hereby appoint you as the Fabricator-General of your world. As a precaution, the Ironwrought will act a military protector of the Raloxxia System, under authority of the War Commander."
Kos'ker bowed again, saying thanks. Kos'ker might be the new Fabricator-General but he would be nothing more than a figurehead. The Ironwrought would rule this system.
The primarch turned his attention back to his chosen representative.
"You stay here, everyone else, leave us." The Gorgon's tone promised that their talk would not be pleasant.
All but the Ironwrought left the room.
When the doors closed, the Ironwrought pressed a small rune hidden on his gauntlet. The voice-scrubbers and distorters would make sure none would discern what passed in the chamber. Two legionnaire Librarians standing outside the door would make sure none could listen in telepathically.
Manus waited for a moment, then clapped twice.
"Well done, my son. Well done, indeed."
The Ironwrought was pleased to hear that. Thanks from his lord primarch were few and far between.
"Sanguinius, my wise brother, ever the vaunted strategist. Sanguinius the Angel, Sanguinius the Golden Warrior, and Sanguinius the Fool." The Gorgon cracked a smile. At the very least, that's what the Ironwrought assumed.
"It was a good plan, sire. To leak the information of the siege engines to Sanguinius, making him focus on this one target, distracting from him possibly finding about our other Hephaestus construction sites."
"Sanguinius will think that we will have to start from scratch. Few know about our other two sites." Manus looked at his silver coloured hands. "In war, sacrifices have to be made." He looked up. "Within three years, we will have twelve super heavy siege guns ready for Terra. For the Palace." Manus tilted his head. "The war will be won there with those weapons. The War Commander knows of you and your successes, Ironwrought, and the truth of them."
Manus' head turned and looked to his left. When he turned back to his son, he became his traditional curt self.
"Lorgar calls for battle. For the War Commander."
"For the War Commander," Ironwrought said, the warp-mist dissipating away and the two conjoined psykers slumped to the ground. Their breathing had stopped. Losing a battle, no matter if done purposefully, left a sour taste in his mouth, but the little defeat would go a long way towards winning the war.
Author's Note: This short was a pain to write and this is the fourth iteration. Been working on this for months now, off and on. Anyways, it is done and the concept I really like. Next update will be the Blood Angels Index.