Disclaimer: This Warhammer 40k thing and that Code Geass thing? Yeah...not mine.
Additionally, major props to fellow user Heir of Empires, the mastermind behind the Primarch subplots in this chapter and beyond! Keep a look out for his unbelievably badass cameo in the upcoming chapters!
Chapter Fourteen: Strife and Heresy
Operations Room, Space Station Ikaruga
Somewhere in the Inner Terra System
"Additional contacts on sensor! At least one hundred Eldar vessels confirmed, including two Void Stalker-class battleships!"
"At least one hundred fifty additional distinct signatures detected! Readings are consistent with Holofield interference!"
"Initial images are streaming in from our forward scouts!"
"Do we have information on their Craftworld of origin?"
"Not yet, but major markings are consistent with ships from either Altansar or Lugganath!"
"Weapons discharge detected from Eldar vessels! They've engaged the Chaos fleet!"
Humanity rose high during the Age of Technology, their dominance of the galaxy uncontested and the myriad alien races either forced to submit via treaty or wiped from existence. Their success meant that they had all the further to fall during the Age of Strife. Cut off from the food shipments that sustained it, untold billions starved on Terra as rioting and anarchy ruled the hives. The once-unified government fragmented and then dissolved entirely, replaced by fearsome warlords and their armies of techno-barbarians.
A period of war and famine followed as tribes conquered huge swaths of territory and one another in the eternal thirst for power and technology. The vast majority of Terra's inhabitants lived short, brutish lives, eking out miserable existences and hoping to never attract the techno-barbarians' attentions. Though many warlords dedicated their entire lives, none possessed the power or influence to realize their ultimate dream: the reunification of humanity.
As the first millennium of the Age of Strife came and went, a new warlord arose to the west. One of many and seemingly doomed to be absorbed or crushed by one of the larger, more established tribes, few paid him any attention. The warlords of Terra would soon come to regret their decision.
Outskirts of Former Denver
003.M28
From his elevated command post, the warlord surveyed the army below him. Countless men and women, spurred on by the promise of glory and riches, eagerly awaited the order. Peering through his binocs, he snorted in disgust at the enemy army. The enemy had assembled a paltry line, only two men deep at points. The warriors seemed bulkier and better-armored than expected for such a minor tribe, but against such an innumerable horde, such would do them little good.
A great cheer rose throughout the gathered ranks as the warlord emerged from his command post. He drew his chainsword and thrust it into the air.
"We outnumber them a hundred thousand to one! A double share of plunder for the first one to reach their lines! Charge!"
Even as a hundred million men and women, all armed to the teeth and screaming battle cries, poured over the terrain towards them, the opposing army showed nary a nervous twitch. As the horde drew increasingly closer, they continued standing ramrod straight, their massive weapons shouldered. The figure at their head, smaller than any of them yet seemingly the calmest, surveyed the approaching tidal wave with his hand calmly at his hip.
"Ready arms!"
As stubber rounds riddled the ground in front of them, the warriors still moved as one. They shouldered their weapons and took careful aim. The screaming horde was now close enough that the mini-quakes of their feet hitting the ground could be felt. The gold-armored figure at the head drew his sword and thrust it into the air, its blade alight with psychic fire.
"Thunder Warriors, open fire!"
A thundering boom echoed over the plain as the Thunder Army loosed their first volley. Cries of battle turned into cries of horror as bolt shells reduced the first ranks of the barbarian army into a shower of body parts and gore. Many died instantly, and those unfortunate enough to survive their wounds were swiftly trampled underfoot. The Thunder Warriors continued their disciplined volleys, each of their bolts blowing large holes in the enemy formation. Yet, every gap opened up was promptly filled by another dozen techno-barbarians.
The horde, though somewhat thinned, continued their charge out of sheer momentum. Lelouch raised his sword again, turning towards his assembled army.
"Thunder Warriors, glory or death awaits!" he bellowed, "Charge!"
The revving of a thousand chainswords filled the air as the massive proto-Astartes charged forward, the ground itself shaking from their thundering footsteps. Lelouch loosed a massive wave of fire, incinerating hundreds and setting many more ablaze. His victims screamed in agony, beating at their clothing until their hands caught fire. The barbarians' morale broke as the first Thunder Warriors crashed into their ranks, crushing hundreds underfoot and smashing many more aside before their chainswords were even brought to bear.
The barbarians clawed over one another, trying to reach illusionary safety. Those in the rear, the news of the horrors at the front finally reaching them, simply turned around and fled. With a contemptuous sneer, Lelouch slashed his sword into the air. A line of fire leapt up from the ground, incinerating many of the fleeing soldiers and trapping the rest. Driven insane with fear, many leapt through the flames anyway, only to be incinerated by the sheer psychic might.
Wading through the blood and gore that now covered the ground, the Thunder Army continued its relentless advance.
Outskirts of Former Denver
Three Hours Later
"Who…are you?" the warlord gasped out.
For such a lanky figure, the enemy general's physical strength was nothing short of titanic. With a single hand, he lifted the barbarian warlord—power armor and all—into the air and slammed him into the wall. The man's eyes bugged out as the vise around his throat tightened, cutting off oxygen to his lungs. His legs flailed ineffectually as his hands grasped Lelouch's in a futile attempt to break the man's iron grip. Only when the warlord seemed on the verge of suffocation did he finally let go. The much larger man fell to the ground and scrambled to all fours, gasping desperately for air.
"Go." the warlord looked at Lelouch in bewilderment, "You heard me! Go! Run away! Go back to your masters and tell them what happened here today! Tell them that the Emperor of Mankind has shattered your army, and that they're next!"
The warlord stumbled to his feet and ran out of the bunker, tripping over the bodies and congealed blood of his slain bodyguards as he did so.
Argyre Planatia, Mars
086.M28
The dust kicked up from the Damocles' landing had yet to fully settle down when Lelouch lowered the ship's boarding ramp. To say he had emerged from the Unification Wars unchanged would have been a lie. Millennia of brutal combat, both on the battlefield and in the boardroom, had hardened him. His lanky frame had given way to well-toned muscle, and scars marred his once-effeminate looks. A dangerous, ruthless glint now permanently inhabited his violet eyes.
The footfalls of a dozen Custodians shook the ramp as Lelouch strode down, still retaining a degree of regality in his mannerisms despite everything. The enormous gene-modded soldiers kicked up a sizable dust cloud as their feet sank into the loose Martian soil. As the last warrior's feet left the ramp, the two ranks split apart and formed a path for Lelouch to walk through.
The whirring of servo-motors filled Lelouch's ears as the bipedal walkers before him stared him down. Their weapon-laden arms twitched, causing all of his bodyguards to begin reaching for their weapons before Lelouch waved them back. Without a hint of fear or hesitation, the Emperor of Mankind approached the head Knight and placed a hand on its knee servo. A few whispered words later, he stepped back and the joint's tortured screeching stopped.
Without missing a beat, all the Knights dropped onto one knee in fealty before the Master of Mankind.
Olympus Mons, Mars
088.M28
Though the Fabricator-General of Mars and his subordinates, all more machine than man slightly unnerved Lelouch, he had to admit that the Tech-Priesthood knew how to put on an impressive display.
Formations of aircraft, the latest and most advanced models the Mechanicum's forges produced, crisscrossed the skies above. Slab-sided warships hovered over the procession, their enormous size making them appear close enough to touch while actually hanging in low orbit. As Lelouch and his entourage of Custodians disembarked from the Damocles, they were greeted with the sight of thousands of Skitarii warriors, their mechanical components polished until they shone, standing in neat rows and forming a road to the site. The Skitarii were clustered around the feet of enormous Titans, their bright colors forming a magnificent contrast with the rust-red of Olympus Mons. Crude imitations of the Castigator types he had seen during the Age of Technology, but impressive nonetheless. Thousands of lower-ranked adepts and Tech-Priests clustered on the outside of the barrier, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Emperor.
Clad in a specially-made suit of Thunder Armor, its polished brass exterior indicating its use as a ceremonial weapon rather than one of war, Lelouch purposefully strode up to the table at the road's end. His Custodians, easily several heads taller than a mortal man and clad in magnificent gold and crimson armor, made for an intimidating backdrop. The Fabricator-General of Mars, flanked by the Fabricator-Locum and their respective retinues, looked unimpressed.
On the table before them, painstakingly transcribed onto the finest paper by the Imperium's most talented scribes, was the Treaty of Olympus. An immense document years in the making, its purpose was nonetheless purely ceremonial. The terms and policies outlined were finalized weeks ago in a boardroom, and the current spectacle served as little more than a ceremony to highlight the treaty's ratification. In exchange for continued non-interference in their internal affairs, the Mechanicum of Mars was obligated to provide the Imperium with the advanced technologies manufactured at their Forge Worlds. The years-long negotiations had proven brutal, drawing in hundreds of diplomats on both sides and nearly falling apart on several occasions, especially when the issue of the Vaults of Moravec was bought up.
"My lord, the honor should be yours," the Fabricator-General diplomatically offered the pen to Lelouch.
Lelouch accepted the pen with whatever semblance of a grateful smile he could muster and signed the treaty in great, looping letters.
The Warp
017.M51
CC's golden eyes slowly opened, her vision no longer even spinning as she resurfaced. The soul shards, now numbering in the thousands, swirled around her like a great psychic aura. Daemons no longer dared approach her, and even the greatest hordes respectfully parted before her. Euphemia calmly walked beside her, not even the most terrifying daemonic visages causing her to bat an eyebrow. Her staff, its head aglow with psychic might, deterred even the most powerful and terrible of greater daemons.
"What do you know of the Primarchs?" Euphemia suddenly ventured.
"Admittedly not much," CC glanced over at Euphemia, eyebrow quirked, "Most of what we do know comes from communications we intercepted back in the thirty-first millennium, and accounts were fragmentary at best."
"Then I suppose you will find the next soul shards interesting," Euphemia stated matter-of-factly, "Though there is one thing you should probably know…"
Euphemia glanced at her companion and trailed off as CC fell into an all-too-familiar trance. The Guardian huffed indignantly before sitting down next to the green-haired immortal.
"Oh well," Euphemia shrugged, "She'll figure it out soon enough."
?
065.M29
"Power line's severed on this one, too, my lord."
Lelouch let out an uncharacteristic growl of frustration, slamming his fist into the pod door hard enough to dent the metal. The Custodians in the lab wisely backed down as the any and all small, unsecured objects began floating ominously off the ground. A brief wind flowed through the lab chamber before Lelouch slumped down, closing his eyes and taking deep calming breaths.
Opening his eyes again, Lelouch glanced at the chamber before him. From end-to-end, it stretched nearly half a kilometer in length. Great refrigerated pods, each large enough to house a full-grown man, were stacked up to the ceiling and along the entire length of the room. When the Black Knights required a new human paradigm, their scientists had filled the current chamber and dozens more like it with untold millions of genetic samples. Though the lab itself was not as grand as the one currently under construction under the surface of Luna, it was undoubtedly more advanced.
What little data that survived the Age of Technology's violent end was used by Lelouch and his scientists in creating the Thunder Army and the Legio Custodes. Only fragments of the research and equipment remained when the lab was re-opened, and most was lost with the rise of the Yndonesic Bloc. As innumerable hordes overran the surface, Lelouch and his subordinates were forced to evacuate what they could and destroy the entrance. Even thousands of meters of rock and soil above it failed to completely protect it from the apocalyptic weapons and detestable sorceries unleashed throughout the Unification Wars.
The days of sustained atomic and lance bombardment that preceded the Thunder Army's assault on Cardinal Tang's Himalayan fortifications had heavily damaged most of the facility. The resulting earthquakes and aftershocks cut off power to several gene vaults and buried others beneath millions of tons of rubble, utterly destroying the samples stored within. Many of the labs and testing chambers were cut off, their access corridors caved-in during the orbital bombardment and the brutal ground assault that followed. As the Thunder Army's vise grew tighter, the Eternarch grew increasingly desperate, eventually turning to dark sorceries to stave the oncoming tide. The energies leaking through the weakened veil of reality had corrupted many of the surviving chambers, forcing their purgation with cleansing flame.
"My lord! This one still has power!"
Lelouch crossed the length of the gene vault in a heartbeat, nearly bowling the scientist over as he examined the pod. The pod's systems were failing, but what mattered was that part of it remained operational. Without waiting for the proper equipment to arrive, he carefully disengaged the hermetic seals and opened the pod, sheathing himself with psychic energy for protection from the subzero cryonic gasses. Dozens of turntables, each containing a dozen genetic samples, stacked atop each other in three columns appeared through the mists.
A Custodian, a portable cryogenic storage unit in his hands, and a dozen scientists approached the pod. After hurriedly connecting the unit to a backup cooling unit, the scientists began methodically removing the turntables one by one in search of viable gamete samples. Lelouch insisted on placing the usable samples into the storage unit himself. His eyes scanned the latest of the small but steadily-growing collection of viable gametes. He nearly dropped the precious vial in shock when he noted the donor.
He was never going to hear the end of it, but considering the circumstances, it could have been much worse.
"That's the last them, my lord," the Custodian reported as he re-sealed the portable storage unit.
"How many?"
"Eighteen, my lord."
"Dammit," Lelouch's fist pounded the ground, "Are there any vaults that remain unopened?"
"There's one in Section Five," one of the scientists chimed in, "my lord."
"But my lord," another scientists protested, "the samples in Section Five are…"
"I know what's in Section Five!" Lelouch interrupted, "However, we need at least two more samples! We'll work around whatever complications arise!"
Beneath the Surface of Luna
073.M29
The Master of Mankind sank to his knees as he beheld the sad sight before him. The enormous chamber, once the greatest concentration of scientific equipment and computing power in the fledgling Imperium, was an utter wreck. The value in destroyed equipment alone could build and outfit a light cruiser, but that was far from the greatest loss. The twenty enormous capsules, each containing one of his Primarchs, once housed within were gone. He could feel the Warp energies that permeated the chamber, and they tasted disgustingly of smugness and triumph.
"My lord…" one of the scientists cautiously approached him.
"Summon your staff," Lelouch suddenly ordered.
"My lord?"
"We have lost much, but it is not the end. You have retained copies of the data, did you not?
"Yes, my lord."
"Good. Then we shall begin anew. When the day comes that my sons return to me, their followers shall be legion."
The Warp
017.M51
A look of surprise immediately appeared on CC's face as soon as she regained control of her facial muscles. Had any of her subordinates, or even any of her fellow immortals, seen her at that moment, they would claim to have witnessed a sign of another coming apocalypse. CC, who never showed anything other than complete apathy even when facing down a greater daemon, showing no less than three visible emotions within the span of so many days? Euphemia merely nodded knowingly.
"I take it you found out?"
"Yes," CC nodded numbly.
"You'll have to tell…"
"I know," CC cut her off.
"Are you sure…"
"I think I sense another soul fragment," CC interrupted, her usual mask of cool indifference now firmly back in place.
Olympus Mons, Mars
099.M29
The sight of the Imperium's mighty war machine dwarfed even the spectacle surrounding the signing of the Treaty of Olympus Mons over a century ago. The fires of Mars' forges burned brightly as they undertook the monumental task of equipping the Emperor's army. Thousands upon thousands of warships, some stretching several kilometers in length, hung in orbit over the rust-red planet and patrolled the star system. Gathered in numbers unheard-of until the Ullanor Crusade decades later, members of the mighty Legiones Astartes and Collegia Titanica stood arrayed in neat formations across the plains surrounding the mountain, awaiting transport to the warships above. Remembrancers would later claim that the footfalls of the Old Hundred, remnants of the Emperor's army during the Age of Strife re-forged into the nucleus of the Imperial Army, shook the entire planet.
Lelouch observed the grand scene from above, in an observation room of a forge carved right into the rock of Olympus Mons. The door behind him slid open and a slim, hunched-over figure silently stepped through. The Emperor had detected the second man's presence before he even approached the door.
"Malcador," Lelouch turned around to face his advisor, "I trust everything is well?"
"Very, my lord," Malcador the Sigillite replied with a calmness few could muster when faced with the Emperor of Mankind, "Preparations for departure are actually ahead of schedule. At this rate, the crusade fleets will be ready to leave the system within the next seven days."
"Excellent," Lelouch noticed the other man's expression, "I take it there is more news?"
"Fabricator-General Kelbor-Hal sends his apologies, my lord. Some miners unearthed a previously-unknown vault several days ago. He has gone to oversee the excavation operation and will not be able to attend the launching of the Great Crusade."
"Regrettable, but understandable."
"He has, however, sent a gift to commemorate the occasion."
Nearly a dozen Tech-Priests, escorted by several Custodians, entered the room with a cargo servitor trailing slightly behind. Lelouch's eyes were instantly drawn to the servitor's burden: a giant suit of armor the color of polished brass. It reminded him of a cross between the Dreadnoughts the Mechanicum had recently started manufacturing and Astartes power armor. Imperial Aquilae, each painstakingly cast and hammered into shape by a master craftsman, adorned every surface. One even stood on a pedestal behind where his head would go. An enormous red gem was centered on the chest plate, and two smaller ones were embedded into the forearm guards. An enormous clawed hand that vaguely reminded him of the Guren's took the place of the left gauntlet. Resting beside it was a magnificent blade with three crimson gems embedded in the hilt.
"The formal name for it is 'Tactical Dreadnought Armor,' but the Legiones Astartes have taken to calling it 'Terminator Armor.' The Fabricator-General commissioned the finest master craftsmen from all over Mars to build you this custom suit, my lord, and the sword comes from his personal forge."
Lelouch carefully picked up the sword, marveling at how light it felt in his hand. He engulfed the blade in flames with a thought and instantly extinguished them with another.
Chaos Battle Barge Vengeful Spirit
014.M31
Lelouch doubled over and coughed up blood as another crushing blow, easily enough to utterly annihilate any lesser man dozens of times over, broke the vast majority of the bone plates making up his ribcage. Reinforcing his shattered body with psychic power, the battered and bloody Emperor of Mankind slowly stood up, only to be knocked into the air by a punishing roundhouse kick. The Traitor Astartes gathered on the bridge parted to let him crash into the bulkhead, leaving an enormous dent in the metal and unleashing a shockwave that bowled several nearby Space Marines over. Though blurred vision, Lelouch watched as Horus laughed maniacally, stepping on the body of Sanguinius with the same regard one would give to trash as he approached the Emperor's fallen form.
"Come to your senses, Horus, please…you're sick! I can help you!" Lelouch begged.
The fallen Primarch laughed, gripping Lelouch around his throat with enough force to crush his windpipe. He slowly lifted the Emperor, now gasping for breath, to his eye level.
"Sick?" Horus scoffed, "I've never felt better in my life!"
With a sickening squelch and a blood-curdling scream, Horus ripped out Lelouch's left eye. With strength that reminded the Master of Mankind precisely where his son's genes had come from, Horus threw the Emperor across the room. A sickening crack and roars of triumph from the fallen Astartes filled the room as Lelouch collided with the bulkhead.
Choking on his own blood, Lelouch used his sword as a crutch to stand up. Horus stopped momentarily, causing the Emperor to hope against all reason that his son had come to his senses. Instead, the Arch-Traitor snapped his fingers. Lelouch screamed in pain as his hair was set ablaze. The screams only intensified when Horus picked up the Emperor's fallen form and broke his spine over his knee. With a wet pop, the Warmaster tore Lelouch's arm from its socket before throwing him to the ground.
As he stood over the beaten Emperor, he raised his arms in the air, puffed out his chest, and roared in triumph. His followers joined him in celebration as he raised one of his massive claws.
"No!"
The traitor Astartes surrounding the pair suddenly turned towards the voice. Horus paused in the killing blow as a lasbolt glanced off his armor. Lelouch watched in horror as a lone Imperial Army soldier dove between him and Horus. Defiance in his eyes, the soldier stood up and shouldered his lasrifle. The cherry-red bolts continued to bounce off the Warmaster's armor.
"No," Lelouch tried to gasp out through his ruined larynx, "Get away. You can't take him…"
Horus laughed and flayed the man with a single thought before looking down to the Emperor once again.
"His name was Ollanius Pius," Horus mocked, "Yet another in the long list of people you've failed. You who have spent your entire life claiming there were no gods. In reality, you were scared of them. Scared of what they could do."
Lelouch gurgled in response, suffocating on his own blood.
"They've told me everything," Horus continued, "All throughout your life, you've failed in protecting anyone dear to you. What about Shirley Fenette? You couldn't protect her, could you? Oh, and little Euphemia! You used her to further your own goals and then shot her through the heart! The greatest irony of all!"
Cruel laughter echoed throughout the chamber. Anger and despair overwhelmed Lelouch. As much as he tried to deny it, he had just seen irrefutably how far his son had fallen. His eyes alight with psychic fire, Lelouch slowly stood up.
"How about your mother? Shot to death right in front of you! Not only that, you got yourself and your sister banished trying to avenge her! Years later, what do you find out? She planned the whole thing! In the end, she never cared for…" Horus trailed off as he watched Lelouch painfully stand up.
"Horus," Lelouch gasped out with tears streaming from his eyes, "There are some lines you should never cross. I wanted to save you, I really did, but from this moment forth, you are no longer my son!"
As the Arch-Traitor watched in horror, psychic flame gathered around the Emperor's usable hand. With a fearsome roar that would send Chaos Gods running in fear, Lelouch leapt towards his fallen son. As the mighty lance, the physical manifestation of all of his father's psychic power, raced towards Horus, the Ruinous Powers abandoned him.
"Father?" Horus returned to sanity as the lance utterly annihilated his being, "What have I done?"
The Warp
017.M51
CC had not cried in millennia, never since the day of the exodus. As she returned to consciousness, she wiped the tears from the corner of her eyes. She had read reports from various battlefronts during the Horus Heresy, including communications from Terra, but to actually stand there on the Vengeful Spirit in those final moments…
"He was interred into the Golden Throne hours later. You know what followed: twenty thousand years of pain and torment to keep the remnants of humanity alive. Twenty thousand years of watching his grand vision become a twisted and perverted version of itself. Deep down inside, part of him felt that this was the penance he had long sought."
CC slowly stood up. The newly-acquired soul shard circled her face, wiping away the tears.
"Yet, despite all that happened, the events on the Vengeful Spirit were still probably the best possible outcome considering the circums-"
A loud crack echoed through the Warp, annihilating scores of lesser daemons and sending even greater daemons running in terror. Euphemia recoiled from the blow.
"Shut up," CC snarled, "How can you say that? In what kind of twisted world is twenty thousand years of living hell the best possible outcome?"
Euphemia's cheek stung from the blow, less from the pain it inflicted and more from the emotions behind it.
"I'll admit that I overstepped my bounds there," Euphemia conceded before quickly changing the subject, "That was the last of the soul shards. It's time we return to the Materium."
With a quick downward slash of her staff, the Guardian opened a rift out of the Warp and stepped through. CC followed moments later, the portal sealing itself behind her.
A/N: Well, that's a wrap for this chapter!
Omake: Encyclopedia of the Black Knights, Volume Six: Special Forces Organization and Doctrine
Though their military is formidable, the Black Knights often prefer to settle most matters through small covert operations. Unlike the militiamen that form the bulk of the Black Knights Military Army, members of the Special Forces Division are full-time soldiers.
Orbital Planetary Assault Wing: "Orbital Planetary Assault Wing" is the name of both the organization and the basic unit of its organizational hierarchy. Though larger units do exist, their purpose is almost purely administrative. There are currently four hundred OPAWs in service, each with the following composition:
Formation - Composition - Leader
Orbital Planetary Assault Wing - Ten Squads - Captain or Major
Squad - Three Fire Teams - Lieutenant
Fire Team - Two Fire and Maneuver Teams - Corporal or Sergeant
Fire and Maneuver Team - Two Troopers - senior trooper
At any given time, ten OPAWs are designated "activated, elevated readiness." Units so labeled are ready to deploy within four hours. Another thirty, designated "activated, increased readiness," can deploy within ten. Sixty additional OPAWs are considered "activated" and are ready for drop within sixteen hours. The remaining three hundred OPAWs are held in reserve and ready for combat in anywhere from twenty to forty-eight hours.
While their militia counterparts are loath to assault an enemy force head-on or a fortification directly, OPAW units rarely do anything else. Dropped directly from orbit, OPAW troopers default to quick, violent shock attacks to disorient their foes and keep them off-balance. While a militia unit would opt to hit the supply vehicles behind an enemy tank column, an OPAW unit would jump in the fray and destroy the tanks with their FLEIJA launchers. Due to the extreme odds they often face, the OPAW suffers significantly higher casualty rates than the Militia Division despite being a tiny fraction of the latter's size.
A small number of select troopers are designated "Raider" and wear an additional stripe on their uniform to indicate this. The opportunity to attend Raider School is considered one of the greatest honors an OPAW trooper can receive, and even being recommended for it can do wonders for a trooper's career. Attendees of Raider School are hand-picked and trained by General Kallen Kozuki herself. Many wash out, but those who graduate become part of the Black Knights' most elite fighting force: the OPAW Raiders.
Raiders are entrusted with some of the most dangerous missions: eliminating Necron Overlords and Phaerons, direct assaults on the lairs of Tyranid Norn-Queens, even assassinating Dark Eldar Archons. Casualty rates in excess of fifty percent are not unusual, and many operations have cost entire Raider squads. Theoretically, every OPAW should have one Raider squad assigned to it. In practice, there is one Raider squad for every four or five OPAWs. Due in no small part to the missions they undertake, the Raiders have captured the imaginations of the Black Knights and are the subject of many an entertainment piece.
Psychic Special Warfare Department: Though arranged into operational cells, the Psychic Special Warfare Department does not observe any formal command hierarchy. A less-experienced operative will generally defer to a more-experienced one, but they are ultimately accountable to nobody but Director CC herself. It is estimated that there are approximately two thousand Psychic Special Warfare operatives scattered across hundreds of cells. Cell assignments are by no means set in stone, and operatives are regularly shuffled between cells as needed.
A tiny fraction of Black Knights are born with psychic abilities significantly greater than those of their brethren. The vast majority are discovered before birth, though some remain undetected until later in life. CC confirms every potential operative in person, and those too young for boot camp have their powers temporarily sealed away for their own safety. Operatives are taken to a special training facility instead of boot camp.
Training for a Psychic Special Warfare operative takes place under the direct tutelage of CC and is both physically and mentally rigorous. Not only must an operative utilize their psychic abilities while shielding their own minds, but they must also be able to fight with conventional weaponry if needed. Operatives are trained to psychically bend the very fabric of reality, forcing through the resulting weak spot into the Warp and emerging some distance away. This technique—colloquially known as "hopping"—is, despite numerous precautions, the leading cause of training fatalities. Upon entering the Warp, they become visible to the creatures within, and many an unfortunate trainee over the millennia has become a snack for a passing Warp entity.
The vast majority of the Psychic Special Warfare Department's operations are carried out in conjunction with militia or OPAW units, its operatives supporting their fellow Black Knights with fearsome psychic attacks. On rare occasions, the Department has conducted solo operations, deploying operatives either by themselves or in small groups ranging in size from two operatives to an entire cell. Even more rarely, several cells may pool their personnel for a particularly large operation.
On the battlefield, even Raiders admit to being a little intimidated by Psychic Special Warfare operatives. Clad in highly-modified Cherub Knightmares, they are a force to be reckoned with. From the rear lines, they can ravage enemy formations with psychic lightning and fire. In close combat, they hop amidst the enemy and slice them to ribbons with psychically-charged monomolecular blades. By throwing down localized time dilatation fields as they exit the Warp, operatives can slay multiple opponents within what the enemy perceives as mere heartbeats.