A/N: Yes, this story is still alive and kicking! Real life just has a way of eating up most of my time.

Disclaimer: You should know by now that I don't own Warhammer 40k or Code Geass.

Chapter Nineteen: The Soul of Altansar

Buoyed by the overwhelming victory at Castrinaia, millions of Eldar troops launched a massive counterattack all across the Chaos lines. Fighting with all the ferocity of animals cornered within their lairs, they paid their losses no mind and drove deep into enemy lines. So vicious was the counteroffensive that even Fulgrim's innumerable hordes were given pause. Fighting for their own homes, the defenders of Altansar abandoned all notion of fighting with grace or subtlety. The razor-sharp scalpel of Eldar military might transformed into a sledgehammer.

A massive artillery bombardment would precede each new Eldar thrust, pulverizing the deeply-entrenched Chaos forces and smashing their hastily-erected fortifications. Before the dust settled, wave after wave of Guardians and Aspect Warriors charged the enemy lines, using sheer weight of numbers to smash through and open the way for an armored assault. Trenches and city streets ran red with blood and brutal hand-to-hand combat reigned as the Eldar fought city by city, street by street, to liberate Altansar.

Surface of Craftworld Altansar
017.M51, Day Five of the Siege of Altansar

Though her lungs burned from exertion and her legs screamed for rest, Ilheic continued her desperate sprint across the no man's land. Reinvigorated by a nearby shell impact that reduced several Guardians into bloody chunks of flesh and peppering her mesh armor with shrapnel, she hurtled down the last few meters to relative safety. As autogun rounds and lasbolts peppered the ground around her, the Guardian threw herself to the dirt and clawed her way forward. Panting heavily, she picked her exhausted body up and plopped against the plasteel tank trap.

"They've got heavy stubbers dug in just beyond that ridge! We're getting ripped apart!"

One of the few other Guardians fortunate enough to actually reach the fortifications sprang out of his hard-won cover and lobbed a plasma grenade. The tiny metal sphere arced through the air and bounced into one of the enemy's numerous heavy stubber nests. The crew scrambled over the sandbags, trampling one another in a desperate attempt to escape the blast. Some were incinerated outright, and the others fell down, screaming in agony as they futilely attempted to claw the burning starstuff off of their skin. More importantly, the short-lived miniature star melted the heavy stubber into a useless lump of metal. The Guardian had little time to celebrate his feat: the retaliatory fire shredded him.

"Rockets inbound!"

More of the Chaos defenses fell silent as Support Weapon Batteries hurled high-explosive death from far behind the front line. Tracers streaked overhead as the enemy artillery launched a counter-barrage of their own. The forces still rushing across no man's land took advantage of the lull to reach the safety of the tank traps that dotted the terrain before the Chaos trench. An ear-splitting scream drew everyone's gazes to the dozens of lithe figures, seemingly flowing around the incoming gunfire, sprinted up the ridge.

"Follow the Banshees! Charge!"

Though the sheer volume of enemy weapons fire claimed several of the Banshees, the vast majority leapt over the earthen barrier and descended into the trenches behind it. Thousands of Guardians emerged from cover and followed their lead, facing only light return fire as the Aspect Warriors busily slaughtered the troops manning the line. Vaulting over the ridge, Ilheic spared one final glance over her shoulder. Hundreds of shadows, a phalanx of grav tanks with War Walkers just behind, appeared over the horizon, charging across the no man's land between Eldar and Chaos lines. Turning back around, the Guardian joined the bloodbath in the enemy trenches.

Central Pavilion, Caspeton, Surface of Craftworld Altansar
017.M51, Day Seven of the Siege of Altansar

Though it felt like several lifetimes had passed since then, Nildail had picked up a Shuriken Catapult for the first time a mere three days ago. Afterwards, the others would quietly remark how he and many of his fellow volunteers were "too young to be fighting like this." The whispers fell silent whenever he passed by, and the Eldar youth pretended not to notice. He and his peers acquitted themselves admirably during the first Chaos attack on Caspeton, and the murmurings stopped for good.

The older fighters' concerns were not unfounded, but the remnants of Caspeton's garrison could ill-afford to turn away able bodies in such trying times. Shielded from the Chaos advance by hundreds of kilometers of terrain and the mighty citadel at Tunannir, the city had quickly become a safe haven from the fighting. Once a bustling trade hub, Caspeton quickly became home to those too young or too infirm to fight as they waited in hopes of securing a seat on the next evacuation convoy. The other buildings were hastily converted into a giant field hospital, and even its fairly substantial staff was spread thin trying to put Eldar soldiers back into the fight.

The fall of Tunannir had taken everybody by surprise. The sector's military forces had stationed its finest troops at the citadel to start with, and they had poured ever-larger numbers of personnel and equipment to shore up its defenses as time passed. Fulgrim had simply ordered the fortress razed from orbit. Faced only with scattered and demoralized second-rate units, Chaos forces advanced early two hundred and fifty kilometers literally overnight. The inhabitants of Caspeton went to sleep far away from enemy lines and work up well behind them.

The initial Chaos attack hit the defenders hard: artillery pulverized the city, and the massive combined assault that followed annihilated much of Caspeton's token garrison. With nothing to stand in their way, the enemy embarked on an orgy of slaughter and excess amongst the population. Eldar were tortured to death in the streets, rendered down to mind-stripping stimulants, or dragged away screaming to satisfy baser desires. The few lucky enough to escape went underground, taking refuge in the sewer tunnels beneath Caspeton.

Nildail's older sister had thrown herself in front of the Chaos Space Marine in a futile effort to shield him. The genetically-altered human simply laughed and smashed her aside, caving in her chest and sending the corpse flying into the nearby wall. As the armored titan approached the cowering Eldar youth, a hundred thousand possibilities of what to do with his new prisoner running through his mind, Nildail prayed to whatever deities would listen. His prayers were answered in the form of a passing Guardian squad, whom dispatched the Space Marine with a Fusion Gun blast, vaporizing half its torso, and then shot it again for good measure.

Despite objections, Nildail was one of the many who stepped forward when the remnants of Caspeton's garrison asked for volunteers to help retake the city. He wasn't due to start Guardian training for at least another few years, but the fledgling resistance movement was in no position to refuse willing help. Despite objections, the Guardians hurriedly taught him basic marksmanship and even gave him an ill-fitting mesh armor vest salvaged from the armory.

Still absorbed in their festival of excess, the Chaos forces occupying Caspeton were caught by surprise when a force of Eldar Guardians, walking wounded, and children emerged from the sewers and began firing. They struck from the shadows, completely overwhelming small enemy positions and retreating into the labyrinthine back alleyways at the first sign of enemy reinforcements. Thus, the ragtag band of barely eight hundred inflicted heavy casualties upon the enemy while taking few of their own.

Chaos reinforcements poured into the city hours later.

At some point, resistance forces had stumbled upon a cache of Dire Avenger Shuriken Catapults, approximately forty in all, and had quickly pressed them into service as automatic support weapons. The find proved a great boon during the initial Chaos assault, scything down the enemy by the hundreds as they attempted to charge the hurriedly-erected barricades. Though the makeshift militia fought doggedly, each ill-trained civilian pulling several times their weight, the enemy's crushing numerical superiority slowly carried the battle.

Nildail could hear the whining of powered armor servos and the rumbling of enemy armored vehicles in the distance. Chaos soldiers, many wearing profaned versions of Imperial Guard flak armor, poured into the pavilion. Though much better-equipped and –trained than the cultists the Eldar resistance initially fought, the barricades still funneled them into the fire lanes of the dozen or so remaining Dire Avenger Catapults, and they were scythed down by the dozen.

An ear-splitting screech assaulted Nildail's ears. Feeling his very sanity cracking, the youth clamped his hands over his ears. Several of the Eldar around him were not so fortunate and fell to the ground, screaming and clawing at their faces. A nearby Guardian put them out of their misery with a few well-placed shurikens.

"Concentrate fire!"

The bulk of the defenders' weapons fire diverted to the central road as the massive forms of Chaos Space Marines hurtled into the pavilion. Clad in garish pink power armor inscribed with sigils of She Who Thirsts and fighting sans-helmet, revealing their heavily-mutilated faces and glazed-over eyes, the new arrivals cut a swath through the desperate Eldar forces. Their weapons overwhelmed the senses with light and sound, stripping away their unfortunate victims' sanities while providing their users with a high like no other.

Though the armored titans occasionally staggered as a lucky shuriken found the joints in their armor, the vast majority of incoming fire glanced off the thick ceramite. One Marine staggered, half his torso blown away by a Fusion Gun blast. His twisted face contorted into an expression of mixed pain and ecstasy as he drank in the sensations of his final moments before collapsing. Retribution was swift, the fearsome noise-based weapons reducing the Fusion Gun's wielder and the rest of his squad into a puddle of melted flesh.

The fallen Astartes of the Emperor's Children bludgeoned their way past the Eldar forces, the numerous shurikens piercing their flesh arousing them more than hurting them. They charged ahead, heedless of their allies scattering before them, and trampling those who failed to move away in time. Occasionally, one would stop and pick up one of the defenders, twisting off his or her limbs with savage glee as the unfortunate victim thrashed and screamed.

Despite its huge size, the Chaos Space Marine crossed the few meters between him and Nildail's position in seconds, hurtling through the flimsy barrier and crushing one of the defenders underfoot. The third defender crouched behind the barrier opened up, his shurikens easily piercing the ceramite at such close range. The Astartes, seemingly unfazed by the desperate attack, turned around and regarded the cowering Eldar as one would a particularly unpleasant insect. Nildail turned away as the genetically-modified super-soldier raised his foot and bought it back down. A scream and a wet crunch, and all went silent.

A prickling sensation on the back of Nildail's neck prompted him to duck, and the youth threw himself to the ground just in time to avoid a gauntleted fist. He scrambled away from the twisted parody of an Astartes, squeezing off shots from his Shuriken Catapult as fast as his fingers would allow. Nildail had scant fractions of a second to dodge the second blow, his quick reflexes causing the armored boot to send him flying rather than caving his skull in.

The youth landed several meters away, slamming into a barricade and sliding down to the ground. He coughed up blood, and even drawing breath overwhelmed his senses with sheer agony. Having lost his weapon during the flight, Nildail's hands scrambled over the ground around him in search for anything he could to fight back with. His hands closed around a hard object as the Noise Marine grabbed him by the neck and picked him up.

Though the haze of pain and oxygen deprivation, Nildail saw the expression on the enemy's face, and it frightened him. It was the same as that time… He pushed thoughts of the past aside as the Noise Marine bought him closer, no doubt to better inspect his new prisoner. The followers of The Great Serpent had left enough desecrated corpses lying around for the Eldar youth to know that just about anything was preferable to capture. Nildail silently prayed for strength as he bought the melta bomb up to the fallen Space Marine's eye level. As the twisted Astartes began to emerge from his stupor, Nildail had primed the explosive and, with a fierce roar unbefitting of somebody so near death, shoved it down the Noise Marine's gullet.

The blast vaporized them both.

Though massively outnumbered and outgunned, demoralized and surrounded on all sides, the eight hundred at Caspeton fought until the bitter end. Ultimately, the forces of Chaos would dedicate nearly thirty thousand troops to crushing Caspeton's three-day final stand. When the last guns fell silent, the invaders descended upon the city and subjected it to a day-long orgy of burning and looting. The delay enraged Fulgrim, and the Daemon Primarch's wrath proved terrible indeed: he ordered the one in charge of the Caspeton assault placed within a Dreadnought and the fallen Astartes' surviving subordinates executed.

In the end, the saga of the eight hundred at Caspeton would become one of the many tales of valor during the siege of Altansar fated never to be told.

Skies Over Espevar, Surface of Craftworld Altansar
017.M51, Day Ten of the Siege of Altansar

"Chronos Nine, watch your six!"

Having fully committed to an attack run on an enemy Marauder bomber, the pilot known as Chronos Nine had no time to react as a Thunderbolt dropped in behind him. Warning lights on his heads-up display blinked crazily as lascannon blasts and autocannon rounds slammed into his rapidly-weakening rear hadron fields. To make matters worse, the Marauder opened up with its dorsal-mounted heavy bolters, quickly chewing through Chronos Nine's virtually-depleted forward hadron fields. The explosive shells began detonating against the Excalibur's thick hull armor, taking away chunks of it at a time and several coming perilously close to its pilot. One shot struck home but failed to detonate, bouncing off his Knightmare's armor.

"Chronos Nine, guns!"

The Marauder could dish out punishment well enough, but it proved surprisingly incapable of taking any in return. A hail of cherry-red bolts tore through its relatively-thin armor, shearing off a wing and sending it spiraling to the ground in flames. Chronos Nine slammed on the brakes just as his rear hadron fields flickered and died, causing his pursuer to overshoot. A lengthy burst from his craft's forward-mounted hadron machine guns filled the enemy fighter with holes. No longer able to withstand the stress of its own flight, the Thunderbolt's hull ripped apart.

"Baneblade moving up the city street!" a new voice reported over the radio, "Taking heavy casualties! We need air support!"

Main Street, Espevar
Surface of Craftworld Altansar

Sergeant Neil Pizzuto twisted his body, his landspinners throwing up a shower of sparks as they screeched to a halt. The OPAW trooper nearly spun out of control and careened into a nearby passageway, avoiding a krak missile and two lascannon blasts by fractions of a centimeter. A number of traitor Guardsmen appeared at the other end of the alley, one of them leveling a melta gun at the Knightmare while the others formed up into a two-tiered firing line. Lasgun bolts peppered him, overwhelming his nearly-depleted hadron fields and several coming uncomfortably close to penetrating his armor.

Neil's eyes widened as the melta discharged. The OPAW sergeant simultaneously leapt upwards and threw himself aside. The blast of superheated air passed well below him, and his momentum allowed him to run along one of the alley's high walls for several meters. Kicking off, Pizzuto soared over the enemy soldiers and landed behind them, whirling around and mowing them down with a lengthy burst of his light hadron machine gun before they could turn around.

Before he could turn and rejoin the rapidly-snowballing melee in Espevar's main avenue, a shell detonated by his feet. At such close range, not even rutalium carbide was proof against a Demolisher Cannon, and the unfortunate OPAW sergeant was vaporized.

"Baneblade!"

Corporal Loraine Heiber's blood ran cold. The roar of a Baneblade's engines drowned out all else as the much-dreaded super-heavy tank drove straight through a building and into the street. Several OPAW troopers broke off and began circling the monstrosity, their hadron bolts pinging uselessly against its thick armor. The whining of lascannons and the barking of heavy bolters rang out, the devastating barrage ripping through the Knightmares' thin armor. The chaotic melee raging in Espevar's main avenue began calming as the 10th OPAW desperately disengaged in order to seek cover. The deafening booms of the Baneblade's Demolisher Cannon shook the entire city as the Chaos tank's crew bombarded the withdrawing Black Knights with little regard for their allies.

"Dammit! Anyone with FLEIJAs left, take that monster down!"

A nearby OPAW trooper sprang out of cover, FLEIJA launcher loaded and shouldered. Loraine dared not so much as breath as her comrade took aim and squeezed the trigger. The warhead left the nondescript grey tube with a dull whump and soared over the rubble to strike the armor plating between the Baneblade's turret and its flank. Relief turned to panic as the expected flash of a Needle Blazer discharge and the subsequent blast failed to materialize.

"Shit! Bounced!"

The Baneblade's crew, no doubt scarcely able to believe their incredible luck and praising whatever dark gods they served, opened fire once again. The super-heavy tank's myriad weapons opened up, blowing apart the rubble piles littering the street and the OPAW troopers seeking shelter behind them. The unlucky OPAW trooper sprang out of cover again, his FLEIJA launcher reloaded and ready for another try. A barrage of bolter shells reduced him to ribbons before he could fire and reduced the weapon to a pile of twisted scrap.

"Doesn't anyone have FLEIJAs left?"

"Dammit! Chaos forces are charging!"

Heiber leapt up, wildly spraying weapons fire into the oncoming horde. Some staggered and fell, but another filled the gap soon afterwards. Chaos Mines flew into the streets, cutting down vast swathes of enemy infantry but having little effect on the lumbering Baneblade. The armored titan's presence did far more to bolster Chaos morale than the casualties inflicted by the 10th OPAW did to weaken it. Several OPAW troopers broke cover and made a mad dash for the Baneblade. The combined firepower of the tank's formidable armament and the masses of Chaos infantry crowded around it shredded several of the troopers and forced the remainder back behind cover.

"Dammit, where's that air support?"

The Baneblade waded through even the 10th OPAW's formidable firepower, methodically destroying the elite unit with its numerous weapons. Many troopers began shooting at the tank's tracks in the vain hope of slowing the monster down. All they accomplished was highlighting their positions to the enemy.

Watching her squad's lifesigns blink out one by one, Loraine could hardly hold her weapon steady as the roar of the Baneblade's engines grew louder and louder. Springing out of cover, she froze in fear as she saw the tank's turret slowly turning towards her position. She threw herself backwards moments before the Battle Cannon rang out. Though Heiber avoided the worst of the blast, the shockwave of the shell's detonation sent her flying.

Loraine hit the ground hard, nearly slipping into unconsciousness. Vaguely aware of the armored titan's continuing death march, the OPAW trooper scrambled to her feet and promptly collapsed again, still disoriented from the shockwave. Warning lights on her heads-up display blaring shrilly and her ears ringing, Heiber slumped against a nearby pile of rubble and numbly watched the Baneblade's massive form slowly advanced down the city streets, what little return fire the 10th OPAW troopers could muster against it splashing pathetically against its hull armor.

The OPAW Corporal could only watch in stunned silence as the Baneblade's rear engine compartment suddenly burst into flames. She chalked the sight up to delirium, but continued watching anyway. The massive tank visibly slowed, then ground to a halt. As the flames slowly began dying down, an unseen force rekindled them. One of the hatches popped open and a man, presumably the tank commander, popped his head out with a laspistol in hand. A shot from an unseen assailant drilled a neat hold in his forehead, and he slumped over the cupola. An Excalibur-class attack craft roared overhead, its belly barely clearing Espevar's spires. Had she the strength and lucidity, Loraine would have let out a whoop of joy as the Baneblade disappeared in an FLEIJA blast. The Chaos forces, their momentum lost, turned and ran.

As she slipped in and out of consciousness, Loraine became aware of somebody…several somebodies…climbing over the rubble towards her. A dark shadow fell over her as her world slowly faded to black. She dismissed the last thing she saw before finally slipping into oblivion as a hallucination.

After all, what business would an Imperial Navy Security Trooper have on an Eldar Craftworld?

Interrogation Room, Black Knights Frigate Caerleon
017.M51, Day Twelve of the Siege of Altansar

Two figures stood side-by-side, hands folded behind their backs and silently staring through the one-way glass. The chamber's sole occupant, a heavily-restrained and –sedated Chaos commander, glared back from the other side. One of the observers shrank away slightly despite knowing their prisoner could not possibly see them. The other man, clad in the distinctive black tunic and side cap of the Psychic Special Warfare Department, remained stone-faced.

"Has she said anything yet?" the operative suddenly asked, craning his neck slightly to look his Knightmare-clad comrade in the eye.

"Nothing yet," the militia trooper shook his head, "She's made of slightly sterner stuff than the average cultist."

"It's been nearly ten days since we bought her in," the operative snapped, his impatience showing, "If we don't have some clue as to the enemy's battle plans, and soon…"

"General Kozuki," the militia trooper cut his companion off, "has authorized the use of more forceful methods, but our prisoner here is of a Slaaneshi cult…"

"So at best, conventional torture methods will do nothing," the operative finished, "and at worst, she'll like it."

"Yes," the militia trooper nodded unnecessarily.

After a lengthy silence, the Psychic Special Warfare operative spoke up again.

"I'm going in to have a little chat with our guest. First sign of trouble, gas the room and ask questions later."

As if to emphasize the point, the operative tapped the dagger holstered at his waist. Though largely ceremonial in nature, he could still use the blade to quickly end his own life in the event of daemonic possession.

Delo's eyes snapped towards the door as it slid open, revealing another of the armored titans standing behind it, its weapon pointed at her. She glared at it, imagining what she would do to the suit's wearer if given half the chance. Rather than stepping into her cell as she expected, the power armor-clad soldier took a step backwards and let another man through. The door slammed shut as soon as he stepped over the threshold.

The new arrival stood ramrod-straight, hands folded behind his back, and regarded her for several seconds. He looked young, not more than five or six years out of adolescence, and utterly unremarkable. Instead of the powered armor that Delo was now all too familiar with, he wore a matte-black tunic and side cap, all devoid of identifying information. After several moments, he took several steps into the room and approached her restrained form.

"So you're the one who tried to take Castrinaia," he asked rhetorically, "Not too tough now, are you?"

He smirked, as if enjoying some private joke, causing Delo's blood to boil. She shot him a glare sufficient to stop an Imperial battleship in its tracks, the look in her eyes promising an eternity of torment for him should she escape her restraints. The man in the side cap appeared unfazed and stepped forward. He removed her over-the-mouth gag, narrowly dodging the wad of saliva Delo sent in his direction.

"You're wasting your time if you want information from me. Only death awaits the followers of the Corpse-Emperor. I would be a fool to aid a losing side. So do your worst, Inquisitor." Delo pronounced the last word with no small measure of disgust.

To her surprise, the man threw his head back and laughed. Anger surged through Delo's veins, and had she possessed psychic abilities, the hatred in her glare would have flayed the man alive a dozen times over.

"An Inquisitor?" he gasped out as he wiped a tear from his eye, "You think I'm an Inquisitor?"

The very air suddenly grew unbearably heavy, and cold fear slowly crept into Delo's mind. The traitorous Guardswoman began wriggling in a futile attempt to escape the straitjacket, or at least back away.

"Oh no, I'm not an Inquisitor," the smile that crept up her interrogator's face made even Delo's blood run cold, "I'm much, much worse. When Inquisitors have nightmares, they see people like me."

Delo could have sworn she saw his eyes flash momentarily.

"An Inquisitor would interrogate you. When you refuse, they'd alternately torture and question you. When all that fails, they bring in a Psyker and rip that information out of your mind. You and I both know that you won't talk. And you'd probably likegetting tortured," his mouth curled up into an unpleasant expression, "So we're just going to skip to the last step."

Even after years of witnessing the horrors of the Warp, Delo could not suppress a howl of terror as the Psychic Special Warfare Operative stepped closer, a strange sigil appearing in his eyes.

A/N: And there we have it! The Craftworld Invasion arc reaches full swing. Additionally: Baneblades and Psychic Special Warfare Operatives. The only thing scarier, I'd say, is a Psychic Special Warfare Operative driving a Baneblade.

Until next time!