A/N: Greetings comrades! The hiatus is over. Through a dozen readers and a long writer's block, I've managed to scrounge up enough of my thoughts to compile them to this given chapter. After what felt like over a dozen rewrites that surprisingly took me a year to make since my last entry, I can finally say that I am satisfied by this Chapter's turnout.
I hope, my dear readers, you enjoy this chapter. Junior-Commissar Cadmar and the 221st Vostroyan Regiment's invasion of the Feudal World of Falmart is now underway. Continuing where left off during the twilight of the Second Battle of Alnus Hill.
But before we begin, allow me to respond to your long awaited questions:
Notsae: the Feudals' initial success during their invasion of an Imperial World has reason behind it that will be explained in the later chapters. Best I could say is that it is a Shrine World with a set of laws that does not have its own standard military and the world's sheer size aided made the Feudals seem more like a riot than a full blown invasion force, if you catch my drift. A very common occurrence in the lower levels that much of the planet's Elite would admittedly ignore.
Ghostly: yes, I intend to put Imperial Knights for some titanic clashes soon. Am very excited for that.
Dino2000: I'm adding additional lore about the different Adeptus of the Imperium. Especially the Commissariat. And Commissar Mors is not a Krieg Commissar. He is a Commissar born from Krieg and is a very unique character I want to flesh out soon.
Loken Lupercal: I was actually thinking of putting Grey Knights originally but given what they did after the First War of Armageddon, namely their knack of killing witnesses, it made them a big turn off to the story despite the awesomeness that come with that. So instead, I am going for the Sororitas instead.
TheOnlyKing: sorry for the long wait, hahaha
Kukuhimanpr: to quote the Major from Helsing, "I love War!" That includes all facets. Not just the blood and gore.
Junior Commissar Cadmar's unsanctioned offensive earned him both the cheers of Guardsman and the ire of the Feudals. The battle however continued and persisted despite this. His actions, though notable, did little to tip the scales to the Imperium's favour. Even then, Hordes of Feudals continue to assail the slopes of the hill from the other Portals in the other sectors. The Battle of Alnus Hill continued to rage around him. Every corner of the blasted hill was its own battle ground. Each side vied for control with a high price spent on blood.
Victory would not be achieved by the likes of lowly officers and soldiers like Cadmar alone. The fate of this Battle fell within in the hands of its generals. And in the Battle of Alnus Hill there were two who tested their mettle on the other.
The Grand Marshal Duran of Elbe and the Colonel Suvorov of the 221st Vostroyan Firstborn Regiment.
Their duel is different compared to how most battles tend to be perceived. For commanders befitting the rank, their wars are waged more on wills and wits rather than strength and might. A faceless duel between commanders standing apart between miles of ground. But it is within their minds where they would clash. It was in their minds where the true battle will be waged.
Their battle was set upon a grand table. What lay atop it depended on the commander's perception. Grand Marshal Duran saw maps of crudely drawn paper with a legion of figurines representing both armies taking the field. Colonel Suvorov on the other hand saw an accurate Holo-pict image of the battlefield with various army groups and divisions represented by simple labels and numbers.
Though it bore different faces for the two men, the battlefield remains the same. The plains of the Alnus Region with Alnus Hill at its very center.
Imperial Guard, or the Outworlders as they were coined, were concentrated around the massive hill. The Gate rested at its very peak. An Ivory White fortress of reinforced ceramite encompassed it with high thick walls. Layers of trenches further reinforced and expanded its borders that took up half the hill from the slopes.
The Allied Vassal States, or the Feudals as they were coined, were scattered among the plains. Their massive force were divided to 4 Armies in 4 different camps surrounding the hill. The Shahanshah Ardashir of the Aulac Confederacy led the contingent on the North. Count Grimmauld of Rumanii led the contingent on the East. Grand Marshal Duran himself led the contingent on the South. And finally, King Auros of Lux led the contingent on the East.
The battle lines were drawn. The pieces were set. Goals were decided with plans set in motion. Fresh from the last play, the Colonel offered the Grand Marshal the first move. What happened next is what we will see now.
The Midday Hour had the Grand Marshal Duran at the the head of his retinue atop his white stallion. The Outworlders had yet fired the first salvo. The Second clash of the Battle for Alnus Hill had yet to begin.
His Elbean Vassal, his Knightly Bodyguards, and some of his fellow foreign Kings gathered behind him. Their soldiers were arranged like tiles on a chess board. A hundred ranks and mile long lines stretched as far as the eye can see. Their steel glistened under the sun and their colorful banners fluttered with the wind. A glorious sight. One that an old Lion like him could not help but still admire like a green youth.
The wind was with them. As sere their gods whom he and his people prepared offerings for their favour. The omens were fair. A dozen sacrifices made to their 12 gods. Though his might was sure. The gods' Will makes victory surer.
"The last messenger has arrived." His Vassal, Lord Deglan reported. "One from the Aulac Confederacy."
All eyes turned to the rider beside him. The boy's blood showed despite Lord Deglan's words and the Shahanshah's sigil stitched his tunic. An Eastern Nomad was clear with dark olive skin and sharp features like a hawk like nose and glimmering silver eyes. That and his exotic attire of silken robes and jewelled piercings made his allegiance and status as a noble clear. One that he expressed openly by his elegant poise and his control over his steed like it was his own too legs.
Duran chuckled at the thought. That boy could have been mistaken for a centaur.
"I take it that, your Liege's forces have been deployed on the Northern side of the Hill?" King Duran asked the youth.
"Yes, your Majesty." The Aulac messenger bowed. "His Magnificence, Shahanshah Ardashir, and the Barbarian Northern King are well deployed before the enemy. His Magnificence did so with flying colours of our banners and glorious songs before the eyes and ears of the Outworlder Invaders. We are prepared and readied ourselves well before the rise of noon. Before the first horn for battle could be sounded."
"I am impressed of both you and your Liege." Duran nodded. "You have delivered your message well. You have mentioned the Northern King. Were you requested to speak for him too?"
"No, your Majesty." The Aulac messenger smiled and patted his horse. "The Barbarian King sent forth his own messenger. A youth like me. But not one blessed with a swift horse like me. We wagered on who would arrive here first. His wild maned horse was no match against my Sand Steed."
The boy on his steed stood two heads shorter to Duran on his own horse. The Aulac's Sand Steed's size at its prime would still be considered a pony compared to the giant that was the Destrier. But what it lacked in size and power, the Sand Steed made up for in endurance and speed. That much Duran could see as not a single strand of swear dripped from neither the boy or his horse. A sharp contrast to the other kingdom's messengers who came before him.
"I congratulate your victory, child. Let it be the first of many this day." Duran smiled earnestly. "What I would give to have horses like yours. Might spare us with message delays in battle. I am impressed."
"Your praise is welcomed. And most received, your Majesty." The Aulac messenger bowed. "I will extend this to His Magnificence as well. Samsa, my horse, is well bred like all His Magnificence's Army. Able to ride at full gallop for one day and night without tiring save for an unquenchable thirst. But to me, he is special. He is my friend."
"Extend my compliments to your King, child. But for now, help yourself to food and water in my pavilion. Take it as your reward."
"Your thanks and compliments are reward enough for this servant, your Majesty." The Aulac messenger bowed low. "His Magnificence awaits for me at his side. I will relay your words and generosity to him."
"So be it. You may go." Duran waves his hand.
With one last bow, the Aulac messenger raced off down the line out of the camp but not before slowing down to meet with the Northern messenger who was just arriving. Another fellow youth atop a grey maned horse with their heads hung low in exhaustion.
There was no exchange between the two but the victor was clear and he disappeared in a cloud of smoke. The Northern boy was not too pleased by this however. Knife in hand, he plunged in deep on his horse's neck.
"What a strange people." Duran said.
"We live in a strange world, my Liege." Lord Curwin nodded. "What is normal to the spider is hellish for the fly. I am sure our customs are strange in their eyes as well."
"What I find strange is them not using a Messenger Orb." Lord Despin crossed his arms. "Even a messenger bird would have sufficed instead. These barbarians trouble themselves too much over simple matters. Troubling us in turn with their fancies."
"They do it because they can." Duran replied. "It is a delicate dance. Politics. It acts on petty shows instead of reason. It is a inevitability amongst kings that I do not condone, but one I must endure in the face of only foe that matters."
Both men turned to the massive hill standing miles away. Clear before their sharpened eyes, the once lush green hill became brown from overturned dirt and dug with long lines of criss-crossing ditches and tiny forts. Formidable as it was, it was the enemy they face that chilled their very bones more. That and the hellish powers they possessed.
"If I can be frank with you, my Liege. Do you think we can win this?" Lord Curwin asked. His voice did not betray his fear.
"Would we still be here if I wasn't?" Duran answered. His determination was displayed by his steely eye. "Weapons. Numbers. No. It is Will and Faith that wins battles. But that cornerstone falls on its leaders. Never let your men know what you think. Let them figure it out themselves from what you show them. Otherwise, all else collapses."
"I understand, my Liege." Lord Curwin bowed. "Forgive my Impertinence."
"Theres nothing to forgive." Duran placed a hand on the young Lord's shoulder. "You spoke your mind. Your father was the same. You walk a hard line, child. Make him proud."
"I will, my Liege." Lord Curwin brightened.
"Fret not, boy." Lord Despin patted his fellow Lord's back. "These Outworlder's may have their gods with them, but so do we. They fight against a Holy Army of a dozen nations. Each with a god in its retinue. Every soldier devout and pledged in faith. Our victory is clear and The Goddess Hardy will feast on our enemy's souls by the end of this day."
"Yes. Good." Duran intruded. "At least we are now all in agreement and are in good faith. Let us not leave them wanting then."
King Duran turned to face his Vassal Lords, his fellow Kings, and their knights.
"The time has come, gentlemen." Duran spoke. "As we have planned. It will be done. King Sedinar. Khagan Maiyanar. Basileous Horen. Your forces and I are the main Army here. We march for the hill. We strike the killing blow."
"Yes, Grand Marshal!" The feudal nobles cheered and thundered off to their respective armies.
"Lord Curwin, you are to join them. Strength of Stone." Duran commanded. Ending it with the opening words of Clan Duran.
"Might of Steel. In your majesty's name." Lord Curwin replied in kind. That said, he closed his helm and rode off at the head of his retinue of knights.
Horns blared across the field not long after. Hundreds upon hundreds of ranks came to life and began their march towards the hill. Whistling and flaming arrows relayed their intent to the other armies miles away. Simple messages that erupted the other armies to activity as their own Armies marched at the head of their own sounds of horns and drums that were passed along the lines.
Duran turned to the remaining Monarchs in his retinue. One in particular earned the old King's ire and caution as the Monarch raised an Imperial Flag flew over his banner. Duke Formal of Italica.
"It is a surprise to find your banners here, Duke." Duran sharpened his eye on the noble. "I was in the impression that you took part in the Imperial Expedition to the Gate. Yet I find you here. Among your Empire's Vassals instead of its Overlords. Your kin. Is your loyalty to your Empire faltering or have you lost its favour."
There was no attempt to hide the poison from King Duran's words. His intention and dislike for the Empire was clear but at the same time was eager to know why an Imperial stood before them. Duke Formal unsurprisingly thought little of it and emerged unscathed from King Duran's barrage.
"My loyalty is without question." Duke Formal replied composed and with grace. "OUR Empire still has my love despite my more…controversial stances."
"The Demi-Humans." Duran nodded. The Dukes love for the lesser species is well known in the Empire. Even in the other kingdoms. "They make up most of your forces. Is that why you have brought them here? Another Public Relations Ploy? We both know how this will end, Duke. You play a fool's dream."
"True. A dream but no dreams are truly foolish," Duke Formal chuckled. "Our Empire was once just that. And now look what flies highest above you now."
Disrespected and insulted as he was, the shadow of the Imperial Flag hovered over their heads.
"I have no love for your Empire." Duran said. "Your kind are Deceitful. Untrustworthy. And too proud to lower your noses to our presence. But you must love it less if you come to bow your head under MY banner."
"I love my son more." Duke Formal replied. "He took part in the Expedition in my stead. As did most of my men. I am here to get him back and I have mustered what I can out of as many mercenaries and freeblades. That is all. I know as much as you why we are all here today."
"Do you truly believe that they are still in there?" Duran asked. "Still fighting their way back?"
"I know so." Duke Formal retorted sharply. "I have to know so. Our sons await us there, Grand Marshal. And it is up to us to help get them home."
"So be it." Duran nodded before facing the other remaining Monarchs and Nobles. "You are our vanguard. Delay our enemy. Kill as many as you can. Pave the way for our final blow in blood. Yours or the enemy, regardless. Be the nail for our hammer to strike."
"Yes, Grand Marshal!" The nobles cried as one and rode off to their respective posts.
"Archmage Paragun." Duran called out behind him.
Sounds of hooves made Duran turn to find an old man in a long braided beard riding atop a pearl white unicorn. A jewel encrusted tiara of iron rested atop his liver-spotted brow. Purple robes marked with ancient runes fluttered with the passing breeze. A long oakwood staff was grasped by his wizened hands whose shaft coursed with silver beating veins that swirled to its bejewelled tip.
"My Liege." The Archmage croaked. "I serve."
"You may begin." Duran ordered with a curt nod.
"As you will." The Archmage bowed low and rose with deep glowing eyes.
Duran gripped his horse's reins tight. the moment he felt its hair rise. The fear in the animal's eyes made its intent clear. It did not know magic. It never saw anything like it. And so it feared it. But not Duran. His education growing up included familiarity with the mystic arts but no more.
He did not possess the affinity to its power but he understood its use. Further still, he knew of its importance in his military. His court included the Archmage, Paragun, and took the old wizards council. Going further with setting up a college to train more mages to his cause. Despite his familiarity with the mystic arts, Duran could still feel the hairs on his skin rise at the sight of the unknown and the unreal. A wariness and reasonable fear he applied with a close eye on his friend, Archmage Paragun,
Whether King Duran's stance was known or not, the Archmage was unperturbed nor was he influenced by the other lord's prejudice. His duty was to serve and he committed to it by racing off past the clearing of men and iron. He stopped before the furthest line of the Army's Vanguard. His staff was raised high. The gems on its head glowed ever brighter as the Archmage chanted more words in his spell.
Other robed men of varying colours and decorum joined him. The mages arranged themselves in a jagged line in front of their army. Their arms raised along with their wands and staffs that emanated a faint light. They sang a silent tune in words unknown to King Duran's ears. Whatever they said may have been, it worked. The spell came to life as did a grout of hellish purple fire from their fingertips.
Like burning air in the beating sun, invisible wisps took shape and swirled before them. A great eye was carved to existence but it was the bolt of lighting from the Mage's hands that gave birth to the portal. One of many that stretched down the lines. The hill mirrored this as bright lights lit around it like a beacon..
The soldiers in turn charged forth without hesitation. They knew their roles. They knew what was at stake. They knew their Lieges were watching. Shoulder to shoulder. Rank by rank. King Duran's Feudal Forces charged into the portals en masse. The booming sounds of thunder and lightning soon broke out in the distance.
"Who'd imagine the Main Army marching first before the Vanguard," Lord Deglan chortled. "Looks like your Gambit worked, Grand Marshal."
"The Gambit is still in play. Its fruits has yet to be reaped." Duran replied surely.
"Still." Lord Deglan shook his head. "It was daring of you to use Mages this way, your Grace. I do not believe I've read anything like this in the histories."
"You will after this day." Duran turned to the darkening clouds above them. "History is written by man. His risks. His sacrifices. By the end of this day, I would have done both at the cost of thousands. Regardless of victory and defeat."
Within the confines of their minds, the Grand Marshal closed his hand at the execution of his play. The results of his actions spoke for themselves on the Battle map. Drastically changing the face and scale of the Battle to his advantage
Companies of Feudals were deployed inches in front of the Outworlder's frontmost defensive lines. Horsemen and auxiliaries charged from multiple points. Close enough for the Outworlders to see the whites of their eyes. Deducting their precious firepower and allowed the Feudals a short rush to bring their blades to bare.
Countless deaths were to be expected on the Feudal's side. Many already had, but the Grand Marshal was not discouraged. His army is vast and he had many souls to spare. The first wave may fail, but it will pave the way for the next one and the next one after that. Exhausting the enemy and weakening their lines. The sight of their forces clashing with the Outworlders on the palisades would invigorate the rest to keep pushing forward then onwards to victory.
Satisfied, Grand Marshal Duran finished his turn. With an open palm, he offered the Colonel the next turn. Curious of his opponent's next move. The smile in his face however revealed his ruthlessness. Relishing the noose wringing itself around his foe's neck.
Colonel Suvorov had one word to say to all that had occurred.
"Magnificent."
The hour-piece in the Command Sanctum was marked at 12:17.
The chamber was as solemn as a church. As silent as the people residing inside it. Every soul there were as cold as the iron walls surrounding them. Only the machine's muted clicks and monotonous hums as well as the officer's hushed exchanges marred this serenity. That is until the Colonel broke it completely.
"Magnificent." He said with a smile etched on his lips.
The officers flanking him came to life at those words. Their attendance to the Chart-Map at the center of the room was exchanged for glances at the Colonel. Its broadcast of the present battle lay forgotten as heads turned to the Colonel. Every face marked with bewilderment, curiosity, and concern. Faces that contrasted the Colonel's own who instead exhibited glee and excitement.
"Colonel?" Major Ordenski inquired for the rest.
The Colonel, lost within the throes of his thoughts, ignored him. Instead striking the Chart Table with his riding crop. Allowing himself to expounding himself without interruption. As well as relaying to the others of his exuberance as he was known to do by his colleagues.
"This man. Their leader. Is really something else." Colonel Suvorov chuckled. As he paced around the table. His officers gave way to his steps. Both his bionic and flesh born eyes watched the Chart Map. Neither spared a single blink. "We underestimated this one. I underestimated this one. We tend to think primitives such as these Feudals beneath us. Yet here we stand, admittedly, at the back foot. Caught completely off guard! All by one man. Desperate and obsessed in winning."
"You…admire this man, Comrade-Colonel?" Major Ordenski asked carefully. "This enemy commander?"
"Wouldn't you?" Colonel Suvorov replied. "His defeat was his education of us. Understanding our ways. Our tactics. Our weapons. Our limitations. One battle was taught him this much. Not to mention rallying such a force to try again with such zeal. All of that in a course of a few hours."
The Colonel's words sank deep into his fellow Officers. One by one, their expressions changed as the air fell heavy around them. The realisation of the Colonel's truth dawned on them from their eyes that were aghast. Leaving them reeling. To think that a commander with such skill would exist in such a primitive backwater world. The thought alone was very concerning.
"And to respect our enemy is the first step in knowing how to defeat them. Let this be a lesson." Colonel Suvorov addressed. "Comrades. I admit. That upon first stepping foot on this world, I expected a swift campaign. An easy victory. An unsatisfying retirement. This battle proved otherwise however. Emperor graced me with a worthy challenge. A campaign that will define the legacy of our Regiment And many battles I've considered and eager to offer my upmost attention. Let us not bask on dreams of victory, comrades. Lets strive on making it."
The Colonel's optimism enflamed the hearts of his fellow Officers. Invigorating them back to their feet. Planting the seeds of victory and glory that would soon eclipse any useless thoughts of doubt. Uniting all under a single goal.
"A minor setback, comrades. Nothing more." Major Ordenski assured. "Their sorcery assured their demise. Funnelling their troops to our guns. Comrades, the Feudals have made themselves Meat for the grinder. Soon, they will waste away their men before our ammunition does."
The other officers nodded in agreement. Others raised their fists and cheered.
"The Emperor Wills it!" The Ecclessiarch Confessor Enoch cried out. Unleashing a fervour and zeal amongst every soul in the room.
"We'll just have to be more thorough in showing them the Emperor's Might." Captain Barasov of the Artillery division declared. "Let us send down His Holy Hammers with the volley of our guns. That will be enough to send their lot in retreat."
"Unleashing hell onto the enemy will spell the same on our own soldiers." Major Ordenski interjected. "The portals are too close to our lines. Striking them with our artillery might finish the job for the enemy."
"And even if we do destroy the portal, what says we destroy its source?" Captain Taras of the Mounted Auxiliary division agreed. "We'd be losing both men and our positions for nothing."
"Then we'll keep destroying them!" Captain Agrafina of 4th Company spoke. "The portal is clearly magic. And magic comes at cost. Kill enough portals and we kill the witches making them. As well as the Feudals in it."
"Where it so easy, my Comrades." The Colonel silenced the crowd. "Every battle has a Center of Gravity. The principal source of the every Army's power. The source that provides their strength and will. Only when they are found and exploited will everything fall into place. Or in our enemy's case, fall apart."
"And you found the enemy's Center of Gravity, Comrade-Colonel?" Major Ordenski asked.
"I did. There are 5." Col. Suvorov answered. "Wonderfully designed too."
Shock and alarm was shared between his fellow officers. Eyes darted at different points occurring on the chart map. Watching as the battle unfold while also searching for these Centers of Gravity the Colonel spoke of themselves.
"First are the Portals. Our main Center of Gravity." Col. Suvorov pointed. "Their bridge into our lines. It plays against our strengths. Their numbers and weapons. It plays to their Morale. Especially of the other 4 Centers of Gravity: The 4 Armies amassing in the bottom of the Hill. The presence of the Portals assure them that the bullets we spend killing their Vanguard from the portals is one less bullet spent killing them. There lies the problem. Anyone care to tell us what that is?"
The Colonel paced around the table and his Officers like a teacher lecturing his students.
"Time." Commander Gennadi of the Heavy Armour division answered. "By spreading their forces, the enemy placed us in the position of choosing our targets sparingly. We may destroy one or two of the armies with our guns, but that still leaves 3 massive armies swarming our lines."
"So what Comrade-Colonel Suvorov is saying, we need only to destroy the Portals. Destroying their bridge." Major Ordenski realised. "Yet that begs the question, how?"
"None of our guns managed to take any of the portals out. At least permanently, Comrade Colonel." Captain Taras observed. "Anything heavier will blow a hole at our positions. Best we can do is hold tight, but that might leave us playing to this crafty General's tune."
"And what of it?" Captain Agrafina declared. "You think lightly of our Guardsmen, Comrades. Army or no, our troops will hold the line. Else die trying atop the corpses of dead feudals. All in the sake of victory. Or death in the Emperor's name!"
Contrary to the revelry his Officers induced with feverish debates, the old Colonel remained silent. Unmoving within the eye of the storm. Ignoring all else with his brow furrowed over the Chart Map. The missive the Major delivered remained untouched. His hand clasped on the Emperor's Golden Aquila he coiled with his fingers. The world froze at that moment as Suvorov pondered in deep concentration.
Major Ordenski smiled at this. The old man was untouched by the sting of age and the touch of time. Like a flag braced amidst a storm, the Colonel stands resolute against conflict in all its faces. Both against foes outside the fortress and especially their foes within it.
The Colonel inaction is not an act of indecisiveness or incompetence. As the ancient tale of Damocles tell, Ordenski was taught that Commanders like them face their tasks with an ever present dagger hanging perilously over his heads. The Colonel taught him that commanders worth must deal with three and play them out delicately. Not only to win the war, but for them to live and see it through.
"The first dagger, ironically, hangs closest to home. And stands as the most dangerous." Ordenski recalled the Colonel's words. "That being the Astra Militarum itself. A cesspool of absolute corruption and villainy. And our beloved Vostroya provides its most fertile breeding ground."
There were truth to those words. Ordenski saw it in the faces of many of his fellow officers around him. Comrades they were. Brothers in arms made up of literal first born brothers, sisters, and relatives. Nobles or scions under powerful or rising Houses fill the ranks with rampant with nepotism, vanity, and rivalries. The same people that the Colonel must favour else they'd find someone else who will. Someone who'd sate their voracious hunger for glory and recognition even if it costs them the campaign.
"To survive this game is to play it. There is no middle ground, boy." Ozerov recalled another of the Colonel's anecdotes. "Ambitious and ruthless people surround you. A treacherous life. So we must be as treacherous too less you fall to ruin or death. We are where we are because of it. Ambition push us forward. Ruthlessness climbs the ranks. But it is experience. Above all. That keeps it. And it keeps my webs over those lots tight. Haha!"
"And where do they fall in that web, Comrade-Colonel?" Ozerov remembered once asked. Motioning to the Officio Prefectus. Also known as the Commissariat.
"Ah yes. The second dagger of our pendulum." The Colonel spoke grimly. "The stone that breaks the waves of intrigue and politics because they stand apart from all circles save. The only trust they share is with one of their own. Indomitable. Vigilant. Prejudiced. They are the Emperor's Will. Authority that supersedes our own so we must obey. They are the whip that keeps us in line. The chain that holds at bay. But most of all, and don't forget, they are still human."
By that, the Colonel implied that Commissars are still pieces in the game. The wild card of the deck. A play to be used sparingly and with caution. Commissars do not take kindly to being pawns in anyone's game and were cunning enough to smell one out. One misstep gets one painted on the wall. And all that doesn't make mention of their vigilance against the shadows of dissent.
The Regiment's previous Political Officer, Commissar Graczyk was a rare exception. A man remembered fondly by Ordenski and Colonel Suvorov's faction for his vulnerability to their tunes. The man's single minded devotion to order and honour easily swayed him for their means. It was a high rise for their faction and strengthened their grip in the Regiment at little cost. The late Commissar made for the perfect enforcer. A shame that the Eldar cut all that short along with his during one of their previous campaigns.
His successor however, Commissar Mors, was something else entirely. Whilst the late Commissar Graczyk embodied the Commissariat's reputable fanaticism, Commissar Mors embodied the spoken dread that came with the name. One that had no intention playing any of their games. An utter anathema amongst the other Vostroyans.
All that Ozerov could think of when looking at the man were the story told of his homeworld of Krieg, and their legendary act of devotion and desperation that chilled him to the bone.
Ozerov shook these thoughts out of his head. Finding it irrelevant to their current circumstances. Instead he turned to the Chart Map where the third dagger is found. The ever present threat that loomed over their heads. The Feudals besieging their fortress. An enemy that the Colonel gave a witty description.
"Of course we cannot forget our 'TRUE' enemy." The Colonel would say. "Xeno. Mutant. Rebel. They all fall under the same flag. The external threat. And if I were to say honestly, the most honest entity between the three! Hahaha!"
"Honest, Comrade-Colonel?" Ozerov asked incredulously. "Really? The enemy?"
"Yes, of course!" the Colonel would reply. "Don't you see? The External Enemies are at the very least open to their intentions compared to the conniving bureaucracy of the Imperial Guard and the secretive nature of the Commissariat. Namely, their intention to kill us! Hahaha! And it is because of that same honesty, it is ironic that they…are the least threatening of the lot! Hahaha!"
Ozerov was not sure if it was the joke or the drink that made him laugh that one evening. But no amount of drink would dissuade the wisdom that came with that discussion. Wisdom that Ozerov internalised if he were ever to rise the ranks in his career.
Suffice to say, it all leads to compromise. Compromise pursued and achieved by any means whilst avoiding the knives dangling over them. To outplay the schemers within their own ranks. To convince the Commissariat of their determination to their duties. To unite against External Enemies at a united front. There is never a clear path towards these goal however, so one must forge it through sheer ambition, cunning, and the Emperor's Will above all.
Colonel Suvorov embodied these aspects and used his silence to delicately plan his next move. Barely a minute passed since the old man began pondering that Ozerov saw him stir from his meditation. The Major perceived that the Emperor was with him. Granting the Colonel with insight. Generously giving the Colonel the wisdom necessary to pave the way to his Regiment's destiny.
"There is already victory for us here." Col. Suvorov addressed. "No matter the act we commit today. Victory is already our reality. Our Lines are strong. Our walls are thick. Our guns are fierce. And our Faith is pure. But the choice between my Guardsmen dying for the Emperor or surviving in service to Him, the answer is clear for any parent for the 221st are my children. I am no stranger to sacrifice." The Colonel looked upon his clicking bionic hand. "But I'd rather let them witness Victory so as have their tales of glory to tell before our God-Emperor's Golden Halls. Do I make myself clear, Comrade-Captain Agrafina."
"Yes, Comrade-Colonel, Sir." The Captain saluted sincerely. "So what is our course of actions then, sir?"
Amidst his thinking and between his officer's hectic exchanges, Lt. Zakayef, the Colonel's Adjutant appeared with a paper on hand.
"Colonel Suvorov. Word from the front. The 9th Company." The youth reported.
"Captain Ozerov." Col. Suvorov raised a brow as he read the missive.
"He's stationed at our Southern Sector. Reports say that the fighting is fiercest." Ordenski faced the Chart Map's front most trench in the southern face of the Hill. His concern turned to alarm as he exclaimed. "By the Throne, what are they doing!"
"An angel, you say?" Grand Marshal Duran asked about the most recent and curious report.
"Yes, my King. An angel." Lord Deglan said. "The men to the portal nearest to us claim to have witnessed it inside. A glimpse was all they saw for a moment before it disappeared."
"One of goddess Hardy's Valkyries perhaps?" Grand Marshal Duran suggested.
"Some say it was the goddess herself." Lord Deglan shrugged. "A dozen men claim witness to the visage, but none were sure of who it was. Only that she was beautiful and golden. Bearing eyes of pure light."
"An omen, for sure!" Lord Despin said. "An affirmation by the gods of our right. An assurance of our victory."
"The men think the same as well—" Lord Deglan agreed but was cut short when a flash of light erupted from a distance.
It was the shuddering boom that followed that turned heads. Before anyone could ask, they quickly saw it themselves as more of the same happened down the lines. Blinding flashes and resounding explosions detonated from out the mouths of their portals. Taking with it the Feudals nearby. Turning all to ashen bones by the searing light while the force of the blast scattered the ranks.
"What sorcery is this?" Duran asked. Holding tight to his panicking steed.
None of his Vassals found reason to answer. They shared their liege's shock and struggle as they themselves struggled with their startled horses.
Men and beasts were thrown aside. Crashing into their comrades or onto the ground writhing in pain. Their flesh and armour were scourged black by invisible flames. Order fell to deaf ears as disarray scoured the ranks. Beset by both panic and injury, the Feudals scattered to the four winds. Others prostrated themselves in prayer. Begging gods for mercy or salvation.
Distance spared many of Grand Marshal Duran and the bulk of his forces from both injury and panic. At the cost however of witnessing the grand scale of the horror. Every second sowed more seeds of fear down their ranks. Petrifying them on the spot as they tried to make sense of all in vain.
The Grand Marshal was not spared by this stupor but his state was more caused by the shock and awe of the Outworlder's power. His plans were falling to shambled. His pieces on the board were quickly going up in smoke. He was at a complete and utter loss. Leaving him frozen on his saddle.
A piece of shrapnel awakened Duran from his stupor. The shard of red hot metal struck deep into his vambrace. Not deep enough to wound. But hit hard enough for the old man to feel it. The shrapnel burned at the touch but was easily plucked out and held on his palm.
His one eye saw the tiny shard of red hot metal. There he saw a vision. A flash of clarity. An epiphany. On that shard he saw the fate of his people. Ravaged. Broken. Burning. A destiny a King such as himself could never dream of for his kingdom. A destiny he would defy with the lion awakening within him.
A moment that made him decide to risk entering the field himself.
"My lords!" Grand Marshal Duran commanded at the draw of his sword. Humming as it was raised high. Glistening as it cut the sun's golden rays.
His vassals saw. His vassals knew. His vassals followed their king by the wave of his sword. Parting Squadrons as it parted air. Obeying commands not by the roar of his voice but by the point of his blade.
"FOR ELBE!" They cried as one and charged.
Galloping knights broke through the walls of smoke and confusion with their massive banners shining brightly. Thunderous hooves and blaring horns stopped the masses in their tracks. Herding them to formations less they be run over or be struck down. Forcing them to choose bloody order over deadly chaos both along the ranks and by the depths of their minds.
The presence of the King and Grand Marshal Duran silenced the masses. Quenching any thoughts or opportunities of rebellion. His appearance before them in. His appearance before his frightened men in his shining red armour and black lion pelt inspired many to their Hero of Legend. A man living up to his reputation. The Lion of Elbe. The undefeated master of war. A sight enough to rally some men to his side.
But not all.
His portals continued to fall one after another. Every loss costing him countless men and resources. Losses that he was having too early in his game. Losses that is loosening his his foothold of Alnus. His stranglehold to his enemy. All the while causing further mayhem along his Front that not even his presence could stem the unrelenting tide.
"PARAGUN!" Duran called for the Archmagos. "Hardy's Hells, what is happening here!"
The Archmagos marched before the retinue immediately after closing a portal behind him. He arrived before them as shocked and trembling as all of them. His robes were tattered and burned. Black marks stained its frame while smoking round holes pocked its surface.
"The Outworlders, your Grace!" The Archmagos cried aloud. "They are mad! Mad I tell you!"
"Calm yourself before the presence of your king, you fool!" Lord Curwin commanded.
The Lord's threats fell to deaf ears as the Archmagos blindly limped past him. He came to a stop before Grand Marshal Duran before prostrating himself to him.
"Speak. And quickly. What is happening here?" Duran asked again with urgency.
"They are demons! Devils!" The Archmagos ranted like a madman. His eyes showed as much as Duran met it. "I saw, my king. I saw them all. From the eyes of my fellows. From the eyes granted to us by the beyond. They charged at us. Like madmen they struck at us. They are fearless.
Amidst the Archmage's ravings, mages opened another portal for the next company of Feudals. Every eye in Duran's retinue turned to witness its creation. Ignoring the madness not out of spite or disinterest. But instead out of wonder and awe brought upon the sight of magic and its wonders.
Their bones shook as they felt its power. Rattling their armor and tingling their hairs on their flesh within. It made their hearts leap as they basked upon its light. As thought the god, Flare, blessed them with his gaze.
But like any sun, Flare was fickle. His blessing could quickly and as easily become a curse in a blink. That very same was faced by the Columns of Feudal warriors as they were swallowed a torrent of fire spouting from the portal's mouth.
In a blink, the proud warriors were scattered. Felling many to unrecognizable pillars of ash. Collapsing to molten slags. Screaming as living bonfires. Racing to quell the flames that were unquenchable in the face of earth and water. The fire's greed became known as it ate everything it touched. Even the earth and water used to challenge it.
"By the gods, what have your foul sorceries wrought!" Lord Curwin drew his sword at the Archmage.
"Tis n-not me, my Lord." The old man sputtered. "T-t-tis not us. But the devils from the other side, the Outworlders. Magics of ill repute!"
The chaos in the field dampened as a great shadow appeared beyond the portal. Like an eclipse rising before the sun, a dark figure materialised before the masses. A man clad in black.
The portal's crackling seams between the two spaces distorted its appearance to the Feudal's simple minds. Made worse by the latter's existing fears of both how they see the Outworlders and the unknown powers they possess.
What they saw was a towering silhouetted figure with glowing red eyes. A creature helmed with a large horned crest with massive torn wings billowing like slithering tendrils. A demon holding a wicked fanged sword. A hellish sorcerer casting spell that he threw at petrified onlookers.
Grand Marshal Duran and his cohorts witnessed the destruction of the portals firsthand. The mystery of the flash of searing light. The cause of all his troubles sidestepping all the plans he had concocted for this battle. All of which were going up in smoke as were his soldiers caught within the massive blast. Men, beasts, and mages. All great and mighty. Heroes with magical armor and lowly peasants armed with scraps. All shared the same fate as they were all turned to melted slags and piles of sizzling debris.
The worst had yet passed as the portals were damaged. Sputtering to keep itself open. With most of them dead from the explosion, the remaining mages anchoring it in place in the Material Realm was bound to its insatiable hunger. Draining them of their magics before their flesh until there was naught but dust.
Freed from its anchor, the portal went wild. Energy tendrils whipped and tore everything around it asunder. Becoming a maelstrom of raw chaotic energies that consumed every living being along its wretched path. Dozens of Feudals nearby shared the same fate as the mages or a worse fate as the tendrils pulled them into its mouth. Their souls were torn from their bodies. Forced to watch as their bodies melt away in pure agony before being torn to pieces by the Portal's many eager tongues.
The horror ended as it began. In a blink of an eye. The portal collapsed on itself and disappeared in a flash of light. Ending the terror as a memory remembered only by the ground it once stood on. Leaving it scorched. Lifeless. Cursed. Trauma shared by the survivors spared to witness it first hand in all its terror.
"Close the portals." Duran quickly ordered. "CLOSE THE PORTALS! ALL OF THEM! NOW!"
The Archmage broke out of his frightened stupor and snapped upright. Caught within a trance that turned his eyes white before it was consumed by bright dark colours. His mind entered the great unknown. To the Realm Immaterial. Obeying the task his liege commanded. Commanding the other mages to do the same.
True to his oath, all the portals controlled by his cabal closed. Disappearing one after the other from existence like a wisp of smoke. Shrouding the open fields in shadow. Some came at a cost however as some closed prematurely.
Duran's haste to close the portals had trapped some of the soldiers he had tasked to cross it. As the bridge between the two spaces closed, so too was the way out as well as the ground they treaded on. These souls trapped and sent drifting in the never ending waves of the Immaterium. Left to wander its desolate wastes. Abandoned to be preyed upon by the true demons lurking in the shadows.
Such thoughts were beneath the Grand Marshal's minds however. Nor did any of it come to mind when he gave the order. For all he knew, those soldiers have safely arrived on the other side. The question he had in mind however was what do to next? What can he do to make the breakthrough he needed in the battle? What did he have in his disposal that could provide just that?
The thought quickly brought his eye to the Duke of Italica. Namely his unorthodox retinue of monsters.
"Duke Formal," he addressed the Lord. "Prepare your troops. Arrange them as you see fit. Namely your beasts. You are to be our next vanguard."
"Gladly." Duke Formal pulled his visor down with a smile.
The Duke and his retainers proudly parted from the Grand Marshal's retinue to the helm of his army. An army made up of Demi-Human Lions, Wolves, and Bunnies. As well as monsters such as Salamanders, Quillboars, and most noteworthy of all, Giant Ogres the size of trees. The brutes he placed at his frontmost line. His vanguard. His iron hammer.
"Warriors! Beasts! Brethren! My Brothers!" The Duke cried out as he rode down the ranks. "Now is the time! Now is OUR time! The world watches us! Lets earn our keep!"
His war-hammer was raised high and ahead. Cheers and howls erupted from his Army. Men and Demi-Humans alike. All called out with one voice.
"FOR ITALICA!"
Colonel Suvorov and his General Staff witnessed Junior Commissar's offensive unfold from the eyes of the hologram's crackling static. Watching in awe as the boy represented the ideals of a Commissar. Leading from the forefront with his chainsaw raised high. Charging headlong towards the enemy at the head of his Guardsman.
"Emperor above. I am impressed. Hahaha!" Col. Suvorov chortled. "Boldness? Or madness? Which one are we seeing here, Comrade-Commissar Mors?"
The Command Sanctum fell silent as the grave. Broken only by the humming machines and the Commissar's rasping breaths when he suddenly appeared behind the other Officers. Much to the latter's surprise as the man's silence made his presence in the chamber all but forgotten. The man barely spoke but when he does, it was brief and commands the room's attention and obedience.
"Does it matter?" The Commissar said as he approached the Chart table. The other Officers were quick to part away for the man to pass. "The Junior-Commissar actions are beneficial to the Guard. Whatever the means, it is the results that matter."
"With all due respect, Comrade-Commissar." Major Ordenski said. "Good reason or not, the Junior Commissar has no authority for such an action. He risks us too much."
"He has every authority, Major. He is a Commissar." The Commissar replied.
The Regiment never gained the privilege of serving with the Death Korps. Meeting the Commissar helped them realise that it might have been a blessing that they didn't. Acting as his people's representative and stood as living proof to the stories told of his kind. A name that was aptly coined, the 'corpse-men'.
Commissar Mors' presence unsettled every man serving with him. Or even when standing next to him. Bearing an unspoken reputation that even the hardiest of Veterans struggle to willingly meet the man's gaze. Unnerved to find their faces reflecting from the Commissar's pale white eyes that peeked from behind his gasmask.
Only Colonel Suvorov had the grit and the gall to look back. A reputable and daring act. Staring into the abyss that lay within the Commissar's face and greet it with a smile. What stunned the entire room even more was how casual the Colonel treated the man. Like an old friend. An equal. Even if it was a one sided affair.
"You know how to teach them, Comrade-Commissar." Colonel Suvorov jovially patted the Commissar's back. Much to the shock of their audience
"I take it to question if I taught him anything at all." Commissar Mors responded frankly. "The Junior-Commissar is a green and bold idiot. But it does not change my stance on his behalf."
"I take it that's how you praise?" Colonel Suvorov joked.
"It wasn't." Commissar Mors spoke in finality.
"Nevertheless, that boy gave us valuable information. I for one will not put that to waste." The Colonel slammed his hand on the table with glee. "Major Ordenski. Deploy the psykers. Look for massive concentration of Warp Energies in the region. Start with the enemy's camps. Where they are safe to deploy large masses of troops."
"Yes, Comrade-Colonel" Major Ordenski obeyed with a salute and relayed the orders to the Vox.
Lacking orbital satellites, Colonel Suvorov was forced to use other means of distinguishing the region's geography. Servo-Skulls and ground troops were tasked of scouting and plotting their maps. But even then they are too few to cover the whole breadth of the region to keep an up do date feed on the area's comings and goings. Leaving a literal "Fog of War" on their Holo-Maps that left him guessing the enemy's possible locations.
"What I'd give to have the Imperial Navy over our heads." Colonel Suvorov sighed.
Barely a minute passed before the Chart Map lit up. Red targets appeared on different areas of the map one after another. All of them were scattered in front of the Feudal's four camps surrounding the Hill by miles as the Colonel predicted.
"Comrade-Colonel, shall we prepare our counterattack?" Major Ordenski asked.
"Yes. We are." The Colonel answered. Eyes still glued to the table.
Captains Taras of the Mounted Auxiliary and Commander Gennadi of the Heavy Armour division stood in attention. Easily understanding the Colonel's intentions of using them to spearhead the assault. To their and everyone else's surprise, the Colonel instead motioned to Captain Barasov of the Artillery Division,
"Captain Barasov!" Colonel Suvorov called.
"Sir." The Captain saluted.
"Do you see these coordinates?" The Colonel pointed at a number of sectors behind the battle site.
"Yes, sir."
"I don't want to." The Colonel lazily waved his hand.
"Sir. Yes sir, Comrade-Colonel." Captain Barasov saluted gladly.
Duke Formal's attack had failed. Grand Marshal Duran did not need to see it to know it. The portal, with its blazing light and crackling discharges, made it difficult to see and impossible to hear what lay beyond the mirror. The only assurance was given one walked through it themselves.
Grand Marshal Duran didn't need to enter the portal to know of the Duke's failure. He knew it because of what came out from it.
Wild beams of red light and whizzing iron missiles shot out from the portal's mouth. Striking and felling his warriors randomly down the line before they knew what had hit them. Its mystery could only be described as magic to the Feudals. No shield too thick or armour too refined stood a chance its deadly touch.
What did manage to stand a challenge against the Outworlder's "magic" was their own brand of Magic. Enchanted armor and weapons possessed by his most noble heroes and staunchest of heroes stifled the projectile's punishing blows. Leaving only light marks on their steel or deflected entirely from the shields their wards magically erected.
Successful as it was, these champions and heroes in the Grand Marshal's retinue were too few to stem the tide of mounting casualties. Fewer still were the artefacts powerful enough to receive more than a couple of blows before breaking or falling apart.
The final nail that assured Duke Formal's defeat appeared the very moment an Outworlder emerged from the portal. The first time the Grand Marshal and his entire army have seen their enemy in the flesh. The first time they have captured a glimpse of their enemy before their very eyes.
Despite their clashes with the enemy, no one in the Allied Vassal States or anyone in the whole of the continent knew anything about these Outworlders. All that they knew came from survivors of the First Battle for Alnus Hill and the failed Saderan Expedition to the Gate. But these were unreliable as they came from second or third hand accounts warped into baseless rumours and exaggerated tales. Stories that Duran and many others waved off as foolish fantasy. Stories that slowly began to unravel as an inconvenient truth given what they have been forced to witness that day.
But what of the Outworlder's themselves? The mystery continued to elude the Feudals. The Saderan survivors could barely paint a clear picture of who or what they were. None have had truly encountered the Outworlders up close or looked one in the eye and lived. Thus mystery and ignorance birthed stories to satisfy the Feudal's imaginations.
Each story more fantastical than the last. Depicting the Outworlders as red eyed demons from hell. Automatons fuelled by magic and hate. Iron golems unfeeling and unstoppable. Scourges sent by the gods to lay punish the hubris of Sadera. And so goes the stretch of their simple minds. Stories that conflicted one from the other into a myriad of confusion save for two.
The First stated that these Outworlders possessed the power equal to the gods. The other one stated that the Outworlders were anything but creatures of flesh and blood.
This lone Outworlder proved one truth and proved the other false. Revealing itself before the Grand Marshal and his army not as someone of flesh and blood but as a human. And muchqw to the astonishment of the Feudals, a woman. Her face lay bare and naked before the Grand Marshal and his Army to see. Fearless grey eyes shot daggers at the stunned Feudals. Weighed down only by her black wounds.
The Outworlder threw herself at the Feudals' waiting spears. Impaling herself at their tips of their blades. The Feudals cheered at the sight of their enemy's demise. Parading and waving the dying woman over their heads like a trophy.
"Smert'…YERETYKAM!" She shouted in defiance before disappearing in a flash of light. Smiling at the face of death as she took dozens of horrified Feudals and the Portal with her.
The subsequent aftermath of explosion sent the army reeling. Its massive size made the portal's greed more voracious as its reach. Lightning cracked along with its wild tendrils. While flickering all the while it crumbled as it died. The entire Italican Army were easy pickings to its hunger having yet to recover from the initial explosion. They barely screamed and never ran as the portal's wild energies consumed and disintegrated them. Swirling into a massive vortex of wild unrefined magic before imploding into a large black smoking pit.
Silence gripped the camp. Every soul stood dumbfounded. Each shared a face of disbelief to what they have seen. Their minds simply could not comprehend what they have just seen. No words could describe the scene that had just played out before them.
"If that is what our enemy is in the face of death, I shudder at what they are in the face of theirs." Duran said. Breaking the silence. "What in the hells have the Saderans unleashed upon this world."
Colonel Suvorov play his hand on the mere destruction of the Duran's Portals on the Southern Front. His plans went further as his gaze went towards the other portals on the other Fronts as well. Artillery took the helm of this offensive. Hammering enemy positions to submission with devastating volleys that scarred the plains to blasted wastes.
His attack did not limit itself with just a single shell or a single salvo. Instead, he ordered his Artillery to perform a Creeping Barrage onto the Feudal Positions. Every Heavy Gun, namely Basilisk Cannons or Manticore Rocket Launchers, fired in succession after another with every next shot moving at an increased increment further down the firing line. A line of calamitous explosions erupting one after the other.
The Feudals later coined it "The Titan's March" as it best described what they were witnessing. Impacts and explosions erupting in succession were akin to a Titan wrecking havoc with its every step. Panic and mania made shapes out of the thick clouds of smoke into the nightmares their shattered minds depicting. A mistake that created a terrible rumour that the Outworlders could summon or enslaved Titans to their bidding.
Real or otherwise, the aftermath was clear to both sides. All of the Colonel's objectives were successfully accomplished. The enemy's abilities was stunted not only with the destruction of the Feudal Portals but also to the deaths of many of their mages. Limiting their Army's access to magic and applying its unpredictable nature to tip the scales to their favour.
Colonel Suvorov's offensive also had the clear and effective goal of damaging the enemy's spirit. It was immediately clear to him that the Portals were simply a distraction. Blinding his forces from the tidal wave that is the bulk of their Main Army. Eager and untouched until they bulldoze his defences like an unrelenting tide.
That much, the Colonel knew. What he also saw was that the Portals had a desired effect on the Feudals as well. Like moths to a flame, so too were the Feudals to the Portal. The sight of it glistening and gleaming atop the slopes gave them direction amidst the clouds of dust and chaos billowing around them. To know that their comrades were up there fighting and dying in their stead invigorated them. The blood of their fallen boiled their own. Emboldening them. Giving them hope. Hope that Colonel Suvorov shattered the moment those lights above the hill went out.
Duran recalled this entry from an old book he read in his youth. It goes, "There I bare witness. What my naked eyes saw. The might of gods. I stand in awe. What mere ants we are to their gaping maw. The world alone is madness whilst they are the law."
Its cryptic words were more than suitable to describe the visage that Duran saw before his eyes.
Whether it was from within the confines of his mind or him standing in the field with the wind on his face, Grand Marshal Duran watched with both shock and horror. Stunned by his enemy's swift and decisive counter to his design. Awed by the Outworlder's might and destruction wrought by the pillars of infernos rising in the distance. Aghast by the enemy's power that that could reach his Portals from miles away.
"You Grace," Duran's squire, Tyman, motioned to his Messenger Orb. Raising it high. The Magical Device blinked wildly as sentences began swirling around its surface.
Multiple Couriers from the other Fronts began arriving at the same time. Barely any of them dismounted under Duran's banner as all shared the same look of exhaustion. Ruggedness shown by their haste to arrive. All clamoured for the Grand Marshal's audience.
Sealed letters waved at him wildly only to be ignored. Duran knew what all messages entails because he was seeing it all for himself.
Black clouds shrouded his Ally's positions as thunder and fire rained upon them from the heavens. Hellish flames lit the sky as earthquakes shuddered in response. Pillars of black smoke were left in its wake. Scouring the flat plains and left nothing standing by miles. Torrents of thunder and rain fell upon his Ally's position like rain from the heavens.
It didn't take long for his forces to react accordingly. Madness plagued his Armies. Shattered by the devastating loss of the Portals. Broken terrifying sight of furious barrage behind them. Mistaking it for the enemy's surrounding them amidst the hellish confusion erected by the billowing ashen smoke, the Army disintegrated into a headless mob.
In a single masterful stroke, the Outworlders have destroyed both the Feudal's foothold in the battle, but also their will to fight. It did not take long for the Feudal's Main Army to lose heart. They only were a mere 400 meters to the Outworlder's lines before the latter began firing at them en masse with renewed vigour. Shattering the Feudals completely and sent them running off the hill.
It was there that he realised that his foe was testing him. No different from what he did during his first attempt to scale the slopes. The massacre that followed was a show of force. Threatening the Grand Marshal and the Alliance into retreat. A test that the Grand Marshal prevailed over but one that the Colonel more than planned for.
The Outworlder's show of force was also a trick that fooled the Allied Vassal States into believing that they understood the Outworlder's weapons. The limitations of their power. The Grand Marshal could only balk at the Colonel's patience. Allowing the Feudals to lay waste to his positions. Allowing him to gain ground. Luring them closer and deeper within his grasp. Everyone gathered en masse to his hands before closing the trap. And now, they have struck for the kill.
The Grand Marshal could only say one thing amidst all of this.
"Magnificent."
Within the confines of their mind, The Grand Marshal realised how much the Colonel outclassed him in the Art of War. His plans were crumbling before his very eyes. His command was sent in disarray along with the rest of his Armies around the board. He had lost control of the board as he completely lost control of his troops who are now being fired upon by the Outwordlers.
There was little else Grand Marshal Duran could do to turn the tide. Despite his pride being tested and no matter how much it admittedly irked him, he could only admit defeat in this battle. The only path he could take now now is to command for a sound retreat. A mistake that would cost him dearly.
Given the large force under the Grand Marshal's command, his forces are forced to move in a crawl. Time was heavily spent on issuing orders among the ranks before any actual movement could be made. Actions done through the means of Couriers take time to traverse the field while Messenger Orbs are limited to a few words and in use with the other Armies.
Loud Bugles and massive Banners are the Feudal's only means of instant long distance messaging. It had its own weaknesses but it was the best the Grand Marshal had on hand. One is mainly that once the signal was taken, it was difficult to take back. A weakness that the Colonel exploited.
At a wave of his hand, the Imperial's Ivory white fortress opened its four gates. Armor and Auxiliary forces poured out and chased the retreating Feudals. Trenches were emptied as soon as they passed for the Guardsmen to take to the field. Quick marching behind the vanguard in orderly rows.
The Armor division arranged themselves into line as they advanced down the hill. Leman Russ Battle Tanks drove at the head of every contingent. Hammering enemy contingents to submission with its Battle Cannons and reaping swaths of Feudals with the Heavy Bolters on its sides. Chimera APCs and Hellhounds added their own firepower in support alongside the Tanks. Unleashing relentless stream of lasfire and flames onto the enemy.
The Auxiliary division made up of the Imperial Guard's fastest units raced ahead of the rest. Unmatched speed allowed them to flank and herd the retreating Feudals to the designated kill zones. Mobs of enemies were surrounded and slaughter. Trapped between overarching fire with the Armoured contingents, or Guardsmen. Artillery divisions took advantage of these targets and concentrated their salvos on the enemies pockets.
Vostroyan Hussars hollered and cheered as they chased down the Feudals. Stabbing and hacking foes left and right with their lances and swords. Taurox Rapid Assault Vehicles blared their engines as they tore through columns of enemies while their top gunners doused flames, bolters, or grenades onto the gathered masses. Towering Sentinel Walkers stalked in the battlefield in packs. Blazing a trail among the Feudal's formations before squashing enemies under their massive feet.
Battalions of Guardsmen engaged the enemies with unrelenting lasfire as they marched forth as if on a parade. Hordes of Feudals fell before the sights of the faceless red eyed soldiers. Either with blade or las, the Guardsmen mercilessly executed wounded or surrendering warriors with mechanical precision. Pausing briefly to finish the deed before returning to the others back in line.
The Outworlder's numbers were a mere paltry sum against their foes. No more than a trickling stream careening towards the vast raging ocean in front of them. But it was those very numbers that led to the Feudal's failure. And like dominoes, they fell one after another in droves.
The bugle calls and the banners of retreat exaggerated the message to a ruinous route. Relaying to the frightened men that the battle has lost and could hold no sway against the devil at their heels. As chaos ran wild in both their mind and their ranks, the mighty Goliath that was the Allied Vassal States fell before the minuscule David and his polished stone.
A number of stubborn or fanatic lords rallied what few men they could muster. Leading them in a disorganised counterattack against the Outworlder's iron beasts. Brave as they were, these fools only succeeded with buying a few seconds for their routing comrades. It was in vain however as it only prolonged the inevitable as the noose tightened around most of the Feudal Forces.
The Grand Marshal admiration turned to shock in light of the Battle Map's current phase. He looked to the Colonel across the Table. Since the beginning of their duel, both men saw each other as a black silhouette. The faceless figures represented what each knew of their foe. This shadow slowly lifted as the battle went on. Both learning more of each other based on the moves played on the board.
Colonel Suvorov saw the Grand Marshal Duran's face clearly the moment the Feudal pulled his unexpected Second Offensive. Revealing the Grand Marshal as an experienced, noble, and unorthodox commander. One worthy of some respect given his vast imaginative tactics that the Colonel must admit caught him off guard.
The Grand Marshal's reputable observation and flexibility was an aspect Colonel Suvorov watched warily. A fast learner who could find an effective counter to anything he could learn from the enemy. It was by luck and the Emperor's Grace that Colonel Suvorov did not play all of his best cards in the first round. His patience also proved its worth as it allowed him to spring the trap flawlessly once the opportunities were more than ripe to be reaped. All of it culminating to his decisive check mate that crippled the Grand Marshal's armies from waging a significant threat against him.
The Grand Marshal Duran saw the same from his side of the table. His reaction and interpretation of his enemy however painted a different face. As the battle raged on and as did Colonel Suvorov to him, Duran began to slowly understand his opponent. And what he had come to know frightened him to the core. Here was a foe with the power equal to that of gods. A foe who possessed weapons and abilities capable of sundering worlds.
All of that described the opponent he was facing. But barely any of it explained what kind of man these Outworlder's commander is himself. The man's concept of war was different from his own. Their tactics and customs in waging it are alien to him. Everything they acted upon was a very foreign to what Grand Marshal Duran and the other commanders he had faced before knew. It was a new and much crueller way of waging war where no prisoners were taken. No ransom given. No quarter offered. Only total annihilation. Only total war.
What Grand Marshal Duran could surmise is an enemy he could not respect. An enemy that he knew absolutely nothing about. An enemy who has beaten him both in the field and in his mind while learning very little in both.
The Feudal's defeat was as devastating as it was humiliating. That said, Grand Marshal Duran left the room in utter disgust. Symbolically representing the Grand Marshal's withdrawal from the battlefield. Leaving Colonel Suvorov alone in the room to celebrate his victory. The Colonel was left expecting to clean up the board. To pick up the pieces. Grand Marshal Duran however did not expect that his game with the Colonel was far from over.
A/N: this was a long chapter and a bitch to write. Many scenes were cut out and I left most of them for the next chapter. Expect the next one coming sooner than you'll know.
Please send me your thoughts and reviews. Tell me what you think and the questions you may have about the story.
Till next time, the Emperor Protects.