I'm back! Sorry this chapter took so long to get out. Life unfortunately caught up with me, and I had little time to write. But, here we are, for a long awaited battle!
In the left corner, stalwart sons of Mars, avid protectors of the Machine God's domain, loyal servants of the God-Emperor, protectors of the Sanctum Imperialis and Golden Throne, with the power of the Red Planet and Omnissiah behind them, I give you Legio Ignatum! In the right corner, the most vile of traitors, the most infamous and powerful of any Legion, slaughterers on Istvaan, conquerors without equal, loyal servants of the Warmaster and true Fabricator General of Mars, breakers of the Imperial Palace, I give you Legio Mortis!
Let the battle begin.
As for reviews, I hate to say this, but unfortunately some things must be addressed. As a writer, I always welcome constructive criticism. It's good to get constructive criticism, because that's the only way you can improve. I even put it in my end notes: "if you have any comments, questions, criticisms, concerns, or reviews..." Therefore, I hope that as a reader some of you can take constructive criticism. For the first time, I was really put out by some of the reviews. This is not because people were unpleasant or mean to me or other reviewers (though there have been a few of those over the story; it's to be expected, unfortunately), but because for the first time I wasn't really receiving reviews. A review is a formal assessment or examination of something with the possibility or intention of instituting a change if necessary. Unfortunately, many (not all, but many) of what I got were not in fact reviews but simply people whining about lore.
If you have a review about the story, I welcome it! I always have. But what I've been getting more of over the last few chapters (and it's come to a head now) are not input about the story, but rather people complaining about the Imperium/Mass Effect.
We get it, Imperium bad, xenos are animals, Emperor is evil etc., etc., etc. So, please, if you have a review on the story, leave it! I'd love to hear your thoughts! If you want to talk about lore, your opinions, the Imperium, or anything else, send me a PM! I'd me more than happy to discuss it with you and share my opinions, but the review section is not the place for it. Again, this is certainly not all of you, and most of those giving their opinions are nice about it, but the review section isn't the place for whining about lore. If you want to talk about your Warhammer or Mass Effect lore opinions, send me a PM! I welcome that. If you want to review the story, then put that in the review section. Again, I hope I don't come across as unpleasant, for that is the last thing on my mind, but please keep the lore whining to a minimum.
Now, as for this chapter, it's Titan time.
Clare Prime of Ultra: I'm glad you liked Trazyn. The Turians will make fine additions to the meat grinder, don't you worry. I'll elaborate more on that in the future. I have plans for it.
Guest: You bring up a good point. I'm going to address xenophilia and the opinions therein in the future.
Dandaman5: Sorry. Sometimes you have to get dark before you get grimdark.
DAVIDGAMERXXY: Don't worry, I will continue, just not for the next few. The suspense makes it that much better. Thank you for your kind words. I'm glad you liked the story.
ProfessorZooms: Thank you! I'm glad you liked it.
Dragon Blaze-X: Necrons will indeed steal your property. Actually, anything that isn't nailed down.
CosmicPenguin: They will be missed, but that's the way it had to go.
valhalan guardsmen: Trazyn will steal everything he can get his hands on, believe me. As for Nictus, he doesn't know, but he has an idea and he can guess.
Guest: If there are more, Trazyn will get to them in good time. I don't think Trazyn knows about the Echo Shard... yet. He'll find out back on Solemnace.
Guest: I think Warhammer is more of a setting where everyone is evil and everyone either wants to kill everyone or rule the galaxy. It isn't really about the Emperor being right or wrong, it's more about the setting being so awful that the only thing you can do is kill or be killed.
patiflops2: Thank you! We'll get to that all in good time.
Knighthunter911700: Thank you! I'm glad you liked Trazyn.
RememberReach312: I'm glad you like Trazyn. We'll see more Angela later.
Guest: Thank you. I'm glad you liked it.
PaldinSans: There will be more, don't you worry.
Qinlongfei: This is the full war, which means I have to describe the full war and everyone in it. I would say that being tortured forever by the Dark God of Pain or living as a rotting zombie would be infinitely worse than being a factory worker in terrible conditions or serving as a conscript in the army. Chaos is by far the worst of any group in 40k.
Anatheras: Indeed. I'm glad you liked both scenes.
Guest: ? Should have deleted this. It was on me.
Austin: Thank you! I'm glad you liked it.
Jansters Pan: Not gonna lie, should have deleted this.
BonesofSmite: Indeed. I hope you like the Titans!
negronomicon: Thank you for your review. You do have valid points. However, human nature is a strange thing, and love even stranger. As for the Asari... well, Cawl literally said "they're next" so... they're next.
zaminaminawakawakee: Thanks for the review.
The Disquieting One: Fair. New territory is fun to map out.
Paul Reverend: I'm glad you like it, and hope you like this chapter!
nick: Indeed it is! I hope you like it!
CringyusernameSBSVQQ: They are. Hope you like them.
oOo
Titanicus
"The greatest Titan battle of all time did not even happen in our own galaxy… Mortis and Ignatum, the loyal and traitorous children of Mars, to kill or be killed… there has not been a greater battle since The Titandeath or the Siege of Terra itself." -Ulvimus Cray, Imperial historian
"Your shrines will burn, your streets run with blood, your false idols shattered, your people slaughtered by the thousands, your very planet torn apart… and the barest fraction of my hatred will be satisfied." -Ba'ar Zul the Hate-Bound, Warrior of Khorne
"Arise! Arise riders of Theoden! Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered! A sword day, a red day, ere the sun rises! Ride now! Ride now! Ride! Ride for ruin and the world's ending! Death!" -Theoden, The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
oOo
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, really didn't have much going for it. Then again, it never really did. Perhaps back in the 19th century, when the United States was ever-expanding west, the city had at least some import upon the grand scheme of things. Worldwide, perhaps not, but country-wide, maybe. Not anymore. No outside of the United States really knew its name (they never really did). Even in its own country, Oklahoma City was simply some provincial capital, not anything grand, large, or worthy of taking any time to think about.
In this day and age, cities that were not important on a galactic scale did not really matter to most. Indeed, most did not know the names of places that were not the galaxy's greatest, and with good reason. Local areas were really only known to locals; so it was, so it had been forever and probably would be for all time. Oklahoma City was simply a provincial capital of a providence that really held no importance any more.
When the countries of Earth had banded together into the Systems Alliance, it had originally started out much like the old and pitiful League of Nations or United Nations. Each country for themselves, each one ran their own areas, and so on and so forth. Divided.
But with a nearly miraculous level of speed for humanity, the fractured Alliance had swiftly become a single ruling government, and the countries of Earth had become like the provinces within those countries. The old provinces, those of Canada, of Australia, of China, of Russia, the states of the United States and countless other sub-divisions of countless other countries had become worthless.
Indeed, with the Systems Alliance spread throughout the galaxy, who cared about sub-regions of sub-regions upon one singular planet? Oklahoma City was now not only the uncared-for capital of a province of a province, but now a province of a province upon one among hundreds, if not thousands, of planets inhabited by humanity and ruled over by the Systems Alliance. Besides those who lived nearby, who would bother with such a place?
Yet, due to the nature of war, Oklahoma City was to become a commonplace name forever. It would ring through myth and legend through both realities, even to the peoples of the Imperium that knew not even where the city was located. What was Waterloo but a tiny Belgian village that wasn't even present on most maps? What was Iwo Jima if not some insignificant island no one outside of Japan knew about? The names of Stalingrad and Leningrad had long been changed after the fall of the Soviet Union, but the memories of bloody battles still lingered. Thermopylae was a simple mountain pass in Greece, long changed since ancient times, but the name was still ingrained in minds for thousands of years.
So too would the name of Oklahoma City be forever branded into the collective conscious of the Alliance and Imperium. It was not due to anything grand: much like that tiny Belgian village, or that singular infinitesimal island, or the long-changed cities and mountain passes, Oklahoma City just so happened to be the location between armies. It was simple geography: the Imperial and Alliance forces retaking the American continent had landed in Mexico City, and the Dark Mechanicum headquarters was in the former Alliance stronghold of Vancouver. They met halfway in Oklahoma.
The armies of the Dark Mechanicum had made excellent time. They owned North America, after all; there was nothing to stand in their way. Led by the horrifyingly warped god-engines of Legio Mortis, they made it halfway across a continent in the span of days.
In contrast, it was harder going for the armies of the Imperium and Alliance. The soldiers of the Reapers and Dark Mechanicum delayed desperately, ordered by Lord Chrom to hold at any cost so that Legio Mortis and the rest of the main push could arrive on schedule. They did a good job of it, delaying incoming allied forces long enough for Legio Mortis and the full power of the Dark Mechanicum's armies unleashed to arrive.
It was there upon the plains of midwestern America that arguably the greatest battle of all time unfolded.
Blood Angel and Aeronautica Imperialis craft, flying far above, had already spotted the movements of Legio Mortis and swiftly reported them back to crusade high command. Fortunately for everyone involved, Lord Commander Dante was the on-site commander. It certainly cut down on the red tape, for the Lord of the Angels was both the commander of the American liberation expedition and the commander of the Galactus Crusade itself.
True to his nature, Dante wasted no time. Upon receiving the reports of Legio Mortis unleashed, he immediately called a strategy meeting with all important Imperial and Alliance commanders upon )and in some cases above) the planet. He brokered no arguments, wasted no time, and swiftly settled upon a strategy.
Legio Ignatum would walk. That much was instantly certain. Grand Master Mornketh and all those under his command were extraordinarily eager to spill the blood of their most ancient and hated enemies. Princeps Aurduk Taranis and Princeps Vanis Krast were just as eager as the Grand Master: House Taranis held virtually the same political opinions as Legio Ignatum. As for House Krast… well, they hated Legio Mortis about as much as it was physically possible to hate something.
The Titans of Legio Ignatum were subsequently pulled from their positions across the globe and immediately sent to North America with all due haste. Nearly the entirety of Houses Taranis and Krast went with them. Dante and the rest of the high command rightly stated the allies would need all the firepower they could muster against Mortis.
The Adeptus Mechanicus, the loyal Priests of Mars, pledged whatever support they had in defeating the ancient traitors to their order. The Magi of the Ordo Reductor were hard at work on a super-weapon called Ordinatus Earth; while it was not ready yet, the Mechanicus leadership was confident it would be soon enough.
Shrike and Dante both suspected the Dark Mechanicum had other terrible secrets in their two main other cities: Singapore and London. The Raven Guard would monitor these, and remain as vigilant as always. As the rest of the world was put on alert, the god-engines of Mars and their allied Knights were rushed to the plains of the American Midwest, ready to do battle on a colossal scale.
oOo
Grand Master Mornketh, commander of Legio Ignatum and the god-engine Vindicata Manibus, pondered as he floated inside his amniotic casket. Through his augmented eyes, he could see the terrain and engines around him as clear as day. The entire tactical overview of the battle was transmitted to him: every engine, every Knight, every supporting skitarii, every vehicle, every rock, every speck of dirt. Such was the life of a Titan Princeps, but a Grand Master was not only responsible for their own engine or maniple, but the Legion as a whole.
Around him, incoming shells, plasma bolts, and heavy lasers flashed forward, smashing into the ground and throwing earth sky high. Each of them was powerful enough to vaporize a Leman Russ battle tank in a single hit. An errant incoming laser hit Vindicata Manibus's void shields; it dissipated with no harm done to their integrity. Mornketh frowned.
Nearby, Imperious Prima unleashed its guns, the massive quad autocannons and heavy laser vengeance cannon blasting skyward. The massive Emperor Warmonger-class Titan was tilted slightly backwards like a man staring at the stars, its guns elevated to gain more range than normal. Next to Manibus and Prima, dozens of other god-engines tilted upwards, blasting away with their weapons at the distant shadows of traitors on the horizon.
Across the plains, from horizon to horizon, the mammoth shapes of the Titans and their supporting Knights lined the land. The skitarii of Legio Ignatum stood by, ready to protect their masters from the foot soldiers of the Dark Mechanicum. But it was not time for that yet. Mornketh's mouth twisted within the amniotic fluid, calculating. Always calculating.
Titan battles often opened like this. The almighty power of the god-engines would open fire at long range, bringing their weapons to bear in an all-out bombardment against the enemy. Usually they would then close, utilizing cover while maneuvering, jinking, chasing, and ducking.
The problem here was that it was a simple wide-open plain. There was no cover. The only notable nearby landmark was Oklahoma City- a tiny village to the might of the engines of Ignatum. The other abandoned towns nearby hardly counted as anything but a terrain feature. Nothing could be used as cover. The only buildings anywhere within the vicinity were small enough for the Titans to step on. Mornketh frowned once more. Choices, choices.
Right now, the two sides, Mortis and Ignatum along with their allies, were lined up facing each other. Ignatum, Taranis, Krast, and allied Mechanicus artillery were to the south, while Mortis, Vextrix, and the Dark Mechanicum weaponry was to the north. Any guns that could cover the massive distance were firing, seeking to damage or destroy what they could with no risk to themselves.
The question was what to do. Both sides were opposite each other, and in perfect lines. There was no cover, only open plain. Mornketh had to be smart. If he were to simply march Ignatum across, the guns of Mortis would destroy them. Likewise, if Mortis were to come straight on, Ignatum, standing still, would likely be able to inflict grievous casualties.
Thus both sides simply sat, bombarding each other with their long-range firepower. Deep inside him, Mornketh could feel Vindicata Manibus growling at him, eager for blood. He gradually rose in pitch, the Titan demanding the death of those who had betrayed the Mechanicum and humanity. Manibus was a Warmaster-class Titan, a powerful and rarely seen type in between that of a Warlord and Emperor class. Indeed, Vindicata Manibus's hull bore honor markings dating back to the Mechanicum's wars against the Cy-Carnivora during the Age of Strife, millennia before the coming of the Emperor. It had served in the Cataclysm of Iron, a campaign in the Heresy far from the light of Sol in which forge worlds in the Segmentum Pacificus were pitted against each other.
Ever powerful, more ancient than 95% of the Titans around, Vindicata Manibus hungered for Traitor blood, despondent it had not been on Mars where it might have turned the tide of the Schism against Hal.
Be still, Mornketh told Manibus within his mind. What do you want: to fight or to win? With an annoyed growl, the Warmaster Titan went silent. Mornketh gave an annoyed huff, then brought back up the tactical data. His relationship with Manibus was a good one, but like all Titans, his engine was bellicose and blood-hungry. So be it. He was Grand Master of Ignatum, and he would not be beaten by some mere machine.
With but a thought, Mornketh activated the comms to select Princeps commanding the Titans around him. There was Unrith, stalwart guardian of Mars, Yrevvet, breaker of trillions of xenos monstrosities, Benial, crusher of traitors, and dozens upon dozens of others. They all appeared in holographic form in his mind, as if ghosts surrounded his amniotic casket. Mornketh took in each of them one by one.
"Grand Master," greet Yrevvet politely. The other Princeps solemnly bowed, nodded, or voiced their concurrence. Mornketh felt a wave of pleasure wash over him as Moderati Fen fired Vindicata Manibus's massive arm-mounted plasma destructors at the distant enemy. Manibus's cockpit was much more spacious than that of most Titans: a necessary occurrence for the Warmaster's required three Moderati and navigator. Of course, Warmasters also held its Princeps, Steersman, and Sensori in addition to the other four. It was more crowded, more boisterous (if the interior of a Titan could ever be called boisterous) than any other class, but Mornketh enjoyed it. Vindicata Manibus was one of Ignatum's finest, most lauded, and most ancient Titans. The Warmaster was one of the rarest classes of god-engine, rarely seen outside of the most ancient and proud of Legios. Mornketh would have it no other way.
"My lord Grand Master," began Princeps Benial, arms crossed and eyes flashing, "What are we to do? How shall we break the traitors this day?" he asked. The other Princeps nodded or growled their assent. Mornketh sighed. They were as bad as Manibus.
"This is a game of patience," he replied. The gathered Princeps listened intently. "Mortis is the most powerful of all Traitor Titan Legions, and by far the most experienced. Indeed, reports by our scans and air support are conclusive: Mortis is being led by Dies Irae itself today." The Grand Master actually winced at the series of growls, hisses, and other noises of hate and rage. He couldn't help but agree, though. Irae was the most hated of all Titans, the most hated of all Traitors. Nothing, nothing save Kelbor-Hal, Mortarion, Perturabo, Fulgrim or Lorgar themselves were more hated throughout the Mechanicus or Collegia Titanica. Irae had taken down the walls of the Palace. Irae had betrayed everything the Machine God and Collegia stood for. Indeed, Mornketh suspected Irae was perhaps hated even more than the Traitor Primarchs, and only surpassed by Hal among the servants of the Omnissiah. All with good reason.
Dies Irae represented not only an ancient shame, not only an object of murderous hatred, but a tactical opponent of terrifying power and cunning. While Mornketh did not know exactly who commanded Legio Mortis anymore, he did know Irae was still likely commanded by the disgustingly blasphemous Princeps Turnet. Turnet was good. Turnet was very good. How else would Irae have breached the Palace's walls when dozens of other Mortis Titans had failed? Even if Turnet was not in full command, he would likely be very high in Mortis's command hierarchy. It made the enemy Legion that much more dangerous.
What Ignatum had in slight numbers, Mortis made up in ten thousand years of battle experience. Mornketh was only hoping their insanity would swing the battle into Ignatum's favor. Otherwise… this could go either way.
"This is not a time for single engines or hiding maneuvers in some forge or hive city," said Grand Master Mornketh. "There is no cover here, as I'm sure you can all tell." The gathered Princeps nodded. "And so we must be smart. We must be tricky. If we move forward, that give Mortis an opportunity. So we shall probe, we shall be clever, and, most important of all, we shall wait for them to make a mistake. They are of Chaos, and we are not. They desire blood more than we, and that will be their undoing." The holograms nodded.
"Understood, Grand Master." One of them looked over. "What for now? Shall we simply continue the bombardment?" Mornketh shook his head.
"No. For them to move, for them to think we are doing something, we must look the part." Mornketh turned to face another of the phantom forms. "Princeps Teakor?" The man in question cocked his head.
"Yes, Grand Master?" he asked.
"Take your maniple down the left flank. You shall move fast enough. Scout, observe, and engage if you are certain of victory, but do no more than that. Simply probe, and wait. Is that understood? Can you keep your maniple in line?" Titan and Knight pilots were, unfortunately, not exactly the most patient of individuals.
"Of course, Grand Master," replied Princeps Teakor. His form winked out of existence. Mornketh turned to everyone else.
"The rest of you, continue the bombardment. We shall keep close together, and in touch. Our air support will inform us if Mortis tries any continental-sized flanks. But for now, it's up to us to stop these heretics."
With a chorus of "Yes, Grand Master", the Princeps dissipated as if in thin air. Mornketh settled back in his amniotic casket. Far in front, Moderati Cassor turned to face him.
"Well then, my lord, it seems as if we are just to sit here for the moment," she said. Mornketh nodded.
"Indeed. To do anything else would be a folly." The cockpit crew nodded, agreeing. Such was the way of war. The steersman shifted in his seat, bored. Vindicata Manibus growled again. Mornketh silenced it.
"My lord, if we're not doing anything else… permission to fire the Revelator?" asked Cassor. The other Moderati grinned and waited with bated breath. Mornketh slumped his shoulders and sighed. He couldn't help but smile. Honestly, sometimes his crew acted like small children playing with toys.
Still, they were one of the best in the galaxy. They wouldn't be here otherwise, crewing the engine of the commander of Mars's own Legion. Mornketh wouldn't trade them for anything.
"Yes, Moderati," he sighed, amused. "You may fire the Revelator once." The Moderati collective grinned as if they were ten-year olds told they could pick whatever they wanted in a candy store.
"Yes, Grand Master!" replied Cassor enthusiastically. Nearly cackling with glee, she started pressing buttons and moving leavers on her console. Mornketh could feel Vindicata Manibus nodded with approval in his head. If the Titan's primal feelings could be put into words, they would probably be: about time.
Through the power of the noosphere, Cassor sighted into Mortis lines, her vision augmented far beyond that of mortals. Indeed, through the noosphere one could do much more than simply see.
With the push of a button, the Revelator missile launcher mounted atop Vindicata Manibus's carapace banged, firing a singular missile toward the treacherous Legion. Mornketh and the rest of the crew felt it; felt its release wash over them. The Grand Master of Ignatum saw the powerful Titan-killer missile streak through the air, trailing smoke, intermixing with the rest of Ignatum's bombardment. He waited.
"A hit!" cried Moderati Therin jubilantly. The cockpit crew whooped and grinned with delight. Grand Master Mornketh smiled. Even though it had probably only damaged the voids, at this range, a hit was a hit. He felt Vindicata Manibus grown and nod with approval in his mind.
"Excellent work," he told the crew. "Nothing more for the Revelator. We want to conserve our missiles. Though…" Why not? "Add the plasma destructors to the bombardment." Vindicata Manibus had an ancient Infusive Supercoolant system installed within it. This ancillary reactor system allowed the Titan to more rapidly cool its plasma reactor and armaments. Power was not an issue within a Warmaster, and due to the Infusive system, neither was heat. Adding their power to the bombardment would hurt nothing.
"Yes Grand Master!" replied the Moderati. The swiftly set about on their new task as Mornketh settled back within his amniotic casket, looking over tactical data.
oOo
Unlike their Imperial counterparts, who had either one of two ways to interface with their Titan, the Princeps of Chaos Legions had neither hard-plugged thrones nor amniotic caskets. It wasn't really a choice, though.
Instead of either or, the Princeps of a Chaos Titan was usually melted into something horrifying, disgusting, and completely indescribable in its sheer blasphemy against reality. Though it was not ever, nor should ever have been seen by mortals, the form of a Chaos Princeps, if describable, would have been something like this:
Each was different. Some were not even corporeal beings any more, instead existing as raving daemonic echoes within the Titan's machine spirit. Some Princeps were actually daemons; they had given themselves to the Warp long ago, and the Dark Gods were pleased with their acts of depravity and slaughter. However, the most common form, and the one Princeps Esau Turnet and Moderati Jonah Aruken took was a putrefying mess of daemonic and rotting flesh and meat attached and draped over their old command stations and the interior walls of their Titan.
Such was the fate of those who gave themselves to Chaos.
Currently, Princeps Turnet, killer of loyal Captains, trusted servant of Warmaster Horus Lupercal, true Emperor of Man, and Lord Kelbor-Hal, true Fabricator General of Mars, growled, shivered, and vibrated in place as he took in the battle. He no longer saw as a mortal saw: now the only senses he had were those of Dies Irae. Turnet didn't complain, though. This was what he wanted. This was what he chose all those countless years ago upon the sands of Istvaan. He was no longer a man who piloted a god-engine: he was a god-engine. He was Dies Irae, and Dies Irae was him, far more so than any disgustingly weak Princeps still faithful to a rotting corpse sitting in a gilded Throne.
"What shall we do, my Princeps?" asked Moderati Aruken. The Moderati's speech was dark and grating, hissing and vibrating. If any mortal were to hear it, they would swiftly be driven insane. Turnet and the other damned members of Irae's crew did not so much as hear it as feel it. It was more akin to code transmitted through the Titan, through the interior, rather than actual human speech. Indeed, Aruken, much like Turnet, had no mouth. He had nothing that would be recognizable as anything human.
"Get me the rest of the Legion," growled Turnet in reply.
"Yes, my Princeps," replied Aruken automatically. The atmosphere within the Titan darkened, if such a thing were possible. Pressure built. The eldritch horror of the Warp swirled. Around Princeps Turnet, the ghosts of the long-corrupted forms of the other Princeps of the once-proud Legion formed. He could feel their presence, though he could not see them through any other means.
"Princeps Turnet? What do you desire?" rasped one. The rest were silent, waiting for their commander to speak. The Grand Master of Mortis had died during Horus's last-ditch assault on the Imperial Palace. As the Grand Master fell, Turnet rose. He breached the wall, and just as Abbadon led the Black Legion after Lupercal's fall, so too did Turnet lead Legio Mortis in absence of its Grand Master.
"Destroy the servants of the Corpse Emperor!" raged one particularly unstable Princeps out of turn. Turnet mentally shot the man a dirty look.
"Soon. Very soon," he promised. He mentally looked around, taking in the presences of the various Princeps. "Ignatum, those ineffectual upstarts, must die," he hissed. He shuddered in nigh-orgasmic pleasure as Dies Irae fired its main guns, adding to Mortis's bombardment. Aruken lined up another shot as his Princeps continued. "We shall continue our dance for a while: they shall bombard us, we shall hit them, and so on and so forth. But soon enough, we shall take them by surprise and advance." The other Princeps growled feral in approval.
"When when when when when when?" demand another Princeps. The others growled or hissed.
"Leave the biotic Titans on our flanks for support," ordered Turnet. "Bring the Banelords and the Emperors and the Warmasters and all maximus-types forwards." The Princeps around him nodded. "I shall lead the attack in Irae." That only made sense, of course. "The other Emperors shall support me, and we will charge forward and annihilate anything in our path. We will break their line, just as we broke them on Mars, just as we broke the loyalist dogs on Istvaan, and just as we broke the walls of the Palace." The Princeps cheered and howled in approval: a horrible, unnaturally feral and haunting noise. "Wait for my signal. You know your orders." Mentally, Turnet dismissed them. The presences faded away, dissipating into nothingness. Mentally (for he could not do so physically), Turnet turned to Aruken.
"My Princeps, shall we lead once more?" asked his Moderati. Turnet nodded.
"We shall, old friend. We shall. Once more into the breach." The saying flowed off Turnet's tongue with terrible ferocity. Usually it was to express resignation, but Princeps Esau Turnet enjoyed going forth into the breach. It was what he lived for. It was what he did best. It was what he sacrificed everything for, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
"I have served well, my Princeps, have I not?" asked Aruken. Turnet nodded in reply.
"You have, old friend. You have indeed."
"After this, after the death of Ignatum, when Lord Hal reigns supreme as he should, would it be possible to have my own command?" continued Aruken nearly timidly. Turnet chuckled, a terrible dark noise that was nevertheless comforting to the Moderati.
"We shall see, Moderati Aruken. We shall see." Turnet paused. "But… perhaps. Lord Hal will rule, and despite the fact that victory against Ignatum will be ours, we will certainly take losses." Ignatum was nothing compared to Mortis, but Turnet was a realist, unlike some other Chaos worshipers. They were dangerous. Oh, yes, Mortis, Irae, and Turnet would still win, but losses would be inflicted. "And with losses, we will most likely need new Princeps. Perhaps, Moderati Aruken. Perhaps."
In truth, Aruken had been asking the same question for ten thousand years. The man's greed for his own Princepture was why he had willingly followed Horus and Turnet into damnation. Indeed, it was the reason the second Moderati, Titus Cassar, was dead. Cassar, always loyal to the Emperor, had been horrified upon Istvaan and tried to kill Turnet. Aruken, Cassar's closest and most trusted friend, had shot him down like a dog. In the back. Turnet grinned savagely as he relished the memory.
Moderati Aruken had always wanted his own Titan to command. Always. Even during the Great Crusade, when they were still loyal to the Golden Tyrant, Aruken had wanted an engine of his own. Ever since Mortis's betrayal, he had asked Turnet for his own command.
The answer was always the same: maybe. In truth, Aruken's Chaos-warped mind was so far gone he couldn't actually remember asking so many times; only the burning desire of command and the want to do well in the next battle so he finally could. Princeps Turnet did enjoy it so: he remembered every instance, and delighted in always hanging the reward under Aruken's nose. The Princeps was nothing if not sadistic.
But maybe… maybe this time, Turnet would actually grant Aruken's wish. They probably would need additional Princeps after this battle. With Lord Hal in charge of this galaxy, as was only proper, Legio Mortis would receive additional Titans for the first time in a long time. Who better to command one of these new Titans than the second-on-command of the greatest and most deadly engine of all time? Yes, perhaps Turnet would indeed put Aruken's name forward. Though he wasn't exactly sure how Aruken could get out of Dies Irae, considering he didn't really have a body…
Oh, well. Turnet was sure Ardim Protos would come up with something. He always did. The man was a genius.
The Princeps shifted his view through the corrupted noosphere back to the battle at hand. Stray missiles, plasma blasts, shells, and lasers impacted around Dies Irae, throwing up great chunks of earth that splashed against the Titan's Warp-strengthened armor. Turnet sneered. Ignatum. The lowly little brother of the Triad Ferrum Morgulus. Pathetic and weak.
Oh, no, they were not insignificant or without incredible power, but Turnet and Mortis were better. The Princeps watched the distant engines of Mars continue their long-range attack. He waited. He would wait; wait until the perfect moment, the precise opportunity, then unleash the hammer of Legio Mortis. He was certain Ignatum, and for that matter, most Legions, would be wary of a head-on assault straight into the enemy line, but Princeps Turnet did not fear such an attack.
He was the one who broke the walls of the Imperial Palace, was he not? The ingenious defenses of Lord Rogal Dorn were far superior to anything pitiful Ignatum could muster. He did not care that walking straight across to crush the enemy was considered suicide. He did not care that marching straight towards the walls of the Palace was suicide, and he had come through. Princeps Turnet and Moderati Aruken would lead Dies Irae to victory once more, for Dies Irae and its commander were the greatest of all time. They were marked by dark fates. They could not lose.
oOo
Princeps Vanis Krast, liege lord of House Krast, could feel hatred simmering in his very bones. It was an odd sensation: usually when one said they felt something in their bones, they meant it metaphorically. Not in the case of Vanis Krast. He could feel the rage, the hate, the power vibrating within, filling him to the brim and coursing resoundly through his bones. His teeth clenched, nearing the point of shattering. Armored gauntlets twisted atop their rest upon the Throne Mechanicum of Hammer of Traitors. Muscles burned.
The hate was like a living thing inside of him, roaring and powerful. It wanted, nay, demanded, traitor blood. Vanis Krast looked outwards from inside Hammer of Traitors, peering past the endless open fields and to the images of the enemy god-engines far beyond him. He snarled.
Legio Mortis and House Vextrix. The two once-loyal servants of Mars, and the object of House Krast's near-obsessive fury. Such was the upbringing of all sons and daughters of Krast. Indeed, the children who would later become Knights did not need to be taught lessons of their hatred for Mortis and Vextrix, they needed to only look out the windows from inside the void-shields of their fortresses to know hate for the two traitor groups.
During the ancient Heresy, Horus had to get through the system Krast's homeworld, Chrysis, was located in to get to Terra. However, House Krast, some loyal Mechanicum forces, and the other Knight Houses located on Chrysis were determined to resist them at any cost. It led to war, with the once-proud Legio Mortis and their allies in House Vextrix being deployed to Chrysis to destroy the loyal Knights.
It was a terrible, calamitous battle. The traitor Legio and House ran rampant over the planet's surface, the might of Krast and the smaller Houses on Chrysis not enough to check the god-engines. After countless smaller Houses were utterly annihilated and most of Krast's Knights dead, Horus, fed up with the time taken, unleashed Exterminatus by virus-bomb upon the world.
House Krast, the only remaining Knight House of Chrysis, swore eternal vengeance against Legio Mortis, once their proud allies, and House Vextrix, their bitter rivals. Chrysis was left a ruin, the remnants of the long-dead lesser Houses dotting the landscape. Barren wind-swept sandy wastes and empty deserts where there had once been oceans and jungles teeming with life served as a constant reminder of treachery. From atop their void-shielded strongholds, the Knights of Krast looked down upon the ruins of their once-beautiful home with cold fury, ever-seeking to punish those responsible for its destruction.
Princeps Vanis Krast could feel the hate surging in him now. This was the first time that the entirety of Legio Mortis and House Vextrix had been on the field together since the Battle of Chrysis itself in the Heresy. This was the first, and best, chance House Krast had for vengeance in a long, long time.
Behind him was Legio Ignatum, the stalwart children of Mars, and the Knights of Mars themselves, House Taranis. Krast appreciated their support: his House had always been the closest allies of the servants of the Red Planet. It was the Magi of Mars that allowed House Krast to rebuild and survive after their near-destruction during the Heresy, and the sons and daughters of Chrysis had served them loyally ever since.
As Vanis Krast revved up Hammer of Traitors's weapons systems, he felt the ghosts of the Throne whisper within his mind. A thousand generations of Krastian nobles screamed for vengeance and blood, infusing his Knight's almighty power and thrumming through his very veins. Vanis Krast snarled. This was vengeance. Mortis and Vextrix would finally get a taste of Chrysis's cold fury, renowned throughout the galaxy. Death to the Traitors and the enemies of the Omnissiah.
Across the plains of this content, Krast and his surrounding retenue could see an enemy engine approach them. The Princeps could feel the hate, feel the burning rage, feel both his machine and its ghosts scream for blood in his mind. Around him, the other Knights shifted, as eager as him for traitor deaths. He willed them to wait. House Krast, though renowned for their fury, were not the insane servants of the Blood God. Theirs was a cold, calculating, and altogether much more frightening rage. They were not slaves to their passions; instead, they controlled their rage, bound it, and that made them that much more powerful.
"Hold, my lords and ladies. Hold but a moment," he said into the comms link to his retinue. "We shall have our vengeance, but we must wait. We shall not be the ones to compromise this battle. Victory shall be ours, but we must be patient, we must be clever. Carry your rage to your weapons, not your minds," he instructed. The Knights shifted, taking their Princeps' words to heart. Soon they would have their vengeance. Soon, but not quite yet.
The Titan of Legio Mortis, a Warhound scout, moved forwards apart from the traitor main line of battle. The monstrous machine was surrounded by a few Knights of House Vextrix, sent with it to help on its reconnaissance of Loyalist lines. All were warped and twisted by the terrible power of Chaos, their once-glorious spires, armor, and weapons now dripping and fused with dripping fleshy growths. Vanis growled. Such was the fate of traitors.
"My lord, shall we engage?" asked one of the Knights, a Gallant pilot. Krast sighed. Gallant pilots would be Gallant pilots. Always so eager; sometimes too much.
"Not yet. Wait, my lords and ladies. Wait for them to get into a range where we can do damage," replied Vanis. The Knights around him moved to optimal positions, still shifting restlessly. Princeps Krast wasn't sure that even he could reign in their hunger for blood and vengeance much longer.
The Warhound continued to move forward, either unaware or uncaring of the Knights located in front of it. For a moment Princeps Krast was confused, but then a missile streaked past Hammer of Traitors and impacted against the enemy Titan's void shields. Turning his sensors back, Krast saw a Warhound of Legio Ignatum moving forward to oppose the enemy reconnaissance. He grinned to himself. Excellent. While he had no doubt the fury of Krast would carry the day, now it was an even fight. All the better.
The incoming Knights of Vextrix spread out, howling with scrap code as they advanced, uncaring of the loyal Knights' positions. Perhaps the dark power of Chaos had driven them insane; perhaps they were just that confident and uncaring of their ancient enemy's power. Vanis Krast vowed they would pay for that mistake.
He waited, waited a moment, his Knight, the ghosts, and his retinue impatiently snapping at the bit, waiting on his signal so they may unleash their bloodlust.
I came in what felt like both an eternity and mere seconds. One moment the enemy was advancing, the Knights of Krast waiting, and the next the noble guns were unleashed. Heavy battle cannon shells and swarms of bolter shells landed against the Vextrix Knights' ion shields, causing them to flicker as they came ever-closer. Vanis Krast grinned savagely as the power of his Gatling cannon shuddered through his body. A stream of bolter shells spat towards a charging Vextrix Knight, lighting up its ion shield like a forge city.
Some of the enemy Knights, those that retained their sanity or those with longer-ranged weapons, stopped to return fire. Most kept on, charging towards Krast's lines.
The sons and daughters of Chrysis were more than willing to meet them. House Krast was not known for their long-range firepower; that was more the realm of House Vulker. Nay, they were known for their savage close-quarters mastery. The Knights of Krast were more than willing to meet their Chaotic rivals blade to blade.
The lines moved and stretched fluidly, the chaos of battle turning into a choreographed dance as the two Warhounds engaged and the Knights moved into formation. The mechs of Vextrix and Krast met with almighty booms, their weapons clashing, ion shields screeching, and internal hydraulics screaming. Chainswords rose and fell. Thunderstrike gauntlets crashed forward, impacting ion shields with massive claps of thunderous power.
The two Warhounds, one of stalwart Ignatum and the other of treacherous Mortis, met separate from the Knights. Carapace-mounted weapons spat out endless streams of bolter shells and missiles. The main weapons fired: hissing plasma bolts, glowing with power, filled the sky alongside streams of Inferno Cannon flame and white-hot explosive bolter rounds. This was no elegant dance, but a point-blank kill or be-killed scenario. Void shields screeched and flickered in protest at the strain being put upon them. Weapons started to glow red with heat.
Vanis Krast saw a Knight of Vextrix incoming, and spun to squarely meet its charge. A chainblade crashed towards Hammer of Traitors, only to be blocked by Krast's Gatling cannon. The lord of House Krast retaliated with a straight punch of his Thunderstrike Gauntlet to the other Knight's chin. Crackling with electrical power, and with the full force of Hammer of Traitors behind it, the punch cracked the ion shields of the enemy Knight, already weakened by House Krast's opening bombardment.
The Chaos Knight lashed out in frustration, but Vanis danced away and hit the Knight squarely in the chest with another punch. The ion shields shattered completely. The enemy Knight fired. Hammer of Traitor's ion shields flickered.
Karst turned and hit the Vextrix Knight with a backhand punch. It did not carry the full force of his Knight, and wouldn't do enough damage, but it was enough to stagger his shield-less opponent. The Princeps of House Krast grinned with bloodlust. Killing time.
He stepped forward as the Chaos Knight recovered, and, just as the enemy was standing up straight once more, aimed a perfectly-timed straight punch to the Knight's head. The Vextrix Knight's armored faceplate and head behind it shattered like a pane of glass. The Knight fell into the dust, dead.
Princeps Krast turned around. His Knights were still fighting the Knights of Vextrix. They seemed to be doing well enough, mused the Princeps grimly. It made sense: they were his handpicked elite. What was any force in the galaxy save god-engines compared to the best of House Krast?
Speaking of god-engines, Vanis Krast turned his gaze to the dueling Warhounds behind him. They looked fairly evenly-matched. The Knight winced as they unleashed a blast of plasma at the same time, sending each other reeling.
But… An opportunity. A very, very dangerous one, but an opportunity nonetheless. Head swimming with his good fortune, Vanis Krast decided to take it.
He moved forward carefully; ever so carefully. The Titans continued their duel. The Knights of Krast continued to fight off the Knights of Vextrix. Hammer of Traitors maneuvered into position behind and to the left of the Mortis Warhound.
Among House Krast, there existed a special order known only as the Headtakers. The Knights of Chrysis ever sought to avenge their fallen kinsmen and world, and sought out the Titans of Legio Mortis above all others in battle. Should a Knight (a Knight of any House) claim a Chaos Titan kill, their deed will herald great triumph. However, such revelry will pale in comparison to that on Chrysis should a Knight of Krast fell one of the Legio Morits. The noble will henceforth be known as a Headtaker. Each Headtaker bears a broken Death's Head symbol upon their armor and heraldry to remind all of their great deed and the destruction of the hated foe.
While they did indeed matter, such honors mattered far less to Vanis Krast than many of his kinsmen. He was the lord of House Krast, after all, and had little need for further glories. However, the cold fury of Chrysis beat in his breast. The ghosts of the Throne whispered in his mind. The Titan of Mortis must die this day.
With a terrible screeching, rending noise, the void shields of both Titans failed at nearly the same time. Such was a point-blank scenario. Vanis Krast saw his opportunity and took it.
It was no easy feat for a Knight to fell a Titan. God-engines were much bigger and much more powerful, after all. However, as evidenced by the Headtakers themselves, there were ways of doing so.
Moving forward, careful of attracting the Mortis Warhound's attention or of being stepped on, Karst moved Hammer of Traitors directly behind the Titan's left knee joint. As the Titan recovered, Hammer of Traitors stepped forward. He would only have one shot at this.
Putting all his Knight's power, all his ravenous hatred into his right arm, Vanis Krast unleashed a single straight punch of his Thunderstrike Gauntlet directly into the Warhound's vulnerable knee joint. The Titan, taken by complete surprise and important hydraulics smashed beyond repair, dipped and fell forward. Krast swiftly spun around and made his way to the front of the fallen Titan. The Princeps of the Ignatum engine, perhaps exhausted, perhaps wary of hitting their ally, or perhaps recognizing that this was Krast's kill, stepped back.
As Hammer of Traitors got to the enemy engine's head, the Titan struggled to rise. It was to no avail. Krast planted his Knight's feet squarely in front of the Titan's head, and put everything he had into a ferocious uppercut. It smashed through the Warhound's armored head. The Titan of Mortis died.
Vanis Krast could distantly hear the cheers of his House over the comm. He looked down at the fallen behemoth at his feet and felt a great satisfaction well inside him. A great victory. He allowed the feeling to linger a moment more, then quashed it.
There was still much battle to be had. There were still many more heads to be taken.
oOo
Grand Master Voland Terico of Legio Pallidus Mor sneered and winced as Pallidus Equitem moved over the broken terrain. The war continued to rage across Palaven, and, as ever, the Titans were the forefront of the Imperial war machine.
They had been fighting for days upon end, only going back to their central command locations, staffed by the Priests and Magi of Tolkhan, for much-needed repairs and extra ammunition. Apart from that, Pallidus Mor was a Legion constantly at war. Such was the way of their Legio, though. It was the way it had always been, and the way Grand Master Terico wanted it. Pallidus Mor would fight until death: either theirs or the enemy's. There was no other way to victory.
As of the present moment, Pallidus Equitem maneuvered over dead ground, moving between the ruined and tumbled buildings of one of Palaven's cities. Nearby were a few Warhounds of the Legio, proud scouts for the Grand Master's much larger Warlord Titan. Even though they too were damaged and empty, they still did their duty, scouting forward for Pallidus Equitem, sniffing through the ruins for any sign of the enemy.
All of the Titans had pockmarks of battle damage from their earth-shattering fights with the Reapers. Most had little ammunition left; their plasma reactors were strained, pumping out whatever energy they could to simply fuel the internal systems and the plasma guns. Internal stores were mostly empty, the various Princeps of the Legion wincing as they felt the hunger pains of desolate magazines.
Yes, Pallidus Mor as a whole was perhaps not in the best of shapes, but they still stood proud and tall. It was nothing less than their duty, nothing less than their grim and bloody honor that made them stand tall and duel the Reapers that threatened this world and galaxy.
What was more, Pallidus Mor seemed to be winning. The Reapers were bigger, perhaps stronger (in some opinions; not that of the Legion), and were exceptionally numerous, but Pallidus Mor had fought them all. The war was now looking up, for thanks to them, the full power of the Reapers themselves could not interfere with any other operations. Grand Master Terico gave a grim smile at this. Yes, Pallidus Mor had taken terrible casualties, but they were still operable. Such was the ethos of their Legion. Such was the way of war.
The battle on Palaven was going as well as could be expected. The allied infantry was sweeping away the Reaper and Dark Mechanicus ground forces, retaking large swaths of Hierarchy territory. The Hawk Lords and Aeronautica Imperialis ruled the skies, dueling with Reaper drones and occasionally the large cephalopod A.I.s themselves.
As of the present moment, Legio Pallidus Mor was sweeping the open and dusty flatlands of western Palaven. It was open and flat not due to geography, but rather because everything within the vicinity had been obliterated by the city-destroying weapons of the Reapers and Titans. The carcasses of a Reaper and several god-engines could be seen farther behind Pallidus Equitem, testament to the terrible battle that had been waged here.
Pallidus Mor was making one last patrol as they headed back to their central bases for refueling, rearming, and refitting. But still they stayed, stood undaunted, moving backwards in battle formation in case a Reaper or some other undesirable should pounce upon them.
To Pallidus Equitem's left was Ater Equitem, resolute Warlord of Princeps Siria. Siria led her maniple in conjunction with Terico's, the two Titan groups moving ever-backwards, armor pockmarked and pitted, guns hungry for long-gone ammunition, but still resolute.
Over to the right was Rubrum Equitem, leading its own powerful, heavy-hitting group of Reavers and Warlords. Between the groups, individual Warhounds and packs of the Knights of House Vulker hunted through the ruins, making sure there weren't any enemy infantry or traps hiding where the larger god-engines couldn't see them. The Knights, even the strange and aloof House Vulker, were always welcome additions to any Legio's campaign. They were the protectors of the larger Titans, the smaller engines that helped defeat any foes their size that might pose threats to the god-engines themselves. Indeed, House Vulker had more than proved their worth against Reaper and Dark Mechanicum infantry, destroying numberless smaller threats to the Legion.
As Pallidus Equitem walked broken over the battleground, Grand Master Terico tried to ignore the signs of his engine's weariness. It would be so very good to get back, to reload and refit. For a brief moment, Terico allowed himself to close his eyes.
But what the Grand Master and Princeps of Pallidus Mor had forgotten was their central tenant: Pallidus Mor always walked expecting the worst.
From his seat in the cockpit's chin, Sensori Verator turned to the Grand Master, a frown on his exhausted face. The Moderati had turned to look over at Verator's scopes, brows narrowing in suspicious.
"My lord, Viridis Equitem is not responding. We lost them on the scope," said Verator. He looked back down at his instrument panel, double checking just to make sure.
"What?" replied Terico, now leaning forward from his hard-plugged throne. "Try them again. And if Viridis doesn't respond, try Eques or Iudicium." Viridis Equitem was leading its own maniple, with multiple other engines with it. If an entire Titan maniple was not responding, it was either a massive communications failure (problematic), or something much, much worse. Terico was instantly alert. The lessons pounded into him by countless decades of service in Pallidus Mor were ringing through his mind.
Ambush. Something or, worse, someone had just picked off a maniple. Of course, it could be a communications failure, and if there was a battle, some of the maniple could have survived, but Grand Master Terico expected the worst, planned for the worst, and while he hoped for the best, he knew that hope probably wouldn't come true.
"My lord, no one in the maniple is responding," replied Sensori Verator, nervous. He licked his lips and rechecked his gear, scanning. Terico's augmented mind was already alight, millions of calculations whirling through it every second. What was this? Who was attacking? A Reaper? Most likely.
"Grand Master, we have lost contact with Viridis Equitem," reported Ater Equitem. "The rest of Viridis's maniple is not responding. Orders, my lord?" asked Princeps Siria.
"To me, Princeps Siria," replied Terico instantly. "I have a bad feeling about this. It's not like Viridis to disappear without warning…" Indeed, it wasn't. Viridis Equitem was controlled by Senior Princeps Delictio, a grim and extremely experienced man. If he just vanished off the face of the planet, then it meant something truly terrible was afoot.
"Yes, my lord," replied Princeps Siria instantly. Within the noosphere, Grand Master Terico could feel Ater Equitem and its maniple moving closer to Pallidus Equitem and its surrounding Titans.
"Grand Master Terico." The call came not from a Titan maniple, but from Baron Golphytes, House Vulker's Master of Lore and commander of all Knight forces upon Palaven. Golphytes's Knight Errant, Strident, was marching between Terico and Siria's maniples alongside a few of his fellow Knights of Vulker. "We have lost contact with a few of our far-ranging Armiger scouts and the Knight they were neural-slaved to. We also cannot locate Viridis Equitem on our scopes. Is this a technical failure, or-?"
"Stay close and prepare for battle, my lord Baron," replied Grand Master Terico. "I doubt this is a technical issue. Most likely something is out there…" He let the sentence trail off as he rushed through Pallidus Equitem's various senses. Sensori Verator was rapidly checking his instruments, trying to find any enemies or what might have happened to Viridis. Terico doubted they'd hear from the Warlord ever again.
"Crrrrrk- arrgh! This is Spiritus Equitem, we-" The transmission was interrupted by static, "Crrrrkkk… Engines… Need help!" Grand Master Terico whirled around in his seat. Though Spiritus Equitem's transmission might have been horribly garbled and warped, they had managed to somehow get their message across.
Engines. Damn.
"Voids up!" roared Terico. The Moderati slammed the void shields in place. All around Pallidus Equitem, the Titans of Terico and Siria's maniples raised their shields and weapons. In front of Terico's throne, Moderati Yris locked in, powering up Pallidus Equitem's weapon systems.
"Grand Master!" came Sensori Verator's cry. "Enemy god-engines reading on the sensors!" Terico's blood ran cold. Deep within him, he could feel Pallidus Equitem warming up, the machine spirit's rage and fury at the traitors fueling its plasma reactor even though it was tired and hungry. Good. This was a time where the Warlord's bellicose spirit could come in handy.
From swirling clouds of dust kicked up by the winds, ruins, and movement of the engines, a line of silhouetted Titans appeared opposite of Terico and Pallidus Equitem. Suddenly, the Titan's sensors were filled with them. Terico gnashed his teeth in rage and despair. How? How had this happened? How had a whole enemy Titan Legion shown up without their knowledge?
The twisted demonic Titans advanced. Terico felt Pallidus Equitem thrum, its mighty reactor powering up through sheer force of will of both the Titan and Princeps. Both maniples opened up with whatever longer-ranged bombardment weapons they still had left; it seemed to do little good against the fresh power and voids of the incoming enemy engines.
"What are these?" demanded Terico. "Where did they come from? Sensori, contact the fleet if necessary. How did they let this slip by?" He was angry, oh, yes, angry indeed. For while the Imperial and Hierarchy fleets did not control space above Palaven, at least those on the ground should have been informed if a landing of a scale to Titans was taking place. Of course, that was if the fleets knew. If they didn't, if their sensors were masked or if they were fooled somehow… The Imperium had bigger problems.
"Checking, Grand Master!" replied Verator, stressed.
"Grand Master, how shall we engage? What are our orders?" came the voice of Princeps Siria. Terico sighed to himself.
They were of Pallidus Mor, and Pallidus Mor always knew what must be done.
"We are outnumbered, outgunned, out of ammunition, and in a bad location," he replied. With a thought, he activated the comms for the Legion. The forms of the Legion Princeps materialized in his mind. One flickered and died noiselessly; Terico winced. They were losing as he spoke. "Proud servants of Pallidus Mor and Tolkhan… We have never shirked our duty. There is no other way out of this. We are engaged by the full power of an enemy Legion while we are exhausted and outgunned." Around him, the Titans of Pallidus Mor opened up with everything they had: an earthshaking, all consuming barrage of mechanical might. It was still not enough.
"Grand Master!" interrupted Sensori Verator. "We have a match!"
"A moment, my Princeps," said Terico, allowing the connection to his Legion to go dull as he turned to his Sensori. "What is it? Who are they?" he demanded.
"We have a match for some heradly and a few of the Titans… from the Mars archives." Verator gulped. "They're…" A shudder. "They're Legio Tempestor. Tempestus's traitors."
Tempestor. The ancient traitors of Mars. The treacherous half of the stalwart Legio Tempestus. Their ancient shame. What was more, one of Mars's own, Hal's own, Titan Legions. An extraordinarily powerful foe. Terico closed his eyes, staring upward, seeking to calm himself. As if sensing his distress, Pallidus Equitem rumbled comfortingly in his mind.
We made an excellent team, did we not? He addressed the Titan. But it seems our camaraderie ends here. We are both of Pallidus Mor, and we know what must be done.
"Understood, Sensori." His usual powerful voice was soft with exhaustion and the burden of duty. With another mental flick, Terico reactivated the comms to the rest of the Legion. Grimly, he noted there were less of them than but half a minute ago. "My apologies, Princeps. But we now know who we face: Legio Tempestor, Mars's ancient traitors." A series of growls, hisses, and steely determined looks greeted this knowledge. "Knowledge that they are here must be brought back. We cannot have anyone else taken by surprise. And we cannot allow all our numbers to fall this day."
"Grand Master?" came the query, confused.
"Ferrum Salvator, Caelestia Revelatio, take your maniples back with all due haste. Do not fight, do not look back. We shall cover your retreat."
"My lord-!" came the protest from the Princeps of Salvator and Revelatio nearly as one. They were of Pallidus Mor: they knew their duty, and wanted to complete it. It was not honor; it was something more. Necessity.
"Do not argue." Terico's voice was soft, not its usual demanding. Both Princeps went silent. The Grand Master was acting out of character. The gravity of the situation suddenly washed over them. "You and your maniples will be all that is left of Pallidus Mor soon. You must survive." With another thought, Terico added Baron Master of Lore Golphytes to the call.
"Grand Master, we await your command," said the Baron instantly, voice full of grim determination and steel. Terico couldn't help a wane smile. It seemed there was solid adamantium beneath the strange golden masks of House Vulker.
"Baron, take your Knights back with Ferrum Salvator and Caelestia Revelatio," ordered Terico. "Do not hesitate, do not fight. We shall cover your escape."
"Grand Master-!" Golphytes's protest was the same as the two Princeps, noted Terico with the amusement only encroaching death brought. "We shall not run!" he protested.
"You are not running, my lord Baron. You are surviving. There is no shame in it. This battle will need your Knights, and if you are dead with us in a pointless battle against superior engines you cannot hope to win, you are wasted. Live to fight another day. Slaughter the traitors. Here you cannot do that. Here you can only die. Fight on, my lord Baron. Take your Knights and fight on."
"We… shall," replied Golphytes, voice taking an odd tone. Was that… emotion? In a Knight of House Vulker? Today truly was a day of wonders. The image of Baron Golphytes disappeared as he relayed the instructions to his Knights.
Distantly, Terico saw the two maniples far behind them turn and make for safety. The Knights of Vulker resolutely followed. Tercio turned towards the incoming Titans of Legio Tempestor. A blast of corrupted plasma splashed against Pallidus Equitem's frontal voice. Terico ignored the servitor's warnings of the voids' integrity. How had Tempestor gotten here? The Grand Master pushed the thought aside.
"Sensori, send a message to Chapter Master Tulioc. Inform him of what has transpired. Others must know that Tempestor has walked."
"Yes, my lord!" replied Verator, instantly getting on the task.
"Also, take a message for the xenos leader." Terico, like all Imperials, would never address Fedorian as "Primarch". Never. Such a title was not befitting of a creature such as Fedorian. "They must know…" A blast rocked Pallidus Equitem. The voids groaned. The Moderati fired the guns grimly. A Titan next to Equitem exploded. "They must know of our promise… They must know it was upheld…"
oOo
The messenger ran through the hallways, two-toed feet clacking on the floor, lungs panting, bursting, gasping for air. He had come all the way from the communications bunker outside, and had not slowed nor stopped on the way. The guards outside had recognized his urgency, and made no moves to stop him- they knew an important message for high command when they saw one. The Turian messenger only had to breathlessly wave the message at the guards at the command bunker door for them to immediately realize his significance and let him through.
The doors to the strategy room whooshed open noiselessly as the messenger stepped through. Inside, the Primarch and various generals looked up sharply at the sound of the messenger's entrance. One of them, General Alectus, known for his strictness and ill-temper, stood and looked ready to berate the messenger for his unannounced entrance, then fell silent as Primarch Fedorian raised his hand. He clearly realized the strategy meeting wouldn't be interrupted without very good reason.
"My Primarch…" panted the messenger, gasping for breath. He took a moment, then a deep exhale. "My Primarch… message," he managed to get out. Stepping forward, the messenger handed the transcribed note to Fedorian. The Primarch took it, scanned it, then numbly let it drop to the surface of the table.
"What is it? What does it say?" asked one of the generals. Fedorian gave no response, only vaguely gesturing to the note laying innocently on the table's smooth surface. General Alectus, annoyed, snatched the note from its place and read it himself, only to fall silent and let the message back down noiselessly.
The rest of the generals and aides, shocked by both mens' behaviors, clustered around and read the message for themselves. On the top, printed by a frontline general in the Hierarchy Army, was the news.
Enemy Titan Legion spotted on Palaven. Allied forces engaged and forced into retreat.
Below it, so simple in stature and yet so powerful in meaning, was a message from Legio Pallidus Mor. The generals couldn't help but stand straighter, saluting the Titan crews somberly. This was the highest form of honor, the highest form of Turian ideals. No loyal child of the Hierarchy could help but feel emotion stir in their breast.
Know that we stood until the end, as promised.
The silent salute was interrupted by Primarch Fedorian's mournful voice.
"It seems as if we are on the downturn of fate once more." He sighed, rubbing his forehead, head downturned. The generals looked over to him, waiting for orders. Fedorian looked up. "Tell the Mechanicus and Imperials that we need any force we can get to defeat this new Titan Legion," he instructed. The messenger at the door nodded and turned to go, only for Fedorian to stop him. "Wait. Also, send word to Praetor Vakarian, General Strasis, and General Adelpuinis. We need them to return to Palaven." The messenger nodded and immediately set about his task. Primarch Fedorian looked at his aides somberly. "This is the breaking point. Either we win or we die," he said glumly. The generals looked at each other. This was not good. Some, shocked, considered for the first time the end of their species.
The war was now ruinous, for Pallidus Mor had fallen, and Legio Tempestor were now the one and only masters of Palaven.
oOo
From: Captain General Trajann Marius Julius Flavius Justinian Ra Ramses Qin George Hannibal Leonidas Themistocles Pericles Frederick Khalid Genghis Takeda Ulysses Dwight John Robert Erich Georgy Darius Simón Vasily Charles Gustavus Scipio Marcus Augustus Tiberius Cincinnatus Cyrus Alexander Charlemagne Louis Charles Artaxerxes Wu Taizong Henry Taizu Richard Barbarossa Leopold Kublai Chengzu Jean Ivan Stilicho William Thutmose Nikola Taksin Peter Constantine Valoris, Chief Custodian, Commander of the Adeptus Custodes, Lord of the Hetaeron Guard, Slayer of Tyrants, Breaker of False Crowns, Shatterer of the Unclean, Lord Praetorian of the Imperial Palace, Eyes of the Imperial House, Word of His Majesty the Emperor, and Right Hand of the Emperor of Man
To: The Fabricator General of Mars
It has been decried.
Your call for aid has been in conjunction with the visions of the Emissaries Imperatus and the intelligence gathered by the Eyes of the Emperor. We have also received reports upon the terrors roaming this alternate Terra. Additional firepower must be deployed to bring the Arch-Heretek his well-deserved fate. The seal of Magisterium Lex Ultima has been given unto you.
Ordo Sinister has been ordered to deploy.
Ave Imperator
oOo
Codex:
Legio Mortis:
Warcry/Motto: None. In place of a warcry, Legio Mortis servitors constantly drone a never-ending tally of their Titan's kills.
Legio Mortis (a.k.a. the "Death's Heads") are a Traitor Titan Legio of the Dark Mechanicum loyal to Kelbor-Hal, treacherous Fabricator General of Mars. Founded on Mars during the Age of Strife, they were one of the Triad Ferrum Morgulus, the three guardian Legions of Mars. Even before the Horus Heresy, Legio Mortis was known for its cold and calculating demeanor, keeping meticulous kill tallies, and filling their command decks with servitors that would chant an endless list of all their victims. Their purpose was twofold: to guard the Fabricator General of Mars, and to mercilessly exterminate any enemies of the Machine Cult and Omnissiah. It was most likely these traits, loyalty to Hal and pitiless butchering, combined with their fights alongside Horus Lupercal, that led to their damnation.
Loyal to Hal and the Warmaster, Legio Mortis formed a major backbone of the Traitor cause. They helped destroy the Loyalists on Istvaan, fought during the Schism of Mars for Hal, dueled countless loyal Legions during The Titandeath, and destroyed the Knight world of Chrysis under Lupercal's command. This culminated in the Siege of Terra itself, where Legio Mortis, led by the infamous Dies Irae, broke the walls of the Imperial Palace, allowing for Horus and the Emperor's fateful duel to the death. After these events, Mortis fled into the Eye of Terror. They became corrupted by the Chaos God of Disease, Nurgle, their once-proud adamantium halls strengthened by Nurgle's unnatural festering, fleshy resilience. They remain one of the most, if not the most powerful Titan Legion in the galaxy, and frequently fight for the Traitor cause on countless systems.
Legio Ignatum:
Warcry/Motto- "Invenuam viam aut faciam." ("I will either find a way or I will make one.")
Legio Ignatum (a.k.a the "Fire Wasps") is a loyalist Titan Legion founded on Mars during the Age of Strife. This is Mars's own Titan Legion, perhaps the most famous and important throughout the galaxy. Known for its ironclad loyalty, Legio Ignatum was often tasked with guarding places of extreme significance, the greatest of which was the Imperial Palace upon Holy Terra itself during the Siege of Terra. During the Horus Heresy, the Legion broke free from the yoke of treacherous Fabricator General Kelbor-Hal when they unanimously chose to fight for the Emperor of Mankind. While the warriors of their brethren in Legio Mortis and Legio Tempestus knew no other creed besides death and destruction, Ignatum often came to the aid of forge cities overrun by the monsters that roamed Mars during the Age of Strife. Their creed was that no place under their protection would come to any harm while the engines of Ignatum still stood. There has always been a rivalry between Ignatum and Mortis, for Mortis often mistook the forbearance of Ignatum for weakness and sought to dominate them by force, only to be met with defiant fury.
It is held by Ignatum as a mark of bitter honor that none of their order stationed on Mars during the Schism survived the war, standing defiant and dying to the last in battle against the forces of Hal. Many god-engines of Ignatum stood also proud sigil over the Imperial Palace itself, and helped defend it against Horus's terrible assault. After the Heresy ended with the death of Horus, Ignatum and the loyalists threw the traitors back to the Eye of Terror.
These days, Ignatum is the only Legion granted the singular honor of guarding the Emperor's Throne Room at the entryway of the Sanctum Imperialis where the Emperor is interred upon the Golden Throne. However, they have always harbored the most terrible of hatreds for Legio Mortis- and one day a reckoning will be made between them and the servants of Chaos.
Legio Tempestor:
Warcry/Motto: "We are the storm that shall lay low the False Emperor!"
Legio Tempestor (a.k.a. the "Thunder Raptors" or "Stormlords") is a Traitor Titan Legion of the Dark Mechanicum that repudiated its oaths to the Emperor of Mankind and followed Warmaster Horus into the service of the Ruinous Powers during the Horus Heresy. It is the portion of the Legio Tempestus that turned to Chaos during the Heresy and now remains apart from its loyalist brethren, who are referred to under their original name. One third of the fabled Triad Ferrum Morgulus, Legio Tempestus was founded alongside Legio Mortis and Legio Ignatum on Mars during the Age of Strife. During the Heresy, the Grand Master of the order and his loyal retainers fought valiantly against the Traitors during the Schism of Mars. However, others in their ranks, who fought on the frontier alongside the Warmaster, were utterly loyal to him. When the Grand Master of Tempestus fell in battle, the Legion5 split. The Traitor elements fled to the Eye of Terror under the command of Princeps Maximus Karania and renamed themselves Tempestor, while the loyalists remained Legio Tempestus and moved to the forge world Orestes, unable to bear their shame.
oOo
There we have it! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. As penance for getting this chapter out so late, I'll try my best to get the next one out as soon as possible. I can make no promises, unfortunately. Next chapter I'm really looking forward to writing. Fans of the Dark Angels, rejoice, for the mystery of the Consecrators is coming to light. If you have any comments, criticisms, questions, or reviews pertaining to the story I'd love to hear them!