Sector 5, Underground City...

The man exploded in a mist of gore as gauss fire enveloped his body a mere two feet away from the heavy bolter. He died before he even realised he no longer existed. Several Space Marines taking cover around the corner of the ruins also went down, the overwhelming gauss fire damaging their organs faster than their advanced gene-seed could repair them. Soon, only a single Space Marine and two guardsmen were all that remained.

"FALL BACK!" The Governor yelled "FALL BACK!"

The two guardsmen sprinted back down an alleyway, away from the losing firefight and even the Space Marine stomped after them down the alley, occasionally turning and firing a few more bolter rounds down towards the approaching Necrons. The Governor did the same, scoring a few headshots before a lucky round from a collapsing Necron exploded through his calf, driving the Governor down to the ground. The Space Marine turned back and lifted the wounded Governor over his shoulder, holding him in place with one hand while firing his bolter with the other. Another lucky shot from the Necrons hit the Space Marine in the face, half of his helmet melting from the impact as the lens of his left eye popping free from the helmet itself. As soon as his magazine ran dry, he dashed away from the Necrons down the twisting, winding alleyways of the Underground City until he found the two guardsmen gasping for breath. Placing the Governor gently down, he removed his battered helmet and bared his face, the first one to do such since the Space Marines first arrived. The left side of his face was heavily damaged and scarred, most of which from the Necron shot barely moments ago that had ruined his helmet and half-melted the side of his face, his eye swollen and black. The two guardsmen tried not to recoil in fear of his morbidly damaged face.

"Tend to him." The Space Marine spoke, his voice deep and gruff, as he loaded a fresh magazine of bolter shells into his bolter. He then leaned against a corner and kept an eye out, scanning the many streets leading to this point for signs of the enemy. The enemy that was out there... somewhere...


Imperial Defense Line 3, Sector 4...

Captain Westfield watched as a streak of green gauss fire flew over the heads of the defenders and smashed into the communications array behind them. The captain doubled over in pain and tore the vox piece from his ear as the feedback hit him, deafeningly loud. Anyone with vox equipment did the same. This was bad. A stray Necron shot had neutralized their communications and made it significantly more difficult to mark targets for strafing runs and artillery bombardment. They would continue to fire but now they ran the risk of friendly fire. In such a decisive battle as this, every man counted, though. Even a single soldier could make all the difference. There was one positive to this battle, however. Because they knew there would be nowhere to run to, not a single man turned tail and fled, spirit broken. They all continued to fight, grim faced and determined. This was the last line of defense. If the enemy broke through here, the artillery would be in danger and the Underground City would be surrounded and cut off. Even now, the captain could hear the reserve troops engaging Necron Wraiths that had infiltrated their lines. He had hoped they would have had the sense to push forward and reinforce this line, but now he was glad they had held back. If the artillery guns were silenced, this battle would be more than just lost.

The captain stepped up to the firing step and looked down the sights of his acquired lasgun again. The Necrons were still lumbering forwards, towards their lines, but now a line of Lychguard moved in the front of their force, shields raised. This was one of the more sensible moves shown by the Necrons today. This advanced guard shielded their main force, but would also be more useful in the close quarters melee combat behind the barricades. This particular line consisted of the best defenses they had: a long defense line punctuated by rockcrete bunkers every 100 yards. Heavy weapon emplacements were scattered all over the line and were both inside and on-top-of the bunkers. The line was bristling with weaponry. What few Leman Russ battle tanks remained sat behind the defense line in various states of repair. Most of the tanks had been lost during the retreat from the second defense line and now lay scattered in no-man's land, many with their tracks or turrets blown off. Smoke poured from almost all if them. Captain Westfield could see several men, some wounded, scattered across no-man's land, looking desperate to make it back to friendly lines, taking cover behind wrecked tanks and other battlefield debris. What worried Captain Westfield most was that now communications were down, their was a massive risk of friendly fire on those troops trapped in no-man's land. He had to do something!

"Cairn!" Captain Westfield called.

"Yes, sir?" The pilot replied, jogging over to the officer.

"Assemble a quick team of 5 men, including you and myself, that are prepared to face enemy fire in a recovery op."

"Yes, sir! I know just the men for this task. I pray they're still alive though..."


Elsewhere...

"Brother Ezeikel, this is Cypher. We are on approach now. Move to phase two."

"Understood, master." The deep, growling voice of a Deathwing Terminator replied.

Brother Ezeikel was a Deathwing Champion. He wore the traditional bone-white Terminator armour of the Deathwing, but he also wore a deep green tunic over his armour, its hood pulled low over his face. He was gifted, not only physically but also psychically. He was talented with the Warp, allowing him to communicate with his master without the use of standard communications equipment. Being a champion, he also carried the Halberd of Caliban, an ancient relic of Caliban carried only by those worthy of becoming Deathwing Champions. He had killed countless opponents in numerous duels during his life that had lasted centuries. Rumour had it that he had even been there at the fall of Caliban. And though his dueling prowess was unmatchable, he was still a deadly warrior in a battle. He marched forwards now, down the alleys of the Underground City, alone. The great Cypher had given him a task, and he would rather die that fail his master. Though he new that this battle would not be the death of him... It was not yet his time...

"Brothers. With me." he growled as he rounded a corner and found the 4 Deathwing Knights that made up his squad, each warrior as honed and deadly as a dagger, and ready to die in service of their master. The fell in behind him, and the 5 Terminators stomped casually down the dimly lit street, intent on completing their mission.


Imperial Defense Line 3, Sector 4...

"Captain Westfield, sir!"

The captain looked around from the commissar he was talking to and saw the pilot named Cairn approaching with 3 other men, each grizzled and covered with blood and dirty.

"These are the men you requested. Each man is brave and has proved in combat. They are ready and capable to do whatever needs to be don, sir!" Cairn declared.

"Good man." The captain replied, loading a fresh power cell into his newly acquired lasgun. "Men! Check your power levels and take any fresh ones you need from inside this bunker. Load up and get ready to follow me!"

The men stocked up what they needed and waited behind a barricade with the captain, out of sight of the enemy. When the order was given, all guardsmen in the sector stepped up to the firing step and fired at the approaching horde. All except the captain and his team. They vaulted the barricade and dashed across no-man's land. They all took cover behind an overturned Leman Russ a few hundred yards from the barricades and the captain gave them a quick brief of their assignment. He had to yell in order to be heard over the din of battle.

"Alright, listen up!" he yelled. "The Necrons have taken out our communications array! Our artillery support and Valkyries are now blind and are just going to keep shelling no-man's land until communications are restored! We have techpriests working on repairs but meanwhile, several of our men are pinned down here and they're in a lot of danger! We're here to pull them out, back to our lines! We're getting desperate and we're going to need every gun we can get on our barricades if we want to survive this! I know I'm asking a lot from you, but I only ask that every man does his duty and does not give in to fear!"

"FOR THE EMPEROR!" One zealous guardsman yelled. The captain smiled.

"For the Emperor." he said back.

With that, the 5 guardsmen dashed out of cover from behind the Leman Russ and scattered across no-man's land, firing their lasguns wildly as they ran. They each spread out and tried to find as many wounded and pinned down soldiers as they could, rescuing who they could, and ending the suffering of those who they could not. It was a hard thing to do, but necessary. It was better to give them the quick, merciful end they desired than to let them suffer in agony until sweet release finally came and they went to the Emperor's side. Then they did the necessary once more and looted the corpses for explosives and ammunition before moving on again. They saved around 50 men before they couldn't find anymore and retreated out of no-man's land back to friendly lines. One young private helped the captain pull a wounded guardsman out from under an upturned Leman Russ that lay across his mid-section. Fortunately, the man was an engineer and in his pack they found jacks that let the slowly raise the destroyed battle tank until they could ease him out from beneath it. They feared that he would have been crushed in half from the weight of the tank, but when they pulled him free, most of the damage to his body only seemed to be superficial. It would definitely be handy to have an engineer in the elite team that Captain Westfield was forming. One of the guardsmen on his team came dashing over to them, but green gauss fire hit his back and he was launched towards them. Fortunately, his armour held and he was shaken, but ok. He reported to the captain that they had done all they could and the rescue operation was complete. Now all they had to do was fall back to friendly lines, a task easier said than done.


Sector 5, Underground City...

The Governor was in a bad way. He had regained consciousness now, but he was badly wounded and was unable to fight, most likely to the end of the battle or until death finally came and found them. With no communications, they had to assume that the city had fallen. They had no way to know the progress of the battle until communications were restored. Until then, they were blind in the city. The two guardsmen continued to tend to the Governor's wound while the Space Marine maintained watch around a corner.

"We have to find out how the battle fairs." The Governor declared to the Space Marine.

"No." he replied gruffly, "Communications are down, we have to wait until the array has been restored, if it even is being repaired."

"That is not the only way." Governor Anderson said, pushing himself to his feet and forcing the guardsmen to release him. "If we can make it back to Command Post Alpha, the strategic display should still be functional, if we have power. If we can get there, we may be able to see how our men are doing."

The Astartes pondered on this thought for a moment before replying.

"Say we could, Governor Anderson, Command Post Alpha is several streets away. It will be difficult to travel with your wound. We would be slow and vulnerable."

"We could carry him!" One of the guardsmen suggested.

"Very well." The Astartes conceded. "Guardsmen! Carry your Governor. I'll take point. Stay low and stay quiet. It would greatly improve our chances of survival if we avoid any conflict. Lets move out!"

And so the two guardsmen, the wounded Governor Anderson and the noble Astartes dashed from ruin to ruin, cautious of any Necron foes that may happen to cross their path. Building by building, they slowly made their way to Command Post Alpha. When they eventually arrived, they were in for a mighty shock indeed...


No Man's Land...

"Sir! We have to move, now!"

All around them, explosions rocked the battlefield as another artillery barrage was fired, slamming into the ground and forming craters all around them. With no functioning communications equipment, the artillery teams had no way of knowing that they were now firing on a rescue operation, so they fired with all their force, shelling the battlefield. Above, Valkyries circled, ready for a strafing run to eliminate any remaining resistance. On the ground Captain Westfield's strike force was pinned down from the barrage behind a flaming downed Valkyrie. Captain Westfield was in a daze, unsure of what to do next. If they ran, they would probably die. If they stayed where they were, they would probably die, either from the artillery bombardment or the strafing runs that followed. No matter what, their odds of survival were slim. Captain Westfield was paralysed by fear.

"Sir. Sir! We can't stay here! We have to move!"

Captain Westfield ignored all the begging for orders and just muttered in coherently to himself. He had never been so afraid in his life. He was not scared of dying. He had seen enough death and narrowly escaped his own several times in the past, but what scared him most was the thought of dying to friendly fire. To die cowering instead of gloriously saving his men on the battlefield. He had many traits of an Astartes. He was a Space Marine in all but body and geneseed. He had even received an offer to take part in an experimental program to become a Space Marine scout many years ago, but he refused, preferring to stay with his men.

"Sir! Please! Say something anything!" one of his team begged.

Cairn stepped calmly towards the captain, grabbed him firmly by the shoulders and shook him once. "Pull yourself together, man! You've got men to save!"

An shell struck the ground several feet away from them and small fragments of debris showered over them, pattering on their armour harmlessly. The captain slowly turned to look at Cairn, staring deep into his eyes.

"You're right..." he said, "Let's save these men!"

Both the captain and Cairn smiled as he rallied the men into action.

"Form up on me! On my go, we run for the barricades! We don't stop, we don't slow down! We keep running until we're safe!" Captain Westfield yelled. "Ready? Go!"


Command Post Alpha, Underground City...

Only the Space Marine seemed impassive to the horror before them. Once of the guardsmen was vomiting violently in the corner while the other barely held it in as he held Governor Anderson upright. Even the Governor seemed disturbed by the sight. They had made it to Command Post Alpha with little competition. They had encountered a few small Necron Warrior patrols as they quietly made their way here, but slipped by them rather than engage them. And now that they were here, they wished they hadn't come so they could at least have been spared the sight of all that happened here.

Blood stained the walls red, the patches that were not completely covered were studded with bloody handprints of the dying men. Broken and discarded equipment lined the floors. All around the rooms were the mutilated remains of guardsmen, scribes, servitors and the war council. The head tech-priest lay in a hump in the corner, twitching violently as sparks periodically leapt from his broken augmentations. The Master of Ordinance was sat against the far wall, a huge, gaping hole through his torso and a massive splat of blood on the wall he was slumped against telling them the story of his final moments. His face was still twisted in a surprised and terrified expression, his blank eyes staring lifelessly out for help that never came. Other members of the council were scattered all across the room, all with similar fates. In the center of the room, the holo-display flickered red as it struggled to stay active. The Governor shuffled awkwardly over to the display and pulled the corpse of a guardsmen off the display table. The man dropped unceremoniously to the ground leaving a thick trail of blood across the table. The Governor powered up the holo-display and the symbol of the Imperial Aquila shone in the air, rotating. But it was red and flickered constantly. Low power. The Governor cursed.

"Space Marine. There is a back-up generator in the basement of this facility. The elevator is no-doubt out of service, so you'll have to take the stairs." Governor Anderson said to the towering Space Marine.

The Space Marine nodded silently and determined and began making his way to the doorway that tried to shut but was blocked by another corpse. As the Space Marine forced the door open and stepped carefully over the body, the Governor had another thought and quickly called to the Marine.

"One last thing! Be careful out there... whatever did this may still be lurking in the shadows somewhere..."

The grim-faced Space Marine nodded again and continued on towards the stairs, bolter raised and ready to fire.

Meanwhile, the one guardsmen was still vomiting in the corner, but the other, no longer supporting the Governor, ensured the room was secure and scanned for any hostiles still in the area. Something unusual caught his eye and he leaned in close to investigate.

"Erm... Governor? You may want to see this!"

The Governor shuffled over to the guardsman and crouched as low as he was able to look closely. What Governor saw was a small patch of flooring where the surface of the floor had bubbled and blistered and somewhat melted.

"Very strange..." The Governor pondered. "In all my years, I have never known the Necrons to use acid weaponry..."

"Not that, sir. That!" The guardsman said, pointing at the floor closer to the doorway. He pointed at a streak of blood where somebody had been and had crawled away... or had been dragged.

The guardsman followed the trail out of the door and into a dark storage room, lasgun raised. Governor Anderson followed him, his plasma pistol also primed for firing. The guardsmen stalked along the rows of shelving units, flashlight on as his scanned the floor and the path before him. Eventually, the trail led around a corner and down a line of shelving. The guardsman flicked his lasgun around the corner, ready to fire, but lowered his gun when he saw what was waiting for him.

The Master of Scouts, a man named Odien sat against the wall between shelves, motionless. A dim light shined light down on him and his hands had been clutching his stomach and even now blood oozed between his fingers, thick and red.

"Poor man..." The guardsman said, solemn.

"He was a good man..." The Governor said, "And an even finer friend..."

The pair leapt up in surprise as the man looked up at them, smiling as blood ran down his cheek from a cut above his right eye, forcing him to squint through that eye.

"It's 'bout time you guys showed up!" He coughed, wincing as the movement sent pain rippling across his body.

"Master Odien!" The Governor exclaimed, shocked to see his friend alive. He limped quickly over to him.

"Stand back, sir." The guardsman said, jogging over to the fallen Master of Scouts and shrugging his backpack from his shoulders, rummaging for the medi-kit inside.

"Those bastard Necrons! I'll kill every last one of those fuckers for doing this to you!" The Governor vowed.

A look of confusion crossed Master Odien's face. "Necrons, sir? They weren't responsible for this. They were still on the outskirts of the city when this happened."

"What?" Now Governor Anderson was confused. "Then what did this?"

Through the doorway, alien shrieks and bolter fire echoed.

"That."


No man's land...

"Go! Go! Go! Keep running!" Captain Westfield screamed at his men, running desperately towards friendly lines.

All around them, shells exploded as they struck the ground and gauss fire raked the air around them as they sprinted. Men stumbled and fell but quickly regained their feet and kept sprinting desperately for their lives. Lasfire flew over their shoulders and hit things behind them, but they were too focused on friendly lines to know or even care about what was happening behind them. Every man was as desperate as the man next to him as their legs pumped faster and faster, edging them closer to safety. As the men dashed up the sides of the barricades, they hurled themselves over the lip and landed awkwardly as the recovered, kissing the barricades in thanks. Despite all the insanity of the mad dash, not a single man did not make it back. Westfield and Cairn had chosen the right men for this assignment. As Captain Westfield lay panting behind the barricades, a familiar face offered a hand to help him to his feet.

"Great work out there, captain. Welcome back to the right side of the barricades!" Commissar Reginald grinned.

"What? Not going to shoot me for running the wrong way?" The captain replied, taking the hand.

Both men laughed at the jest, no bad blood between them. Both men patted the other on the back as they laughed.

"So, how holds the defences?" The captain questioned.

"Good, bad, could be worse. The tech-priests are making progress with the communication array and our line here is holding and holding well."

"Well that's good, but you don't look so excited. What else has happened?"

"Our air-support is running out of fuel and ammo. Our tanks are being whittled down one by one. Artillery is running out of shells. And the city... We heard a lot of gunfire about an hour ago, but its been almost silent for twenty minutes, and more and more Necrons are splitting off from the main force and are entering the city..."

"Shit! Did the council members get out?"

The Commissar shook his head sadly. A young guardsmen cadet jogged over to the two men, praying he wasn't interrupting anything important, he stopping in front of them and made the sign of the Aquila over his chest in salute.

"Sirs." he said.

"Report, cadet." Commissar Reginald demanded.

"Sir, the tech-priests report that the communications array is 98% repaired. We're also down to our last two Valkyries in the air, but they're using the last of the fuel reserves. Our artillery is now down to our very last shells, we only have enough for one final barrage."

"Ok. Sprint back to the artillery crews and tell them to hold fire until the communications to be restored. Now go! Run!" The Commissar ordered, urging the boy on."

"It's not looking good..." Captain Westfield admitted when the cadet had run off.

"We still have one strategy available to us..." The Commissar suggested.

The Captain nodded solemnly in understanding. "Fight to the last man..."


Command Post Alpha, Underground City...

The guardsman had stayed with the Master of Scouts, tending to his grievous wound. Governor Anderson sprinted as fast as he could with his injury after the Space Marine who had gone to restore power. He made his way to the elevator and found more bodies and more gore splattered on the walls. The elevator doors were open but the elevator itself was nowhere to be found. Lights flickered menacingly. The Governor ran to the stairs and found even more bodies littered about. He jogged down the stairs and almost slipped as a slippery pool of congealing blood caught him off-guard. He shook the sudden panic off and continued on, more carefully this time. By the time he reached one of the subterranean levels where the backup generator was stored, he was panting for breath. He made sure his plasma pistol was primed and ready and ensured his power-sword was loose and ready in his scabbard. He made his way silently toward the generator room, finding more bodies and more signs of combat. Some recent. Still no hostile bodies. He approached the generator room cautiously, as the door had been blown off, black char scarring the wall near the hinges. He heard voices, coming from the generator room. He dashed into cover behind the door and silently listened in. A deep, growling voice of a Terminator emanated from within.

"Phase two complete. Orders?" It said.

A muffled voice could faintly be heard replying.

"Understood. Rejoining battle."

The muffled voice replied again.

"You have done well, brother. You have truly proven your worth today. Perhaps one day you will join us." The gruff Terminator said to someone else in the room.

"Thank you, Brother-Champion. I would be honoured to join your ranks." Replied a voice that the Governor recognized. It was the Space Marine that the Governor had sent here!

The Governor heard a very alien hiss in the room and strained his ears to listen in closer.

"What should we do with this one?" The Space Marine said.

"We cannot control it like the others yet. Eliminate it." The gruff Terminator answered.

The creature hissed again before a lot of commotion could be heard within the room. Something scrambled around quickly before something dashed out of the door. It was half-way through the doorway when a power-halberd, an ancient artifact of the Horus Heresy, was planted firmly into the ground, separating the creature's head, from its body. The head rolled several feet before coming to an eventual stop, such was the speed that the beast was moving. The head stopped facing the Governor, making him recoil in shock and disgust. The gene-stealer stared at him with dead, empty eyes. The Governor had no time to question what it was doing hear as he heard footsteps approaching the doorway. He ducked back into the shadows and observed from behind the cover of some heavy pipes. Five Deathwing Knights stomped from the room, all decorated in ancient finery. The leader of them carried the ancient halberd that had beheaded the gene-stealer. Behind them, the Space Marine powered up the emergency generator before following them. The Deathwing Knights marched ahead, but as the Space Marine went through the door, the Governor's personal communicator clicked to life.

"-is Commissar Reginald hailing anyone in the Underground City! We need a status report! Please respond!"

The Space Marine stopped mid-stride and looked straight at the Governor. The Governor stood stock still, but he was convinced that the Space Marine could see him in the shadows with all his gene-enhancements. But the Space Marine stared right at him, unblinking, though he didn't react to him. It looked as though he was looking through him. The Space Marine stared a few seconds longer, before dismissing whatever he saw with a shrug and jogging back towards the stairs. The Governor let out a sigh of relief before jogging after the Marine, powered by pure adrenaline. He couldn't be beaten back to the Master of Scouts. They mustn't know what he heard and saw. He ran back to the stairs before hesitating and thinking. He had a faster idea. He dashed to the elevator, readying the grappling hook on his wrist.


Brother Leo, the Space Marine who had been sent by the Governor to restore power dashed back to the command room, eager to beat the Governor. If he was correct in what he saw, beating the Governor would be all he needed to prove it, and he had no doubt that Brother-Champion Ezeikel would execute the Governor and promote him to the ranks of the Deathwing for bringing the Governor under arrest. He burst into the Command Room and grinned broadly at what he saw. Nothing had changed in here, except that the rotating symbol of the Aquila was no longer red, but a deep blue as the command interface now had sufficient power. The Governor was not here yet. But Brother Leo's toothy grin turned to a confused scowl as he realized that no-one was here. Where did the two guardsmen go?

"Sir! Over here!"

Brother Leo pivoted and saw one of the guardsmen behind, beckoning him to follow. He marched over to the guardsman, who strolled into a nearby storage room and inside, he saw the other guardsman crouched over someone clearly of high rank. Stood nearby, the Governor leant against the wall casually, smiling at him.

"It is good to see you!" he declared, jovially. "I trust this means we have power again?"

Brother Leo nodded, frustrated. "Governor Anderson. Care to tell me why your heart beat is exceeding its normal resting rate?" He inquired, grinning again as he was confident that he had caught the Governor out.

"I am overjoyed!" The Governor smirked. "We found a survivor! A friend!"

"Then he should know what caused this." Brother Leo answered back, gritting his teeth.

"I haven't the foggiest idea!" The Master of Scouts replied, his smirk matching the Governor's.


Imperial Defense Line 3, Sector 4...

"Sir! Communications have been restored!" Declared a conscript, overjoyed.

"Excellent! Now get your sorry ass back on that barricade! We need every gun pointed that way! Don't make me waste a shot on your sorry self." Commissar Reginald barked.

The intimidated conscript nervously dashed back to his spot and set himself back up on the firing step, opening fire once more. Many guardsmen were now out of power-packs for their lasguns, so relied on the smaller power-packs in their laspistols to dispatch the enemy. Ammunition was dwindling and many men were dead or dying. The field hospitals were overflowing with wounded troops and the medics and nurses could barely keep up with those coming in, the medical supplies also starting to shrink. Things were beginning to look hopeless and everyone knew it.

"Commissar," Captain Westfield asked. "Perhaps now we have communications, we should see if we can contact the council or anyone in the city. We need to establish contact with anyone still fighting in the city. We need to know if it has indeed fallen."

"Good idea. I'll broadcast it to an open channel." The Commissar replied, placing a finger to the small vox unit in his ear. "This is Commissar Reginald hailing anyone in the Underground City! We need a status report! Please respond!"

He waited several seconds, but only static replied to him. Nothing. He looked sadly at Captain Westfield, shaking his head in regret. The battle was certainly going ill for them now. Both men shook hands and made the imperial salute before joining the last of their men on the firing step. They were ready and committed to selling themselves dearly in service of the immortal Emperor.


Command Post Alpha, Underground City...

"By the Emperor..." Governor Anderson declared, astonished.

He had rebooted the command interface and everyone was shaken by what they saw. The geo-map was swamped by a sea of red. There was a small line of friendlies behind the defence lines: the artillery. And several pockets of friendlies were scattered haphazardly throughout the city and along the rear-most defence line. Had their defenses really been worn that thin?

"It seems so hopeless..." One of the guardsmen muttered.

"Wait. What's this?" The other said, walking curiously over to the far side of the table, to where the simulated 'window' was placed. "Fifteen unknowns. Medium size. Closing fast!"


Imperial Defense Line 3, Sector 4...

"Die! Bastards!" Commissar Reginald yelled at the top of his lungs, firing into the Necron horde with his plasma pistol while standing atop the remains of the barricades.

Below him, Captain Westfield also stood on the barricade and fired his laspistol, slashing award at any that came too close with his ceremonial sabre. All around them, Necrons mindlessly advanced towards them, ready to strike them down.

"For the Emperor!" Both officers chorused.

They were seconds away from being struck down when a high pitched whine filled the air from behind them.

"What in the Warp...?"

Flying through the window at lightning fast speeds came a formation of fifteen landspeeders, all holding Dark Angel symbols. They dived quickly towards the ground before dropping melta bombs attached to their undersides onto the Necron army. Holes opened throughout the Necron force as Necrons were sent flying into the air or disintegrated completely from the bombs. After the initial firepower of the melta bombs, the landspeeders circled back around and flew low as the additional crew leapt off, into the bombarded Necron force. Fallen Space Marines fired bolters seemingly wildly, but every shot hit a Necron in the head. The revving of chainswords spelled the end of the Necrons as they were torn limb from limb in a flurry of sparks. Only one Fallen Space Marine did not use his blade. Only one. Cypher charged forwards, leading a squad of hooded veterans, the same veterans he had arrived with, and fired his plasma pistol and bolt-pistol with pinpoint accuracy. The mysterious blade on his back has never been seen unsheathed, and he kept up that streak even now. Necrons died in droves as the brutal assault by the Fallen reinforcements completely turned the tide of the battle in an instant. It took mere minutes for the Necron force to be desimated and they were forced into retreat. It wasn't long before only a single Necron remained: an Overlord. He charged against the new battleline, not willing to surrender.

He dashed forwards with a high-pitch cry of "Charge!" before a colossal shadow fell over him. He looked up as a giant foot came crashing down on him, removing him from existence.

"What did I miss?" The titan known as Tom asked, grinning broadly.


I smiled, but I was horrified. My room was a mess! Litered with corpses, both human and alien, and scorch marks from all kinds of heavy weaponry. I hated cleaning my room normally, but this was getting ridiculous!

"And I thought I said NO WEAPONS THAT BURN!" I smirked.

"True... but you also said that it was ok as a last resort..." Captain Westfield yelled up at me, meekly.

I liked that one...


Author's Note: Hey guys! Sorry for how long this took. I've finally decided on a plot-line for this fic, so I know what I'm writing from here on out :-P I hope y'all enjoyed this battle. It was a lot of fun to write. Expect more soon. As always, the more reviews a fic gets, the higher priority it gets for me writing it. If you let me know how much you're enjoying the fic, or if there is something I can work on and improve, the fic will improve and will probably be released sooner. Thank you all so much for the support so far though. It means so much to me. See you all next time!