Baal

by Hogwire

An alternative telling of the invasion of Baal by Hive Fleet Leviathan, which follows a group of young Baal civilians who are pressed into service to defend their homeworld from the alien threat.

This is a sequel to my previous story 'Hivemind.' By no means is the previous story required reading, as the characters of that tale are only mentioned in this. The connection is only meant to make the experience richer. While this story showcases the battle against the tyranids, it also showcase some slice of life/domestic 40k elements of the universe as well. Liberties are taken as regards to the established lore/cannon of the Warhammer 40k setting.

Baal

By Chris Kovaliv (aka Hogwire)

Dramatis Personae

Citizens of Baal:

Cartes: Ten years old. Taken in by the Zorn family after the death of his mother.

Tractus Zorn – Fourteen years old. Oldest child of the Zorn family.

Ave Zorn – Eleven years old.

Emilia Zorn – Eleven years old.

Steph Zorn – Six years old.

Dethilal Zorn – Mother of Tractus, Ave, Emilia, and Steph. Adoptive mother of Crates.

Imperial Navy:

High Command

Dissiosa von Stone - Lord Admiral of the Imperial fleet sent to Baal. Highest ranking navel officer present in the Baal system. Sent to Baal by the Lord High Admiral. Uses the HMW Indomitable as her flag ship. A member of the von Stone noble family.

Anais Sigvek. – Admiral, and captain of the HMW Seventh Blade

Vullhame Forn – Fleet commissar aboard the Indomitable.

Interceptor Crew:

Hans Thorvir – Pilot of fighter SK-87.

Ivan Al Anaai – Gunner of fighter SK-87.

Imperial Guard:

High Command:

Caliban Ock – Lord General Militant. Highest ranking Militarum officer in the armada sent to Baal.

Major Trot – Ock's aid. Originally trained in the Administratum, added to Ock's general staff.

War-Skulls of Canula:

Cyprien Anderson – Captain of the War-Skulls of Canula 4th company.

Igor Marcel – 4th Company gunner

Marcus Campbell – 4th company guardsmen

Death Krops of Krieg

Katra Baugulf – Captain of the 44th company of regiment 508 of Krieg

Gregor – Colonel of the 44th of the 508th of Krieg.

Inquisition:

Inquisitor Wilk Urx – Agent of the Ordo Xenos. Sent to Baal as a representative of Lord Volkorisna.

Dorvus Tibela – Aid to Inquisitor Urx.

Adeptus Astartes:

Dante – Chapter Master of the Blood Angels. Over one thousand years old. Highest authority on within the Baal system. White hair, wrinkly skin.

Incarael – Blood Angel's Master of the Blade

Arenos Karlaen – Captain of the Blood Angels 1st Company.

Varren Moreel – Captain of the Blood Angels 8th company's vessel the AA Pincer.

Archata – Battle brother of Moreel, and a Librarian. Serves aboard the AA Pincer.

Cyrus – Librarian of the Blood Angels on Baal.

Acrius Turio – Sanguinary Priest of the Blood Angels on Baal.

Gabriel Seth – Chapter Master of the Flesh Tearers.

Frantz Myr – Blood thrall in service of Blood Angels.

Locations:

Arx Angelicum – Fortress Monastery on Baal. Based in a dead volcano.

Red Rock – Hometown of Cartes, Tractus, Emilia, Ave, and Steph. Built around a steel mill.

Arsenal notes:

HMW Indomitable – Emperor class battleship. Flagship of Lord Admiral Dissiosa von Stone.

HMW Seventh Blade – Emperor class battleship.

HMW Rusted Hammer. Grand Cruiser.

SK-87, aka The Scarlett Sex-Machine. Fury Interceptor, a fighter stationed inside the HMV Rusted Hammer's arsenal.

AA Pincer – Astartes Strike Cruiser.

Adolescence

Chapter 1

"Let it go! Tractus? Tractus please let it go!" Cartes pleaded as his friend toyed with the sand-scorpion, but the girl was older and bigger so it was impossible to make her stop. The tiny creature lashed with its small pincers at the stick the girl was wielding, striking a defensive stance as it did so. She tapped it a few times, causing the bug to flinch before attempting to scurry away. It didn't get far before Tractus pressed the stick against its outer shell, pinning it against the ground. Cartes could see the thing's legs frantically moving back and forth. It looked so helpless, and looking at it made Cartes feel helpless all the same.

"I'm going to tell your mom that you went playing in the desert if you don't stop!" Cartes threatened.

"Then you'll have to tell her you were out playing in the desert!" Tractus looked over her shoulder as she squatted over her captive.

"Yeah, stupid!" Ave jeered. Emboldened by his older sister, he poked Cartes in the side as he insulted him.

"Yeah, but you've had your fun! Dethilal told me those things are dangerous, you shouldn't be playing with them."

"Dangerous?" Tractus raised an eyebrow. "They're only dangerous if they sting you. Here, watch this…" Reaching down she used her fingers to grip the side of the scorpion's stinger, and then ripped it clean off in a swift motion. A trail of yellow bile followed her hand and soaked into the greedy red sand. The creature began trashing as much as it could while still pinned beneath the stick.

"Don't be so mean!" Cartes demanded and gave the older girl a shove, which caught her off guard and caused her to fall to her side. Any interest in her plaything was gone as she stood up and gave Cartus a shoved that caused him to stumble back and nearly lose his footing.

"What is your problem?" Tractus shouted. "Damn thing's a xeno."

"It wasn't hurting anyone!"

"'Wasn't hurting anyone?' It's a rad-scorpion! We leave this thing and maybe it crawls into someone's sandals by tomorrow. My uncle got stung and his whole leg went black and green up to his shin, so bad the medicae had to take it off!"

Cartes opened his mouth but was at a loss. He knew how dangerous rad-scorpions could be, but something inside him still felt that the joy they were taking in ripping the creature apart was wrong.

"Yeah, what's your problem? You got ork for brains?" Ave added, pouncing on Cartes's stalling for a comeback. He tried to give him a shove as well, though it felt like a breeze compared to that of his older sister. Tractus was still too young to work, but that didn't stop the steel-mill from hiring her for short shifts the past year. In that time Cartes had noticed how Tractus's arms had begun to look more toned, and he could see the muscles over her stomach whenever she took her shirt off.

"But why do you have to do that?" Cartus's voice cracked as he spoke. "To its tail I mean! It's in pain! That's so mean!."

"It's a xeno! What do you care?"

"Maybe he likes xenos!" Ave suggested. "Huh? You a xenos lover? You're a heretic aren't ya?"

"I'm not a heretic!"

"You're a heretic!" Ave went off like he had found a new favourite word. "Heretic! Heretic! Cartes wants to go live with xenos and make a bunch of xenos babies 'cause he's a heretic!"

"Shut it you dummy!" Tractus slapped her little brother across the face, before grabbing Ave by the arm and shaking him. "I told you don't use that word! Anyone hears you say that and we're all going to get in big trouble!"

"B-but…Preacher Averroes said that anyone who loves xenos is a heretic!"

"Yeah, and Preacher Averroes will send you, Mom, Emilia and Steph to the penal mines for being friends with a heretic!"

"But… but!" Ave stammered, his legs shaking at the thought that he had disappointed his big sister. "He… he…!" The boy pointed a trembling finger at Cartes.

"He's not a heretic." Tractus took a long hard look at Cartes before approaching him. "He's just a pussy. You don't like it? Put the thing out of its misery." She indicated to the creature, which was attempting to crawl away. The remains of its tail dragged behind it as its legs did their best drag the bug's bulk across the sand. It looked so pathetic, and looking at it almost made Cartes choke.

"Well?" Tractus goaded as she cocked an eyebrow.

The younger boy stood his ground. He stuck out his chest; just like he'd seen the Guardsmen do in the victory-vids. "It's not my job to clean up your fucking mess." His voice cracked as he swore. He came across looking like a gak and he knew it. Even though he was sure Tractus was going to shove him again he kept his hands at his side and his chest puffed, showing he wasn't scared.

Tractus didn't shove him. She looked her friend over and sighed. "You're too soft Cartes. You can't stay that way." She walked over to the rad-scorpion and pressed the pointy stick against the top of its carapace. "It's like the Angels say: Kill, or get killed." She leant against the stick, impaling the bug and pinning it to the sand. It twitched frantically a final few times before it stopped moving completely.

"Guys!" A voice called behind them. Emilia ran up to the three boys. She'd been digging around in the sands looking for buried treasures, evident by the red dust smeared all over her knees and hands. "Inside!" She pointed to the squat little town of Red Rock. "We've gotta' get inside! It's gonna' rain!"

"Rain?" Tractus looked confused. If there were going to be acid storms there would have been an announcement on the speakers earlier in the day.

"There's no rain coming for at least two weeks!" Ave shouted at his sister. "What are you on about?"

"But the clouds!" She pointed skyward. Cartes pulled his attention away from the scorpion and the three looked up and fell silent. Ave squinted, unsure of what he was seeing, while Cartes and Tractus looked with disbelief.

"Those… those aren't clouds Emilia…" Tractus told her sister, as she gazed for the first time in her life at a fleet of warships suspended in the atmosphere above Baal.

Chapter 2

A behemoth of brown metal and cold steel emerged from a flash of white light as the HMW Indomitable pulled out of warp-travel into real space. The Indomitable was an Apocalypse Class Battleship with a standard crew of eight million souls, at the head of an armada of hundreds of ships behind it, all varying in size from transport vessels to Battleships which nearly matched the Indomitable in size and firepower.

"Systems are green. We've arrived in the Baal system."

"Excellent master helmsman." Lord Admiral Dissiosa von Stone disengaged the connection ports from the side of her head and lifted herself off the ship's command throne. She was a tall woman with a thin frame, her navy jacket making her already firm shoulders appear even more sharp.

"Got us here safe and sound I see?" A voice called behind her.

"Lord General Militant." Von Stone gave a small nod of respect as Caliban Ock joined her on the bridge. He was a short man wearing a dark green uniform. His face was clean shaven and his hair was short and blonde, though most of it was hidden beneath his cap. Despite serving on the front lines during his youth, he'd amazingly avoided any major mutilations save for a single scar which ran along his chin. According to him it was earned when he accused the wrong comrade of cheating at dice rather than from any xeno or heretic.

"Your helmsmen have done a fine job getting us here. I'd see those on your bridge rewarded with a bottle of iced champagne and a box of Cruteze cigars from my own stock. You have no objections I hope?"

"Very generous."

"Always a good idea to butter up those who make sure we get to where we are going." He mused before leaving slipping a hand into his breast-pocket and producing long plastic cylinder. "And those who make sure we get there in one piece." He said, offering the cigar to the woman.

Von Stone smirked before accepting the gift.

"Now as friendly as your accommodations have been, I'm sure we're all eager to stretch our legs and get some fresh air. I've seen to it that the Guard is ready to disembark at the earliest chance."

Friendly. Yes. Von Stone thought. She couldn't imagine how many instances she'd heard of fights breaking out between the Guard regiments on board, typically between privates and over the most trivial issues. She had to admit that most of those cases rarely involved navy personal. Though she knew that with so many souls stuck together in these large metal coffins that could always change.

"Agreed. We will vox the Astartes forces and plan our landings accordingly."

"Lord Admiral!" Called one of the technicians posted at the communications display. "I believe that there will be a delay in the deployment of your forces, I am sorry to say."

"Oh?" Ock cocked an eyebrow.

"It would be easier if I showed you sir. Raise the shutters!"

The thick slabs of metal surrounding the bridge which had shielded the crew from the sights of the warp lifted, revealing the red world of Baal and surrounded by stars and imposed over the enormous red scar of radiation local to this this sector of the galaxy. Crowded around the planet and its moons, von Stone and Ock saw that Baal was already surrounded by a blockade of another kind. A fleet of Adeptus Astartes vessels.

"I see." Von Stone took a moment to take in the massive amount of frigates, cruisers, and dozens of battle-barges which blocked nearly all visual of the red planet and its moons. "Tell me General: Does that look like it is approaching legion size?"

Ock smirked. If what they were seeing did indeed violate the Astartes codex, neither of the two sure as hell wanted to be the ones to try and do anything about it. "At least we won't face this alone."

Chapter 3

A flat, screeching buzzer caused his eyes to flutter open. Inquisitor Urx awoke with a splitting headache as the ship shook around him. The shutters had opened, which could only mean they'd arrived. The grey, brown walls around him were caked with rust in the corners, making his cabin look as though it was within the stomach of a lumbering, metallic beast, dying of some kind of sickness which had spread through its insides. Gazing at his watch he saw that he'd been passed out for nearly 12 hours. His bed companions were empty bottles of rum, no doubt the cause of the dull throbbing he felt behind his eyes. With his head feeling as if it were filled with lead, Urx sat up in his coat and turned, letting his feet rest against the freezing metal floor, several bottles falling and clanging on the floor as he did so.

The buzzing had stopped. He sat with a miserable look on his face and looked at his beige cot. The sheets and the pillow beckoned to him, and in that moment they were the only place he wanted to be in the entire Imperium. He couldn't believe it; this entire trip all he'd wanted to do was get off this barge, but now that they'd arrived all he wanted to do was crawl back into this hard bed. He smacked himself in the face a couple times before looking around him.

There must be one bottle that still has some hooch left in it.

To his delight he found a bottle with some liquor swigging around the bottom. Unfortunately he'd finished his stocks of rum that he'd brought with him, and was left with a single mouthful of swish. Disgusting, foul tasting swish he'd confiscated from a seedy corner of the lower decks. But beggars couldn't be choosers. With the same commitment as a man putting a gun in his mouth, Urx brought the bottle to his lips and shoved the liquid down his throat.

"By the – Fuck!" He coughed as he hurled the bottle against the wall. He sat for a moment and let what felt like hot metallic oil sink into his stomach, wondering for a moment if he was going to puke. He theorized the only reason any guardsman could possibly drink this was because the poor sods were trying their best to die before their deployment. Still, the pressure in his head began to subside.

Then he heard metal groan as the door to his bunk was opened. Dorvus Tibela entered, her black and dark brown uniform looking clean and her shoes freshly shinned.

"Good day my Lord!" She said with a smile. "We've-"

"I know!" He barked, flinging an empty bottle at the door which Tibela dogged with remarkable agility. Had Urx not been so hung-over it might have given him pause. The glass shattered against the metal wall. "Now fucking get out!" He barked as he rubbed his coarse, crusty eyes. The woman smiled and bowed politely before leaving so promptly he didn't notice her exit. "And bring me some…ah crap." He pulled himself off of the cot and stumbled his way to his uniform, which was tossed lazily over his desk.

Freshly shaven and having taken care to not get any vomit on his shirt or boots the night before, he cut a good figure as he checked himself in front of his mirror. The new High Inquisitor had made some changes to her own attire, and while the changes were not official many members of the Ordo Xenos had followed suit. A simple, yet elegant design of black leather and cloth which fit the body snuggly. She'd had it stripped of most of the adornment one typically saw amongst the members of the Ordo Hereticus or Malleus, save for a single emblem worn above the left breast: A red 'I' with a wraith-bone skull embedded in the middle.

Urx had unfortunately developed a bit of a gut during his time travelling abroad the Indomitable. Warp travel had taken its toll on him, and he'd found the most solace in food and drink during his trip. Thankfully he was able to commandeer the one of the naval officer's tailors who was able to make some adjustments. Combined with the cloak, his belly would be unnoticeable. As if it waiting for its cue the vox cast attached to his cabin's wall beeped.

"Inquisitor Urx, the Lord Admiral is requesting your response."

"Aye." He answered as he pressed his hand against the speaker button and stifled a cough before continuing. "I'm assuming she and our General wishes for my presence?"

"He does my lord."

"On my way. Out." He muttered, before strapping a belt with his holstered pistol to his side. He took a moment to look out window. Baal was there, though it was difficult to see through the vast amount of Astartes vessels. That wasn't surprising, though Urx hadn't expected so many successor chapters to come to the aid of the Blood Angels.

I suppose Dante's word carries more weight than I gave him credit for.

He focused on the space beyond the planet and the fleets, the infinite black void peppered with tiny dots of light. Soon most of these vessels would be gone. They'd crash onto the red sands below, or burn in the skies. And none of them, not even this mighty Emperor-Class warship would be able to retreat if things went south. He realized that he, the Indomitable, and every ship that followed it had been racing full speed into an entrapment, with full knowledge that once that trap was closed retreat would not be an option. Death was out there in that infinite blackness, and it was coming for them.

Leviathan was a relatively new threat, and most of these guardsmen present had only heard stories of the xenos swarms. Urx himself had only seen a few scarce specimens at the order's headquarters on Talasa Prime. He looked around his bunk a final time for another bottle and found them all dry. He cursed and left his cabin.

Chapter 4

Cartes and Ave stood dumbfounded and even Tractus was in amazement as her little sister Emilia sat top her shoulders so she could see above the crowds around them. None of them had ever seen the Angels up close, and they were certain that no one in the entire system had ever seen so many.

They marched in groups; each chapter broken into smaller configurations of six, due to the small streets of Red Rock. They were further separated by the patterns and colors of their armor, though they were all a variety of reds, blacks and gold. Sitting atop her brother's shoulders Emilia could see that the line of Angels was much longer than the town itself, as thousands of them were still in the distance as they approached. They all approached the Arx Angelicum, an enormous structure of metal and rock carved into the side of a dead volcano which lay to the south east of Red Rock.

Red Rock had a population of less than 5000, and it seemed almost every single one of them had crowded around the square to catch a glimpse of the holy warriors, as not even the most hard-ass foreman could keep his workers away from such a sight. Only the miners, far below the earth missed this spectacle. The Angels did not speak to the townsfolk who came to gawk at them, most of them wearing the same stupid expressions as Cartes and Ave. Some sung praises to these protectors of the Imperium, others knelt in the dirt and prayed. Most simply stared, and all of them gave them a respectful berth. All of them except for Ave.

The child stepped out form the crowd and approached them. It took Cartes a moment to notice that his companion had left his side before calling after him in a loud whisper. The commotion caught the eye of the boy's older sister.

"Ave!" Tractus's eyes widened. She knelt down, placing her sister on the ground before rushing after Ave. Other spectators filled the gap between them, forcing the teen to shove and squeeze between them.

Ave had stepped out from the crowd. He reached out a hand toward the red giants and asked "Can I help?"

Tractus emerged from the crowd in time to see the armor of one of the marine's gauntlets smack his little brother in the head as he passed by, knocking Ave to the ground. Whether the strike was intentional, or if the marine had simply not seen the little boy they'd never know, for the marine continued his march alongside his brothers.

A cut had opened on Ave's forehead and the blood was flowing freely, staining his hair, shirt, and Tractus's hands as she knelt down to check her brother and help him to his feet. Ave however seemed more puzzled than anything else.

Why had the Angel done that? He wondered. The Angels are supposed to protect us, and I was trying to help him.

As Tractus chastised her brother for being so foolish a shadow came over the two of them. An Angel had stopped and turned to face the two of them. It's left shoulder bore a strange, black marking which looked like a drop of water falling into a chalice. Slung across its side was a gun larger than Tractus herself. It looked at them through the small green slits in its helmet, which was slightly cocked to one side, as if it were regarding the two as some kind of curiosity. Tractus rose with her brother, and with her free arm showed the Angel her palm as a sign of submission. "He's just a boy. Forgive him my lord…"

One of the Angel's brothers tapped him on the back and motioned toward the Arx Angelicum. Saying nothing, the Angel followed suit.

"You stupid rad-for-brains!" Tractus cursed as he dragged Ave through the crowd, collecting Cartes whom she had left next to Emilia, and began dragging the three youngsters home. The entire time Cartes and Ave continually stopped to look back at the columns which were still passing by, entranced by the red-armored giants. Ave was still trying to put together why he had been hit. Cartes meanwhile marvelled at their size; each of them towered over any other man Cartes had ever seen. How, he wondered, was it possible that encased within all that metal was a human? Someone who had once been just as tiny and frail as he was?

Chapter 5

Most shuttles had turbulence which shook the inside on their approach through a planet's gravitational pull. Von Stone's personal escort however had adequate stabilizers that effectively minimized such shocks, to the point the average human could not detect it. Urx was grateful, as sitting in bouncing metal cage would likely have caused him to empty his stomach all over his escort's boots. His head still hurt, though it was minimal. Some tablets washed down with half a jug of water had done its job.

The shuttle had had to break, due to the massive amount of Astartes craft still waiting for docking coordinates. A Militarum vessel, even one carrying the General Militant and the Lord Admiral of the entire theatre, held little concern next to the Marines. Von Stone, Ock, Urx, and Trot – Ock's aid – sat quietly in the passenger lounge.

General Ock seemed prepared for the wait. His arms were crossed across his chest and rested his eyes, a small book sitting snug between his arms.

"An Introduction to Tyranids: Basic organisms, functions, and weakness." Urx asked, reading the spine of the book outloud.

"Hmm?" Ock opened his eyes. "Oh? Yes…" He removed the book from the cradle in arms and examined it. "It's useful to know as much as you can about your enemy."

"Some might call that heretical. A fascination with xenos I mean… it might be indicative of alien sympathies, or even admiration." The Inquisitor said with a teasing smile.

"Sympathies?" Ock dismissed the thought as if it were a trivial joke. "First sight of a gargoyle, and I guarantee you every man and woman on those ships will want it dead. But admiration? Well that might be a stretch. But I've never seen something with that kind of destructive power. Maybe the Mechanicus have something worse tucked away on Mars, but other than that? If that's not impressive, I don't know what is. But that's what you're here for, isn't it? To make sure none of us 'admire' these xenos too much, isn't it, Lord Inquisitor? " After running his fingers over the cover for a moment he moved to hand it to Urx.

"Just Inquisitor I'm afraid." He responded, surprised that the General had forgotten his rank, until he realized that despite having made the entire warp trip on the General's ship this had been the longest the two had ever spoken. "No thank you. In fact I have my own copy." Urx patted his breast pocket. "Dr. Sebastian Ethar has worked quite closely with my order in the past."

"Well if you're concerned about heresy, he certainly seems to write of these aliens with remarkable admiration."

"The man's passionate about his work. My superiors consider that an asset."

"Now that is strange. I showed this to one of the men on my staff. He recalled that he had definitely seen the name before: On list of individuals to be shot on sight that was circulated throughout his regiment."

Urx shrugged. "The Inquisition doesn't always get along with itself it seems. I trust you've heard the rumors?"

"Of course. However I never thought to give them any credence until this moment. So you're here for…?"

"As an advisor."

"An advisor?" Von Stone interrupted. "To the Blood Angels?"

"To all of us Lord Admiral. The Blood Angels, the Navy, and the Guard have no doubt struck blows against Leviathan, but no one knows more about xenos than our order."

Major Trot had been passively listening the entire time and cast a glance at the Inquisitor and his superiors. Von Stone looked away and Ock smirked quietly. He was sure it was not lost on anyone aboard that the 'advisor' carried with him an inquisitorial rosette. One small trinket that gave him more authority than any other human in this entire system, even Master Dante planetside.

Theoretically anyway…

"Simply an advisor." Urx reassured his companions. "No need to make things difficult General. You need not consider yourself a part of my command, just I as need not consider myself under yours."

"Hmm." Ock nodded. "Your boots make that abundantly clear."

Urx looked down for a moment, and saw that his boots indeed were in terrible condition, the tips of which were caked in grim and unpolished. Ock didn't say anything, but he could feel the sense of judgment emanating from him, von Stone, and even Ock's lacky. For the first time in his entire career, Inquisitor Urx was at a loss for words in front of a member of the fucking Imperial Guard.

Upon reaching planetside the company took a land transport to the Arx Angelicum, passing by several small, dusty towns as they did so. So far they were the only representatives of the Guard and Navy on the entire planet – they'd need to coordinate with the Marines before receiving permission to touch down. Most of Baal was flat, made up of either long stretches of red sand or lifeless rock, though all around them they could see the scars of a brutal, ancient conflict: Unnatural cracks in the smooth, flat desert which looked like wide, gaping wounds. One such gorge was so massive that it could be seen from their shuttle before even reaching the planet's atmosphere; it looked as if a cosmic giant had stuck a massive knife into the planet's side, twisted it, and then ripped it out taking a large chunk of Baal with it. Major Trot wondered if that might be the cause behind the asteroid belt surrounding its larger moon, Baal Primus.

At a distance the Arx Angelicum looked more like a natural occurrence than anything man made. This would be a half truth. The Fortress-Monastery was indeed centered in an ancient, dead volcano. As they approached one could begin to make out the various additions it had been given over the years: Massive towers which housed anti-aircraft, along with anti-artillery and artillery guns of their own. Structures built into the side of the mountain, or free standing complexes of their own right. On the slopes various hangers could be seen which had been carved into the volcanic rock itself, all of which seemed full as ever more Astartes crafted hovered about looking for places to dock. Surrounding the entire complex was a 400 foot wall of black cement and concrete.

The inside of the Arx Angelicum was no less busy. Upon reaching it, General Militant Ock requested an audience with Chapter Master Dante. They were not the only ones who wished for such an audience, a blood thrall informed them. The master of every single chapter of Blood Angels marines had wished for the same, and Master Dante had spent the entire day meeting and accepting oaths of fealty. A long line of armored Astartes could be seen on the stairway up the volcano.

The company of high ranking military figures waited for their chance to speak with the master in one of the chapels near the base of the fortress; a massive room which was filled with stain-glass windows and tableaus of past heroes, carved into the rock itself. The centerpiece of the chapel was a white marble statue depicting the Great Angel Sanguinius. His chin was raised and his hand rested upon a sheathed sword, as if prepared to announce a judgement of mercy or punishment upon the viewer.

Ock and Trot discussed matters of the army; the amount of ships waiting in orbit around Baal or the amount of time it would take to completely disembark all troops and supplies. Urx spent most of the time resting, slumped against one of the many murals and going through all his packs of lho-sticks. He took some time to look over the statue of the Great Angel. He was struck by how lifelike the statue was despite being made of dead stone. It reminded him of his time in the Schola Progenia. He always remembered that behind the warrior was a man of mercy, and compassion. Admirable as those were, Urx had always wondered if those same qualities had been what got him killed.

By the time they were admitted it had been well over 24 hours since they had disembarked from the Indomitable. The company was escorted by two marines up one of the stairways carved into the volcanic rock of the Arx Angelicum. As they climbed they could see the red light of Balor beginning to set. Major Trot was at a loss as to the different chapters on this world, but he recognized the symbol their escorts wore: A droplet of blood set between two wings marked them as members of the Blood Angels. Trot had never quite gotten used to the size of the marines; even now his silent escorts made him feel as if he were a child, or raw recruit being escorted to a disciplinary correction. No matter what his rank, or even that of the General Militant, and no matter what anyone on Terra said, Baal was the home of the Blood Angels. And tens of thousands of their successors had all gathered here. Their word here was law, and had been for millennia. It was difficult to not feel small.

Trot could not shake the feeling that beneath those masks, the presence of the Guards was merely tolerated by the Angels. The others must have felt this way. How Ock could conceal his insecurity so well he could not tell. Instead he focused on keeping his posture, and his eyes fixed ahead of him as he climbed. If the Inquisitor had any such qualms he hid them well; running out of lho-sticks seemed to be his most pressing concern, as if now he could not quite figure out what to do with his hands.

The stairs gave way to a large stone balcony, at the end of which was a large set of double doors with a Blood Angel posted on either side. As they approached one of their escorts motioned towards the guards, who in turn stepped aside and opened the doors.

"The General only." The marine's voice was cold and metallic as it passed through its helmet and ventilator. Trot realized that he had never before been addressed by an Astartes.

"Major Trot is a member of my council, his eyes and ears are mine. I request that you do not separate us." Said General Ock before Trot could respond.

"You speak for your council. His presence is unnecessary."

"I am to speak with your Master about matters of battle." Ock protested. "I rely on my staff as a company relies on its members."

"Your subordinates are not needed to swear fealty."

Swear fealty? Trot thought. Is that what they think this is about?

"Remember where you are General." Urx said before the general could make his response.

Ock took a quick look at the setting red sun then nodded before giving Trot a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Of course. Lead on."

Urx strode in behind Ock and the marine. "The Inquisition wishes to offer its fealty as well." He mocked as he passed the marines standing guard.

Trot was left standing between two full armored Blood Angels as the doors closed. He was about to ask the two what it was like living on a planet subjected to such rad-storms, but he thought better of it. The two marines never said a word to him.

Chapter Master Dante was one of the oldest living Astartes in the entire Imperium, being over one thousand years old. General Ock had never heard of the rejuvenat treatments allowing for such an extensive lifespan. He imagined the Astartes augmentation must have had some bearing on it.

Dante stood next to a large table speaking with other marines who aside from their helmets wore full armor. The table seemed as it was carved out of the volcanic rock like the stairs had been. Scattered about it were scrolls, tomes, and bits of tech used for communication/holographic displays.

"Commander," Announced the marine who escorted them. "representatives of the Militarum and the Imperial Inquisition."

Dante himself was unarmoured and wearing what seemed to be a combination of a robe and a body suit. It was only when the unarmoured man turned to face him that the General realized that he was the Chapter Master. Ock had seen marines before but it occurred to him he had never seen one outside of his armor. He was as tall as his brothers and his stance was just as firm, though age had clearly left its mark: His hair was white and his skin was wrinkly. Still, the old commander moved more swiftly Ock would have been able to twenty years earlier.

"Gentlemen," Dante's unfiltered voice was soft, having a warm and almost comforting quality to it. "allow me to welcome you to Baal. You have my apologies for making you wait. I hadn't realized how many chapters had answered my call. By the time I had personally greeted one chapter master, I realized I would have to extend them all the same courtesy. We're all supposed to be brothers, but I'm afraid I can't afford to have divisions based on imagined favoritism."

"Commander Dante," Ock removed his cap, placing it within the crutch of his elbow and bowed. "I sympathise with your plight. Officers can be the same way. Personally I find battles and logistical planning far more preferable than the more cordial engagements."

Dante nodded, accepting Ock's sign of respect. "I see. Thankfully a gathering such as this is a rare one. Tell me, do the Guard attend many 'cordial' events?"

"Colonel and above? You'd be surprised. At a certain point most of one's job becomes a matter of management, and that means spending time trying to convince others to fund and supplement you. Lots of meetings with governors, nobles, admirals and other navy types, merchants, you get the picture."

"Sounds terrible."

"It is. Until you see hundreds of thousands of lives snuffed out due to your error."

Dante nodded again. "Sounds reasonable. It seems you have me at a disadvantage?"

"Forgive me, Commander Dante. My name is Caliban Ock, General Militant of this Segmentum."

"And you?" Dante gestured toward Urx who had silently stood with his arms crossed.

"Wilk Urx of the Ordo Xenos." He gave a small nod to the chapter master. "I'm here at the request of Lord Inquisitor Volkorisna."

"Just you? I'm surprised. Is a single Inquisitor really supposed to make that much of a difference? These xenos won't care for any political clout your order may have."

"My Lord has taken a keen interest in the Tyranid threat, and as such my order has collected a wealth of information on these creatures. I'm here as a gesture of co-operation."

"Co-operation?"

Urx nodded. "I'm simply here to share any expertise I may have on our foe, and to relate any new info to the order once our work here is done."

"Done?" Dante raised an eyebrow before addressing Ock. "General, I hope every man and woman you've brought here understands that this is likely a one way trip? And that any retreat will be impossible once our foe arrives?"

"We are very aware my Lord. All of us." He gestured to Urx, including.

"Very well. There was more you wished to discuss I assume?"

"There is Chapter Master, I'm afraid this is meeting is not a simple matter of swearing fealty – I apologize if I lead you lead to think as such. The Guard requires an immense amount of logistics and planning before disembarking from our ships. I was hoping you might entertain me? I have over ten million guardsman who are itching to get themselves planetside."

"And you need my help to do that?"

"No. But Baal is your home. And despite what anyone back on Terra might say, we both know that the population of this planet – of this sector even – look to the Blood Angels for authority. I'd prefer to get some info about your planet and your plans, and the plans of your brother chapters, to ensure we do not step on your toes."

"Very well. Please." He directed the two men to have a seat.

The stone chairs before the table were lined with leather, yet considering they were designed for the body of a marine both Ock and Urx felt as if they were being enveloped by their seats.

"You will allow me to send for my Master of the Blade? Good." Dante turned to address one of the thralls waiting silently on the other side of the room. "Get my guests some refreshments. Tea, and something to eat."

"Wine for me." Urx called as the thrall left.

Chapter 6

By the time night had fallen, most of the ships were still in low orbit and hence visible from the window of Cartes's little room in Red Rock, which he shared with Ave and Tractus. Their home was a squat hut with three small bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen all surrounding a single living area, composed of cheap plastic dry waling over steel rods. Cartes was not a brother of the two, but after his own mother had collapsed from exhaustion working in the mills when he was five the Ave's mother Dethilal had taken him in. The charity was thanks in one part to their mothers being girlhood friends and another due to Tractus's prodding. He'd heard his father had died a similar way a long time ago, but Cartes couldn't remember anything about him.

The massive influx of ships into system had caused a halt on all civilian imports for the system, and as such all civilian shipping came to an immediate halt. All of the ports and surface to orbit transports had been taken over by chapter serfs, and after that it seemed the Guard would be taking over as well. As such Dethilal Zorn, forty seven years old, suddenly found herself out of work without pay.

Thankfully two days after she had been laid off, an announcement had been made over the vox-cast. Under the authority of Commander Dante, nearly all employers were legally obliged to continue paying their laid off workers, and until this surplus of forces had left all landlords were immediately barred from enforcing any evictions; else they would answer to the Angels. This decree had caused such a relief that she forced all the youngsters under her roof to fast for the day, before herding them to the local shrine of the Great Angel for the afternoon.

"How many Angels do you think are here?" Ave asked excitedly, though is voice was more nasal than usual. The Angel's gauntlet had busted open his nose– though Tractus had warned them against telling Dethilal, given it that would frazzle the poor woman's nerves. Cartes explained that Ave had tripped while playing in the desert. She scolded him for it but it was nothing the two hadn't dealt with before.

"Beats me." Cartes answered his friend.

"I bet it's a billion of them! No! Five billion!" Ave exclaimed, his cheeks resting in his palms as he gazed out the small window of his room.

"That's stupid. Don't be stupid."

"Na! Look at all those ships! There has to be billons of them!"

"The Angels have already landed planet side. Most of those ships are Guard."

"Na!" Ave's eyes went wide as he addressed Cartes. "The Guard doesn't defend Baal sand-brains! It's the Angels! The Angels and Commander Dante!"

"I'm telling you those are Guard ships!" Cartes went digging through some of his old Imp-strips, pulled out one of the issues and tossed it at Ave. It featured a drawing of Ciaphas Cain on the cover: He wore a commissar cap with a gold eagle on it, his black and red uniform looking shiny with the only messy part being his chainsword which had blood across the teeth.

Ave rummaged through the flimsy paper and found the pictures of ships that clearly bore the insignia of the Imperial Navy – a winged hallowed out 'I' – clearly differing form those of marine ships. Ave took the only acceptable course of action to being proving wrong: He tossed the Imp-Strips back at his friend and mocked him. "The Guard only has so many ships because they're a bunch of scared sand-hares!" Ave wanted to call the Guard's pussies, but he dared not use such language while his mother was awake. "Angel's know how to fight! I bet that's the reason the Guard came all the way over here because they need Commander Dante to save their butts!"

"Do we know why they are here?" Emalia had entered her brother's room. Dethilal was listening to the vox-box atop their little stove while bouncing Steph on her knee while Tractus was stretched out on the sofa with a damp cloth over her forehead, trying to sooth her muscles after a shift in the mills. The little box was broadcasting the usual sermons and tales, and aside from airing Commander Dante's decree earlier had made no mention of mass influx of fleets.

"They're here to burn the heretic!" Ave squealed, rushing up to his little sister. "To kill the mutant and purge the unclean!" He stabbed his finger into Emilia's tummy, provoking a small shrill and protests from his sister.

"Quiet down in there!" Dethilal called.

"That's you!" Ave continued, pretending not to hear his mother. Once she had sat down it pained her to get up, so Ave knew he was safe so long as Emilia didn't start crying. "You're the heretic! You're the unclean! They know you haven't been thankful to the Throne! They've come to get you!"

"Stop it!" She tried to push her bother away.

"Ave shut it or I swear I'll tan you myself." Tractus promised, not bothering to get up or remove the cold cloth from her face. Ave backed off and went to his own bunk to amuse himself with his toys. He picked up his favourite one, an old doll of a blood angel made out of a sack of burlap stuffed with cloth and old fabric, and began to make various swooshing and buzzing noises as he pretended to smite the enemies of humanity. He pretended that the small doll was himself, and he had just been personally chosen by Commander Dante to serve as his battle brother.

To Ave the little doll looked every bit as glorious as the Angels he had seen earlier. Even though his head still hurt and the bump would likely remain for a week Ave was enthralled. He had of course heard of the Angels before – they were a fact of life on Baal. But no one in the family had ever seen one up close before. The colors of their armor, and the massive rifles they carried with them made them seem like the most powerful beings in the galaxy. Whatever threat the Angels were facing Ave knew that it would be crushed, regardless of how many Guardsmen got in their way.

With her tormentor now occupied Emilia made her way to Cartes's side. He was looking out the window at the fleets above their world with the discarded Imp-strip across his lap.

"Do you know why they are here Cartes? Are they going to hurt us?"

"No." He said. He didn't put his arm around his adoptive sister when she sat next to him, but he also didn't try to shoo her away like Ave always did when one of his sisters got too close. "No the Guard are here to protect you, and make sure nothing bad happens to you or your mom. Just like the Angels."

"I don't like them being here." She rested her head against Cartes's arm, looking past Ave playing with his stupid doll and starring at the cracked, orange tinted drywall of their home. "Soldiers go where there's fighting. I don't want there to be any fighting here." As she spoke Emilia wriggled her arm in between Cartes's own arm and his side, before she slipped her tiny hand into his own.

"There won't be." As he assured her Cartes looked out into the dark desert. Far in the distance surrounded by blackness he could see the lights of the Arx Angelicum, the Fortress where the Angels lived. He knew that if so many Angels and Guard had shown up that that must mean something bad was near Baal, or that it was on its way. All he knew for sure what that he would pray to the Corpse-God that whatever the Angels were doing in that monastery would be enough to stop it.

He gave Emilia's hand a gentle squeeze.

Chapter 7

"How long until we can expect them to arrive?"

"What's their last know location?" Urx ask.

"The Toor system." Answered Incarael. Brother Incarael was the Master of the Blood Angel's armory. Upon the arrival of the other Chapters he had become the de facto logistical commander of all ammunition, thunderhawks, tanks, bikes, and other supplies the Astarte's fleets had brought with them. All chapters currently maintained their own theoretical autonomy but most had agreed to follow Dante as a first among equals, as such all supply movements had to be run-by Blood Angel command. It was a task only made possible by the assistance of an army thralls and servitors.

"How old is this information?"

"A week."

Urx wrapped his fingers against the desk. "I've studied the systems within this sector. There are several systems with jungle and forest worlds in Leviathan's path."

"Most of them are completely untouched by Imperial presence. What scarce stations have been on such worlds have already been evacuated. They'll be easy meals for the hive."

"Regrettable, but nothing we can do about that. Sending ships out that far would be a waste. After that…" Urx peered over the scrolls which had been spread out across the stone table. "We're in luck. A stretch of mostly dead or desert worlds before they reach more populous systems. By all accounts little biomass. It won't slow the fleets down much, but they will be denied food for a time." The Inquisitor sat back in his chair. "I imagine we have perhaps two months before they enter the Baal system."

"I'm inclined to agree." Dante sighed. "Not nearly enough time to turn this into a Fortress world I'm afraid."

"Which is why I'd like to start disembarking my men immediately."

"Is there a reason why you haven't?" Incarael asked. The General Militant took a moment to regard the marine.

"How many Astartes are on Baal right now? Nearly forty thousand?" Incarael gave a small nod, as if he did not wish to really say. The fact that the numbers of Astartes were approaching Legion status gave him an uncomfortable feeling, as if they were flitting with heresy. "And you can see the logistical nightmare that's caused you – with all due respect. I have over 10 million troops to deploy, with thousands of tanks, and aircraft vehicles to boot. If the Tyranids arrived within the next week I'd be more likely to get in your way in all honesty. The sooner I can deploy my troops, the sooner I'll be able to form defensible positions."

"I don't understand your problem General. Is something keeping you from this?" Asked Dante.

"Nothing from the Blood Angels themselves commander. However I don't believe you understand the weight that your presence here carries. None of my officers are going to give orders that they fear conflict with yours. Other chapters have already set up their defences, and have picked areas which I believe could be put to better use by the Guard."

"'Better use? General I'll remind you that even the youngest Astartes recruits saw their first battle long before your officers were old enough to walk. They know war." Incarael intruded.

"That's preciously my point. The various Astartes chapters have already established themselves at the most defensible positions on planet's and moon's surfaces: Choke-points, rock faces, next to adequate landing zones, etc."

"Then find other places to set up."

"Many of those will be obvious kill zones. Entrenching our troops in such positions will only serve to give the Tyranids an easy first meal."

"We can't be blamed for your inadequacy. I suggest you take it up with them."

The General sighed before answering. "Commander Dante…" Ock leaned forward, placing his hands on the stone table. "You are far more acquainted with war than I will ever be. But, if I may be so bold, I believe I am far more familiar with just how frail a given man or woman is. You've seen what Tyranids do to marines, but I've also seen what they do to us. Once they get within close range my troops will be slaughtered.

I'll remind you that we were not ordered to defend this world. I'm here at the personal request of Commander Militant Mar Av Ashairel of the High Lords. And I'm perfectly aware that doesn't mean spit on Baal. The chapters will do as they see fit and I accept that. But I am asking you to vouch for me, so the Guard can coordinate with the Blood Angels and all their successors on Baal. If I can't get my troops into defendable positions we'll be useless to you. We will remain regardless. The Guard will fight and die for Baal. But I would prefer victory to a meaningless sacrifice."

Ock sat back and hoped his bluff had worked. If he couldn't get the Blood Angels at least to play ball, he'd promptly return to his ship and leave the sector. He might have to return to the Fortress world of Ashan and explain himself, or even face a court martial, but Lord Ashairel had personally asked him keep the armada in reserve if the Angels were so eager to squander their help.

Dante had listened to the General's request without saying a word, and now he seemed to be regarding the small man before him. "Incarael…" He turned to his brother. "Until this threat is over, I would like you to inform the other chapters that the General and his staff act with my consent, and should be treated as extensions of myself." The marine bowed his head. "We always knew this would be more akin to a siege than a charge. However," Dante addressed Ock again. "you will limit yourself and your troops to the outer defenses of the Arx Murus. You have no need of any presence within our inner most sanctums and citadels. Any guardsmen who violet this will be accountable to me. Does that sound fair?"

"More than fair." Ock was relieved that his bluff had paid off. "We'll begin disembarking immediately."

"If that's settled I believe there is another matter to discuss." Said Urx as he finished the final few droplets of wine in his goblet and drew attention to the map before them. "This will only work if we succeed in bottlenecking the majority of Leviathan to this system. In the subsector along Leviathan's path I noted several inhabited systems, including Gamma IV and the Sciothopa system. I counted no less than a dozen industrial, forge, and mining worlds along with several populated space stations correct?"

"Correct." Answered Incarael.

"Meaning that there is a population of roughly twenty billion souls between Baal and Leviathan now?"

"We're aware of your fears. We don't wish to allow our enemy the chance to gorge itself before they arrive." Dante answered.

"I'm glad to hear that Commander. As soon as the ship has disembarked its payload of troops and munitions, I'll be taking command of the HMW Indomitable. I'd appreciate if you sent some of your vessels to accompany me to these systems."

Dante blinked at Urx's nonchalant attitude. "I wasn't aware that the Indomitable was one of the Inquisition's vessels?"

"Doesn't need to be. Don't act so humble commander, both the general and the Lord Admiral understand the situation." Urx cast a glance at Ock.

"…We do." Said the general. "Perfectly." This prompted a smile from the Inquisitor, a smile the Blood Angel Commander did not reciprocate.

"And just why would you be going to these systems Inquisitor?"

"Why does rain fall?" Urx laughed. "We though Behemoth was a one shot. After seeing the destruction Kraken wrought, containment of the tyranid threat has become the top priority of the Ordo Xenos. Why else?"

"What do you intend to do when you reach these systems?" Maybe it was due to his position as an observer to the conversation, but Ock picked up on a strange shift in the Commander's tone. Any sense of warmth had drained from his voice. If Urx had noticed this change in the Chapter Master he gave no indication that he cared.

"You said it yourself: We can't allow Leviathan the chance to recuperate before it reaches us."

"I did."

"Then the answer's simple." There was a pause which left the Inquisitor looking confused. It was as if Dante was waiting for a follow up answer. An answer Urx had thought was obvious. After an awkward silence he spoke: "Exterminatus."

The word had seemed to echo off the stain glass of past victories and sacrifices of the Blood Angels, and then the room was silent. Dante nodded to himself.

"Exterminatus?"

"Yes." Urx leaned forward in his chair placing his hands on the stone table. "Is there a problem?" His voice gained a hostile edge.

"Your Order, it has a new Lord running it? Doesn't it? This High Lord Volkorisna if I'm not mistaken?"

"You're correct. Lady Volkorisna took charge of the Ordo Xenos some eight years ago."

"A pupil of Kryptmann wasn't she?"

"She was."

"Hmm…" Dante nodded. "Let me be direct: I've never met Lord Volkorisna. I did once have a run in with Lord Kryptman. I did not like him."

That's one way of putting it. Thought Urx, as he recalled when the Angel's laid siege to the world of Bolgvaaz in an attempt to take the old Inquisitor prisoner. "Kryptmann was an easy man to dislike. He's also the reason why at least half of Leviathan is bogged down fighting Orks rather than coming here."

"From what I can tell via the reports, and what I've discussed with members of other chapters… I do not like this Volkorisna either. Your presence here is tolerated, Inquisitor. The Blood Angels will protect this sector, as they always have. You are dismissed."

"Stay right there General." Urx said calmly, placing his hand on Ock's arm to prevent him from rising. "The Inquisition maintains all rights to instigate Exterminatus."

"I'm aware. But Terra is very, very far away."

"I'm sorry: Is the Baal system no longer apart of the Imperium?"

"Inquisitor…" Ock began. "Perhaps Master Dante is in a better position to deal with this."

"It doesn't seem like it." Said Urx. "In fact it seems as if the Chapter Master is actively trying to interfere with Inquisition business. This is war, Chapter Master Dante. People die in war."

At the accusation Incarael took a step forward. Dante lifted his hand slightly off the table, and the guardian stopped.

"War." Dante regarded Urx for a moment. "Have you ever been present in a battle, Inquisitor?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"I don't mean an orbital bombardment. I mean have you ever had to stand in a hot desert, without water, a constant cloud of dust coating your lungs and a sun so bright your eyes hurt when you close them? To stand there, and be able to do nothing but wait? Wait for an enemy to shot? Or until daemons pour out of the ground? Or have you only ever killed sitting behind a desk with an auto-quill?"

"If I can weaken Leviathan with an auto-quill, then yes. I'll take an auto-quill over the sand any day."

At this Dante leaned back in his seat and took a deep breath before sighing. "You make a salient point Inquisitor. General?" He addressed Ock. "If you don't mind, I'm afraid that we need to discuss matters that are outside the Guard's parameters."

"I see. Very well. Chapter Master, Inquisitor." Ock got up from his chair, bowed to the two, and with his hat tucked into the crook of his arm began to make his way to the double doors.

Commander Dante waited until the general had gotten half way across the room, by which time Urx was gesturing to the thrall with his wine glass, beckoning for a refill. Dante drew his bolt pistol and swiftly aimed it at his guest's head. Urx, distracted by his request for more wine barely had enough time to notice the weapon before his entire head was eviscerated and his body was flung violently back into old stone chair. Within the large room made of volcanic rock and stained glass the sound of the bolt was like that of thunder, stopping the General in his tracks.

For a moment Ock was frozen in place, as if a single movement would have earned himself a bolt. He slowly turned around to see the Commander re-holstering the weapon, and Urx's remains slumped against the chair.

He coughed. "Matters that are outside the Guard's parameters?"

"I didn't think you'd mind the deception, General. It was merely an effort to spare your uniform."

"My…?" Ock chuckled, as he ran his hand along the chest of his green, finely pressed uniform and felt the cold metal of the various awards above his breast. "Very considerate of you Chapter Master. It might have sent the wrong message to my staff had I returned covered in gore… We were ordered to co-operate. Urx and I apparently received different instructions."

Dante gave a small laugh in turn. "In the coming months many, many people are going to die on this planet. As far as the rest of the Imperium is concerned, Inquisitor Urx met his end then. Is this acceptable?"

"More than acceptable Commander. May I add something?"

"You may speak freely General."

"The Navy studied the same maps Urx did. The Lord Admiral and myself have considered this very problem several times during the journey here. We are aware of the high population which lies in Leviathan's path and as such once all Militarum personal and equipment has been dispatched we will have plenty of empty troop transports. We are willing to volunteer the fleet that brought us here to be used to evacuate civilians."

"Are you?" Dante raised an eyebrow. "You do realize your forces will be stranded on Baal? Any retreat would be impossible."

"Once the battle begins the tyranid's psychic presence will be so strong our navigators will be useless. We can send for rescue after this battle is over – if there's anyone left to rescue. Lord Admiral von Stone is aware of this – in fact this suggestion was her idea."

"I see." The Commander rubbed his chin. He stood, and Ock could see for the first time just how tall Dante was. While they were seated he had almost fooled himself into thinking that the Astartes commander was a tall, but non-augmented human. As he approached Dante's size and weight became apparent.

"You are aware we are prepared for war, and for death when we are very young?" The General answered Dante with a nod. "We will die in service to the Throne. We accept this early on, and it gets easier to accept the more war one sees. In fact, even the youngest of my own Angels has seen over a century of it. It is very easy to forget just how small and frail we were before."

Dante placed his hand on the General's shoulder. He applied no pressure, but the sheer weight of the Commander's hand was like a bag of sand.

"The Imperial Guard continues to impress me, even if the spectacle is lost on most of my ilk." As Dante spoke he gestured to Incarael, and the statue-like Sanguinary Guard around the room. "Tell your men that Chapter Master of the Blood Angels is humbled by their commitment."

Caliban Ock was momentarily at a loss for words. This assignment had nearly been a suicide mission, and he had spent every moment during the warp-jump to Baal preparing himself that he would die on this rocky sand. Treating the upcoming battle as if it were a logistical game of figures, numbers, tactics, and adopting a fatalistic outlook had helped him accept that. But now for the first time in the thirty years since he had served on the front lines he felt inspired. The Throne was so far away, and Ock had seen enough men die to know that the platitude 'the Emperor protects' was, indeed, a platitude. But Dante? Ock felt as though he would fight through the warp itself for this man.

As Dante left to return to his desk the sentimental feeling abated in Ock, who called "I am afraid however, that despite his attitude Inquisitor Urx had a point: Even if all of our transports – by the powers – even if the Indomitable and all the Battleships and Cruisers were filled with civilians – our entire fleet only brought ten million personal. We can't hope to evacuate anywhere near twenty billion."

"Do not worry General." Assured Dante as he returned to his seat. "While the Inquisition may be many things, tactically unsound is not one of them. But the sons of Sanguineous have been the guardians of this sector and its people for over ten thousand years. We will save who we can. Those who can be evacuated will be brought to Baal, and then sent out of the sector. And the rest?" Dante let out a long, tired sigh. "That blood will be on my hands and on my conscious. Not this lackey's." He sneered at the corpse. "Now, if you will excuse me General, I'm afraid that I have to sign the death warrant for most of my citizens."

Chapter 8

Eighty miles away from the great fortress monastery Cartes sat with his back against the drywall. Emilia had dozed off with her head tilted again Cartes's arm and, not wishing to wake her, untangled his fingers from her own and started rummaging through the Imp-strips he and Ave had argued over. He felt her steady, peaceful breathing next to him and found it calming. He could smell her hair: Though none of them had had the chance to bath for over a month hers only smelt of dried sweat and sand, but she'd managed to keep it relatively clean by saving a portion of her water rations. It paid off; Cartes thought that her hair looked much nicer than anyone else's on the block.

He traced his fingers along the cover of one of his 'Tales of Catachan' issues. Across the cover in big red letters it read 'The trials of Holitz Arnenz – Sole survivor of the Harsh Mangrove Swamp!' It featured a picture of a man in a red bandana and green vest, with arms bigger than any man he Cartes had ever seen – and some of the healthier steel workers at the mills had massive arms – fighting off one of the man-eating plants of Catachan. One of the man's hands was wrapped around the stem of the snarling plant as it tried to envelop the jungle fighter in its maw, and the other hand held a flamer. In the background among the thick foliage another fighter could be seen armed with a lasgun standing over a slain Catachan devil, his boot pressing down on the beast's head in triumph.

Cartes had re-read the tales of Arnenz, Cain, and the Damned 33rd of Iabud and now the floppy issues sat next to him. Looking out his window he could see the Imperial fleet high above the surface of Baal. At night the Red Scar took on a deep indigo color, so the lights and silhouettes of the ships could be seen perfectly against the outline of the starry night. Battle cruisers were positioned all throughout the sky, while a myriad of smaller escorts and frigates moved about with some flying from ship to ship and others descended or ascended from Baal's surface. No doubt they were deploying the troops and their equipment.

He'd seen the Angels and their craft before, though it was at a distance. The closest he had ever come to seeing the Guard was on these cheap pieces of paper next to him. He imagined that by tomorrow, he would see full might of the Imperial Guard up close: Rows and rows of guardsmen in a perfect square, wearing their tan and green uniforms with their lasguns perfectly positioned at their sides. Valkyries would fill the skies while manticores and hydras rode over the land – if he was lucky he might even see a real life Leman Russ tank! He looked over at the tiny miniature version of the war machine that Dethilal had bought him a couple years ago which sat next to his mattress. It was poorly painted, and the main gun barrel had snapped off, but it had been his favorite machine since he'd read about the time Stallnez of the 33rd had blasted a heretic compound to dust with one.

How many planets have they been too? Cartes wondered, gazing up at the fleet to the steady sound of Emilia's breathing and the occasional snores from Ave across the room. Catachan, Cadia, the ocean word of Manaan, or maybe they'd seen Metallica, an entire planet made out of machines and metal. And now they were here, on Baal. Dusty, boring Baal, with nothing to offer but desert and radiation storms. He felt bad for the Guardsmen sent here, and even a little embarrassed as if he were responsible for how unimpressive his home world was.

Suddenly a high pitched, shrill shriek came from the next room. Cartes's head snapped toward the door and Emilia's eyes shot wide open as she gave a start and clutched his arm.

"You can't! You won't! You won't take them from me! By the Throne…!" Rushing into the living room the pair found Dethilal collapsed on top of the sofa, silently muttering to herself as if she were in a daze while Steph sat on the floor crying.

"Out of my way!" Tractus rushed past the two and started rummaging through the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of rotgut to help calm the woman's nerves. He poured some into a rock goblet and tried to hand it to her mother, who it seemed was not even aware her daughter was in front of her. Cradling her head in one hand and gently pressing the goblet to her lips with the other Tractus slowly touched the liquor to her mother's lips, and after a few sips Dethilal regained enough presence of mind to hold the cup herself.

Emilia had gone to comfort her sister while her mother sipped from the goblet. Cartes looked at Tractus for answers. He didn't say anything. Instead with a downcast look on his face Tractus walked to the vox-box and raised the volume.

"I repeat…" It was Dante. Anyone on Baal would recognize the voice instantly. Every year the Commander addressed the citizens of Baal and its moons on the Sanguinala. "It is without thoughtlessness, and with a heavy heart that I issue this decree: Due to the xenos threat facing our neighbouring systems, the Red Scar, and possibly the great swaths of the Ultima Segmentum, the Baal system must act as the bulwark which will shield the greater Imperium. As such I declare Baal, her moons, and all systems under the protection of the Blood Angels chapter to be in a state of martial law starting immediately.

"Furthermore, I hereby declare that all citizens of the Baal system between the ages of ten and sixty-five are hereby conscripted into Baal's new Planetary Defense Force, to work alongside Militarum forces in the coming months. In order to provide the maximum level of protection we can, all citizens outside of those ages, including mothers of those aged nine and under, are to be evacuated from the Baal system entirely, the first transport to leave no later than a week from today, and the last one to leave no later than forty days' time.

"It is not lost on me that this will come as a shock to most of you. Know that such actions are not a punishment, but a necessity of the challenge which seeks to test our Imperium. Baal will not fall. The Blood Angels shall protect their charge against the enemies of mankind as we have always done, and the courageous actions of our citizens will demonstrate to the Imperium, and to the Master of Mankind, our loyalty and our commitment to the Imperial Truth. May the Great Angel watch over you all."

Static followed for a few seconds, before the same broadcast began to repeat itself. Cartes switched it off. He stared at the old, scratched up box for a moment. Dethilal was whispering the same words she had screamed earlier to herself, and Ave's snores could still be heard from his room.

Turning around, he saw the Emilia was so preoccupied with comforting Steph that she hadn't listened to the broadcast. Tractus stood next to the sofa, the bottle of rotgut in her hand. The two meet each other's eyes and Cartes saw her, with shaking hands, take a swig before wiping her mouth with her arm. She was scared. Tractus was scared.

Suddenly the gravity of what he had just heard hit Cartes. Commander Dante's words had sounded unbelievable as if it was simply a passage out of one of his Imp-strips, not something real. Nothing that really meant anything. Only Tractus was scared. It was real.

Without thinking, Cartes crossed the room, pressed his head against Tractus's stomach, and hugged his adoptive sister with all his might.

Growing Pains

Chapter 9

"Oh sexy Sandie! I'm ready to make you scream and leave you panting!" The vox-box blared as its tune carried across the red wind swept dunes. "Oh sexy Sandie… Don't take my heart and leave my hands empty."

"Oh sexy Sandie!" Sang Cyprien Anderson, Captain of the War-Skulls of Canula 4th company. "Your lips are red and they taste like candy – Sexy Sandie!" A lho-stick dangled from his mouth as he hauled a large crate of las-packs into a freshly dug machine gun nest. His tags clanked against the bin as he set them down, and being shirtless his tattoos were on full display, the most prominent being the War-Skulls insignia: Three Militarum skulls arranged in a triangular pattern, a lightning bolt beneath each one as they hovered over the cracked moon which orbited their home-world was etched on Anderson's chest in faded blue ink. A curvaceous woman with full breasts and a round rump, poised with a lasgun across her shoulder decorated his left forearm.

"Master's ass!" Yelled Marcus Campbell who was also unloading cases of ammo in the dugout. "Do we have to listen to this?" He groaned while stretching out his back.

"Take it up the chain private." Answered Sergeant Igor Marcel, sitting in front of heavy lasgun and adjusting the legs which bored it into the ground.

"Captain Anderson?" Campbell called. "Sir? Does it really need to be this frequency?"

"What's wrong Marcus?" Anderson leaned up against the rim of the dugout and could feel grains of hot sand make their way into his trousers and trick down the inside of his pants. "You don't like Lil' Jerry's 'Super sounds?'"

"It's not that I don't like it Sir…"

"What would you prefer?" Anderson took a moment to re-light his lho-stick.

"Hymns, probably." Igor snorted as he took a moment to empty a canteen of water over his buzzed head. "Give him some Sororitas to listen to, so he can imagine burying his face in Celestine's sweet, sweet ass huh?"

"Hey, I don't mind me some Super Sounds, but does it have to be the only station we listen to?"

"I'm afraid it does Private. Captain assigns duties, which means Captain picks the tunes. You don't like that, I suggest you take it up with the Commissar. Go ahead and report me."

"Fuckin' should report you." The private spat under his breath. "You and the blasphemous little shit!" He gestured at the gunner. Marcus and Captain Anderson both threw their heads back in laughter.

Taking a moment to rest, Anderson hosted himself to sit on the edge of the dugout. Looking around one could see hundreds of other squads preparing similar dugouts, spaced out anywhere from one-half to two klicks apart from each other going as far as the eye could see. From a sky's-eye-view the various dugouts made a crude semi-circle around the Arx Angelicum. Stretched out before them all was an ocean of red sand and cracked earth, with dry, jagged cliffs far off in the distance. Several miles behind the dugouts stood the thick walls of the Blood Angel's Monastery, beyond which the rest of the fortress erupted out of the ground. It was so high that given that all of the dugouts were on the east side of the monastery all the digging squads found themselves in the shadow of the volcanic fortress only three hours after mid-day. The shade was welcome.

Captain Anderson took a swig of water from a canteen. Emptying it after several slow gulps he found he was still thirsty. He'd been thirsty nearly the entire month since they'd hit planetside. Constantly working under Balor's unforgiving heat had turned the skin of his arms, chest, face, neck, and back dry and leathery. Looking around him, he could see the majority of the troopers had the same tight, dried out skin. All save for the units from Kreig, who even now in the hot sun chose to operate covered head to toe in black and dark blue fatigues and their horrible looking masks. Anderson, Campbell, and even Marcel secretly thanked the Throne that Kreig troops typically kept to their own regiments.

"Pass me one of those bottles." At Anderson's request Campbell tossed him a bottle of basic-brewed Amasec. "Fuck did you get this from Campbell?" He spat after taking a long swig.

"Rolock."

"Rolock? From the 17th?" Anderson spat. "That fuckin' Horus? You know he cuts his stuff with that dirty old swish of his!" He sighed before bringing the bottle to his lips and taking another swig. It tasted like rotten grain and dirty toe nails, but it made him forget about the patchiness in his throat.

"Here." Anderson passed it to Marcel who held out his palm. The Gunner kept the bottle alongside him and took several sips as he calibrated and properly mounted the gun's barrel in between stacks of sandbags.

"Canula 4th – to attention!" A voice called. A sergeant, wearing khaki fatigues and a beret that looked like it was soaked in sweat, approached the dugout with several troopers in tow. Campbell promptly dropped the crate in his hands, spun around and killed the vox-box. Captain Anderson lazily hauled himself off of the side of the hole to stand on his feet. Marcel simply turned around and leaned against the sandbags of the nest he was building.

"What do you want Serg?" Anderson said as he supressed a yawn. "Chill out Campbell, there's not a commissar for miles."

The sergeant huffed. "New recruits Anderson."

"New recruits? I thought we were sending folks out of system, not bringing more in?"

"Locals. PDF."

"PDF?" Anderson laughed. "You're telling me a Marine homeworld needs a local defense force other than that?" He gestured toward the Arx Angelicum. Noticing the small stature of the troops prompted another laugh. "What's next? The Sororitas gonna' get lessons on piety from Campbell here?"

"Whatever your views…" The Sergeant made some notes on a data-slate. "This one's yours now. Keep him alive till first contact with ground forces or it's your ass."

As the sergeant began to leave with the troop of locals following him, Anderson called out after him. "Hey if you see a commissar report Rolock from the 17th to him! Man's been trying to poison his comrades – he should be shot!" The trooper who the Sergeant had left didn't move. "Alright let's get a look at you."

Anderson waved him over, climbed out of the dugout and approached his new recruit. "What's your – wow!" The recruit was wearing a helmet which was far too big for him and was obscuring most of his face. Upon removing it the Captain saw that the recruit wasn't just short, he was young. Very young. "Just how old are you lad? Didn't know they were sending us tykes just off mom's tit."

"Old enough Sir!" The youngster shouted.

"'Old enough' isn't an age. How many Terra years you been out of your mom's hooch?"

"…Ten Sir!"

"Ten?! Come here let me look at you…" The youngster was wearing army fatigues that had obviously been hurriedly hemmed so they'd fit his small body. His hair was short and brown, and while he sported some freckles the lad's face hadn't even any signs of ache yet. Ten years old. Anderson thought. Last time he'd been home on Canula was ten years ago, when he'd met his own son who was only two at the time. His own boy was older than this recruit in his stupid looking fatigues. "Fuck kid! Why don't you just stick a knife in my heart. Ten years old, fuck me sideways…"

"Sir…?" The boy asked, looking slightly panicked as if his age were some kind of offense that he was to be punished for. "Sir, I've been given basic training and the sergeant – the Guard Sir! – told me I was to report to you Sir!"

"No 'sirs' I'm not your father. Captain'll do just fine." He sighed. "What's your name lad?"

"Cartes Si- Cartes Captain!" The boy answered, and as he did so Anderson noticed that when he said his name the boy did his best to improve his posture: His back straightened and his hands were erect against his side, as if he was trying to show off how much of a proper soldier he was.

"Cartes? Okay. They teach you anything other than how to salute?"

"Captain! I-"

"You only gotta say Captain when you're addressing me. None of this 'first and last word out of your mouth' shit. Kay? Try again."

"I've learnt the basics of parade formation…"

Fuck me. Anderson thought as he rolled his eyes. Bet that was the first thing they taught him.

"…how to keep my boots shined, to field strip a lasgun, to run 2km with a full pack, basic vox operation, five holy hymns-"

"Stop. Campbell?"

"Yeah Cap?"

"Put that shit down. Grab a shovel, you're on digging duty."

"Why?!"

"Because you got nine years of muscle on this kid, and I'm not having him pass out in two hours from heat exhaustion. Marcel, quite hoggin' and pass that bottle." Campbell put down the ammo crate he was moving and spat as he picked up his shovel. Marcel corked the bottle then flung it over his shoulder without taking his eyes from his gun. Anderson caught it and handed it to the new recruit.

"I – I've never drank before."

"You're old enough to die, and old enough to kill. As sure as the Throne's seat is brown you're old enough to take the medicine that helps with that."

At the Captain's prodding Cartes took his first, timid sip of alcohol. As soon as the liquor touched his tongue he couldn't stop himself from spitting it out. Only a drop of the liquor actually went down his throat, and he could feel the heat slowly snake its way down to his stomach.

"You said they taught you how to strip a lasgun you said? Where's yours?"

"They had us practice on a defunct model Captain." Anderson rolled his eyes. "But our sergeant taught us the most important lesson: A guardsman is never defenseless! Armed or not, if all I have is a stick you can rest assured the Emperor guides my heart and I shall hold the line!"

"Huh." Anderson spat. "They teach you how to actually fire a lasgun?"

"No Captain. Again the only one we had to practice with-"

"Ten million troops and they can't spare a fucking working rifle." Anderson grunted, taking another swig of Amasec as he turned and went rummaging through the loose equipment next to Marcel's gun nest. "Here."

Anderson turned around and flung something long, heavy, metal and green at Cartes, who fumbled with the lasgun before dropping it.

"How is it? Heavier with a working ammo pack, isn't it?"

"I - Yes Captain. Captain the safety's off!"

"Yeah. Keep it off when the xenos get here. It's yours. Don't give it to anyone else, even if they just want some 'target practice' or you'll never see it again. I'm guessing this is the first time you've ever held a gun? A live one?"

"Yes Captain." Said Cartes, eyes wide as he looked over his new weapon. "This…this is mine?"

"All yours. I recommend giving her a pretty girl's name – though if someone drops something better don't hesitate to scoop it up. Now before we get you doing anything else: You say you've been trained on how to strip a weapon? Show me how to take that thing part and put it back together. Then you're going to clean and maintain it once a week after that. Make sure you take damn good care of it. That gun is your Emperor now."

Chapter 10

A flash of light split apart the darkness of the void in a blaze of light. The HMW Indomitable crawled through the rift with her escorts following behind her. Alongside her another ship, the AA Bloodletter, an Astartes cruiser followed suit.

The small fleet approached Baal and the rest of the armada for what was likely to be the last time before the battle. Warp travel was still possible, but this final return trip to Baal had given the navigators great difficulty. The static shadow of the swarm was already strong in the worlds to the galactic west of the Baal system, and soon it would envelop this entire region of space.

With most of the Guard presence off the ships, General Ock had remained planetside to continue organizing the ground defenses. With most of the naval blockade already set up, Lord Admiral von Stone volunteered her flagship to the Astartes's cause of evacuation, with a small detachment of Guard followers to help maintain order on the ships when they were stuffed full of refugees.

In truth there was little for those of the Guard or even the Navy to do on such excursions. The Astartes craft often took point, and swiftly dealt with any resistance from rebels to small tyranid offshoots without the assistance of any Navy ship. Ships like the Indomitable had been brought along for one reason: Her capacity.

The Blood Angels had 'requested' the service of over a dozen Navy ships to transport evacuees from the various worlds in the charge of the Angels and return them to the Baal system. Being the absolute largest ship which had come to Baal, the Indomitable had been travelling out of and back to Baal since the Guard had disembarked. In the last month the Battleship had probably transported over 20 million souls to the orbit above Baal, most of whom would never touch the planet's surface, instead being immediately packed onto the same transports that had brought the Guard to this system and dropped them off.

Von Stone had seen many of these people. Most of them looked terrified, but she wondered if that was because they had any inkling of what was coming for them, or if it was the seven foot tall Angels demanding they leave their homes. She'd noticed as well that most of the evacuees they had picked up were children, toddlers, and often times their mothers. This was a violation of the orders she knew that the High Navy Command had given: Youngsters old enough to work, skilled labourers and technicians were to be prioritized. Once shipped to a nearby sector they'd be put to work producing materials to fight the enemy should Baal fall. Von Stone had the suspicion that more than one person on Terra was expecting this to turn into a protracted crusade.

These 'guidelines' had been personally overridden by Commander Dante himself, and the Angels – even those from the successor chapters that had accompanied them – took this command seriously. While planetside, von Stone had seen some poor fool of a Commodore try to argue with a Battle-Brother over who was to be let aboard the ships, before the Marine put the whole of his gauntlet through the man's chest. After that it had been a little difficult to persuade the women and children to board. She imagined how high command would react when they realized that they'd been mostly been sent tens of millions orphans and widows. The thought gave her a chuckle.

With most of the Guard presence off the ships, General Ock had remained planetside to continue organizing the ground defenses. Major Trot had been given permission from the Lord Admiral to board the Indomitable, to act as the General's eyes and ears should the trips outside of the Baal system yield any important information.

He had spent ten years in the Guard and another ten before that as a part of the Administratum. For most of his time with the Guard his position had consisted largely of looking after other higher ups. He'd made a career out of ensuring beds were made, uniforms were pressed, and that boots were polished. Now he stood in the doorway of Inquisitor Urx's cabin, and he found level of disorganization personally offensive. Empty bottles were strewn about while plenty of half empty bottles had leaked, dried, and created a sticky mess that had begun to attract ship-vermin. The desk was an unsightly mountain of books and scrolls, and not even the damn cot was made!

While he was aboard the Indomitable the General Militant had asked him to try and learn whatever he could about their late Inquisitor companion. Nothing about Urx's attachment to Baal made any sense. The new head of the Ordos Xenos was supposedly fine with ruffling feathers. So why send a single Inquisitor? Ock had never met her, but being personal friend the Lord Commander Militant, Ock had heard ample testimony about this Volkorisna's character. If there was anyone in the entire Imperium other than Dante who would be more aware of just how dire the situation in the Red Scar was, it would be her.

Than why had they done such a sloppy job with this? No warships, no Deathwatch, no specialized troops. They'd only sent one drunken Inquisitor to act as an 'advisor,' and rummaging through Urx's notes, apparently he was something of an embarrassment to the organization. His journals were fuzzy, but he made some mention of instigating a battle between the Astartes and a group of Eldar when he accidently bombarded the wrong planet. The fact that Urx's notes weren't even encoded was a testament to his inability.

"Major?" Someone asked, startling him. Spinning around he saw it was just Tibela, the assistant to the Inquisitor. Trot never did like warp travel, but the woman was so short and her brown eyes were so big that it was impossible not to feel at ease around the girl. It wasn't surprising she'd be here either. "My apologies Major."

"It's no issue."

"Did Inquisitor Urx ask you to retrieve something from his cabin for him? I imagine he must be quite busy down on the surface."

"I can only imagine." Trot had never actually asked what happened to the Inquisitor. He did hear the sound of a bolt gun, and when General Ock returned from his meeting with Dante alone he decided not to ask. Ock and the Lord Admiral still coordinated with each other, perhaps he'd told her? If so von Stone had given no indication. That had left him in a strange position in terms of what to do with this Tibela girl however… As far as Trot could tell she was still waiting for her master to return, given that she had received no further orders to accompany him planetside. "I've not seen him since our departure." He added. It wasn't a lie so it was easy to tell.

"Very well. If you see him, please tell him that I am ready to receive any commands from him. In the meantime the admiralty has seen fit to let me assist them in their paperwork."

"Mrs. Tibela – one moment!" He called after her. "Did you… did you clean up, or dispose of anything in the Inquisitor's cabin?"

"Of course not." She said with a smile. "The last time I touched one of Master Urx's items without his permission he beat me with the handle of his pistol."

"I see. Umm… Mrs. Tibela… you are aware that when these evacuees depart it will likely be the last chance to leave the system before… well – it'll be the last evac?"

"I'd heard." She smiled.

"I just… you're not a soldier. Do you even know how to use a gun?"

"I'm afraid not Major, I'm trained as a clerk and that is where my talents lie!"

"Then… why don't you go? There's no reason you can't board the transports. It'll be a cramped ride out, but there's no need for you to stay here."

"Major." She cocked her head. "I could never abandon my duty to the Imperium. May the Throne's light guide you in the coming days." With that the aid turned and disappeared around the corner.

"Yeah… you too."

Chapter 11

The surface of Baal and its sister moons was teeming with life in a way that it had not done so for millennia. Nearly thirty thousand space marines, ten million guardsmen, and an additional five million conscripted PDF personal from Baal and its neighbouring systems all walked the red deserts and dry rock beds of the three barren planetoids.

Designated as one of the primary strongholds of the coming battle, even the Arx Angelicum, for the first time since the formation of the Blood Angels, was filled and surrounded with souls. Outside of its outermost walls facing away from the enormous rock face from which the fortress was carved, trenches which were wide enough for a squad of 10 to pass in shoulder to shoulder, were being dug around the entire outer perimeter of the fortress. In between these trenches and the outer wall the guardsmen had set up their temporary encampments.

His first shift with his regiment finished, Cartes made his way back to his own bunk. His quarters were a small cube tucked away in the corners of one the massive tents, which was a hive of activity. Hundreds of men and women lived, ate, and bathed in the larger common area. Some of the guardsmen drank, others played cards, dice, and some of the brave ones – or drunk ones – gambled on games of five-finger-fillet. Some were naked, most – even the women – where at least shirtless, and nearly all of them had lho-sticks. Trapped inside by the roof of the tent, the whole camp reeked of smoke, and Cartes found it difficult to breath.

He yanked open the curtain which was the only separation between his quarters and the rest of the encampment, wincing as he did so. His shoulder pained him every time he moved it. Captain Anderson had had him firing on empty bottles and tin cans all afternoon, and the butt of his lasgun had dug into his tender flesh after every shot.

Within the curtain was a small room made up of walls of canvas, a third of the size of the family bedroom in Red Rock. It consisted mostly of two double bunks, with a little extra space on each side for personal affects. Kneeling at one of the bunks was Emilia, her hands clasped together in a prayer. She had small, cheaply carved and painted icon of the Master upon His Throne before her, an icon she had gotten from an off-worlder at the cost of her evening ration.

"Cartes!" Emilia jumped up, her overgrown fatigues flapping around her as she tackled him. He did his best to stifle his groan when her head hit his shoulder. "You're back! I was worried we'd never find each other in this place! Have you seen Ave? Have you seen Tractus? I haven't seen them since last night!"

"They're fine Em, they're fine." He groaned as he sat down on one of the lower bunks. "Remember Tractus is on the adult rotation. And Ave…" Cartes trailed off, having no idea what might have been keeping Ave. Slinging his lasgun off his shoulder, he kicked it underneath his bunk.

"Don't!" Emilia got on her knees and yanked the gun out from under the bed.

"Emilia that's dangerous!"

"Of course it's dangerous! But you can't keep anything under your bed! That's how Ave lost his spare underpants!" She peered through the curtain separating their quarters from the rest of the camp. "You can't trust them."

"Of course you can't!" Ave shouted, nearly ripping the curtain off the line above as he entered. He as shirtless and the skin on his chest was a deep red color. "Fucking guardsmen! Dumb, bitch-bastard, cowards! I took my shirt off for digging, I turn around a minute later and someone's swiped my shirt and helmet! Damn greenskins…"

"Greenskins?" Cartes and Emilia asked.

"Yeah, greenskins! They're soft, like plants."

"I think a greenskin means-"

"I know what it means!" Ave protested. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. We don't need the guard here. The Angels! Those are the only warriors we need!"

"The Angels want the Guards here. Duh." Emilia answered, as she sat down on the cot next to Cartes.

"Duh!" Ave mocked back, climbing on one of the top bunks. "They're probably here so the Angels can show them how to act tough, like real warriors. Or you know what?" His eyes went wide. "What if the Guard is here, so the Angels see who the best fighters are… and have them join the Angels!"

"But they already got new Angels from places other than Baal. That was why they had so many ships in the sky."

"Maybe they need more? And that's why all the Guard are here? That's it! I bet that before when we are done, the Angels will pick the top hundred Guardsmen here, and let them become Angels!" As if fresh energy had been breathed into him, he jumped off the top bunk and grabbed his issued shovel.

"Where are you going?" Emilia asked. "Your shift is over."

"I'm going to go dig some more! That way, when Commander Dante sees me, and sees how I'm working harder than anyone else, he'll know to pick me!" For the first time ever since Dethilal and Steph had been shipped off world, Ave looked happy. He ran out of their quarters, and began rushing his way through the tent barracks.

Despite being amazed at Ave's energy Cartes was too tired to try and stop him. He kicked off his boots and placed them under his pillow in such a way that any thief would wake him, then checking to make sure that the lasgun's safety was on, he tucked it under the cover next to him before stretching out in the bunk himself while still wearing his sand riddled fatigues. The bunk was hard and unforgiving, nothing like his bed back home. Cartes had long since stopped caring. He was lying down and that was all that mattered.

He felt pressure on top of his chest before moving down his side as Emilia climbed onto his bunk.

"You have your own bunk you know." He didn't bother opening his eyes.

"Please? Just until Tractus comes back?"

He sighed, but he shifted his body to the left to allow Emilia some room so she could wriggle next to him. The bunk was small but so was she. She'd managed to find a semi comfortable position with her head resting beneath his arm and her backside hanging off the side of the cot. Once she stopped, Cartes could finally let himself sink as much as he could into the hard bed.

Minutes passed as the two lay silently. Despite his initial protests Cartes realized that he liked the sound of her breathing next to him. It was calm, steady rhythm that he could feel with his body pressed against hers.

"This place is so noisy." She said.

"I know." There seemed to be no such thing as 'off hours' in the Guard. When the day shifts were finished the night shifts began, meaning that at all hours of the day thousands of guardsmen and PDF personal were going to sleep, waking up, going to work, eating, bathing and playing cards. Even now the two of them could hear the arguing, and the particularly loud laughter of a heavy set man with a dirty beard just outside their tent. They'd seen him before, taking what seemed to be endless shots of liquor, each one making his face redder and redder.

"Do you still have trouble sleeping?"

Cartes answered by weakly shaking his head. "I don't hear it too much. I mean I can tell it's there, but I'm not listening to it anymore."

"Me neither. You know I prayed?" She tried to look up at his eyes, but couldn't see over his chin. "I prayed to the Throne that we'd all be together. And it worked. You, Ave, Tractus, me, we're all in the same tent. He answered."

I wish he kept us Steph and Dethilal. He thought. Not wanting to upset her though he said "I know. Thank you." The two heard a few shouts, followed by a commotion. It sounded like the big man with the red face had gotten into a fight with someone. He heard the sound of a meal tray smashing over someone's head before it stopped. But maybe it is best that they're not here. He thought.

A small smile appeared on her face. "I'm scared. These men scare me."

"Nothing to be scared of." He thanked the Throne she couldn't see his face, as he was plenty scared of these men. He'd bumped into one in the trenches on his way back to camp: A large, thin man, who wore black fatigues and a strange mask on his face, with thick red-tinted glass covering his eyes that had made him look more like some kind of giant insect. He hadn't said a word, but Cartes couldn't help but feel like the man could see his soul. "They're here to protect you. That's what they're doing, they're protecting Baal."

"You said that there wasn't going to be any fighting here."

"I know I did. I'm sorry Emilia. But you don't have to worry about anything. They're here to make sure nothing bad happens to any of us."

"I don't trust them." She spat. "All they do is… they do horrible things! They say horrible things all the time, and all they want to do is drink that gross stuff, play cards and shout. And they're always… they're always trying to touch…"

"Then you stay by me." Cartes muttered. He was half asleep, but he had the presence of mind to reach his left hand over his torso and grip her hand. "Even if the fighting comes here, me and Tractus aren't going to let anything happen to you."

"You're going to protect Ave too?"

Cartes chuckled for the first time in weeks. "Ave too."

"Good."

Just before falling asleep Cartes felt Emilia's lips press softly against his cheeks. It felt cool against the stifling humidity in the tent. He wasn't sure if this meant that he and Emilia were 'together' now. He decided that if being 'together' meant having cool kisses and that relaxing rhythm next to him, then being 'with' Emilia was a very nice thing indeed. They both dozed off with a smile.

Chapter 12

Tractus's eyes were sunken into the back of her skull. She sat hunched over her bowl of nutrient-gruel. It had been nearly a month since she'd seen Dethilal and Steph being herded onto the evac ships. Dethilal had been screaming, demanding that the rest of her children accompany her, and little Steph had looked so terrified at all the commotion surrounding her. Now the two might not even recognize her: Tractus's brown hair had been buzzed, and she'd lost so much weight her arms were beginning to look like that of a skeleton.

The mills were nothing compared to this. Fourteen hours of staking sandbags, digging trenches, and being struck by the commissar's strap when she moved too slowly. Tractus didn't know it was possible to feel this tired. She lifted her head, and dreaded having to make her way through the crowd back to her quarters.

Her steps were shaky and slow. She'd take her top off when digging in the hot sun, and one of the guardsmen had immediately swiped it. As she made her way through the crowd hands would paw at her, a hand on her breast or ass as she passed. The first few times it had happened she would deck whoever groped her, or cuss them out. But now? Now she was just too tired to bother.

She was the last of her family to make it back to her quarters. Ave's second shift hadn't gone well – he collapsed and his squad captain ordered him to rest. Emilia it seemed had snuck into Carte's bunk again, and the two were sound asleep – despite the sounds of fucking and moaning from a few tents down.

Tractus fell into the bottom bunk beneath Ave. She didn't bother to remove her boots and her arms throbbed with dull pain as she pulled the covers up over her breasts. She thought about her mother, and her little sister. They hadn't been told where they were being evacuated to, and no one left on Baal seemed to know or care where the evacuees were going.

Dethilal and Steph were Master knew where. Now Ave, Emilia, and Cartes were the only ones she had left. No matter what she knew that she would have to keep them safe from whatever was coming. Because something bad was coming to Baal. Everyone knew it. Even the Angels knew it was bad if they were adding defenses to the fucking Arx Angelicum. And Ave, Emilia, and Cartes were just… so fragile.

Turning over to face the tent wall, she cried into her pillow until she fell asleep.

Chapter 13

Above the surface of Tellus Prime of the Gamma IV system the AA Pincer, strike cruiser of the Blood Angels 8th company floated silently over the world. Two marines wearing polished red armor sporting a black Aquila on their chest stood on the bridge. The world below them was mostly a light bronze/yellow color, with a single massive ocean which was a dark brown color covering a sixth of the planet's surface.

"Torpedo's ready to fire. The judgment is yours." Liberian Archata bowed to Captain Varren Mareel.

"Very well." The Captain said curtly. "Commence the launch."

"Captain?" The Librarian's interruption was met with a scowl, though his superior allowed him to speak. The thralls below them halted their movements for moment, looking between the two Angels on the bridge. "Your oration? Near ten million souls are to be sacrificed brother."

"Ten million miners." Captain Mareel huffed. "You may say a silent prayer for them if you wish Archata, but we've more planets to cleanse and I won't be bogged down with ceremony each time. Launch!" His command pressed the serfs below him into action. "When your prayer is finished send word back to Baal that this system is clear. Find out our position relative to the last known sighting of the enemy. You are dismissed."

Librarian Archata bowed and made his way off the bridge.

"Torpedo NA-0017 firing!" Shouted the fore-thrall as he threw a leaver.

A loud metallic clank was heard, as the torpedo's propellant systems were ignited. Within the bowels of the Pincer nearly four hundred pounds of black powder ignited, sending shockwaves throughout the ship all the way to the bridge, causing several thralls to lose their footing and fall. Where it not for the gravity clamps in his boots even Captain Mareel may have lost his balance.

Despite being the size of a lifeboat, against the blackness of space the torpedo was near invisible. A yellow dot on a holographic projection showed it barreling toward the damned planet. Captain Mareel watched its progress. A minute passed and the ship was silent. Another minute passed. Then, two minutes and seventeen seconds after Torpedo number NA-0017 was ejected from the Pincer it entered the atmosphere of Tellus Prime and ignited.

The entire horizon of the bridge was monetarily lost in a flash of light which blocked out the stars behind the planet. Once the flash passed a single circle of a dark grey/brown cloud could be seen at the planet's equator. The circular cloud spread outward, stretching over more and more of the planet's landmass, leaving an impenetrable haze that was as black as soot in its wake. The cloud continued expanding until it had stretched over the entire planet's surface. Four minutes and fifty seven seconds after the payload had left the Pincer, the entire surface of Tellus Prime was enveloped in a thick black smoke.

"Cyclonic Torpedo NA-0017 is delivered, and detonated." A servitor noted in a monotone voice, recording and filling away the use of the warhead in a data-slate. It scuttled away to insert the recording into the ship's main cogitator. Every production and every use of such weapons was carefully recorded and catalogued.

"I've ships fleeing." Said one of the thralls at a console. "Civilian vessels, look like ore transports. Must be fleeing from one of the smaller orbital stations."

"Open fire on all non-Astartes craft." Ordered the fore-thrall. "Captain? May we have your leave to take the ship around the planet's orbit to find any stations that may have survived the bombardment?"

"Permission granted." Said the Captain. Mareel thought for a moment as he stared at the dead world below him. A thought struck him and he turned around. He placed his hands on the railing separating the command deck from the crew of thralls beneath him. At the sight of this, all thralls operating non-essential systems stood at attention.

"It occurs to me," He began. "that prior to your attempted recruitment into this Chapter, some of you may have once called this planet home. Some of you may feel that you have committed an act of treachery in your hearts. I would like to remind you that such thoughts are heresy against our Imperium. The death of Tellus Prime was commanded by our Commander, and thus done in accordance with our Emperor's wishes. Hence our execution is an act of justice. Your carrying out this judgment shows a commitment to duty. As such, all of you whom came to us from Gamma IV may receive an additional ration of liquor and desert during your next meal-leave. Carry on."

Without saying anything each of the thralls bowed deeply and then returned to their duties. Captain Mareel flexed his gloved hand. He had nothing to do for the moment; it would take some time to ensure no civilian craft had survived the extermination. He informed the fore-thrall that he had command of the bridge in his absence, and began to leave for his quarters when a shout was heard.

"Captain!" It was Librarian Archata, who ran at full speed across the path leading from the bridge to the ship's hull.

"Brother?" Mareel knew instantly that something was wrong: The sight of a perspiring, rushing marine always meant something was wrong. "What report did you receive from Baal?"

"Nothing, nothing Captain! Contact is impossible brother."

Varren Mareel thought for a second. A shadow had fallen over this system, a shadow worse than the blackness of the void. They were not alone here.

"Man stations!" He bellowed. "All crew ship-wide on deck! Report to battle stations! Prepare all Lascannons and Bombardment Cannons!" At his command the thralls and servitors beneath him all moved at a frenzied pace, and an alarm was sounded that blared throughout the entire Pincer. "Scanners! I want echo scans 360 x 180 degrees!"

"Aye Captain!" Yelled one of the thralls operating a terminal on the bridge deck. "Nothing my Lord. A few signals of some civilian ships on the other side of the planet, beyond that nothing!"

Captain Mareel inspected the holo display himself. There was a large asteroid belt to the galactic east of them, but no other movement save for the panicked civilian craft.

"Do not take your eyes off that scanner! I am to be informed immediately as soon as any movement is detected."

"Yes my lord!"

"All off duty brothers are to report to their sergeants in full armor and gear in twenty minutes, any who are late will be disciplined." Mareel barked at one of the other battle brothers on the bridge. "All sergeants are to report to the bridge immediately!" The battle brother nodded his understanding, and got on the vox-cast.

As the Pincer came alive, as thralls loaded cannons and all of the ship's sensors and shields were manned and watched, yet the scanners were silent. Within thirty minutes the buzzing of activity had slowed. On the bridge every thrall waited, quiet but alert by their stations. Captain Mareel and his sergeants were gathered on the bridge, looking out into the void. The bridge was silent, save for the echo-scanner. Every few seconds a faint pulse could be heard by those standing next to its terminal, and every pulse was met with silence.

Another hour passed in silence until the pulse picked up an echo coming from the galactic east. It was faint at first, and was only picked up after every five or so pulses. Then the echoes grew louder, and more frequent. Something was emerging from the asteroid belt.

"Turn to starboard! Shields up and prepare to fire!" Captain Mareel shouted. He looked out the bridge window. The asteroid belt was too far away to see with the naked eye, so he saw nothing but void and stars, but within that black canvas he knew the enemy was finally approaching. He felt his veins swell and his hearts quicken as a smile crept across his face.

Chapter 14

It was meal time. Tractus trudged her way through the endless bodies around her, many of which were in some stage of undress. Keeping her tin tray tucked tightly against her abdomen she tried her best to protect her dinner: A serving of nutrient-grains, a few spoonful's of steamed veggies, a carton of diluted fruit juice, a small partially frozen synthetic brownie, and half an ounce of rotgut.

Pushing her way past the men surrounding her, Tractus eventually came to the common table occupied by the Devilhawks. Sitting right at the end of it was Captain Svor. He was bald and sported a short, scruffy beard. While hefting bits of gruel into his mouth he laughed at something one of his subordinates had said, then reached over and grabbed the desert portion from another's tray. Tractus felt a wave of revulsion move through her at the sight of him. She scanned the other tables, looking for another place to sit. They were all full, the tables so cramped that troopers were sitting on the tables themselves between others in their regiment. Then she noticed that one table was sparsely populated, with plenty of vacant seats next to the troops who sat and ate. It was the table where the black uniformed men who wore the gas masks sat, the men from Krieg.

The difference between the two tables made it seem as if they were occupying a different world. The rest of the guardsmen had plenty of shouting, drinking, gambling, games of five-finger-fillet, and frequent fisticuffs. While a few of them played games of cards, most of the men from Krieg sat mostly in silence as they ate and drank. Tractus took a cautious step toward them and wondered if she really wanted to associate with them, but taking another look at Captain Svor sealed the deal.

"Is this free?" Tractus approached and indicated to one of the vacant seats. The troopers didn't respond. She cleared her throat. "Is this free?"

A woman looked up and met her eyes. She had short blonde hair that might have once been strawberry underneath all the dirt and a face set with heavy wrinkles, along with deep circles around her eyes, and she was missing a large porition of her upper lip. She gave a small nod and indicated toward the same seat Tractus had motioned too.

"Thanks." She muttered.

She could still hear the yelling, but within this little bubble of stillness it was easy for Tractus to push it out. It was the closest to quite she'd known since they'd left the house in Red Rock. Despite the shit food, and having no idea where Mom or Steph were, it felt nice to sit here.

"Your regiment?" Asked a gravelly voice. Looking up, Tractus saw that the same woman from earlier was looking at her. "What's your regiment?"

"Dev-" She coughed, choking on some of her vegetables. "Devilhawks of Mir, 17th company."

The Kriegswoman nodded.

Tractus finished her meal in silence. The Kriegsmen spoke a few words to each other to which Tractus paid no mind. Finishing her meal she began to stand up.

"What's on your neck?" The Kriegswoman asked. Tractus looked up with a surprised look on her face.

"None of your business." She began to stand only for one of the men sitting beside her to place a hand on her shoulder and shove her down.

"Hey fucker! Where do you get off-"

"Your neck?"

"None of – Ahh!" She yelped as she felt the man's thick fingers grip her cheeks and force her face upward, exposing he deep, black bruises on her neck. The Kriegswoman saw them, and then nodded at the large trooper. He released her.

"Who was it?" She asked.

Tractus shot her dirty look to the captain, and the brick-shit-house standing next to her. She moved to leave again only for the later to put his hand on her shoulder again. He shook his head. Looking back at the Captain Tractus took a deep breath in, and remained silent.

"Someone in your regiment?" The Kriegswoman captain asked, tilting her head to look past Tractus and get a better look at the regiment of Devilhawks. See noticed the big, boisterous bald one. "That one? The Captain?"

Tractus was looking at her empty tray. She took a quick glance to meet her interrogator's eyes, then gave a small nod.

"Hmm." The Kriegswoman chewed a piece of stale bread before swallowing it. "You'll stay with our regiment tonight." She went back to her food.

"I… what?" Tractus looked confused. "Svor is my Captain. That's what the commissar said. If I don't show up for-"

"I'll talk with Svor."

Chapter 15

Balor had set, though the fortress and its surroundings were still alive with activity as the troopers working the night shift continued digging trenches and building fortifications. The tent barracks had died down somewhat. A few regiments ate and chatted in the common areas, though most not at work had retired to their nightly sub-sections within the tent.

Tractus watched as one of the Kriegsman spread a towel out on his bunk, placed a bar of soap in the middle, folded it, and then tightly wrapped the two ends of the towel together. Hitting the end of the towel against his cot, Tractus saw that it made for nasty make-shift club.

The 17th company of the Devilhawks had a small area of one of the larger barracks tents sectioned for their bunks. Thick canvas walls separated them from the lights and noises of the rest of the tent, though it was never truly dark or silent within. Almost half of the bunks were empty as their occupants were working the night shift, while the other half was occupied by men fast asleep.

The Kriegswoman – who Tractus had learnt was Captain Katra Baugulf of the 44th company of regiment 508 of Krieg – looked around the dark room. She approached one of the sleeping men and indicated toward the large Kriegsman – Major Gregor. Gregor answered by placing his large gloved hand firmly over the sleeping Devilhawk's mouth. The man awoke with a muffled scream to the sight of several fully masked up Kriegsmen.

"Get out." Captain Baugulf said quietly. After Gregor released his grip from his face the man quietly slide out from between his sheets and stumbled naked out of the room. Baugulf and Gregor repeated this until every one of the 17th company had left, save for Svor.

He breathed easy and calmly as the Kriegsmen surrounded his bunk. They passed some loss rope between them and laid several strands across Svor's chest and legs while one Kriegsmen on each side stood ready to hold the rope down. Baugulf silently gestured for Tractus to join her.

He looked peaceful. She could see his stomach rise and fall in a stead rhythm. When she saw his face, his ugly face with that coarse stubble of his that always reeked of rotgut, she felt like she was going to vomit. She began to hurry away then felt the Captain's firm grip on her shoulder. Turning around, she saw Baugulf look her in the eyes and firmly shake her head. Then she nodded at Gregor and it began.

Yanking off the thin sheet covering Svor, the Kriegsmen crouched down and pulled hard on his end of the rope immobilizing the Devilhawk captain. Baugulf brought the soap-flail down hard against Svor's stomach.

He screamed into Gregor's large, gloved hand as his face was shoved back into his cot and his body thrashed about as much as it could beneath the thick rope. She bashed him in the stomach repeatedly.

"Look at me." She eventually stopped and stared into the Captain's wide, terrified eyes. "Look at me. Look at her." She indicated to Tractus. Upon seeing his trooper Svor's eyes filled with indignation and he blustered something into Gregor's hand. Baugulf responded by bashing him in the stomach again. "She's mine now. You are mine now. You touch her again and I come back here. You sit at the same table as her and I come back here. She gets half your water rations, and all your rotgut rations. You skip out on any of those payments and I come back here."

Without waiting for confirmation she stood back, and thrust the flail into Tractus's hands. "Make him understand." She ordered. "Spread his legs." Two of the Kriegsmen released the rope around his knees, each one grabbing a hold of the man's legs and forcing them apart.

Tractus felt as if she was outside of herself. The last time she had been this close to the man she had felt small, smaller than she had ever felt in her life. He'd told her that if she ever told the commissar, he'd find Emilia and do the same to her.

Emilia…

The thought of him so much as saying her name sent a flash of anger through Tractus. Without thinking she raised the flail and brought it down as hard as she could on Captain Svor's penis. His entire body jerked against the restraining Kriegsmen and he howled against Gregor's hand. She hit him again and again, causing him to squirm each time.

A minute later he was crying. He didn't have the strength to move anymore, so his abused dick and balls sat helpless before her blows. Tractus's arm was exhausted, and as she came to rest she could hear her captain blubbering in a way she had never heard any of her siblings sob even when they were babies. It was a pathetic, meek sound; completely unrestrained but so spent that it was hardly louder than a whimper.

"You're still a Devilhawk on paper. If a commissar asks why you're not with your assigned company, just inform him Captain Svor volunteered some of his manpower to our efforts. Here." Baugulf smashed the butt of her pistol against the footlocker beside Svor's bed. "Take his fatigues, boots, helmet, and his lasgun. Take his flask too if you'd like."

Chapter 16

Static. All he heard was the sound of static around him and in him. The Warp had always been a bizarre cacophony of loud colors and sour tasting music, but it was a bizarreness all Librarians acclimatized too. Now he could see and hear nothing except a horrible buzzing sound like an infinite amount of flies swarming around him, until the buzzing sound began feel as if it was boring its way through his skull.

The lid of the sarcophagus flew open and one of the Blood Angels readied his bolter in anticipation of what might emerge. Cyrus gasped and was covered in perspiration, but it was still Cyrus who emerged from the psychic amplifier. Their eyes met and they understood each other.

"Help me out of this." He commanded.

Within the heart of the Arx Angelicum Commander Dante was looking at a holo-display of Baal and her moons. He was unarmoured, and wore a bright red cloak with his chapter badge embroidered in black across its back. Surrounding him was Incarael, a few other Angels, and representatives from dozens of other Chapters. The Angelicum's initial communications center had been hopelessly overrun by the demands of co-ordinating such an enormous force that one of the rooms designated for the Angels war-games had been converted into a logistics center. Hundreds of terminals were crammed into the space, all manned by blood thralls or the occasional Militarum/Navy technicians.

"Have all our vessels returned?" Dante asked thrall Frantz Myr, as he and several other Marines studied one of the displays.

"The ISS Flame of Baal and Crimson Sword re-entered the system two hours ago Commander. All ships sent out as part of the scorched-earth operation are accounted for, save for one." The thrall adjusted the scroll from which he read. "The AA Pincer has yet to return, and we've heard no word from it in over forty-eight hours."

"I see…" The commander sighed. "Then we must consider it lost. Master Myr, would you please record Brother Mareel and his crew killed in action?" The thrall answered with a small bow.

"Lost?" Scoffed a marine sporting red armor with a black chest piece and shoulder pads. His helmet hung by his waist and his head was bald, with a metal plate fitted into the front right side of his face. "They don't check in for dinner and you write them off? Serf! What was there last known location?" He shouted at Myr, startling him.

"They were to exterminate the Gamma IV system my Lor-"

"Then we know where to go. We owe it to our brothers, even if their own master writes them off." The other Astartes fell silent, and the non-enhanced humans began to shift toward the exits in case they needed to scatter to avoid being crushed when they saw Incarael, the only other fully armored Marine present, take a step toward the accuser.

"You will watch yourself Seth, and you will respect the Commander's orders."

"Shall I?" Gabriel Seth took a step toward Incarael.

"You will. Or you will be made too."

"Peace Incarael!" Dante raised his hand. Though his defender had halted, the Chapter Master of the Flesh Tearers paid no such head and approached Dante.

"Peace? Is that we were breed for? It's been two months! We know where the enemy is, you'd have us wait to give battle until it suits them?"

"We've spent two months building a defense! You'd see that thrown away for what? To run head first into the swarm?" Incarael blurted out.

"Incarael!" After chastising his Master of Blade Dante faced his critic, then addressed the room. "I met with each of you personally the day you arrived on Baal, and on that day I promised you I had no designs on your autonomy. I did not lie. If Master Seth wishes to take his ships and ammunition to charge the swarm he is free to do so, as do any who feel similarly frustrated with my decision to draw the xenos here." He looked around the room at the other chapter masters surrounding him.

"But I will remind you," He continued. "that the nature of our foe has not changed in these two months. You will face a foe the number of which none of us have ever witnessed before and you will die. All that your death with have accomplished is thinning our own chances for victory here. I would ask that you all remember the value of a fortified position against such a foe." His appeal concluded Dante faced Seth, who opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted.

"Commander!" Shouted Cyrus, out of breath. "Commander Dante!"

"Speak brother." Dante approached the Librarian, his spat with Seth forgotten. "Any word from the Pincer?"

Cyrus shook his head. "No… nothing. As in – there is nothing that can be received. Commander Dante I cannot hear, nor feel anything in the Warp. Only…"

"Only the Shadow…" Dante answered for him. He turned and addressed the entire room. "Brothers! We are now truly on our own. Even the light of Terra is lost to us now."

Some of the marines exchanged a few glances with each other. Amongst the non-augmented several shuffled uncomfortably. "There will be no more reinforcements. There is now nowhere to flee. Our enemy will be upon us in a matter of days most likely. I suggest you all prepare your respective chapters."

After a moment all the marines began to make for the various exits of the hastily thrown together map room. Seth remained for a moment, glaring at Incarael and Dante before he too made his way past them.

"Incarael?"

"Yes Commander?"

"Send a message to the staff of the Lord General Militant, informing him that Leviathan's arrival is eminent. And deliver it to either him or his staff personally, I will leave it to him to notify his army as he sees fit."

At his request the Master of Blade bowed and left.

"Master Myr?" Dante addressed the thrall. Myr had still been processing the news given by Librarian Cyrus, and jumped as Dante addressed him.

"Yes Commander?"

"Would you be so kind as to inform my artificer that I will be in need of my amour? I want it ready in six hours."

Chapter 17

The mood at the encampment was different though Cartes could not say why. He'd learnt to distinguish between two main 'groups' since he'd been pressed into the PDF. There were 'officers,' or people with high ranks. Those where the ones you had to be careful around, and when they were watching you you had to look like you were hard at work, or on your way to work. Personally he'd found the best way to get them off his back was to say that he was looking for the right screwdriver to disassemble his lasgun, since he wasn't quite sure how it worked. In truth Cartes imagined that by now he could strip and re-assemble it with his eyes closed. In fact all four them could probably do that now, even Ave who had taken maintaining his armor and weapons with a seriousness Cartes had never seen in his friend before. However the fact remained that Cartes, Ave, and Emilia all looked so young that most of the commissar's believed they were incompetent rather than lazy, and the mostly got away with a scolding.

Then there were the 'troops.' People like Anderson or Marcel and even a bunch of the sergeants. They were people who took the orders and followed them. But while officers looked and acted 'serious' lots of times the troops were cracking jokes, working in various stages of undress when out in the sun, and after their duty shift they were always drinking or playing cards. Except for the men from Kreig, many of whom preferred to keep on working after their day rotation had ended.

Both of them were acting differently tonight. Some of the grunts were drinking or shouting with even more enthusiasm than usual, whereas other ones had gotten quiet, mostly praying in common tents that had been converted into a hastily chapel.

As for the officers Cartes hadn't seen any all day. For the first day since he'd been recruited no one had been pushing the troops to do much of anything, so he'd spent the morning simply wandering around camp. He didn't mind their absence, but something in the pit of his stomach told him that something very bad must have happened if the officers were letting the troops have so much slack.

"Eh! Kid!" Cartes turned and saw Captain Anderson sitting atop one of the tables in a barracks tent. He had a bottle in one hand and his tags dangling from his neck as he leapt of the table and approached. "Whatcha doin' all day today?" He asked, his face red. Approaching Cartes he slapped his arm around his shoulder and dragged him into the tent.

"Actually, I've been wondering what I should be doing all day. I didn't get any assignments after first meal this morning?"

"Enjoy it while it lasts! Here, have a seat!" Anderson shouted, and practically shoved Cartes onto one of the benches at the table he had come from. Campbell was there with an extra bowl of gruel tucked safety between his arm and his chest, along with half a dozen other troops Cartes had seen before but hardly spoken with. Various cups full of water, vodka, cards and a few small stacks of gelts were strewn about the table.

"Fuck Cyprien! What you doing? Turning us into baby sitters?" Said one of them.

"Fuck off Kresh!" Anderson shouted and flicked his cards at the man.

"Oh don't tell me he's yours: What, you get deployed here before and knock up some Baal bitch?"

"This ain't my kid no, he's a fucking War-skull! That's what!"

"Pfft! Look at him, look at his skin: See how red it is? This boy's local I tell you, never been to Canula in his life I bet."

"Neither did Rog."

"Rog got chopped to bits by the greenskins. What's he got to do with this?"

"Yeah, fucker's dead but he was still one of us! The moment the Orks started firing and he didn't run off he became a War-Skull. Sucks that only was one for thirty minutes, but what can you do?"

"Sure, but the kid hasn't bled yet. Hey scrawny, you ever actually fire that thing?" He indicated to Cartes's lasgun. "At something living I mean."

"I-"

"The little hit one of those desert lizards!" Anderson exclaimed.

"He almost blew my fucking foot off." Said Campbell before taking another spoonful from his guarded bowel while Anderson took another swig from his bottle.

"What the fuck do you expect?" He coughed, whatever was in the bottle having not gone down right. "Don't sneak up on a lad when he's armed!"

"Oh I guess we'd better vox that to the Nids eh? Let em' know not to sneak up on little baby face here?"

"Nids?" Cartes asked.

"Ahh, he'll be fine! Your face is a far worse thing to see suddenly, worse than any Mawloc that's for certain."

"Permission to speak freely Captain?" Campbell asked, to which Anderson nodded. "Fuck you." He said, and the table roared in laughter at the private's expense. After which Anderson looked around confused.

"Where's my cards?" He asked.

"Gone, where do you think? You tossed em at my face!" Said the other soldier.

"Ahh damn. Was drawing to a straight." Anderson collected the gelts at his seat and stood up. "Babyface, with me."

It took Cartes a moment to realize that 'babyface' meant him. Anderson knocked him on the shoulder to get his attention.

"Where you off to cap?" The other soldier shouted as Anderson and Cartes left the table. "Don't tell me you've started fucking recruits when they're that young?" Prompting another laugh at the table.

"Taken him to bleed so you get of his back!" Anderson shouted behind him.

The captain had lead Cartes though the barracks tent, pressing and squeezing against hundreds of men and women as they went, till eventually they stopped in front of a small hovel sectioned off from the common area by way of yellowed sheets. Inside it sat Marcel, rolling what looked to be a lho-stick, though whatever was inside it looked nothing like tobacco.

"Iggy!" Said Anderson as the two entered and pulled the curtain shut behind him.

"Captain." Igor nodded without taking his eyes off of what he was rolling. "What can I do ya for? One last drink before the war?"

"I'll take you up on that, but not now. War ain't here just yet. But before the Nids gets here I figured it best we get the kid inked."

"Nids?" Cartes looked perplexed. "Who in the Throne's lap is that?"

"You'll see em up close soon enough. Take your shirt off." Marcel said coolly.

"What?"

"Your shirt." Marcel had finished rolling, and brought the short cigar up to his lips and licked the seal shut. "Let me see what I'm working with."

"Go on kid. Everyone in the Guard has seen each other in their skivvies and less."

Cartes went along and removed his issued jacket and undershirt after carefully setting his rifle down.

"Dominica's shit, you don't even have any tags?" Marcel raised an eyebrow.

"They recruited something around 5 million troops in the past couple months. No time to tag em' all I bet."

"Is that a problem?" Cartes looked worried.

"Kid, did they ship your folks off planetside?" Marcel looked vaguely concerned.

"My mom's… a lady named Dethilal raised me. She left Baal just before I joined up."

"No problem at all then." Marcel answered as he stuck a match and lit the end of the homemade lho-stick. The tent filled with a heavy, musty scent which Cartes had never encountered before. His smoke lit, Marcel he went rummaging through some equipment by the other end of his bunk. "No one to worry about your corpse."

Marcel hoisted a metal brief case up onto the bunk next to him. Inside there seemed to be what looked like a small engine hooked up to a needle and a tube connecting the two.

"Have a seat." He said as he flipped over a bucket and placed it in front of him.

"What is this?"

"You're getting marked!" Said Anderson as he gave Cartes a push to sit down.

"Hold still." Marcel muttered. The needle buzzed as the machine came to life and he pressed it against the boy's shoulder, causing him to pull away.

"Hey – that hurts!"

"What'd you expect?" Marcel muttered. "Don't move else you'll make me ruin it, and you'll have what looks like rash on your arm forever."

"It's not a punishment lad." Said Anderson. "Any man who bleeds with us is a War-Skull. This proves it for life."

"Why are you giving it to me now? I haven't 'bled' with you yet."

"You might as well have with the way the staff's been running us. You may not have 'bled' but digging all these trenches and fortifications sure cost a lot of sweat and tears. Besides, after… well we might not get the chance after."

Cartes sucked the air in through his teeth as he grimaced. He held out his hand for Anderson's bottle, and downed a mouthful of the vodka within. Cartes had been drinking more frequently while with the squad, and he had found that while it did not prevent any pain it did make the discomfort easier to ignore.

"Who exactly are we fighting? Who are the 'Nids?'"

"No one's told you?" Marcel asked before stopping a moment to put his smoke in his mouth and take a long drag, which produced a few coughs.

Cartes shook his head. "Basic training didn't say anything about it. They just drilled us a bunch, then dropped me off with you guys."

Marcel and Anderson exchanged looks. Eventually Anderson held out his hand for the joint and took a hit.

"Xenos." He said. "Bad ones. Not much else to say Baby-Face. They ain't human, so you don't have to worry about mistaking them for one of us. You see something not human you shoot it. Easy right?"

"You've fought xenos before?"

"Damn right." Anderson sat himself on one of the cots and handed the short roll back to Marcel, who let it hang from his mouth while he worked. "Marcel and I have killed plenty of xenos before. You ever heard of the Tau, Baby Face?"

He shook his head.

"Disgusting xenos, with glowing red eyes and not a shred of backbone to meet you in the open field."

Marcel huffed. "Cowardice? If you've got the choice between charging a carnifex and blasting it from half a mile away with a heavy stubber, you really going to pick going at it with a fucking knife?"

"When did you get so soft on the damn xenos? Smoking too much of that shit, you know that?"

Marcel shrugged and kept working on the lad's skin. Anderson related tales of their regiment's exploits against the Tau and the traitorous humans who'd abandoned the Imperium to join the xenos cause, and how this insurrection had even reached their homeworld of Canula, a small mining world orbiting Torkel III. Rather than see their world turn traitor, the Canula's own PDF forces had gone filled the pits of the tunnels with seismic charges, which eventually caused the entire moon to crack into chunks rendering it unlivable. Canula's forces were afterwards requited into the Guard as the War-Skulls.

"Why did they turn?" Cartes asked in the middle of Anderson's story.

"Why?" The question had caught him off guard. "What do you mean why?"

"I'd always heard that the Guard and the PDF's were only made up of the most loyal members." Cartes answered, thinking about the tales in his Imp-strips. "So why would they turn against Terra?"

Marcel didn't say anything, but smirked at Anderson's momentary loss for words.

"Mind control!" The answer dawned on him. "That's what the Tau do! They convince you that you're following some kind of greater purpose or some other arse-logic, when really they've crawled inside your skull and got you doing things you'd never do otherwise."

"Done." Said Marcel, taking apart the needle and wrapping up the cord. Looking at his shoulder Cartes saw that he was marked with the same kind of image he'd seen on Anderson's chest: Three Militarum skulls with a lightning bolt beneath each one as they hover over a cracked moon.

"There ya go!" Anderson shouted. "Consider yourself a certified xenos killing badass!"

"Keep it clean. Don't get any sand in there if you want it to heal good."

"But… Marcel there's sand everywhere." Cartes protested.

Marcel shrugged. "Then it's not gonna heal good."

"You'll be fine! Sides,' women love scars. You'll be able to tell em' that a claw scratched your arm up something good!"

"Cap… The enemy. The 'Nids?' You've fought against these xenos before, right?" Cartes asked.

"We have." Marcel interjected.

"Are they… are they worse than the Tau?"

The two guardsmen looked at each other for a moment before Anderson responded: "Nah! It'll be a bug hunt! Remember those scorpion things we always came across when digging? You ever seen one of those things get crushed?"

Cartes nodded.

"Then that's what it's gonna be! You do as I say and things'll be fine. Speaking off which: Off to bed! Within 24 hours command's probably gonna leash these boys and put a stop to all this ruckus, then it'll be nothin' but discipline, boot shinin' and boot licken.' Get yourself some rest while you can."

"You guys are staying up though?"

"Commissar's motto: Do as I say, not as I do."

"You're not a commissar-"

"Get!" He shouted. Cartes shrugged his shoulders and got up. Before he had made it out of the tent he turned around and snatched up the bottle that had been sitting between the two older troopers.

"What's this?" Anderson asked.

"You said to get some rest? Easy to sleep when you've had a few, right?" Cartes said as he left, producing a laugh from his captain.

When the boy was gone Anderson looked over at Marcel. "Roll me another one of those."

"Why'd you lie to him?" He began crushing some of the musty-smelling plant into a small slip of crackly paper.

"Kid'll be dead in three/four days. Let him have one last night of peace before he's shitting himself."

"And us?"

"Pfft." Anderson spat. "That's what the plant's for man."

Chapter 18

The Indomitable floated silently above the Baal and her moons. From her seat on the ship's command throne she could see the northern crust of the planet against a backdrop of stars.

"So we are in agreement?" General Ock's voice came through clearly over the holo-display, and the visual component had minimal interference.

"We are. The Indomitable has served for over three thousand years. I do not wish to see her career end under my command. Attack cruisers will meet the enemy as they enter; once the swarms become too much for us we shall pull back and give the foe space to land. "

"Do everything you can to funnel them to the pre-established kill zones." Ock added.

"Rest assured General, we will do everything we can to direct them to your artillery guns. You are aware that many of the tyranids may not in fact follow our direction yes?"

"Spores will fall all over the planet, yes I'm aware. Do what you can, that's all I ask."

"And we shall oblige. Once that is finished…" She tapped her fingertips against the side of her chair. "Well, we'll continue firing until we run out of ammunition."

"So shall we, Lord Admiral. So shall we…" A silence hung in the air as if the Lord Admiral and the Lord General Militant were both pondering if they had anything else to say to one another. Or if they would ever get the chance to speak again. After a few moments he continued. "May the Corpse-God protect you. Lord General Militant Ock. Out." Ock saluted, was saluted in kind, and the line was cut.

"May He protect you." Von Stone muttered before picking up her porcelain cup and took a sip of the tea which had gone cold.

She sat with a perfect view of Baal before her but she did not register the sight. Instead her mind was racing through tasks and checklists, asking herself if she had missed anything. While she felt sure that something must still be out of place, she could not for the life of her think of anything which was still amiss: Her vice-admirals had been in contact with the Militarum and aware of the overall strategy since before they had even reached this system. All lower Admirals had been briefed, and in turn had briefed their own captains and commodores by now. The Indomitable had undergone two full systems checks in as many weeks, all the armaments aboard the Indomitable had been loaded, all interceptors and bombers aboard had had full maintenance runs three days ago, and the captains of all other battleships and cruisers had reported the same.

She fiddled with her tea cup. It belonged to a set which was one of her few possessions from home. It befit her station: Within the white porcelain was blue art-work, featuring elegant designs of ships in between floral patterns. Her family had sent it to her when she had reached the rank of Lord Admiral. She snapped her fingers, whereupon one of her aids was immediately at her side.

"Refill this for me." She said before settling back into her throne. If her work was truly finished for now, than she damn well deserved a chance to enjoy a moment of calm before the battle. Especially if it might be the last moment of peace she would ever know.

Chapter 19

Back on Baal's surface Balor had begun to set, casting most of the planet in an orange/red glow and a long shadow next to the Arx Angelicum. Tractus was making her way through the trenches and looked much healthier than she had prior to her 'transfer.' The shifts were just as brutal, but even the senior Kriegsmen partook in backbreaking work alongside the grunts. Due to the shared labor the 44's trenches were complete and the fortifications installed a week early, meaning the agonizing work was finished and she had gotten some of the meat back on her bones.

Most of the tasks she'd carried out since had had to do with either transporting ammunition from one place to another or, as she had spent the day, scouting. Her squad had just returned from a spending a day combing the planet's surface. Between the Angels and the Guard, several hundred such parties had been sent out to look for enemy vanguards or drop pods that may have been sent before the arrival of the main fleets. Tractus's regiment had come across nothing, so she'd gotten to spend most of the day enjoying a free ride in a Valkyrie.

She had never flown before and she had cherished the feeling even more than the lax nature of her assignment. Before being conscripted Tractus had never ventured more than a few kilometers outside of Red Rock. For the first time she had seen the deep, unnatural canyons where the Baal's crust had ripped open in some ancient conflict, and what looked to be an impenetrable mountain pass that put even the Angel's monastery to shame. Travelling so fast and so high above Baal's surface she had finally realized just how massive the planet was, and she had still only seen a fraction of it.

It made her want to see the rest of the galaxy. After Baal had been saved she almost wished to join the Guard permanently. The work had been brutal, but she'd seen men almost turn to bone before her very eyes after a few years in the mills. But the Guard? Aside from the glory, she could get a chance see this Imperium she was serving with her own eyes.

But family came first. Ave, Emilia, and Cartes were still children, and they would still need someone to look after them. She banished the thought. So long as they were on Baal she would be as well.

On her way to the mess hall she heard a peculiar sound coming from one of the larger tents housing the regiments from Krieg. It was music, but music unlike any she had heard during her time in the Guard. It sounded somber, accompanied by a chant in a language she could not recognize. She'd found it soothing.

She crept toward the entrance of the tent and peaked through the front flap. The inside was illuminated by hundreds of candles, and a heavy odor or incense coated the inside of the tent. Even all the way in the back Tractus would have found the fragrance and soft chimes soothing, were it not for the scene in front of her.

A man in the center of the troopers stood above them on a wooden table. He had a heavy, thick tome before him with dried out crinkling pages, and he spoke in the strange language. All around him Kriegsmen were kneeling with their chests bare, men and women alike. Though they faced away from her Tractus cold recognize a few of them by their hair, and she could pick out Gregor specifically for his size. And all of them looked as if they were hitting themselves. They each had a small wooden stick with knotted ropes attached to them. As the man in the center spoke, hundreds of Kriegsmen flung the makeshift nine-tails over their shoulders and whipped their backs, sides, and shoulders, until blood began to flow.

Through the sound of soft music and the crackle of rope against skin, Tractus could make out another sound. It was the sound of weeping. They were weeping, and she could see that even Gregor's large shoulders were heaving as he whipped himself.

Deciding that she would head to the mess hall on her own Tractus took a few steps back. Turning around she saw Captain Baugulf standing before her, wearing her full uniform sans the mask. It was everything Tractus could do to supress a short scream.

"Not the kind of service you are used to?"

"I…" Tractus was going to deny that she had seen anything, but she quickly abandoned the attempt. "No. Not at all, actually."

Baugulf nodded, stepped past her and took a look inside the tent, before turning her attention back to the young girl. "It's fine. You're not one of us, so you wouldn't understand."

"Not one of you? I spend twelve to sixteen hours a day with you, what else would you call me?"

"A Baalian. Don't take it personally."

"How should I take it then?"

"Things… are different on Krieg. I'd heard about this planet before: This is home of Sanguinius. I've seen enough of Baal to know it is a harsh place, but you all admire the Great Angel. You try to serve him, protect him even. It's like… small children rushing to protect their father. They're naive but… noble all things considered."

"You don't worship the Great Angel on your homeworld?" Tractus asked.

Baugulf shook her head. "We serve the Emperor but it's a matter of guilt."

"But everyone falls short of the Emperor."

"Maybe but… On Krieg you're raised to feel your imperfection. To think of your existence as an affront to the Corpse-God."

"But we can all atone. He punishes, but he also protects and grants mercy."

Baugulf smirked. "That part's often overlooked."

"So they… they're happy they might die soon?" Tractus asked, looking back inside the tent. Some of the wailing had gotten so loud the two could hear it out here, seeing one woman stand up and reach for the sky as tears flowed freely down her face.

"Not exactly. But they know that might mean they can finally let go of the guilt."

Tractus couldn't imagine being so… welcoming toward the prospect of dying. She took another peak inside the tent, and saw that some of the men were applying what looked like salt to their comrade's bleeding backs. The sight made her look away.

"What about you then?" She asked. Baugulf blinked. "Why are you out here? Don't you want atonement?"

Baugulf sighed and took another look inside the tent herself. "I'm thirty-five Tractus. Nobody whom I knew when I was a girl ever got to this age."

"But you still believe in the Corpse-God, don't you?"

"I do, but I don't think I care that much about His forgiveness."

"Then what do you care about?"

Baugulf thought for a second before answering, looking toward the red/pink sunset of Balor before answer. "Peace I guess. I am looking forward to it being over."

Tractus didn't say anything, instead giving her a puzzled look.

Baugulf smirked again. "Get back to the mess hall. A full meal will serve you well for tomorrow."

Chapter 20

Balor had set, leaving the Arx Angelicum and its surrounding fortifications in darkness. There was no wind, though in the hot night there was a particularly loud chorus of crickets and other insects buzzing and calling to each other.

Cartes was laying on a rock, his bottle still mostly full. He'd taken a single sip since his tattoo was finished and now his entire body felt as if it was being pulled down into the rock, as if his veins had filled with lead. A lho-stick was hanging out of his mouth, burning slowly. For the first time in what had felt like years he felt like he could simply lie down. He looked up at the sky, and while many ships could still be seen in low orbit most of the sky was open to the brilliant vista of stars. It made him think of white pearls peppered through-out a desert of dark sand. He didn't know why, but the thought made him smile. He hadn't enjoyed a night sky like this since before his conscription.

It had only been two months since the Angels had arrived en mass along with the Guard. When he thought back to what life was like before – scampering around the desert with the others, spending most of the day cleaning or fixing up the house and getting yelled at by Dethilal – something about those memories seemed fragile. It was if there was danger he couldn't see what it was that was threatening to snatch those memories away from him. He felt that if he didn't do something than somehow the house in Red Rock, along with Dethilal, Ave, Steph, Tractus and Emilia would all be lost to him forever, but he had no idea what that something was.

"Cartes?"

He recognized the voice as Emilia's. He rolled over and looked above the edge of the raised rock and saw her dragging her feet through the sands looking for him.

"Up here!" He called. With her lasgun dangling across her chest she climbed up to him. Hoisting herself up she slipped, smacking the side of her helmet against the rock. "Fuck me!" Cartes exclaimed. "You alright?"

"I'm fine." She muttered as she dragged herself across the top of the rock. She removed her several sizes to large outer-fatigues, rolled them up and made a makeshift pillow out of them before lying down next to Cartes. "It's been a long time since we got the chance to just sit with each other."

"Yeah, feels like it." Neither of them said anything for several minutes, and after a few moments the silence began to make him uncomfortable.

"Drink?" He offered her the bottle.

She shook her head. "I've never seen you drink before."

"It… it helps. When we were digging all day and it was miserable."

"Does that make the digging fun?"

"No… no it just… it makes it easier to forget that things suck."

"How?"

"I don't know it's..." Cartes searched for the words. "It… makes it easier not think about Dethilal. It makes it easy to forget how she looked when they took her to the evac ships. And while you're digging it makes it easy to forget about how much your muscles hurt, you know?"

"No I don't." Emilia eyed the bottle for a moment, then reached over and pulled it out of his hand and took a large gulp.

"Easy there! It's rough going down the first time." He warned as she visibly gagged and followed up with a series of coughs, but she managed to keep it all down.

"People drink this for fun?"

"The guys in the regiment do it all the time."

"I don't think they allow this stuff in the kitchen. I think someone was drinking too much of this stuff and he sliced his fingers off." Cartes shivered at the thought. "You know what the worst part was?" Emilia smiled. "He just threw them in the pot and mixed it in!"

"Shut up!" Cartes yelled, snatching the bottle back from her. His distress produced a giggle, and she shifted her body to snuggle closer to him.

They were quiet again, only this time Cartes found he felt way more comfortable. Maybe it was the drink? Yes that must be it, he thought.

"You lied to me." Emilia said eventually, her head resting on top of his shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"You lied to me. Back in Red Rock you promised me that there wasn't going to be any fighting on Baal."

Cartes sighed. "You're right. I did."

"That was a stupid promise to make." She said the words without any anger or bitterness, but Cartes found the words still cut.

"I know."

"So why'd you make it then?"

"Because… Because you were scared Emilia." He looked at her. "I don't like seeing you scared. So I said something stupid to make you feel better."

She kissed him. She leaned in too quickly and with the precision of an amateur accidently banged his nose against her own, but her lips felt soft and cool against the humid night air. Cartes had never done that before. Not on the lips. He suddenly felt a strange mix of elation and stillness. His mind was full of energy and raced in all directions, but his body felt utterly frozen.

"I know. I was scared. And I could tell that Mom, and even that Tractus was scared – I know Ave wasn't but was because he was too dumb. But you made me feel better, so I don't mind that you lied." She ran hand across his cheek. "I don't want to go anywhere. I want to stay on this rock all night. Do you?"

Cartes nodded.

She smiled. Then she lifted her head slightly, curled up closer to him, and then rested it on his chest. They stayed on their rock all night, and enjoyed the sky. Alone save for each other, the crickets, and the stars.

Chapter 21

When the sun rose the next morning Baal's sky was clear of clouds and the sky was aglow with red and orange light. Within an hour of sunrise every guardsman and PDF recruit was at their stations. Cartes was in his dugout, along with his Captain and the rest of the War-Skulls. There was no work to be done; no guns to install and no more holes to dig. All along the front of the Arx Angelicum troops manned their positions, as they did at all the fortifications between the planet and its moons. Before Cartes's dug out he could see the trenches and nests of the Kreigsmen, but beyond that where miles and miles of flat desert. There was a light breeze, which kept the sun from becoming to agonizing. Millions of troops sat between the desert and the Arx Angelicum, and not one of them spoke a word.

Inside the monastery Commander Dante stood in full armor, save for his helmet which was attached to his belt. Alongside him stood General Ock in full uniform.

"Any movement?" Dante asked one of the thralls at a desk piled with equipment.

"Sensors are in place my lord. So far nothing."

Dante looked at the display of the system. On it he could see the massive star Balor, surrounded in various directions by Baal, its moons, Set, and lonely Amair, almost forgotten on the edge of the system. Every few seconds a faint pulse was sent through the system, and it was always met with silence.

"Admiral?" General Ock spoke into his personal communicator.

High above the Guard an armada of Navy and Astartes craft was floating silently in orbit. Lord Admiral von Stone sat in her command-throne with a clear view of the bridge. All she saw before her was void and stars. She listened to her own sensors aboard the Indomitable.

Pulse. Then silence. Pulse. Then silence.

"No contact." She said. She sat back and waited.

Inquisitor Urx's aid Dorvus Tibela waited patiently as well. She was sitting on the foot locker next to the bunk in her master's room. If she knew what was coming none would have guessed it: She sat perfectly still, and even with a slight smile on her face, as if she was eagerly expecting the Inquisitor to return to his room at any moment.

Cartes figured that they must have been sitting here for at least four hours based on how much the sun had moved. None of his comrades had said anything the entire time: Campbell sifted occasionally and Marcel had been almost motionless next to his heavy lasgun. Every once in a while he would hear the flick of Anderson's lighter as he lit up another lho-stick. Other than that all he heard was the wind.

Balor crawled across the sky and was now setting in the west. The sensors still sent out their pulses, and each time they were met with silence. Cartes had fallen asleep for a few hours, Anderson only waking him he saw a commissar approach, walking the parameter to ensure discipline had been maintained. Cartes could not see any, but none of the Astartes manning any of their positions had fallen to fatigue.

Twenty six hours had passed since Baal's sun had risen the previous day. Lord Admiral von Stone was about to rest her eyes for a moment when she heard it: An echo. A pulse had been sent and seconds later an echo had returned.

A few seconds later another pulse was released, followed by another echo. Another pulse, another echo. And again. Pressing a button on her armrest the holo display provided her with an enhanced view of the edge of the Baal system.

"This is Lord Admiral von Stone…" She spoke on a channel open to all Navy, Astartes, and Guard command. "Contact confirmed. Hivefleet Leviathan is in sight. Engaging."

Devastation

Chapter 22

"Stallion two-five: This is SK-87 with four confirmed kills above your starboard side." Despite his hurling through space at high speed, Hans Thorvir spoke with a clarity born of experience. He'd eviscerated plenty of xenos scum before. As far as he was concerned the only thing that separated these ones from Tau converters or Drukhari slavers was that these aliens bled strange colors.

"You taking credit for my work there?" Shouted Ivan Al Anaai in his gunning station down the short hallway.

"Ahh quit your bitchin' and start your killing!" Hans laughed. "Hostiles port-side!" He shouted upon spotting a wave of tyranid gargoyles and several hive crones that were assailing the outside of the Rusted Hammer, the Grand Cruiser which was home to SK-87, or the Scarlett Sex-Machine as it was known by its crew.

"Missiles away!" Ivan shouted. Anti-aircraft missiles fired out from beneath the interceptor and exploded in the midst of the grouping of flying xenos. Shots from Ivan's lascannon finished off the few survivors of the initial blast.

"All defensive SK units operating in sector D-11, you are ordered to move to offensive action against hive-ships in sector AF-90." A voice on the vox commanded.

"Understood." Said Hans, who with a flick of the controls began the process of turning his interceptor. Hans had flown for close to twelve years, and had been pilot of this ship and crew for seven of those years. He found he'd had a knack for the high speeds of attack craft, and he could feel a certain kind of grace as he guided the machine at such velocities, often without the need to slow down. It was if he could 'feel' the trajectory he was taking, the same way a blind man could move about his room with ease. Hans had always applied oils and incense to the fighter before every battle, and he knew that the machine-spirit had recognized his efforts.

He brought the Sex-Machine around and plunged it straight for the horde of the xenos fleet, with 10,000 fighters at his back.

"SK-87, approaching enemy position." He spoke into his vox set.

"Lower speed to avoid friendly fire." The vox responded.

A few seconds later Hans could see several flashes of light silently ignite amongst the fleet ahead of him, as the Rusted Hammer and its sisters launched shells and plasma into the orbital swarm. Hans could see massive ships in the distance veer off their course as enormous holes were punched into their sides, and innumerable shards of chitin were shrew about.

"All SK units you are clear to engage." The vox responded.

"No need to ask twice!" Ivan smiled, and along with the gunners on 10,000 similar ships began firing into the tyranid fleet. Most of it was indiscriminate. There was such an immense wall of flesh before them that near every shot was guaranteed to hit something. When Ivan saw the swarms of smaller xenos begin to emerge from the hulls of the damaged and undamaged ships alike he began to concentrate his fire on the swarms. "For the Corpse-God!" He shrieked as he imagined the sight of xenos ripped to shreds, their guts and blood floating in the void.

SK-87 and its companion ships fired a wall of lascannon fire and bombs, and the crews of the fighters flew headlong into the gore, prepared to eviscerate any stragglers from their onslaught.

They did not find stragglers.

When the fighters had passed through the initial clouds of xenos blood and spew they saw behind that was a wall of armored plates that seemed to stretch on forever. Neither Hans or Ivan had ever seen even the Greenskins with so many ships.

"Taking evasive maneuvers and engaging!" Said Hans.

"Fighters SK-70 through 798, focus attacks on enemy vessel position D-45!"

"Affirmative."

SK-87 rotated, turned, and approached the Hive Ship that it had been order to attack. As they approached Hans's professionalism wavered for a moment. He had heard the term 'bio-ship' hundreds of times in the past two months but until this moment, flying mere meters away from the vessel's surface that it had sunk in that this was not a 'ship.' The outer lay was a combination of hard exoskeleton with soft flesh between the plates, not cold metal held together by pipes and wiring. This wasn't a ship. It was an animal, the sheer size of which was staggering. Its maw looked like it must have been as large as an entire hive city, and it was sounded by two pincers which were like entire mountains in their own right.

"Mother of the Master…" He muttered, the alien abomination shaking his faith in his own humanity.

"Incoming!" Ivan screamed, snapping Hans back to reality, who managed to swerve a pack of gargoyles which where attempting to latch themselves to the ship as it passed. Hans reflexively veered out of their path. Instead the attackers caught a hold of one of their companion fighters, SK-239. The xenos clawed at the ship's windshield and fired their flesh bores at point blank range and tried to squeeze into the ships exhaust ports. It swerved and crashed into the hide of the Hive Ship, killing both the crew and the gargoyles.

"All SK units, provide cover for UG bombers. Repeat, provide-"

The vox was interrupted as shockwaves from some hideous bio-weapon were sent out, paralyzing the communications networks of several fighters and bombers. Some were affected more severely than others, and dozens of fighters crashed into each other or against the outside of the Hive Ship.

By now the void was alive with flying bio-forms. Some the size of a dog, others the size of a tank. Some seemed more akin to organic missiles rather than creatures in their own right, pink and peachy colored orbs being propelled through the void by sacks which shot out gases and had tentacles trailing behind them.

"Evasions...?" Muttered Hans, as if asking how anyone could expect to evade this? There were so many bio-forms in the void surrounding them that it was akin to trying to doge the rain in an open field.

The Scarlett Sex-Machine served and rotated, with smaller bio-forms splattering against its front display. Its wings were acting as unintentional blades, slicing through xeno skin while Ivan fired indiscriminately in all directions.

Hans steered the fighter away from the Hive Ship and put several miles between it and the Sex Machine. As he got further out the density of the swarm lessened somewhat. Any semblance of tactics had broken down, and he was focused entirely on trying to keep his small fighter from being torn apart. Seeing that in front and all around him there was nothing but bio-ships, he decide to pull as fast and tight a U-turn as he could as this speed.

The sight upon turning caused the both of them to momentarily forget themselves: The hive ship they had just attacked was eating the Rusted Hammer. It had turned in space, allowing its pincers to reach around the sides of the ship. Thick, spiked tentacles had emerged from its maw, wrapping themselves around the Rusted Hammer, crushing the ship as it pulled closer.

All of the Hammer's guns were firing at the creature, some into the creature's mouth itself. As it did so millions of smaller bio-forms surrounded the vessel, crawling upon its surface like flies to a corpse.

"By the Holy Throne…" Ivan muttered, before he was impaled by a talon which tore through the window of the gunning seat. The Sex-Machine had slowed down, and Hans had failed to notice a tyranid hive crone which was on a course to intercept it. Its tailed smashed through the ship, impaled Ivan through the chest, then ripped him and his seat out of the ship's floor and dragged him into the void before he even had a chance to scream.

Almost immediately the cockpit was as silent as the vacuum of space. The interceptor went into a tail spin. Hans had lost all control, though he clutched at the controls and tried to right the interceptor's path with all his might. He barely missed smashing into the side of another hive ship as he passed it. Instead he did a continuous spinning nose-dive, pointed away from Baal and its moons. Hans succumbed to lack of oxygen within sixty seconds but the Scarlett Sex-Machine continued to nose-dive, miraculously avoiding any of the larger bio-ships surrounding it.

Eventually it had cleared the entire bio-fleet, with no oxygen in the ship to ignite any of the damaged systems. And so Hans Thorvir's frozen corpse and the steel coffin of his beloved interceptor continued to spin and dive into the emptiness of space. Whether it was finally destroyed by smashing into some asteroid or space debris, another planet light-years away from Baal, or if it simply corkscrewed through the blackness forever till the end of the universe itself, is unknown.

Lord Admiral von Stone stood at the end of the bridge of the Indomitable, her 54th cup of high-sugar recaff in one hand, and a telescope in the other. It had been over six days since Leviathan had entered the Baal system, and she had watched the two fleets rip each other to pieces. The hive fleet had already sustained an ungodly amount of ordinance, but more ships had always come through. She sighed as she watched as the HMW Rusted Hammer, a respectable Grand Cruiser with a service history almost as long as that of the Indomitable, was ripped to shreds by an entity so large it looked as if it had been built in one of the largest factorums of Mars, were it not so organic.

She thought about the ship's Captain, Rathbula von Leif. A woman she'd trained with at the same naval academy, and thought about how she'd never be able to avenge her loss at regicide to her. She had seen enough. The Navy had done its job. It was time for the ground forces to do theirs.

"Pull back all offensive forces and assume defensive positions." She announced, turning around to approach the command throne. "Continue to bombard the invader while giving them the space to approach Baal and its moons." She stopped before sitting on the throne. "Admiral Timous?" A clean shave man in a black uniform similar to her own saluted. "I'm leaving you in command."

"Thank you Lord Admiral!" He strode toward the throne to begin the process of integrating himself with its systems.

"Where is that stupid Inquisition girl? Is she still aboard?" Von Stone addressed on of the lower ranking officers. Knowing full well that sleep would be impossible for her right now, Dissiosa said: "If so, ask the girl if she knows how to play regicide. If she does, send her to my cabin."

Chapter 23

Cartes would never have imagined that the first days of an actual alien invasion of his home planet could be so boring. Word had come down that the xenos had arrived within the system and were heading toward Baal. The troops had been on high alert ever since. The War-Skulls 4th company had spent the entire time in their dugout, never leaving save for when they had to relieve themselves, meaning Cartes had spent four days staring at the desert. Upon returning from one of his trips to the shitter, Captain Anderson brought back a slim pamphlet of cheap paper and gave it to Cartes to read when the Sergeants and Commissars weren't looking. The bone and green colored cover read 'Regimental Standard: Know your enemy before you kill them!'

They slept in their hole, and nutrient gruel was brought to them via strange men who looked as though they were fused with metal parts. Cartes had tried speaking with one but the vacant expression on its face made him wonder if the thing had understood the boy – or if he even understood anything. There had been little talking compared to the previous shouting and cursing that followed the troops. One man who had started complaining about the heat particularly loudly was dragged out of his hole and beaten by group of troopers at the order of a commissar. Occasionally Anderson and Marcel traded a few hushed words, passed a flask between themselves, or Campbell would take out set of small beads and say a short, silent prayer to his lasgun. Anderson rolled his eyes at the action but said nothing.

Cartes was passed out, with his legs stretched out in front of him and his mouth gaping as his head was tilted to one side. He awoke with a slight jolt as Anderson kicked his side. Cartes squinted, trying to protect his eyes against the morning sun.

"Ready to become a man, Babyface?" He grinned as he stretched out a hand and pulled him up. When he was on his feet he pressed a flask into Cartes's chest. "Finish it. You're going to need it."

"His light guides my way… His flesh is rotted, His body is broken, and His bones are dust so mine need not be. Lest that be His will." Campbell mumbled.

"Time to nut up." Said Marcel, slapping the hinge of his gun into place, anchoring it to the ground.

"Men of the Guard!" Bellowed one of the commissars. "Today is the day you demonstrate your loyalty to the Imperium! Today is the day you demonstrate to the entire galaxy the supremacy of Mankind! Blasphemous xenos filth, with no right to live seeks to make a mockery of our existence! You will cleanse the galaxy of this scum wherever it, or any other alien atrocities try to hide!"

The men began to cheer. It was the first time in four days Cartes had heard anything other than the wind. In front of him he could see the Kreigsmen, that one of their own was addressing them in the same way. Cartes was too far away to hear anything they were saying but he could see that many of their shoulders where heaving up and down, and some had fallen to their knees.

Then he heard something. A sharp whizzing sound that seemed to encompass the air above them. Looking up Cartes could see something descending, a pale pod or rock falling from the sky. As it broke the clouds it was followed by more shapes of the same kind, and even more after that.

The shapes fell from the sky like rain before eventually slamming themselves against the desert ground in front of the Arx Angelicum and its fortifications, smashing into the sand and rocks in an explosion of sticky fluids and puss. As they got closer to the earth Cartes could see they looked like large fleshy orbs. Upon impact the orbs laid still for a moment, the desert looking as if it was littered with spherical, wet corpses.

Then he saw movement. His curiosity overwhelming him as he snatched the captain's scope that had been kept on a small table in the ditch. He could see shapes emerging out of those delapoted flesh orbs. Multi-limbed creatures with pale exoskeletons and dark plating, some with long swords for hands and others clutching what seemed like smaller animals to their chests, crawled and sliced their way out of the organic sacks, dripping with sticky goo and goop.

Hormagaunts… Termagants… He thought to himself, recalling the descriptions from the pamphlet. He couldn't hear them, but he saw them crane their necks back as if howling at the sky. Before long it looked as if thousands of the creatures had emerged and were now covering the desert floor, and yet still more pods continued to fall.

They regarded their surroundings for a moment before settling their gaze on the Arx Angelicum. Then they screamed, all of them seemingly in unison. It carried across the sands, and Cartes could hear it over a mile away from them. Then they charged.

Cartes dropped the scope and hastily grabbed his lasgun and set the barrel to rest on the edge of the dugout. Before he could pull the trigger Anderson grabbed the barrel and pointed it skyward and shook his head.

"You know what they say, about the Emperor?" He grinned. The horde got closer, and the screams of a thousand shrieking aliens grew louder. "They say He loves His Astartes." Cartes had never heard the word before. "Marines. Blood Angels." Anderson clarified. "And I reckon that's true. But do you know what He loves even more?" Anderson smiled as he looked behind them. "His artillery."

As if waiting for its que a crack of metal and gunpowder filled the air. The sound caused his legs to give out and Cartes would have fallen on his ass, had his arms not been supporting himself on the edge of the hole. The red light of Baal was momentarily replaced with a flash of white that hurt his eyes. A second later the front part of the approaching horde was replaced with a cloud of dust and smoke, and when it dissipated it revealed a berth of smashed bodies and alien innards strewn about where living, screaming animals had been a second ago.

With the first shot fired, the other engines of destruction followed suit. Another crack filled the air, followed by another, then another, and several thunderous cracks could often be heard at once and overtop one another. Not a single xenos had made it within spitting distance of the first trench.

Night had come and the artillery had not let up, aside from the occasional pause when new armaments were being loaded. What he had seen that morning had continued for the entire day: Pods never stopped raining down, and before the occupants had scarcely emerged they were shelled. In fact the routine had become so clockwork that the Anderson and Marcel had seen fit to take the day to relax somewhat. They couldn't leave the dugout, but they'd sat with the guns leaned up against the wall and played cards most of the day. Campbell had spent most of the day resting alongside the rim of the hole, but he'd kept his lasgun close the entire time, and Cartes followed suit.

Cartes could not even fathom how much ammunition was being spent. This had been easily the brightest night he had ever experienced, the desert before him being constantly lit despite the lack of sun.

Surely this can't go on for much longer. He thought to himself. At this rate so many xenos were being slaughtered that he'd probably never even have to fire his lasgun. The enemy would simply run out. By the time the artillery was finished there'd have to be no more xenos left to kill. They couldn't possibly outlast this.

Could they?

Chapter 24

Standing atop a tower General Ock surveyed the scene before him. Commander Dante had allowed the Guard to set up their HQ in an abandoned, but still well armored, fortification near the center of the Arx Angelicum. Channels were open between the Astartes command center, Navy command and the Guard HQ, allowing the three groups to coordinate with ease for the moment. As of yet such coordination was minimal. Some bio forms had attempted to breech their compounds by more indirect means, but such groups were small and dispatched by squads of Astartes.

"The Earth Shakers certainly live up to their name." Oct muttered, looking behind him at the rows of artillery which had been added to the Arx's defenses. "How's the situation in orbit?"

"Holding for the moment." Answered Major Trot. "Nearly a dozen Grand Cruisers have been lost."

Ock shrugged. "No good, but not as bad as it could get. Or will get." Ock corrected himself. "Our hosts?"

"Prepared. I'd heard prayer all through the day yesterday, but then…"

"Yes?"

"I heard screaming coming from within the monastery General."

"They've breached the monastery?" Ock turned to the major.

"I don't think so Sir. This was… it sounded like the voices were crying out in great sadness and rage. But it was further within the Arx. I didn't investigate."

"Good. I'm certain the marines have their own rituals, best not to pry."

The two looked at the night-sky, constantly lit by flashes as if it were in the midst of some terrible thunderstorm.

"And to think: This is a starved Leviathan."

"That's not completely true Sir. At least one of the Angel's extermination crews went missing. It's possible the fleet was able to gorge itself on some systems before arriving here. What I don't understand however, is why the tyranids are throwing so many recourses at us here? Baal's a desert, sparsely populated with little bio-mass to speak off. Leviathan has focused nearly all its tendrils to this system. Why they so hell-bent on taking this world?"

"You can't expect reason from xenos Major."

"Forgive me Sir, but I don't think that can be true. We've been briefed on what happened at Macragge, and Sotha. Those things down there might be dumb as a bag of sand, but surely they don't move with stupidity?"

Ock put down his binoculars and smirked. "We're surrounded by propaganda all the time. I've seen men on my staff start to believe that stuff. Glad to see you haven't succumbed Trot." He absentmindedly toyed with a small piece of concrete by his foot. The Blood Angels call this place home. Maybe that's why?"

"If that's true, these aliens must hold some kind of special hatred for the Astartes, to throw themselves into the fire like this."

"Hatred?" Oct snorted at Trot, who gave him a confused look. "No…. no I don't think hatred has anything to do with it. In fact, I'm not entirely sure these creatures know how to hate." He shook his head.

"How do you explain it then Sir?"

"How do I explain that?" Ock sighed as recalled something he had seen earlier, amongst the flashes of artillery. A brood of gargoyles and a larger hive crone had honed in on one of the marine's thunderhawks. He'd seen half a dozen of the small creatures hurl themselves in the path of the gunship, allowing themselves to be sliced open all over the vehicle's windshield, throwing away their lives to monetarily disorient the ship. "Desperation." He answered as he turned to his aid.

Trot cocked his head. "They're desperate?"

"What else would you call that?" He gestured to the skies which still rained spores, even atop the bombed and smashed alien corpses fresh creatures touched down on the desert floor, only to be shelled into oblivion. More pods fell, with none of the creatures hesitating to throw themselves into the carnage.

Ock shrugged. "The Angels have been hounding Leviathan ever since it showed up. Maybe the tyranids are trying to cut the head off the body. Sure wish we could try that…" More cracks of thunder and exploding shells could be heard. "How much longer can we keep this up?"

"At this rate…" Trot checked the data slate he'd been carrying under his arm. "This position will run out of artillery ammunition in four days time."

"Let's pray that their reserves are just as exhausted as ours by then…"

Chapter 25

Cartes had not slept for three and a half days. Anderson, Marcel, and even Campbell were able to doze off in rotations, but the never ending explosions, or the shockwaves that caused the earth itself to tremble, and the rapid, blinding flashes of light had had Cartes on edge. He had never in his life felt so tired and so energized at the same moment. His eyes felt heavy and his vision was blurred, but his body felt so alive with nervous energy he couldn't even tie his boot laces without his fingers shaking.

Once the enemy had begun to breech their lines however, any desires for sleep evaporated. The artillery fire had begun to wane just enough for some creatures to begin reaching the outermost entrenchments. The Kreigsman were the first to greet them, and they seemed to fight with a reckless kind of glee. Some of the man-sized aliens had crawled into the trenches, and Cartes saw groups of men rush to bash any alien to death, bludgeoning and stabbing at them with their sharpened shovels.

Marcel could finally let loose with his heavy lasgun. He primarily focused on large groupings of creatures. He had little need to aim as nearly every round fired hit some target given how tightly they were packed together. Unlike the men from Kreig, or Campbell or even Anderson, Marcel showed no signs of revelry or fear, and instead seemed utterly focused on the task at hand: Kill xenos, occasionally checking or reloading his weapon, and continuing killing xenos. Meanwhile Campbell and Cartes were on rifle duty, focusing fire on smaller groups and stragglers who had avoided any attacks and gotten too close to the Militarum entrenchments. Anderson moved between the same rifle duty and sending information to the other groups around them via their vox set.

At one point Cartes was certain that he had saved an unknown Kriegsman's life by hitting a genestealer several times as it tried to ambush him from the side. Of course the shots could have come from anyone's gun, but Cartes aimed and pulled the trigger when the xeno went down. It was, to his mind, his first confirmed killed, though he was too caught up in the fight to notice.

By now xenos had begun to swarm the trenches. It was primarily gaunts and genestealers, though he also saw several larger forms entering, one of which dragged a large fleshy sack beneath it, from which dozens of smaller termagants burst out off. The Kreigsmen fought in close quarter combat, slashing and bashing the aliens with their shovels and abandoning their rifles for laspistols as the xenos closed the distance. As one of the trenches was being overrun, Cartes saw one of the masked men toss away his shovel and arm a grenade in each hand. He ripped out each of the firing pins, screamed, and hurled himself headfirst into a swarm as it crawled over the edge of his trench. A flash of white light engulfed him. Cartes couldn't tell how many enemies the man had taken with him, but inhuman guts were strewn about, and he could see at least five wounded tyranids gasping for breath and attempting to crawl away, most of their flesh having been melted as their scorched insides lay next to them.

Next Cartes saw a carnifex, a beast larger than any he had seen so far crash through the Kreigsman's fortifications, with dozens of smaller creatures scurrying in behind it. It caught one of the men in its massive, crab-like claws. As it did so another Kreigsman opened fire on it, causing the beast to roar before it batted away the man its other claw, smashing him against the trench wall before three smaller creatures jumped on him and disembowel him. The captured man drew his laspistol and fired several rounds into the beast's face before he was snapped in half by the claw. Everywhere Cartes looked he saw something being killed. All he could hear was the sound of shells, lasgun fire, and screams. And they were getting closer.

Chapter 26

Tractus was stationed in one of the back trenches. From her position she could see that rows before her had become a frenzy of xenos and humans fighting in vicious close quarters. With her lasgun hoisted over the edge of her trench Tractus shot at any xenos that climbed their way out of the tunnels and tried to run across the open land between the trenches. She saw one of them, a genestealer, pull itself up and begin to sprint toward her position, using its four arms to help it run across the sand.

She had the xenos in her sights when a gargoyle that was shot dead in the sky and crashed on top of her, pushing her off the platform that she'd been standing on. As she landed on the cold hard floor of the trench the winged alien landed on top of her again. She saw stars for a moment as her head bounced off the ground, then began to feel for her lasgun. She saw that it was several feet away from her.

Looking up she saw that the genestealer she had just been about to shoot was looming over the side of the trench. With a swift motion it jumped down next to her, its six limbs cushioning its landing. The alien met her eyes, barring its sharp needle-like teeth as it made a low hissing sound. It approached her, its four arms guiding it across the sandy floor.

Tractus shoved the corpse away from her and scrambled to her lasgun. Before she could reach it she felt bony fingers grip her leg and yank her back. Tractus yelped as she turned and saw the four-armed figure standing above her. Drawing her other leg back she kicked the alien's leg as hard as she could in an attempt to knock it over, but all she did was smash her own shin against the creature's bony exterior and send a sharp pain up her leg.

She heard a blast and was showered in fragments of the alien's exoskeleton, and she felt a burning sensation where some small droplets of its blood landed on her cheek. Tractus immediately tried to wipe away the corrosive liquid with the sleeves of her fatigues. The genestealer turned around, emitting a high-pitched shriek and attempting to charge forward before several more blasts pushed it backwards until it fell over.

The creature lay several meters away from her screaming as it flailed its limbs around. The shooter approached and Tractus recognized her uniform as that of a captain's.

"Come on!" She recognized Baugulf's voice. The Krieg Captain hoisted Tractus to her feet and pushed her away before standing over the wailing alien and firing a round in its face. "Can you see? Can you see Tractus?!"

"It's burning! It's burning! It's in my eyes!" Tractus screamed, frantically trying to hide her face underneath her sleeves.

"Let me see…" Baugulf yanked Tractus's arms down and smacked her in the face. "Let me see girl!"

With the sounds of gunfire, artillery and alien screams surrounding them, Tractus did her best to hold her hands at her side. She took short, rapid breaths as Baugulf examined her, and winced when she moved her face.

"You'll be fine. It's a bad burn, and you'll be missing a lot of hair on the left side of your head, but you'll live."

"I can't see…" Tractus whimpered.

"It's just sand." Baugulf unclipped a wineskin filled with water from her belt. Holding Tractus's head back and forcing Tractus's eyes open with her thumb she began to pour it over the girl's face.

She could see again. Her face still burnt all over its left side, and her eyes still stung, but she could see. The black mask with red lenses before her was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She moved to throw her arms around the captain but the woman pushed her chest away.

"Get out of here. These trenches are gone." Baugulf walked away, stopped to pick up Tractus's lasgun and toss it to her, then began to rush back toward the fighting.

"W-Wait!" Tractus yelled, chasing after her. "I'm not letting you-"

Captain Baugulf stopped, turned, and grabbed Tractus by the fatigues.

"This position is-" Before she could finish they heard a deep roar. Turning around Baugulf could see tyranid hierodule drag its armored mass over the tops of the further most trenches, with rows of carnifexs and several maleceptors behind it. "Follow me and die. Or run and live. Your choice."

Baugulf gave Tractus a shove, drew her pistol and chainsword, and charged into the direction of the enemy, joining hundreds of other Kriegsmen in the close quarters fighting. Standing with her lasgun hanging by her side and her face feeling like fire, Tractus almost followed her.

Follow me and die.

The final word stood out. She thought of Emilia, Ave, and Cartes. There were out here somewhere. And if she died then they would be alone. Checking her lasgun pack, Tractus looked around her before she turned and fled down the tunnel leading toward the Arx Angelicum.

Chapter 27

"Squad command this is position 12-18! Hostiles incoming, outmost defenses breached." Anderson said with his ear pressed against his headset. "Affirmative, trenches are lost, defenders taking high casualties." Anderson screamed into his vox cast.

There was a pause, and then a grin appeared on Anderson's face. "That's a negative sir. I've voxed them myself to tell them, and they seem to be either cut off or to have no interest in falling back." Looking over the edge of the dugout Anderson saw a hormagaunt get decapitated. The Kreigsman seemed to forget everything around him as he hacked repeatedly at the dead alien's corpse with his shovel, before a termagant came upon it and fired several shots from its fleshborer into his side.

"Affirmative sir. Commencing cleansing. Out. Campbell!" Anderson shouted. "Grab the flamer and prepare to torch those fuckers!"

"About time!" Campbell slung his lasgun to his side and slipped a heavy metal tube to his back which was attached to a metal nozzle via a hose. As he stood up to hoist the item onto himself, his felt something small smash against his helmet at a speed high enough to knock him back a few steps. As he gained his bearings he saw what had hit him lying in the sand of the dugout before him: It was a small, eye-less, beetle-like creature, its six limbs flailing helplessly as its back lay against the dirt. A look of disgust was plastered across his face as he brought his boot down on top of it.

"Babyface? Cartes!" Anderson screamed, snapping Cartes back to reality. "Are you fucked in the head? Point that rifle and fire keep firing at anything that isn't human!"

Fumbling with his lasgun Cartes fired several shots without aiming, one of which found its way to one of the few remaining Kreigsman before them, splitting his head open in an explosion of red mist just before he tossed a grenade, which exploded in the dead man's hand and killed one of his comrades. No one, not even Cartes, noticed the fratricide.

"Ready Captain!" Screamed Campbell.

"Give those fuckers a facial they won't forget Marcus!" Anderson shouted. Campbell, along with units from the thousands of dug outs just like their own, doused the trenches of the Kreigsman in holy fire. The masked men and xenos alike ceased fighting, shrieking as their bodies twisted and convulsed within the flames.

Cartes saw some men actually climb out of the trench, and began walking toward the dug outs. Flames engulfed them as their arms flailed around as their suits and their masks began to melt and fuse into their very skin. For the first time in his life Cartes caught the distinct smell of smoldering human flesh combined with burnt leather.

Cartes felt as if he couldn't breathe, taking short frantic gulps of air. Upon seeing these men he was filled with the overwhelming urge end their suffering however he could. With tears in his eyes and snot caking the lower half of his face he franticly pulled the trigger on his lasgun, gunning down three, five, eight men before Anderson smacked him on the back of the helmet.

"We don't have time! Focus your shots on the fucking enemy!" He screamed.

The lines before them may have been blazing, but above the fire he could see flying creatures begin to advance beyond the trenches. The War-Skulls 4th company, along with every other Guard dug out began firing toward the skies.

It was the first time in an entire day Cartes had bothered to look up. He could see that the flashes of artillery had waned though it had not stopped entirely. He could still hear the distinct crack of exploding shells, but the sky was no longer a landscape of blinding light. Cartes could see no clouds, and hardly any of the natural red sky of Baal. More shapes than he could count moved above him. Looking between the smaller flying xenos he could occasionally see what looked like winged serpents flying and twisting through the air. One of them passed by the outer towers of the Arx Angelicum and he realized that the beast must have been larger than a tank, or several tanks for that matter.

"Don't panic lads." Said Anderson between shots. "This was expected, those trenches were never going to hold."

"And what about this? Our little fucking whole in the ground is going to hold?" Asked Campbell.

Anderson stopped shooting for a moment to smack Campbell across the face. "We retreat when I say! Not before!"

Cartes could see the flying xenos carried strange contraptions which were seared into their hands. Out of these objects came small projectiles which rained down all around them, though few had turned their attention to the 4th company's encampment.

Suddenly they heard screaming from one of the ditches next to theirs. At first Cartes thought the troopers had been hit by whatever the flying aliens were firing, but when he looked over he saw that they were being ripped apart by man sized beasts, the same kind which had swarmed the Kreigsmen trenches earlier.

"Captain…" He said. "Captain!"

"What lad?"

"Enemies at our flank!"

"What are you-" Anderson stopped when he saw what was happening to the dug out of the 6th company. Genestealers were swarming them. But how had they made it over so quickly?

Suddenly the sand exploded on the other side and Anderson saw a trygon emerge from the sand next to 2nd Company's dugout, with several genestealers and hormagaunts crawling out of the hole behind it.

"Cap?" Marcel reported. "Cap, we got problems above, and side to side!"

"They're coming out of the ground! They're coming out of the god-damn ground! Let's book!" Campbell screamed as he began to clumsily pull at the edges of the dugout.

Anderson opened his mouth to give the order to fall back but the ground shook, causing him to fall on his ass and Campbell to fall backwards, landing with all his weight on top of the flamer tank still attached to him. Gasping, he managed to get to his knees before the very ground beneath him caved in. Campbell whimpered as he was pulled under, uselessly hitting the sand with his fits. Both Anderson and Cartes grabbed each one of his hands and tried to pull him out. Suddenly the depression in the sand erupted and Campbell was hoisted seven meters into the air, caught in the huge gapping mouth of a mawloc.

The nozzle of the flamer dangling beneath him while Campbell desperately grasped at the empty air for something to free himself. Marcel drew his own lasrifle and began firing point blank the creature's gut. After a few shots the beast lashed out with one of the six long scythes lining its body. It impaled Marcel, piercing his chest piece with ease and hoisting him into the air before violently thrashing its bladed limb. Marcel was thrown from the creature, landing on the red sand several meters behind the dugout. He managed to take a few gasps before Cartes saw half a dozen hormagaunts tyranids swarm and begin to rip him to pieces.

"Come on!" Anderson, who had already climbed out of the hold, grabbed the back plate of Cartes's fatigues and yanked him out of the hole. "This position's lost! Get to the fortifications before they close the doors!"

"Help! Cap! Cap don't – don't leave me like this! Please! Master! Mamma!" Campbell begged. Looking up Cartes could see that most of Campbell's body had slide down the beast's gullet, with only his head and the tops of his shoulder's sticking out.

"Fucking run!" Anderson screamed, before giving Cartes a shove. Smacking his head against the sand seemed to pull Cartes back to reality; he stammered to his feet and ran toward the Arx Angelicum as fast as he could without looking back.

With Babyface out of the way Anderson turned back to the mawloc that had devastated his company. Campbell had been swallowed hole, and the mawloc reared its head around to snarl at its next victim.

"Don't say I never did anything for you Campbell…" He muttered as he yanked a phosphorous grenade off his belt and released the firing pin. As the mawloc moved to swallow him Anderson dove out of the way, but not before tossing the grenade down its gullet. A few seconds later the creature began to emit a high pitched wailing as it started to thrash its worm-like body about. A white-hot light could be seen emitting from inside the creature's gut, before the skin was burnt away from the inside, allowing a mixture of charred and slimy intestines spill out onto the sand. Amongst them Anderson could see Campbell's corpse slide out amongst the filth, with all of the flesh on his face, head, and hands having been burnt away. At least the poor bastard's suffering was over.

Xenos of all kinds infested the encampments now, as genestealers poured out of the holes left by the worm-tyranids, and he could see carnifex's and tyrannofex's begin go to emerge from the flames of the trenches. Anderson began to get to his feet before he felt something small and sharp pierce the flesh of his left arm.

Looking behind him Anderson saw that a termagant was aiming at him with its fleshboarer. Before it could lose another shot Anderson drew his pistol from his belt and fired. The round landed in the xeno's eye just below its protective carapace, causing it to recoil in pain then try to rub its face against its forelimbs and smashing its head against the sand.

The beetle that it had shot at Anderson had already burrowed its way into his arm. It was still alive and he could feel it tearing through the muscles in his arm as it crawled its way upward, trying to reach his shoulder and chest cavity. Without thinking Anderson pressed the hot barrel of his pistol against his own flesh and fired. Wincing in pain, he closed his eyes and shot his own arm another three times to ensure that he had killed the vial intruder.

His arm was mangled. Below the elbow most of the limb was hanging by a tussle of limp flesh and twisted bone, and most of the skin had turned black. He looked up and saw that a carnifex about twenty meters away had honed in him and had begun to charge. Anderson was about to hoist himself up and run when suddenly its carapace exploded in several places, causing it to reel back.

"Death to the traitors!" A booming voice called. Looking behind him Anderson a group of Space Marines run pass him and charge into xenos hordes. They were wearing an armor he had never seen before: All black, save for a large red 'X' painted over their right shoulder. Anderson had never actually seen a marine in combat before. He'd been told they were fearless, but these ones were fighting with complete abandon.

Three of them charged into the carnifex, firing their bolters at point blank range, eventually causing the creature's carapace to shatter. One of them yanked back the carapace and drove his chainsword between the armored plates and began moving it back and forth, goring the creature's insides. Eventually the beast rolled onto its back, exposing its soft underbelly. Two of the marines charged further into the swarm of xenos, until they were surrounded in a hail of bolter fire and tyranid insides. The other marine remained by the dying carnifex and drove his gauntlets into its guts. To Anderson's amazement, the marine tore off his own helmet and started consuming the alien's ripped out entrails.

Smaller tyranids began to assail the marine, who with bolter and blade began cutting down the creatures. As he did so, Anderson could see that the acidic insides of the dead carnifex were beginning to eat through the flesh of the marine's cheek, jaws, and even his eyes. He briefly wondered what must be happening to the man's insides before he got to his feet and, cradling what was left of his arm, fled toward the Arx Angelicum, passing dozens of marines in all manner of colors rushing into battle as he did so.

Chapter 28

His lasgun dangling loosely from its strap, Cartes ran as fast as he could toward the outer walls of the monastery. All around him were other guardsmen doing the same. Some were assisting their wounded comrades – he saw at least one man without legs being dragged across the sand by his fellows – though others were left to their fate. One woman had tried to grab his arm and begged him to help her but he didn't even register it until after he had torn his arm out of her grasp had fled several yards.

Something grabbed him, and pushed him toward the ground. Rolling over Cartes came face to face with one of the small flying xenos that he'd seen so many of earlier. Someone had shot one of its wings and it had crashed onto him. A high pitched squawking emitted from it before it tried to sink its teeth into his neck. Keeping his legs between them Cartes tried to kick the creature away but to no avail. The creature opened its mouth, and inside he could see a small fleshy tube emerge, pointing directly at Cartes's face.

Before the xeno could carry out its attack a portion of its head was blown off and it fell to the side. Gasping, Cartes first noticed the smoking barrel of the pistol before recognizing the wielder.

Tractus?

"Tractus!" He screamed. The side of her face looked as if it had been badly burnt, but it was her. He grabbed her extended hand.

"You good?" She asked as she hoisted him up. "Are you good!?" She shook him.

"Yeah." He panted. He noticed Emilia standing behind her. She rushed into Cartes's arms and embraced him.

"You're alive! You're alive!"

He pulled away from her and looked at Tractus. "We won't be for long if we don't move now."

"Have you seen Ave?" Tractus asked.

"No! He's in a completely different posting."

"Okay…" She muttered, surveying the battlefield around them. Tyranid swarms were less than forty meters away from them. "Okay. Cartes, you take Emilia and head to the Monastery. I'll going to find Ave." She moved to leave.

"Are you fucked in the head?" Cartes shouted as he grabbed her arm.

"He's my brother!"

"And if he has any sense to him he'll be heading to the Angelicum right now."

"I'm not leaving him out here!"

Cartes slapped his adoptive sister across the face. Emilia jumped. "They will fucking leave you out here to die! Emilia is right here, alive! Get your ass inside the Fortress with us, and look for him in there!

Tractus opened her mouth to answer but instead flecks of blood came out. A man-sized flying creature which Cartes had never seen before had stuck its tail into her back.

"Tractus!" Emilia screamed. Fumbling for his rifle Cartes dug the butt of the weapon into his shoulder and fired several shots at the creature. It shrieked, before withdrawing its tail. It smacked Cartes with one of its bat-like wings, knocking him to the ground before it took off into the air.

"I'm good! I'm good…" Tractus gasped.

Crates pulled himself to his feet. "Emilia, look at me." He pressed his lasgun into her hands. "I'm going to get her inside the gates. But we have to leave now, and I need you to shoot anything that tries to come up on us."

"But… I can't-"

Cartes grabbed her shoulder. "You can. I know you can." He brought her in and gave her a quick kiss. "We are not dying here. Now let's go!" He hoisted Tractus up of the ground, and slinging one of her arms around his neck, the three began to make a final dash toward the safety of the Arx Angelicum.

They had nearly made it. The massive gate of the Blood Angels' Fortress Monastery was in front of them. And it was closing.

"Hurry!" Cartes shouted, as the three of them pushed and shoved through the hordes of Guardsmen blazing forward toward the gates.

The swarms of xenos were gaining, less than twenty meters from their current position. Emilia looked over her shoulder, and raised her weapon to fire at the approaching aliens. As she moved a guardsmen running full speed toward the gate crashed into her, knocking her to the ground as he sped past her.

She landed face first against her lasgun. The impact bashed open her face and she felt herself swallow some of her teeth as the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. As she tried to lift herself up another guardsmen ran right over her, his boot landing on the back of her head and pressing her face into the sand.

"W- wait!" She screamed after she spat out a mouthful of blood and sand. She scrambled to her feet and began running, but she had fallen far behind. "Wait!"

Cartes and Tractus were at the door, relieved that they had made it just before the gates closed. Tractus fell to her knees in exhaustion while Cartes turned around to check on Emilia only to see that she wasn't there. His eyes went wide as he began scanning the horizon. He saw her. Her face was bloody but he recognized her. Her mouth was open. He could see she was calling. She was calling for him, begging him not to abandon her, begging him not to leave her to die.

She was too far behind. She would never make it in time.

"Emilia…" Cartes took a full step toward her. Then he felt a large, powerful hand grip his back of his collar and yank him backwards with such force he went flying. He looked up and saw that an enormous Angel, encased in red armor standing before him. Looking toward the door the Angel raised his hand, and lowered it as if giving a signal. "Emilia!" Cartes screamed, wobbling to his feet and running toward the gate just as it slammed shut. "Emilia!" He cried, and began smashing his hands against the immense stone wall.

Emilia had made it to the gate, bashing her hand against the wall and screaming for them to open it. She frantically began looking around for a ledge, a hole, anything to climb. The surface was bare and smooth.

She heard a hissing sound behind her. She turned around slowly to see that she was surrounded by hundreds of the sword-handed monsters. One of them looked toward the sky and made several horrible, screeching calls as the others began to approach her. With her back pressed against the wall she slide to the ground and curled up into a ball, as if she could make herself so small that the monsters wouldn't see her.

They approached, snarling at her and at each other. "Tractus… Cartes… Mom? Mommy where are you?" She whispered. One of them was so close she could feel its cold, wet nostrils against her forehead as it sniffed her. "My Emperor, holy father of Sanguinius… please, protect…" She shut her eyes tightly as tears rolled down her cheeks.

The emperor offered no protection.

Chapter 29

Most of the Guard's barracks tents had been infested with xenos filth. Some men had come to hide under their bunks before the enemy tore through the thin walls and ripped them to pieces. Upon seeing that the gates to the Angelicum were closed, Anderson had veered off course and ran into one of the few untouched tents just outside the Fortress.

"Come on… come on you cheap bastards don't leave me dry…" He muttered to himself as used his good arm to toss aside bunks and rummage through the abandon personal effects of troops he had never met. The tent was completely clean: No liquor, no pills, no obscura, no flects, no grinweed, no amasec, tranq, not even any fucking swish. "Fuck you! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He collapsed with his back against the wall and slide to the floor cradling his face in his hand. Captain Cyprien Anderson realized that not only was he going to die, he was going to die sober.

Then he heard them. Short, squawking calls as they tore through the fabric of the tent's walls. He could see the silhouette of hormagaunts rummaging through the barracks. One of them jumped atop the common tables and prowled along it, knocking over aluminum cups and food trays as it did so. A deep roar filled the barrecks, scattering the gaunts as much larger alien tore its way inside. He could hear wet slopping sounds, as if the thing was swallowing all the discarded paraphilia around the tent. It had a round bulk, fatter than any carnifex. Anderson didn't recognize the silhouette.

Anderson drew his last pistol. "My Lord on Terra…" He prayed for the first time since his wife had been in labour. "Father of the great Angel and Master of all mankind. Guide me, and protect me." He placed the barrel of the gun below his chin. He thought about a time long before this, when he was fixing up his hab dwellings with his old man when the lights broke long ago. How old had he been then, five or so? He remembered it was the first time his father had ever said he was proud of him. It was a good thought to die with. He smile, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

Click!

His eyes went wide. He was silent, then he cried, and then he laughed before tossing the pistol away.

The beast had found him. It lumbered toward him on its four fat legs. It sported an ungodly maw. As it opened its mouth entire toothed limbs reached out, all covered in a sickly purple goop. It hissed, and he could smell the rot of a thousand corpses.

Looking into the tyranid's six eyes Anderson was filled with understanding. He knew why this was happening. He knew why he had lost, and why Baal would be lost. He understood why the Imperium would lose. There was no hatred in the creature's eyes. No malice. No pride, no pity, and no fear. Just hunger. Hunger, and the recognition of prey. It was perfect.

He thought about everything his father had told him about Terra, about the Corpse-God on his throne. About what his priest had told him about how humanity was master of the cosmos. He laughed one last time.

"Fucking liars."

A long, toothed tongue shot out of the beast's mouth and dragged him inside.

Chapter 30

A combat hospital had been set up within the walls of the Arx Angelicum. A barracks of the Angel's blood thralls had been converted into one, the solid walls and ceiling providing better shelter than the medical tents which had been originally stationed outside. Comfortable as it was, no one had expected the invaders to take so much ground so quickly, or for so many injured to survive long enough to make it to the infirmary. Cartes could hear someone shrieking as a saw dug its way through the man's leg, before he heard the distinct *plop* of limb flesh smacking against the floor.

"I don't think it got that deep." A bead of sweat ran down Tractus's face as she spoke to the medic who was applying a used bandage to the wound on her back.

"What did it look like again?" The medic asked, as he wiped his hands against a filthy, red-stained apron.

"I don't know. It had wings, short arms and a stabby point on its tail." Cartes shrugged.

"Probably a gargoyle…" The medic muttered.

"It… looked bigger." Cartes answered absentmindedly. He could still see Emilia's face, and he could hardly remember anything else. The sight of her screaming kept playing in his head. He could see her even more clearly than he could see the medic standing right in front of him. Even though she had been too far to hear amidst the gunfire and screaming all around them, he could tell what she had been saying before the gate slammed shut.

Cartes don't leave me here!

"You? You ready to get back out there? Stand up."

"I'm good…" Tractus moved to stand. She took a single wobbly step off of her bunk before her knees gave out. The medic sighed as he grabbed her beneath the arm pits and hoisted her back up on the bunk.

"You get twenty four hours bed rest. I suggest you pray for His light, because after that you're back on the front. You, hey!" Cartes snapped back to reality. "There's a tap at the end of this row. Go get your friend some water, then get back out on the front." With that the medic picked up a bucket which was half full of amputated limbs and stormed off. Cartes turned to his sister.

"I'm… I'm-"

"Don't." She whispered, her eyes half open. "My fault." She looked at him. "You were focused on me. I made you do that. Shouldn't have. Should've left me and helped her."

Cartes didn't know what to say. He knew that Tractus was wrong. She had been wounded, she had done her duty to Baal – was still doing her duty to Baal, yet Cartes couldn't bring himself to even say her name. He tried as hard as he could to not think about Emilia, or her face, and to definitely not think about what happened to her. He'd seen what the aliens had done to people. If he allowed himself to think about what they had done to her he was worried he'd finally collapse, just like he'd wanted to ever since the shelling began a million years ago.

"Tractus?" A voice behind them whispered. "Tractus! Cartes!"

It was Ave. The top part of his helmet was blasted away, and his shirt was a ruined mess of dried blood and torn fatigues, but he was standing behind them. He ran forward, almost jumping on top of his older sister.

Tractus groaned as the weight landed on him, but did nothing to push her brother away. She hugged him tight for a moment, then pushed him away slightly and began running her fingers over and around his face and chest, checking him for injuries.

"How did you-"

"Our dug out was in the backline. When we saw the aliens jumping up out of the ground my CO told me to run to the rendezvous inside the gate."

"Did you get shot? What the fuck happened to you?"

"One of those big worm ones came out of the ground. Grabbed a trooper in front of me, and would have gotten me but one of our tanks hit it! It was amazing! What about you two? You kill any of those filthy xenos? What's with the bandage, one of them get you Trac? Huh? Oh man that's probably going to look like such a dope scar eh? Where's Emilia?" Ave looked around the bunk, and the smile on his face began to fade as he saw that his little sister was nowhere to be seen.

Cartes and Tractus looked at each other.

"Where's Emilia?"

Chapter 31

The ship rocked as Admiral Dissiosa von Stone lazily swished the cognac in her glass. The girl politely asked once again if there had been any word of the Inquisitor, and once again the Admiral shook her head.

"I doubt he's coming back to orbit now." She yawned. "Your move." She indicated toward the board. Von Stone struggled to keep her eyes open. She'd taken the girl's Empress, three of her Tetrarchs, a Primarch, and several of her warriors, whereas von Stone had lost only a few Templars.

"Is victory at hand?" Aid Tibela asked, absentmindedly making her move and opening her last Tetrarch to being taken.

'Victory at hand?' We're at a standstill at best. All we can do is shred them en mass as they try to manoeuvre, but we can't even tell if we've made a dent in their forces.

"It's within our grasp." Sighed the Lord Admiral as she took the girl's final Tetrarch. She thought about the High Lord Admiral, about how she was here and he was not. Dissiosa von Stone was perhaps the highest ranking expendable officer in the entire Ultima Segmentum. She wondered if her placement here was a final step toward the ranks of the High Admiralty, or if it was just to mitigate the fallout if things went to shit given it wouldn't be that difficult to replace her.

The shipped rocked violently. Suddenly alert, von Stone sat up and checked the cabin's holo-display. Dorvus Tibela looked around with wide-eyed curiosity.

"Is that bad?" She asked.

"Report." Von Stone ignored her as she spoke into her vox cast.

"Collision with several organic vessels, southern starboard side." Answered a voice.

Von Stone paused for a moment before responding. She motioned for Tibela to get up and leave, which the aid did after making a small bow.

"What's the damage?"

"Minimal given the size of the payload Lord Admiral. We think it may have been a few smaller hive-ships that got damaged and veered off-"

"It's a boarding party." She cut him off. "They'll be trying to melt the outside with acid, and they're likely all over the ship's exterior looking for weak points to crawl into. Summon anti-personal forces and have them focus around the airlocks. I'm on my way to the bridge. Lord Admiral von Stone, out."

She downed the last of her cognac in a single gulp and moved to close the game board. Before she did so she noticed something: The girl had caught her in a blind man's mate. Von Stone's Throne was trapped between one of the girl's Ecclesiarch and one of her Temples. In fact the admrial had been trapped – and hence been beaten – several turns ago. Was the girl just being polite, or was she really so stupid she couldn't tell she'd won? Von Stone glanced toward the door of her cabin with a puzzled look.

Chapter 32

Tractus was screaming, her face and head were soaked in sweat while she shook on her bunk. Cartes was doing his best to hold her down while one of the medics tried to examine her.

"Out! Out!" She shrieked as she trashed about.

"Ave, give me a hand here! Help us hold her down!" Cartes yelled.

"Keep her still!" The medic demanded as he tried to press a wooden bit in her mouth to stop her from chewing her own tongue off.

Ave didn't respond, instead standing off to the side. His face was red and he tried to hold back his sniffles as he hugged himself. He was muttering softly. Something about Sanguinius, and then it sounded as if he was quietly asking Tractus to please be okay.

"Ave give me a fucking hand here! Sanguinius isn't going to do shit for your sister!" Cartes's head snapped back and his nose exploded in a spray of red as Tractus's knee smashed against his face, causing him to stumble.

Screaming so loudly she drowned out all the sounds from her fellow wounded soldiers, Tractus grabbed the medic who was treating her by the fatigues and gripped him as tightly as she could. He wrestled with her momentarily before grabbing an aluminum first aid kit and bashing her in the head. The blow loosened her grip enough for him to free himself, though it did not stop the thrashing.

A spray of blood shot out of her chest. Her voice sounded course as she began to make a horrible gasping sound, as if she needed to scream yet could not get the air. As Tractus conversed Cartes and Ave could see her skin begin to tear itself to shreds all over her body. Blood sprayed in all directions and they could hear the cracking of bones mixed with the squishing sound of organs and guts being torn to shreds. Then, out of the soft flesh of her throat, they could see something stubby and fat emerge. Then another shape emerged from out of her stomach, then another one from her side.

The screaming had stopped. Tractus was making gurgling sounds while she lay twitching on the bunk, as half a dozen blood soaked, six-limbed worms with razor jaws stuck out of her body. They opened their small mouths and made a high pitched squeal, before they began chewing on her flesh. Her two brothers stood dumbfounded, tears rolling down Ave's cheeks.

"Tractus-"

There was a flash of light and the sound of lasgun fire filled the air. Tractus's body began to shake as chunks of it exploded, along with the creatures that had emerged from it. Ave and Cartes were knocked aside as a trooper carrying a small flamer passed by them and set Tractus alight. Hisses changed to squeals as the ripper worms were engulfed. The man with the lasgun grabbed the medic by the scruff of his neck.

"Parasites. Check anyone who's suffered a minor stab wound from a flying 'nid. Shoot em, then take em' out and burn em.'" Tractus was completely still now and the room was heavy with the smell of the girl's burning flesh.

"The fuck are you looking at?" The flame trooper turned toward Ave and Cartes. Cartes blinked at him, while Ave was transfixed on his sister's corpse. "Get your asses to the walls."

Chapter 33

"What's our situation in orbit?"

"Deteriorating fast my Lord." Answered Incarael as Commander Dante stood motionless at the edge of the balcony of the command center. Xenos guts had caked his armor where they had dried. "Two thirds of our ships have been destroyed, and the Navy's situation isn't looking much better. They've gone from a standstill to slowly giving way to the swarms. As for the ground, they are literally climbing over walls of their own dead."

Millions of bio-forms swarmed the monastery, smashing themselves against the outer walls. Over fifty towering Hierophants could be seen. They were being held back by what was left of their remaining heavy guns, and gunships while the tyranids hurled artillery of their own: Hordes of plasma, acid, and explosive chemicals sizzled and discharged against walls which had stood for over ten millennia.

"Very well." Dante nodded. "Notify all Blood Angels ships that they're to return to the Arx Angelicum immediately while we still have heavy ammunition to cover their decent. Suggest all other Astartes ships follow suit."

"It will be done my lord." Incarael bowed and began to leave.

"A moment brother." Dante turned and slowly approached him. "Contingencies are in place. If the enemy breaches the inner-most section of the Angelicum…" He laid his massive armored gauntlet on Incarael's shoulder. "I will not allow Baal, or its citizens, to become fuel for the enemy."

Dante hadn't removed his helmet, which was modelled after the face of Sanguinius himself. "What are you suggesting?" Incarael asked.

"You know that we have cyclonic torpedos stored in the lower levels of this fortress. Should this place fall, I'm asking you to see to it our foe does as well."

Dante may have been asking Incarael to participate in the death of his homeworld, and every single person knew on its surface, but he could not deny the Great Angel, nor the great man he knew behind that armor.

"It will be done. May I make one request my Lord?"

"You may."

"I would ask that you allow me to fight by your side until that moment comes."

Dante smiled behind his mask before nodding. "There is not much we can be certain of any longer. But you have served the Blood Angels faithfully. No matter what happens, I am certain that will never change."

Dante left, the Axe Mortalis swinging gracefully from his side as he did so. Incarael stood still. He'd accepted his own demise in war long ago, but to be the one to destroy this most holy place? That gave him pause, until a large bio-electric pulse smashed against the wall some fifty meters away from him and shook him back to the present. He followed his commander.

Chapter 34

Cartes, Ave, and over five thousand other guardsmen were about to relieve those who had been manning the walls. They stood in the courtyard of the massive fortress monastery, with lasgun, bolterfire, and the screech of war engines and bio-forms being heard in the distance. A commissar stood before them. The faces of the two boy-soldiers were still stained with Tractus's blood, and Cartes's smashed nose had dripped blood all over the front of his fatigues. Cartes glared at the high walls where he was to be posted. Ave looked toward the ground, and could not stop seeing his sister.

"Men and women of the Imperium!" He shouted. "Scores of your brethren lay dead, bringing glory to the Emperor and demonstrating their loyalty to humanity! He has witnessed their sacrifice and it has pleased Him! But what of you all? When you stand before your Master what shall He see? Will He see cowards? Will He those who thought only of themselves and whimpered in terror at the sight of enemy's cruelty? Or will He see men ready and worthy to stand by his side? You have been through hell, and hell is waiting for you again! Face it! Your fear, your sorrow, your weariness, take these weaknesses and let them fuel a righteous, purifying hatred!" He unsheathed his saber and lifted it above his head. "Hate the alien! Purge the alien! Show the alien the same mercy they have shown your comrades!"

"Kill 'em all!" Screamed one of the guardsmen, and was met by cheers and lasguns firing into the air, before they began to march toward their stations on the walls.

Cartes didn't say anything. He began to walk forward but Ave grabbed his shoulder.

"They're… they're gone Cartes." Ave's eyes were wet and his nose looked red from sniffling. "Mom's gone. Tractus… how do we – what are we going to do without them?"

"We're going to do what we have too."

Ave looked at this boy whom he had known and played with for almost his entire life as if he was a stranger. "Cartes, they're gone! Gone!"

"Yes they're fucking gone!" Cartes grabbed Ave by his fatigues and pulled him close so their faces were inches apart. "They're gone. And that is their fault." He indicated toward the walls and the xenos fighting the gunships high above them. "So we are going to do to them exactly what they did to Tractus. To Emilia." He released his grip on Ave and the two boys stood there for a second. "Let's go."

Cartes turned and followed the rest of the deployed troops. Ave stood unsure of himself for a moment, but eventually scrambled after Cartes before the last of his family could disappear from his sight.

Chapter 35

Gunfire blared around them, while the screeching cries of the xenos could be heard above and below them. Cartes and Ave were stationed to assist with the ammunition feed of one of the thousands of heavy Gatling cannons mounted along the outer walls, firing between flying attackers and ground forces. Angels, clad in an array of golds, reds and blacks patrolled and ran past them, firing at any aerial tyranids which got to close to the mounted defenses.

Hundreds of feet below them the ground was alive with swarms of tyranids. Some smashed their heavy chitienous plates against the stone walls, while others vomited or hurled acid chemicals to eat through the defenses.

"Gatling D12! Focus fire five meters east! Take out those carnifexs!" Shouted one of the commanders. Cartes who was removing an empty ammunition pack from the gun's base had to duck lest the massive, eye-level barrel nozzle smack him in the head and push him over the wall. Ave took no time to look around him, his focus entirely on the task at hand. The idea of stopping to take in the insanity around him was unacceptable.

Below him were five large carnifexs using themselves as living battering rams, smashing their bulks into the wall before backing up to do it again.

"Eat this you fuckers!" The gunner screamed as he pointed the weapon downwards, unleashing a barrage of fire on the xenos. A deep roar bellowed from them, intensified by the unison of their cries. Some of them attempted to return fire with their strange gun-shaped forelimbs, and Cartes could even see what looked like fragments of sharpened bone firing out of one of the creature's armor. To high up to be affected, the Gatling gun fired with abandon, eventually piercing even the thick plating of the creatures, spewing yellow and green fluids in all directions as the carnifex's yelped and twitched as they collapsed on top of each other.

It did nothing to slow down the others. One of the large worm types that had killed Cartes's crew slithered its way on top of the dead beasts and tried to dig its way through the thick stone walls, only to be cut down in seconds by the heavy fire. After that more xenos of various shapes and sizes followed suit.

Cartes was amazed. In less than a minute he had seen no less than fifty individual creatures be torn to shreds, yet this didn't seem to stop any of the other beasts from throwing themselves into the line of fire. As the minutes rolled on Cartes noticed something: Despite the death toll, the pile of corpses was rising. A wall of dead aliens was slowly but steadily rising.

"Get ready to douse them!" The commander shouted to a nearby crew operating a rusted old Goliath bulldozer, pushing several large crates toward the edge of the wall. "Send it over!" As the crates began to fall the commander pushed a switch; Cartes could see that whatever was inside them had begun to emit smoke. As they landed on the creatures beneath them they cracked open and a heavy, sticky substance oozed out and coated the beasts beneath. Then there was a flash so bright Cartes and Ave were blinded, causing them shielded their eyes in pain. They could hear a high pitched shirking unlike anything they had ever heard before. It sounded like a cross between an infant and the yelping of a dog Cartes had once seen impale itself on a rusted pipe as it chased down a desert hare.

The white light had abated, and the screams had been replaced by a persistent sizzling sound. The two looked back to see that the pile of tyranids, and those crowding around it had been reduced to smoldering remains, and all but the thickest chitin plate looked as if something had melted right through it. Some of the larger beasts still had portions of the flaming substance stuck to them, and it ate through their skin like acid. Some were missing limbs or large sections of their bodies were turned to ash. One creature the size of a tank with a massive gun on its back tried to walk forward only to find that it's lower half had been turned to ash. It fell on its side as a mix of its burnt and unburned innards slid out of its torso.

"Burn you shi – Ahh!" The gunner screamed and he fell back from the Gatling gun. A flying tyranid, with two large bat-like wings and carrying two organic looking cannons beneath them swopped past the gun. Before it could get out of range one of the passing Angels fired several bolter rounds at the creature, causing its chest to explode as it began to nosedive bellowing in pain into the courtyard of the Arx Angelicum where it would be picked off as it came to ground.

The gunner was withering on the ground, squealing as he coughed up blood and looked as if he was punching himself all over his body. Cartes ran to the man. Upon reaching the man's side he could see through his torn fatigues that a seed-like ball the size of a fist had latched itself onto his chest. Six barbed tentacles had emerged from its sides and it had dug themselves deep into the man's flesh, and Cartes could see them violently wiggling and tearing at his insides. A second fist-sized pod had attached itself to the man's cheek, and Cartes could see one of its tentacles had bored itself through the man's eye-socket.

Cartes reached down to try and yank one of these pods off of the man, but he felt a powerful force yank him backwards and toss him several feet. An Angel clad in red armor and black shoulders had pulled Cartes out of the way, then without saying a word pointed his bolter at the screaming man and fired twice. The trooper's chest exploded with such force that one of the man's arms flew outward and hit Ave's chest, while his head exploded into a puff of red mist.

"You." The Angel spoke to Ave in a heavy yet flat voice. "Man that gun."

The boy didn't respond, instead focusing on the human arm which had landed by his feet. The Angel approached.

"Get on that gun." The Angel commanded.

He was faced with a massive torso of power armor bearing what looked like a jewel blood drop in the center. The chest piece was so large he could hardly see the Angel's bald, hairless face. Ave looked up at the warrior, completely lost. His mouth was gapping open, unsure of what to say.

"Ave do what he says!" Cartes shouted!

The Angel lifted his arm and brought it up to Ave's torso. Within a second he had encased his hand around Ave's head before crushing it. Cartes saw his brother's skull collapse in on itself and his brains seep out from between the Angel's armored fingers. Ave's body went limp and fell to the ground, before his killer kicked it over the side of the wall. In less than two seconds Ave had been alive, and now Cartes didn't even have a corpse to bury.

Cartes yelped, not even able to scream 'no.' The Angel turned and approached him. Standing above him the Angel looked more massive than any of the building-sized aliens Cartes had seen. He shut his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth as he tried to prepare for the Angel to bring his boot down on his own skull.

Cartes felt the Angel grip his fatigues before he was tossed toward the Gatling gun.

"Man that gun." He ordered.

Without thinking Cartes nodded his head. His hands fumbled with the gun's handle. He swung the handle around and pointed at a random spot on the moving ground surrounding the fortress. He squished the trigger and the barrels began to rotate.

"DIE!" His face caked in blood, snot and tears, Cartes screamed as loud as he could. His voice cracked as the gun began to fire. "DIE!"

Chapter 36

Fleet Commissar Vullhame Forn strode through the lower decks of the Indomitable, a company of voidsmen following suit. Their boots were already caked with xenos guts which stained the cross walks and metal floors beneath them.

"Enemy combatants to north of your position, though smaller squads of genestealers have been seen to your east." Vullhame received the info over his vox piece.

"Squads A12 and 13, head north and engage. A17, head to the crew quarters and check for enemies. They're likely moving throughout the ventilation sections, sweep and clear."

"Sir!" The respective company commanders took their men and ran to their objectives. Forn was left with his own company of five soldiers.

"Command, where hell are we exactly? Any word of enemies in our current position?"

"That's a negative commissar, our anti-personal forces have managed to keep the fighting contained to the barracks and artillery platforms. You're just above the warp engines as we speak, and we've no reports of hostiles making it this far into the ship."

"Understood. Forn out." He turned to his men, whom were wearing dirty blue jumpsuits with brass armor and white helmets which were black with soot and dust, while he wore the grey uniform which distinguished him from that of a Militarum commissar "We've found ourselves a respite. No enemy forces in the area so you've got active rest. Join the other voidsmen protecting the engines, but stay sharp. I don't want any xenos getting anywhere near these engines."

"Yes sir!" The remaining voidsmen saluted and went off to supplement the existing patrol routes.

Forn passed a few other voidsmen guarding one of the entrances to the engine chamber, who saluted him as he past. He went down a narrow flight of stairs, checking for any signs of xenos invaders. The Indomitable was a banged up piece of machinery, but he kept his eyes peeled for fresh claw marks against the walls or piles of alien salvia amongst the rust and grime. So far he found nothing.

A small pipe burst behind him, and the air let out a small scream as it escaped. The noise caused him to turn around, though it was what he saw that made him draw his pistol for a moment. A small shape was approaching him, though it took him a second to realize that it was indeed human.

"Identify yourself!" Forn commanded.

"Oh! My apologies, I did not mean to sneak up on you." Said a polite voice. Forn could tell instantly that it wasn't a soldier by the person's lack of any kind of rigidity to their movements. As they got closer Forn realized it was a woman before him. She was wearing a plain black uniform and had big brown eyes. He was about to chew her out before he saw the insignia of the Inquisition on her belt.

"You… you're the Inquisitor?"

"Oh no." She answered with a smile. "I'm afraid I'm merely an aid to Inquisitor Urx."

"Urx… right that was his name." Forn holstered his pistol. "Didn't the man go planetside? Why are you still on board?"

"Oh the Captain told me I could remain until he returned!"

"I see…" Forn yanked his canteen off his belt. He was about to take a sip, then thought to offer it to the woman, who refused. He took a large gulp of re-caff. "So just, what exactly are you doing down here?"

"I asked to help in whatever way I could. I was told that the engines might need some work, so I came down here to see if I do anything."

"Right. Well I haven't heard anything about that. Warp engines are fine. Our orders are to make sure they stay that way."

"That sounds very good! May I help you with that then? To help watch the engines?" The lights above them flickered on and off for a moment, the light making the woman's eyes momentarily look like they had a pale blue color to them.

Forn rubbed his own eyes. He was just tired. He'd been leading anti-personal forces for the last twenty-six hours. He took another sip of re-caff.

"Well Ms.…?"

"Tibela! Dorvus Tibela."

"Well Ms. Tibela," Forn turned to start walking toward another narrow stairwell leading up toward one of the higher docks. "no matter what this isn't a place for someone who is so lightly armed. Follow me and I'll make sure-"

Forn felt a hand being pressed against his stomach and gently pull him back. Before he could say anything he then felt something cold and metal pierce his stomach. He gasped as all the air left his lungs. Looking down he saw a knife had buried itself into the left side of his abdomen. Before he could say anything else he saw the blade effortlessly move from one side of his stomach to the other.

His belly split open and a waterfall of red poured out and stained his white pants. His legs lost all feeling as he landed on his knees. His intestines came oozing out, slipping between his fingers and flopping all over the cold metal floor. He was able to take a single gasp as he groped at his own guts, trying to put them back inside himself.

He felt his hat get knocked aside, and then a hand with strong, slender fingers grip his hair and yank his head back. He was not looking at Dorvus Tibela. She was no longer there. Instead he saw something out of a nightmare. A humanoid figure wearing a skin-tight black bodysuit and facemask with large red eyes that stared into his own.

Why? He pleaded with his eyes. Why was this happening to him? Five seconds ago he had been having a chat and drinking re-caff. He'd been in dozens of warzones and battles before, why was he going to die on his knees in a dark corner of his old, rusted hull?

He felt the sharp metal quickly and painlessly cut his throat. He could see red spraying out in front of him as he clutched at his throat. The figure stepped past him, toward the same stairwell he had been heading toward a moment ago. It had a long, tightly wrapped knot of hair dangling down its back, which looked like some kind of tail growing out of the shape's head. Commissar Forn's last sight would be the red stained metal catwalk, but just before that he saw something else: The skin of the shape that had moved past him had begun to wriggle. Within a few blinks of an eye, Forn had seen this black shape morph into the shape of a man. A man about his own height, his own weight, and wearing a Fleet commissar's grey coat. It reached down to pick up Forn's cap and placed it on its own head, before ascending the stairwell. The shape did not look back.

Chapter 37

"What in the dusty fuck is going on?!" Shouted Major Trot at an analyst sitting in front of several cogitators. "What in the name of Terra is the navy doing? Why can I see hive-ships in low orbit with my naked fucking eye?!"

"S-sir!" The analyst stammered while the major shook him.

"That's enough!" General Ock grabbed Trot's shoulder, forced him around and slapped him across the face. "Come with me." Normally the action may have stunned the rest of the General's staff, but HQ was such a hectic mess that no one, not even the analyst Trot had been screaming at had noticed. Ock lead the two away from the small army of officers and analysts filling the control room, and took Trot to the balcony of the tower. From it they could see the eastern end of side of the Arx Angelicum.

"Our fleet has been pushed back. We've lost orbital superiority. Baal is surrounded." As he spoke Trot could realized that beyond the high, thick fortress walls he make out barely any of the actual surface of Baal.

"Where's the artillery?"

"Finished." Ock looked up and frowned.

"Finished? We brought over twenty five million tons of ammunition to this system, ten million of which we brought to the Angelicum alone."

"We did." Ock nodded. "And it we used it all in just over a week. I recommend you keep that close," Ock indicated to Trot's side arm. "I suspect you'll need that soon."

Trot looked at his general with disbelief. "General, you don't think-"

A Valkyrie, with black smoke emitting from it as it spun out of control flew past them, before crashing into one of the fortress walls and sliding to the ground. They heard a loud, high pitched screeching and saw a harridan climbing through the air. Then it flapped its massive wings, and from its body emerged a host of gargoyles which spread throughout the air.

"Get back inside."

Trot was transfixed. He had never seen a harridan with this own eyes before. Despite its massive bulk it was able to move through the air with such grace, turning and changing direction with more ease than any Imperial aircraft. It was almost like watching a dance. Some horrible, elegant aerial dancer, as if it was making a mockery of all things beautiful.

"Move!" Shouted Ock, as the flying bio-titan angled itself toward the Guard's command tower, ignoring the heavy gunfire which smashed into its hide.

The two men ran towards the entrance. As the creature drew closer Trot could hear what sounded like an electrical discharge. As they reached the stone entrance Ock shoved the Major in front of him. Trot fell face first onto the dusty, stone corridor.

A second later the balcony was splashed with a liquid which sizzled as it made contact, and began eating away at everything it touched. Trot had managed to avoid being drenched as the acidic liquid hadn't followed him around the corner. Before he had a chance to look behind him, he heard the gurgling sounds the General was making.

Caliban Ock's entire body had been drenched in the vile liquid. Trot could hear it sizzling as it ate through his skin, while a thick mist of vapor was wafting off of the General. He was twitching on the ground trying to scream. Short, gasping croaks were the only sounds that emitted from him. Trot saw the skin peel and fall off Ock's face, before his muscles began to corrode away. His lips were gone in seconds, and one of his eyes had turned to liquid and drained into the hole of his own eye-socket. Within seconds Trot saw Ock's face, which despite the signs of sleep deprivation had nonetheless looked full and healthy, disintegrate till it looked like a muscled skull, with a few tuffs of hair still attached to the side of his head.

"GhhhKK!" Ock coughed. Trot couldn't believe that less than ten seconds ago this thing on the ground was the man whom he had known. He wasted no more time. Trot drew his pistol and fired five times into the General's chest. He rolled to his back and stopped moving. Trot walked over to the man's corpse, shot him twice in the head to be sure, and then threw up.

Chapter 38

Cartes looked toward the sky, but there was no sky anymore. Black shapes hovered in the air blocking out any sign of the sun or clouds. The heavy Gatling cannon had run dry, so he jumped off the platform and ran to the front of the gun to load in a fresh bank of ammo. He stepped on a fragment of Ave's skull, though he didn't notice through the constant gunfire and the screeching underneath.

There was no more ammunition. "Fuck." He said to himself. "Fuck!" He shouted. Looking about frantically, he saw another gunning station around 20 meters away. He began to run to it before a shot raced in front of him and he fell on his ass.

"Return to your post trooper!" A commissar shouted at him as a thin trail of smoke emitted from his pistol.

"I'm empty!" Cartes screamed back.

"Return to your post!" The commissar aimed his pistol at Cartes again, who ran back to his empty gun as fast as he could.

"Fucking asshole commissar, may the powers take you, you shit." Cartes muttered. He grabbed his lasgun and fired blindly into the swarms below.

When reloading his clip he looked over the edge of the walls and saw that the outside gate of the Arx Angelicum there were so many tyranids they were crawling on top of one another. Two Hierophants smashed their bodies against the defenses. Nearly all the heavy guns were focusing their fire on the massive creatures, but they seemed impervious to anything other than heavy shelling. He realized that he could hear no more shelling. He'd lost track of time, but he was sure he'd reloaded his Gatling cannon at least four times since he'd last heard the familiar thunder crack and felt the accompanying rumble.

Cartes saw a gunship flying high above the creature's carpet bomb them, the bombs running parallel to the fortress walls. The smaller creatures were blown apart as bone and carapace flew in all directions, but the two titans remained unscathed. Then something splashed against the gunship, causing it to swivel and burn before it fell directly into the xenos swarms beneath it and was overrun.

A high pitched roar came from above, and Cartes looked up to see what looked to be three massive winged snakes, coiling about themselves in the air for a moment, before spreading their wings. They climbed higher and higher into the air almost effortlessly, so high that Cartes could hardly make them out against the dark spots covering the sky. Just before he lost sight of them they began to fall. The trio of snakes flapped their powerful wings several times before once again coiling their arms around their bodies. Picking up speed as they raced toward the ground, Cartes thought that with their coiled wings and speed the creatures almost looked like…

Rockets…

They were headed right for the main gate. All other gun stations facing the gate were firing wildly at the creatures, but it made no difference.

The flying serpents slammed into the gate, crashing through all of the smaller xenos which were trying to dig their way through. They even ripped through the enormous bio-titans, tearing their bulks from their tower-like limbs. All Cartes could see was a storm of rock, metal, and chitin explode inward as the gate was smashed. Cartes saw over 200 guardsmen standing ready at heavy lasgun nests buried alive under the destroyed gate.

For a moment all gunfire stopped, as the guard and the xenos waited for the dust to settle. A breeze picked up, helping to clear the dark red mist that had formed around the fortress's main entrance. When it cleared Cartes, along with every Angel and every other Guardsmen could see that the main gate of the Arx Angelicum was wide open.

A chorus of high pitched squealing was heard echoing all around the outside of the walls, as millions of tyranids shrieked in unison before swarming over each other and the jagged remains of the dead outside the gate. They ran headfirst into a wall of bolter fire as all Angels and Guard units turned their guns to cover the entrance. Hundreds of xenos were slaughtered every second but the tied never slowed. Using their own dead as cover the first aliens reached a line of encamped Angels. Cartes thought he saw them draw their chainswords and knives, but there were literally buried beneath the swarming creatures.

Cartes was so shaken by what he saw he barely darted behind his empty Gatling laser in time to avoid being shot by a gargoyle. The creature roared and as it came around the side of the gun's large chamber, but Cartes managed to aim his lasgun and hit it in the chest.

"Fucker!" He screamed as he pulled himself to his feet and pumped three more shots into the creature. Looking above the creature's smoldering corpse Cartes could see that with the attention being focused toward the gate, hundreds of flying xenos were beginning to assaile the wall's mounted defenses unchecked, and fleshy pods which carried the aliens were landing on the walls and within the Arx Angelicum with impunity.

"It's lost…" Cartes whispered to himself. "It's all lost." A hive crone screamed as it soared past him. He pissed himself and ran.

The commissar's voice was horse and cracked from screaming at his own men to focus fire on the xenos pouring into the base. Out of the corner of his eye the commissar saw Cartes fleeing. He drew his pistol without warning and fired at the lad. Missing him, he grabbed a lasgun sitting by one of the ammo crates, dug the barrel into his shoulder and took aim. He could see Cartes in the gun sites, and was about to fire when a pink mycetic spore crashed directly on top of him. The troops he had been in command of turned their Gatling lasgun around and opened fire on the spore, tearing it to shreds. Through the lasgun fire a heavily armored carnifex ripped through the pod's pinkish insides and charged at the men.

Chapter 39

Commander Dante and a group of his guard fought inside the Chapel of the Great Angel. He stood with the Axe Mortalis soaked in gore, surrounded by dead genestealers and tyranid warriors. A brood of 30 termagants had gathered and opened fire, their organic ammunition splattering against his armor. Several of his battle brothers responded with bolter fire. The brood was eviscerated, staining the marble floor with their yellow and red insides.

A hive tyrant, armed with a bonesword, a whip, and a badly damaged bio-projectile swung at the Commander. Dante stepped back managing to dodge the blow, but the blade was sharp enough to catch the top layers of his chest piece and slice through it, though it missed the skin underneath. It raised it again, only this time Dante stepped to the side and toward the tyrant.

It made a gasping squawking sound as the Dante heaved the Axe Mortalis deep into is shoulder. It raided the bonesword toward its head and tried to slash him, but it had been sapped of most of its strength. Having forced the creature to its knees he yanked the axe out and decapitated the creature with it.

The hundreds of smaller creatures accompanying it when into a state of frenzy, all of them squawking and squealing in high pitched yelps as they attacked one another or banged their heads against the marble floor in confusion. Breathing heavily Dante saw a tyrant-guard, a creature about his height with its entire body surrounded in thick chitin. A deep roar emerged from it, then its confusion gave way to madness as it seemed to hone in on Dante. It charged at him. Its bulk was slow at first, but every step it took increased its speed until it was barreling toward the Chapter Master like a tank rolling downhill.

"My Lord!" Incarael screamed, rushing forward and knocking Dante out of the way. As Dante was pushed back he saw the living wall of chitin smash into his battle-brother at such a speed that he could see Incarael's chest piece and pauldron instantly cave in. It ran another twenty feet, before it fell on top of Incarael and began ferociously stabbing at the Marine with its thick claws.

Saying nothing, Dante dislodged the Axe Mortalis from the dead tyrant before him and ran at full pace toward the creature, which had begun tearing through Incarael's armor with its armored snout and started ripping out bits of metal and meat. Upon reaching it Dante brought the axe down on the creatures back, pushing it forward and causing it to roar, but causing little damage. He raised it again, and before the creature could turn he brought it down again, this time breaking through the outer layer of chitin and causing cracks to run down the rest of the plate. After one last swing Dante felt the axe connect with the soft insides as it embedded itself in the creature. Snarling the alein turned around and vainly slashed at him with one of its massive crab-like claws. Drawing his pistol Dante shoved the barrel into the xenos's wailing mouth and pulled the trigger several times. The shots couldn't pierce the armor behind its head, but it did cause the inside of its head to explode. It fell to the side, the alien's chitin plate clanking against the floor.

Incarael was dead. His power armor had been peeled open like a tin can and his chest had been gored. His face was smashed beyond any recognition, with fragments of his skull and bits of his brains strewn all around him.

Three more of his brothers lay dead on the floor, having been cleaved in two by the hive tyrant. Against the wall another hung motionlessly against a wooden relief, his body having been pierced by four bone spears which impaled him to it. Dozens more strewn about the chapel, having been either cut to ribbons or melted by plasma bio-weapons.

It was worse than Dante had thought. The main gate had fallen only an hour ago, yet they had already made their way this far into the complex. The inner courtyard was most likely completely overrun at this point.

"Have we been able to contain them to the eastern side of the monastery?" He asked one of his remaining Guard.

"Afraid not my lord. Ours and the Guard's anti-air forces are nearly all wiped out. They can land anywhere now."

"Any word from the fleet?"

"They can barely hold on my Lord, much less provide us with any covering fire."

They could hear less gunfire outside, as the sounds of the aliens grew. Dante closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"We can't win a battle on all sides. Vox all of our forces, tell them to fall back to the heart of the volcano. We'll make a stand and bottle neck them."

"And what of the Guard?"

"Vox whatever is left of the Guard command, tell them that we'll admit as many of their troops as we can. Once the xenos reach us however, we're sealing the doors. Send it. We move out in two minutes."

Dante looked up at the shattered stained glass depicting the Emperor, and all manner of Blood Angels who had given their lives for the glory of humanity. At the center of the chapel next to Incarael's corpse stood the marble statue of Sanguinius with his wings spread and his hand atop a sword, ready to give judgment and render punishment or mercy. Dante recalled seeing this very statue when he was a young requite, nearly a thousand years ago now, and he was about to leave it to be pawed over by the xenos filth. Dante hung his head and knew which kind of judgment he deserved.

As Dante was contemplating his own judgement, one of the Sanguinary priests – a brother named Acrius Turio, was preparing to collect the gene-seed of the fallen brothers. As he passed Dante placed a hand on his shoulder.

"We do not have time Brother. More – and worse – will be here soon."

"But Commander, we cannot leave-"

"We won't. I promise you Acrius, these xenos will not consume the gene-seed of our brothers." The rest of the Astartes forces would form a last stand, but Dante knew where he was going: The torpedo silos.

"Your orders have been given my Lord."

"Any problems?"

"Master… Master Seth has voiced his displeasure. He believes leaving the majority of the monastery-"

"If Gabriel Seth finds my plans distasteful he is free to ignore them. The Flesh Tearers will not be missed." Dante spat. " Move out."

Chapter 40

Cartes ran. There was no strategy, no more chain of command. He felt an overwhelming instinct run as men and Angels died around him. He was now deeper within the Arx Angelicum then anyone he had ever known. He passed by immense churches, by barracks that dwarfed his own dwellings back in Red Rock, the places where boys his age were taken to join the Angels, and none of it mattered. The mountain was before him, the immense dead volcano that made up the heart of the Angels fortress. He had no idea what he would do when he got there. All that mattered was it was big and fortified, and maybe he'd be able to find a place to hide from the monsters.

Harpies flew above him, their scythed tails barely missing him. He saw one of them miss him, and then impale a woman two feet away from her. She screamed as it dragged her high into the air.

He was being hunted. A pack of genestealers had picked him out among the thousands of panicked guardsmen. One of them closed the distance, its thin, powerful limbs propelling itself forward with a speed that his small body could not match. It was close enough that he could hear it. He closed his eyes and ground his teeth while he ran as fast as he could.

Suddenly the ground exploded beneath him and sent him flying. A gunship had flown by above him dropping bombs, one of which just missed Cartes but eviscerated the xenos. Cartes was thrown against the rubble of one of the base's many structures and landed on his back. His chest piece and lasgun were soaked with the yellow, xenos blood. Cartes took one breath before realizing that his chest piece was sizzling. Their blood was eating through his armor!

He scrambled to try and unbuckle the piece to no avail. Where it not for the fact that the armor was several sizes to big it would have melted through his chest, but as he was able to wriggle it off of him. He kicked the burnt piece of hard plastic away from him.

He tried to stand but found he could not. His arm throbbed with a sharp pain, radiating from his elbow all the way to his shoulder and to his hand. He laid his head back on a pillow of hard concrete and listened as man and alien killed each other all around him.

Chapter 41

The men guarding the entrance lay dead outside. The woman who had been known as Dorvus Tibela for the past eighteen months stood in the engine chamber of the Indomitable. The room pulsed with a white light which would have blinded her, were it not for the heavily lensed mask protecting her face.

The engine hummed peacefully next to several coolant containers, each the size of a car. Removing a torch from her belt, Operative Sallasha began to slice through the thick metal tubes connecting the coolant to the engine. The task took twenty minutes, but she had privacy and she'd taken the time to weld the door shut behind her. When it was finished cool air sprayed uselessly out of the pipes.

She approached the warp-engines. It was inactive, the controls locked from the bridge. And so long as the connection to the bridge was intact the manual controls would remain locked. The Inquisitor, the dark haired woman in black who had sent Sallasha here knew this would be the case. She unclipped a small metal egg from her belt. It was smooth all over save for a single button at the egg's point. She pushed it, and the egg's outer plating came apart, revealing metal, spider-like legs. Placing the small spider-egg on top of the controls it quickly stuck several of its legs into the port entries and latched itself in place. The device buzzed for a moment as a small light on its side blinked red. After minute the red light was replaced by a soft blue. It was ready.

Sallasha pressed a few buttons and flicked a few switches, releasing the drive mechanism. She firmly gripped the large handle and then slowly pushed it forward. The warp engines began to pulse.

Admiral von Stone was on the bridge. She watched as a colossus of hard chitin wrapped its tentacles around the hull of the HMW Seventh Blade. It was the only Emperor class Battleship besides the Indomitable in the entire fleet. Its side cannons fired rapidly, and the bridge was already half-way into the creature's maw. She saw a chunk of the leviathan's mouth blown out into space, the hive-ship's sickly colored insides spewing out in the void as the Seventh Blade fired its forward gun for the last time. The battleship split into three parts under the weight of the tentacles.

"Focus all macro-cannons upon the Seventh Blade." She commanded. Von Stone knew she was about to silence a crew of seven million souls and destroy a ship which had been in service for nearly 10,000 years. She would mourn later.

Before she could give the order her command throne issued a prompt. Her eyes went wide. "Commodore!" A man dressed in a black uniform who was closely watching the macro-cannon trajectory turned. "Why in the abyss are the warp-engines activate?"

The commodore gave her a confused look, as if she'd asked him something that made no sense.

"All anti-personal units – all units of any kind on engine deck D: Disengage all xenos intruders and secure engine chamber 7-4-9. Now!"

The engine was humming violently. An alarm light at the top of the chamber activated, coating the room in blood red light. They knew she was here now. It didn't matter. She pushed the handle as far as it could go and then locked it in place. The room quaked as the engine thundered.

She could hear banging, and screaming at the door. After a few shoves the troops outside started blasting the door with lasgun and shotgun fire. The hinges gave out almost immediately, but the frame of the door was still welded in place.

A wave moved through the room. It was small, hardly noticeable at first. But then another wave followed, then another, and soon she could see the metal floor and the copper pipes all around her begin to bend and dance as if they were made of wet dough. It was almost a sure thing now. If she wanted to spare herself an agonizing end she could shoot herself now.

But if she did that she could not ensure that it happened. She stayed her hand. She heard the sound of metal tearing. The top of the door had bent in. A couple more shotgun blasts and the navy personal would be able to squeeze in.

It was too late.

Sallasha saw reality rip open five feet in front of her face. She tasted a white light of rage on her tongue before something reached out and took her.

Chapter 42

The bowels of the Arx Angelicum were a dark place. Standing at the base of a silo, Dante looked up and saw a long tube of darkness that reached miles upward toward the surface, with only a few sparse red lights along the walls providing faint glow. A normal, naked eye would see little. But the head's up display on Dante's helmet provided him with a clear view of the missiles around him.

The monastery was not lost yet, but Dante was certain it was only a matter of time. His more faithful brothers still believed victory was a possibility, and he would not rob them off that. He would fight by their side until the last, but not without a way to activate these. The tech-marine who had rigged the switch had done his duty without question, aside from asking if he was free to re-join the defenses after. Now Dante was alone, with nothing but the hum of a few maintenance servitors, echoing off the walls and a slight ringing which he guessed came from the machinery around him.

He looked at the remote detonator in his hands, and was about to leave when he found he could not. Try as he might his legs would not move. The ringing grew louder, until he realized it sounded as if it was coming from inside his own head.

His eyes went wide.

Chapter 43

His arm broken and the taste of dirt in his mouth, Cartes laid on the concrete slab too tired to even sit up. He felt the earth around him rumble. A slopping, snarling sound grew louder and louder to his side him. He turned his head and saw a carnifex approach him, crushing burnt man and alien alike underfoot. It sported two organic alien guns and a pair of large crab-like claws. He tried to fire his lasgun with his good hand, but the xenos blood had corroded it to the point it was just a heavy club.

Cartes thought about Ave, Tractus, and Emilia. He made a quick prayer that wherever they had sent Steph, that she would never so much as see a single alien for as long as she lived. The carnifex was on top of him now. It opened its mouth and let its long tongue drag over Cartes's face and down his neck. His pissed himself again, then shut his eyes tightly. He took one final breath and tasted the monster's heavy, metallic breath.

Then he heard something. A ringing. It started out quiet, but within seconds it had become so loud Cartes though that it must have been coming from inside his own skull. Then he realized that it had begun to cause his hand to shake, then his legs. Until eventually his whole body had begun to convulse.

It seemed the carnifex could hear the sound too. It was about to bite into the boy's face before it pulled back and snarled violently. Then it, along with every other tyranid within the Baal system cranked its neck upward and began shrieking toward the skies. Having completely forgotten about Cartes the carnifex charged into a stunned hive-tyrant, rendering it apart with its claws and smashing it repeatedly. With the tyrant dead, it began smashing its own head repeatedly against the hard ground several times before charging into a swarm of smaller bio-forms.

Cartes could see it all around him. The humans, even the Angels, had collapsed into a convulsing mess on the ground, while the aliens slaughtered each other, crushing some humans underfoot without even realizing it. A trygon launched itself into a swarm of hormagaunts and genestealers, slashing and stabbing wildly all the while the smaller creatures stabbed and bit at each other as they screamed. He saw one of those awful flying snakes twist and turn in the air high above them before colliding into the side a reinforced tower and then crashing into the ground. A horde of smaller xenos, from several hive-tyrants to hundreds of rippers swarmed the creature and began slaughtering it and each other.

The sky itself had opened in a flash of white and violet light. It started out at one small point in the western part of the sky, before rapidly covering the entire skyscape, spreading like a white blot of ink on parchment. Above Baal he saw no hive-ships, no sun, no void, no Red Scar, and no stars. He saw was a vortex of light and darkness and colors he knew no name for. Before his eyes rolled into the back of his head Cartes saw one last thing: Out of this vortex something fell, something like rain only the drops grew bigger as they feel. He saw millions of these black and red shapes descend from where the sky had been and then crash into the swarms of screaming xenos.

Chapter 44

Cartes awoke from the worst dream of his life. He'd no idea how long he had been lying on that slab, but it felt like he had spent an eternity falling through a bottomless pit of shifting colors and painful sounds. He'd felt as if his eyes had turned to fire while like his belly had filled with ravenous flies. Other times he felt like his limbs move like those of a puppet on strings, or he felt as if he had pumped him with liquids that caused euphoria and agony. He awoke to his mouth filled with vomit, and rolled over to spit it out before he choked on it. He never wanted to dream again.

The air was still, and quiet around him. He couldn't fathom how or why. When he breathed he realized that he was thirstier than he had ever been in his life, no small part due to the red sun beating down on him. Looking over he saw a dead man a few feet away, impaled on a piece of twisted rebar between the smashed concrete. A canteen dangled from his neck. Wincing with pain, Cartes managed to reach over and yank it from the corpse's neck. It was filled with rye. Cartes didn't care, and suckled at the canteen greedily, until his face, neck and chest were soaked in whisky.

Cartes hoisted himself up with a groan, lost his balance and fell forward landing on his broken arm. He howled in pain lay for a moment, then collected himself. Gripping an iron bar that he had almost impaled himself on when he fell, Cartes eventually pulled himself to his feet.

Carnage surrounded him. Dead tyranids were strewn about as far as the eye could see, still and smoldering in the sun. A hundred meters away from him lay the colossal carcass of a bio-titan. It had collapsed on its side, its armor cracked, blackened, and smashed at various points. Inside the beast's mouth he could barely make out a few hormagaunts, wandering inside and on top of the corpse, picking at the pockets of soft, exposed flesh. Further away he could see that one of the winged snakes looked as if it had fallen directly onto one of the Angel's highest towers and impaled itself.

Cartes looked upward and started to cry. He could see the sky. No vortex, and no hive ships. The rusted sky of Baal with its smog colored clouds and harsh red sun never looked so beautiful before. Cartes feel to his knees with his chest heaving and he sobbed.

Chapter 45

Major Trot had gone his entire career without once drinking while on duty. That changed today. He awoke in what was left of the Militarum headquarters, and immediately reached for a bottle of cognac he knew General Ock had kept in the bottom drawer of his desk. Cogitators were overturned the walls were stained with the blood of man and xenos alike. Before his mind had started to rip in half a brood of various gaunts and genestealers had broken in, forcing what remained of the Guard's high command into vicious close-quarter fighting.

Checking his watch, Trot saw that he had been out for two and a half days. The xenos hadn't left, but it seemed that after whatever the hell happened to him and his men that they had been more interested in killing each other. He wasn't about to complain.

He took a swig of cognac before looking out the window. The Astartes had let them set up their HQ in one of the taller towers, allowing them to see what was happening beyond the walls of the Arx Angelicum. The bottle of expensive cognac slipped from his fingers shattered against the floor.

He could see the hive-ships which had been menacing them, only now they littered the desert floor of Baal for miles. Fumbling for his scope he looked out to the far away salt mountains. Some ships had fallen directly onto the jagged points and split open as they slide down the mountains, covering them in yellow and pink gore.

He heard groans. The men who were still alive began to wake up. Kicking away a dead hormagaunt which was sprawled across a vox-box Trot began adjusting frequencies.

"H-hello?" He coughed. "Position Cerebrum to Indomitable, what is your status? Over." He heard static. "Repeat: This is position Cerebrum to Indomitable. What is your status? Respond. Over."

He repeated the phrase several times, before eventually moving on to try and reach the Seventh Blade, until he heard the distinct sound of bolter fire outside. Returning to the window, he saw that whatever had knocked him and his companions out, the Astartes had recovered from it much more quickly.

Chapter 46

Dante and a squad of Blood Angels passed the smoking husk of a dead maleceptor. The warp-rift and the presence of the demons must have fried the sensitive synapse in its brain, cooking the beast from the inside out. They came across a mawloc. The beast had none of the focused aggression the aliens had shown throughout the invasion. It slithered aimlessly, foaming at the mouth. A similarly dazed tervigon caught its attention and the beast rammed into the creature. It slashed open the tervigon's birthing sack, causing a dozen half-formed and half-conscious termagants to spew out over the dusty concrete road.

Without a word the Blood Angels unloaded on the mawloc with bolter fire, causing it to shriek and recoil. It fell onto its back, its limbs slashing uselessly in the air until one of the marines approached it and shot it point blank in the face, sending fragments of its skull flying in various directions.

Dante lifted his flamer and scorched the wounded tervigon along with its offspring, causing the beast to squeal and flail about before falling dead.

"Is it the same everywhere else?" He asked one of his comrades.

"My Lord, all forces on Baal Primus and Secundus report the same. What tyranids remain are disorganized and uncoordinated." Answered Arenos Karlaen, Captain of the Blood Angels first company.

Dante looked about the ravaged insides of the Arx Angelicum. It was difficult to believe that he last time he had looked out on these roads they were filled with more tyranids than he could count.

"I don't want the enemy getting a chance to reorganize. Teams are to systematically sweep all settlements. They're to search for tyranids and demons." The men were silent. "They are likely gone, but I want them to practice caution. We've lost enough brothers already."

"Yes my Lord."

"What's going on in orbit?"

"Our own fleet had mostly returned to the planet's surface, though we've not been able to raise any Imperial vessels."

"We sent a shuttle skyward an hour ago. What have they found? Is it a metal graveyard up there?"

"No my Lord. They've found… nothing."

"Nothing?"

The marine shook his head. "No Navy. No hive-ships. Dead or alive."

Dante gave a small laugh. He could take a good guess where they'd ended up.

Warp rifts… he thought to himself.

"You." Dante pointed to one of the four brothers. "Go to the Militarum's headquarters. Find out from whoever is left alive if they were still in vox communication with the fleet. If so I want a transcript of all communications from the fleet on my desk by nightfall. If they're not willing to share, compel them."

Chapter 47

Four days later all major settlements on Baal and its moons were declared free of any alien infestation. Hundreds of thousands of aliens had remained, but most of them had fled into the wastes. Dante gathered that it would take months before the system was declared completely free of any tyranid presence, but with the hive-fleet decimated they wouldn't need to fear any organized attack for some time. Against all odds, this tendril of Leviathan had been defeated.

"My Lord?" One of his battle brothers entered. "The Militarum leader has arrived."

"Send him in." Said Dante.

Before the invasion Trot might have found himself in awe of Dante's personal chamber. Much of the expert work of black marble, depicting various sense and heroes of the Blood Angels along the walls were intact, though all of the stained glass had been shattered or otherwise damaged. Dante sat unarmed in front of a large black table of volcanic stone which was carved out of the floor itself. Trot removed his cap and tucked it into the crook of his arm.

"Commander Dante…" The Chapter Master raised his hand, silencing Trot.

"Leave us." He said to his only surviving bodyguard.

Once the two were alone Trot continued. "I am next in line after General Militant Ock. For all intents and purposes I am in command of the remaining Militarum forces in this system."

"You have my sympathies."

"And you have mine. I understand many… that in fact most of your successor chapters have lost their masters."

Dante looked toward one of the windows. The orange light of the hot afternoon had given way to a soft red-tone. "I understand most of your forces did not survive?"

Trot took a breath and exhaled. "No. No they did not. Numbers still aren't counted, but we estimate that between ten million guardsmen and an additional five million PDF conscripts… no more than three million guardsmen remain. And the navy-"

"Yes, the Navy. I'll be honest General-"

"Major!" Trot interrupted. "It… I've not been promoted, Chapter Master. Still a major."

Dante nodded. "I'll be honest: I am not surprised that General Ock did not survive. What surprises me is that any of us are here at all. Victory was always a slim chance, but those chances always involved a very long, and very drawn out war of attrition. I think you'll agree that Leviathan's end was more… dramatic than anyone could expect?"

"You can say that again…"

"Can I?" He asked curtly.

"Excuse me?"

"Do you know why none of us could move for two days? Why most of your sanctioned psyker's died of brain hemorrhaging?"

"It was psychic event?"

"Indeed. A psychic event caused by what Major?"

"How would…?" Trot was at a loss. He wasn't aware of it, but Dante watched the man very closely. "We know the tyranids have psyker units. Perhaps it was new kind of psychic attack?"

"Why would the xenos implement a strategy that involved them slaughtering each other – essentially winning the battle for us?"

"Why are you asking me this?" Trot looked confused. "You know very well any of my staff I could ask are dead, and your librarians are not keen on sharing information." Dante was silent. Trot thought that the Chapter Master was offended at his outburst. In truth Dante was actually deciding whether or not he would have Trot taken to one of the interrogation cells.

Dante sighed. "You are right. It's an unfair question. Before it happened: You were in contact with the fleet correct?"

"We were."

"With the Indomitable specifically?"

"Of course. Lord Admiral Dissiosa von Stone worked closely with General Ock since before our departure. The Indomitable was our 'Arx Angelicum in the sky' so to speak. When… when the General died I became the go-between between the Navy and the Guard. But by the time things went belly up xenos had invaded our HQ. I didn't have time to chat."

"I believe you." Dante sighed. "I thank you and the Militarum for your assistance. I'll see to it that the Guard, and General Ock receive proper commemoration within these halls someday."

"That's it? Forgive me Chapter Master, but you send an armed marine to confiscate our records, now you send us on our way without sharing them?"

"Yes."

"Chapter Master – the highest ranking survivor is to report to Terra! They're going to want to see those records!"

"And you can tell them that they're in my possession. They are more than welcome to come here if they wish to see them."

"But Commander-"

Dante silenced him with a gesture again. "Trot, do you honestly care what is in these records?"

"I care about my orders!"

"That's admirable. Remind me Major, was the Militarum placed in charge of Baal's defenses when I was not looking?"

"No. Of course not."

"In fact, did not the same officials from Terra who sent your fleet here also instruct you that while within the Baal system, the Astartes had final operational command?"

"They did."

"Then considering we are on Baal, and I am the Master of the Blood Angels Astartes chapter, my command is that the transcripts between the Navy and ground forces in the last hour of battle are to remain here."

Trot knew he was defeated. "As you wish Commander."

"Thank you for your cooperation. It occurs to me that we are likely to be stuck together for some time. It'll be at least six months before a fleet can reach us to pick you up. All PDF and Guard personal are welcome to stay within the outer sections of this monetary. Throne knows we have the space. I'll have one of my brothers give you a direct line to me, in case if any of the other chapters give you a difficult time."

"You have my thanks Chapter Master. I'll ensure that we stay out of your way. Though if you would have us, I'd like to volunteer our services in assisting you as you clear the debris while we stay."

"And you have my thanks Major. Your help will be appreciated."

The two stood. Dante, towering over Trot, offered his hand. Trot's own hand was like a child's in comparison to it, and when they shook the marine took care not to crush the man's bones to dust.

"Major?" Dante called as Trot had crossed half way to the door.

"Yes?"

"The Inquisitor… the one who accompanied General Ock and when he met me here?"

"Inquisitor Urx. Yes I believe he died when the tyranids breached the Arx-"

"Yes, yes." Dante waved his hand. "Did he tell you anything before he died?'

"Not much, aside from what were the best and worst vintages of brandy. He only really spoke with Ock and von Stone. And he wasn't the friendliest type."

"Anyone else?"

"Not really. Played cards with some of the officers but again, very little chit chat with anyone besides his aid."

"His – his aid?" Dante blinked.

"Yes. I only met her a couple times. Tibley? Terella? Something like that. Very dainty type. Never seemed to really grasp what was going on. Tough to see her as part of the Inquisition but what can I say?"

"And she accompanied him to Baal?"

"I don't think she ever went planet side. Urx left her on the ship and there she stayed as far as I could tell."

"I see."

"Chapter Master, is there something I should know?"

"No." Dante shook his head. "No, that will be all Major. Please send in my brother when you leave."

Trot knew he was being lied too, but he also decided he was too fucking tried to care.

Alone, Dante opened one of his drawers. Tucked away in one of the corners were what he'd found on Urx's corpse. A pistol, his cap, a lapel pin, his Inquisitorial Rosette and a small book, titled An Introduction to Tyranids: Basic organisms, functions, and weakness by a Dr. Sebastian Ethar. He flipped through the book before settling on a passage.

'Nearly all observable tyranid forms are capable of adapting to almost any physical environments, from the harsh cold of space to the surfaces of planets choked with toxic atmosphere to the most unforgiving deserts. There exists only one phenomena which these perfect organisms seem uniquely susceptible too: The chaotic and unpredictable realm of the immaterium.

It seems that when introduced to such conditions, the tyranids greatest strength becomes their undoing. The sophisticated synaptic web which allows the tyranid Hivemind to organize and adapt across light years goes haywire when if exposed to a large section of the chaotic immaterium, destroying any capability of organization or rational action amongst the vast majority of bio-forms.

Dante shut the book. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and deliberately.

"My Lord?" Asked one of his battle brothers. "The man said you wished to speak with me?"

"Yes." Dante said through clenched teeth. "Send brother Noraso to speak with me immediately." With their chief Librarian Lucius Antros dead, Noraso was the highest ranking Blood Angel Librarian. While he felt Trot was telling the truth, the fact remained that Chaos had come to Baal. The Guard would have to be watched closely, and some of them even interrogated before they could leave Baal – if they would be allowed to leave at all. And he was quite sure that once the Inquisition had heard the details of what happened here, many of these poor men and women would disappear forever.

"Understood my Lord." The battle brother bowed.

"Also: I want you to put the word out – quietly, no official channels: The head of the Ordo Xenos – a woman named Volkorisna. I want every member of the Blood Angels chapter to know that if this Inquisitor is ever seen in this sector she is to be shot on sight."

Chapter 48

Red Rock was a hallow shell. Crates stood before the row of hab-blocks and could hear nothing but the faint blow of the wind. His footsteps crushed dust and small pebbles under foot, and the sound seemed to echo in the empty air. Having been evacuated long before the invasion, the hungry xenos had paid the ghost town little attention.

Less than three months ago he had played Angels and heretics on this very street with Ave, or saw him run while he teased Emilia. In the distance he could see the steel mills where Tractus had spent so much time. They were still now, their continuously burning chimneys void of any smoke. Everything was still here and yet nothing was the same.

Their hovel looked just as it had when they had left. He tried the handle and found it hadn't been touched since Dethilal had locked it the last time. With his right hand wrapped in a fresh cast he awkwardly used his left to draw a laspistol he had scavenged off a dead officer to shoot the door handle. The shot cracked through the air and echoed off the abandoned walls, then Red Rock feel silent once again.

Using the cast on his arm he gently pushed the door open, its hinges creaking as he did so. The inside of the room was dusty, and it was dark save for where the windows provided sunlight. For a second he didn't want to step inside. It felt as if this room no longer belonged to him. Like he wasn't welcome here anymore. He forced himself to take a step inside.

Their furniture was still in place, covered with dust. Steph's crib was in the same place, with several blankets inside it in a jumbled mess. The pictures were all gone. Dethilal had never had much cash to spare on photos, but she was sure to stuff the few she did have into her luggage. It occurred to Cartes that she had in fact left one behind. It had been a picture of Steph in a white onesie, that had been taken just a week after she had been born. Before she was dragged to the evac shuttle she pressed it to Emilia's chest, making her promise to keep it safe. Far as he was aware Emilia had still had it on her at the end.

He went to his room. Ave's wooden Angel toy was laid abandoned on his bunk. Cartes felt his fist clutch at the sight of it. It wasn't right. Cartes grabbed toy and tossed it out a window as far away as he could. By his own bunk his old Imp-strips were still stacked on top of each other, detailing various stories of the Guard and showing off new Guard figures for sale. Cartes picked up a few and absentmindedly riffled through them. How he had ever enjoyed this crap he couldn't fathom. He dropped them and headed for the door.

On his way out he saw the small shrine tucked away in the corner of the main room that Dethilal had erected. It normally featured two small icons carved out of polished wood, one of Sanguinius, and the other of his Father. Dethilal had had room in her luggage for only one, so she had taken the icon of the Great Angel leaving behind the icon of the Emperor. He was grasping a great sword pointed down but ready to be raised at moment's notice. His dark eyes were looking toward the horizon. Dethilal had always said that it was the face of a father tending to the future of his children.

There were still candles and cheap incense sticks along with some matches next to the icon. Cartes stuck one and carefully held it next to the sword. The air was dry and it caught quickly. The flames licked at the Emperor's sword and crept their way up toward the hilt, and then to his arm, before finally it reached the man's body. Cartes took a step back and watched the flames consume the icon, and spread to consume scraps of paper with some holy scribbles Preacher Averroes had given to Dethilal. He looked into the icons black eyes as the fire engulfed the face. After a few minutes the flames died, filling the hovel with the smell of burnt lumber. In a few minutes the Master of Mankind had turned to a pile of smoking ash.

Cartes left the hab-block and then walked out of Red Rock for the last time.

Chapter 49

Sergeant Merek Broro hoisted the last of his pile of crates onto the transport and wiped his face. He'd only been on Baal for a month, but he was quite ready to leave. He'd never seen a planet so devastated. The very desert itself looked like an uneven mess. What should have been a smooth plain of sand was covered with holes and jagged rock formations that had been blasted out of the ground, making the desert look like some dilapidated stone city. Talking to the guardsmen who had survived the 'nids was unpleasant as well. It was as if he'd been shoved into a new bar but no one in it wanted to talk, and they sure as shit didn't want to talk to any newcomers.

All the survivors had been loaded and what remained of the Guard's equipment had all been haled back onto the pickup fleet. All that was left was to drop these assholes off somewhere, and then Broro was on leave.

As he made his way onto the transport he saw a trooper among the rest who was almost half the size of the other men and was wearing fatigues that were several sizes too big.

"Hold it." He called, grabbing the boy by his shoulder and spinning him around. "Just what in the dusty fuck do you think you're doing?"

"We're clearing out sir."

"Rank?"

"Private, Sir."

"Uh-huh. Just how old are you 'private?'"

"I just turned 16 yesterday Sir."

Jeez it takes balls to lie like that. Broro thought. The kid couldn't have even been twelve. He gave him a look.

"Are you really going to make me do this?"

"Sir?"

Broro sighed. "Kid, I'm going to make you drop your pants. And if you don't have hair on your balls I'm throwing your ass off this transport. Save me the trouble and save your own life. You can sign up in a couple years if you're so eager to get yourself killed."

"Sir, I am a private!" The kid reached toward his neck and presented him with his tags. They were hastily made on dirt cheap iron, but they had the seal of the Militarum and a serial number on them. He gave the kid another look. "Conscripted?"

"Yes Sir."

"What regiment?"

"War-skulls of Canula Sir."

"War-skulls? Heard not many of them made it."

"4th company Sir." The kid removed his vest, and pulled down one of the sleeves of his arm to show Broro the ink on his shoulder. He could make out three decently applied skulls, but the rest of the piece looked like scribbled shit. "Under Captain Cyprian Anderson."

The boy said the name as if was one Broro was supposed to recognize. He rolled his eyes. "Where is this captain?"

"I don't know Sir. We got separated-"

"Look…" Broro yanked the kid's helmet off his head. "you've done a great service for humanity and the Imperium thanks you. Now unless if this Captain Anderson has any objections to voice, I've decided that your service is over. I'm saving your life kid, get your ass off my shuttle and go home."

"Sir please!" The boy followed Broro up the ramp leading to the transport hold. Broro gave the kid a puzzled look. Most men would jump at the opportunity to walk.

"Why in the Powers should I let you on this transport?"

"Because I want to kill aliens." The boy said looking directly in Broro's face. "I want to go to their homeworlds and shell them until they're ash. And I want to gun them down as they run away."

"Huh." Broro had once seen two of his mates blown to shreds by heretic artillery, but the boy's dead-pan delivery almost took him aback. He rubbed his clean shaven chin. He'd given the lad enough chances he figured, so he shrugged. "Welcome to the Astra Militarum kid. Make yourself at home."

The End.