Disclaimer: I own neither Warhammer 40k nor Code Geass.
A/N: Eurgh…can Soraga have a Master's degree yet? Can Soraga finally be free?
Chapter Thirty-Two: Metal Monsters, Part VII
Ecclesiarchal Palace Courtyard
Holy Terra
In better times, the Ecclesiarch or one of the Cardinals Palatine would have addressed crowds from a balcony high above, their voices carrying for kilometers around with the aid of hidden vox casters. Crowds numbering in the hundreds of thousands would cram into the Ecclesiarchal Palace's main courtyard, craning their necks in hopes of catching even a momentary glimpse of such venerated figures. At the present time, what little sunlight that managed to break through Terra's polluted atmosphere to shine upon the courtyard was blotted out by the massive hulls of a Yggdrasil-class dreadnought and its escorts. Hundreds of Sleipnir-class drop shuttles made circuits between the warships and the surface, disgorging their passengers before taking on yet more.
When the Emperor had finished the fiery rebuke that reduced some of the most powerful men in the Imperium to cowering wrecks, he had turned his attentions to the subdued Sororitas that had attempted to bar his entry into the Ecclesiarch's chambers. Despite having survived the worst of the galaxy's horrors, many of the veteran Battle Sisters had shrunk under the Emperor's gaze, no doubt wondering what punishment awaited them. Instead, Lelouch had bade them to rise, and after a comparatively light lecture on the dangers of blind zeal, commended them on the layout of their defenses. Moments later, Black Knights warships were hovering over the Ecclesiarchal Palace, disgorging the men and equipment needed for the long task of rescuing the numerous Sororitas that Lelouch's psychic trickery had trapped within the complex's labyrinthine corridors.
Like many members of the Adepta Sororitas, Agrippa Laelia had constructed her own mental image of the Emperor, perhaps in preparation for the day she would be sent to meet him. Over the last three days, the Emperor had shattered many of those images. When addressing large crowds, he projected the overwhelming presence that the tales had told of. In normal dealings, he donned an air of quiet dignity and charisma that simultaneously put those around him at ease while commanding their respect. Even more jarring was his green-haired companion, who endlessly prodded him with her sarcastic wit and whom the Emperor constantly referred to as a witch, though with an underlying affection reserved for a lover. Many had initially bristled at her comments, having seen high-ranked Imperial officials struck down for far less, but the Sororitas soon learned to derive quiet amusement from the woman's antics as defense preparations accelerated.
The Prioress was sure she would never fully adapt to how little veneration the Black Knights showed the Emperor, and how little the Emperor demanded. The power-armored soldiers stood on as much ceremony as would be afforded a general officer, and Lelouch often motioned for them to not even so much as stand. On the first day, the Sisters had all reflexively dropped to their knees as the Emperor approached, a practice he spent the next two days dissuading. The Sororitas eventually settled on presenting the sign of the Aquila, and Lelouch eventually realized that undoing thousands of years of dogma was a fight for another day. If somebody had told Agrippa Laelia a mere week ago that should would be making rounds of the Ecclesiarchal Palace's main courtyard, walking alongside the Emperor and addressed as an equal, she would have thought them insane at best.
"My men on Mars tell me that your Sisters are turning the tides all over the planet," Lelouch added unnecessarily as Agrippa leafed through the reports, "They are formidable fighters, and their presence has raised morale on a dozen fronts."
Knightmares would occasionally approach the pair to make reports or seek approval for some requisition or another, but they were largely left alone as they continued their tour. Drop shuttles landed at regular intervals, disgorging Knightmares and Astartes warriors and taking on a load of battle-ready Sororitas before lifting off and vanishing into the Warp. Makeshift workshops dotted the courtyard, where Black Knights and Imperial technicians toiled to restore as much equipment to fighting shape as they could. They cannibalized old bolters and suits of power armor to construct functional ones, and when the stores of Imperial parts ran out, the Black Knights substituted their own near-xenotech components.
"Something troubles you," Lelouch suddenly halted and turned to face Prioress Laelia, "Speak freely. We must dispel as many doubts as possible before marching into battle."
"Emperor," Agrippa trailed off, unsure of how to proceed, when an encouraging nod from Lelouch gave her newfound courage, "It is the force composition you have drawn up for the assault on Argyre Planitia. Mechanized infantry, heavy armor, fighter-bombers…it's overwhelmingly geared towards offensive maneuvers. It would easily take ground, but it would never hold any."
The Emperor fell silent for a long time, and the Prioress briefly feared she had overstepped her bounds.
"I think it's time you know the true objective of Operation Desert Goliath," Lelouch nodded.
Pavilion 99-22-Gamma
Argyre Planitia Forge, Surface of Mars
"Fan out! Make sure there are no survivors!" Xander Burkhart barked as he dismounted from his Sentinel.
As if to emphasize his point, the Catachani crouched down and slit the throat of a heavily-wounded cultist that was beginning to stir. The remnants of his squad spread out, pumping a few extra lasbolts into each body, no matter how mangled. Their efforts were rewarded with the occasional cut-off scream.
The ambush had played out like the hundreds Burkhart's squad had carried out beforehand. The Iron Warriors relied on sheer numbers to break through the orbital screen, dropping forces all over the impact basin with little regard for precision or losses. The disorganized pockets of resistance, struggling to regroup and link up, made for easy pickings. Some coordinated sniper shots to take out the leadership, a few strategically-placed lascannon bolts and missiles to disable the heavy armor, and the ambush turned into a massacre. As the invasion dragged on and Peturabo's forces became increasingly organized, the Catachanis' tactics adapted.
Xander had heard the tales from all over the forge complex, of streets so heavily watched by snipers that poking one's head above the rubble for even a second spelled suicide, of buildings so hard fought-over that both sides occupied different floors, of vital transport hubs changing hands several times an hour. Peturabo's forces had established fortified landing zones at the outskirts of the complex, steadily pushing inwards towards the main workshops and engaging Imperial forces at strategically-vital flashpoints. The landing zones, as the ragtag Catachani guerilla army had learned at great cost, were too well-protected to directly assault, but the armored columns that Peturabo poured into nearby engagements by the dozens were easy pickings. With the claustrophobic streets, poor lighting, and labyrinthine service alleyways, the only better battlefield the Catachanis could ask for was the jungles of Catachan itself.
Xander had walked the entire length of the pavilion, stopping in front of the lead Chimera's still-burning husk. Charred bodies hung from the hatches, and the bullet-ridden bodies of the few quick enough to exit before the transport was engulfed in flames lay nearby. His own Hunter-Killer Missile had blown the armored vehicle open, signaling the ambush's start. With the lead transport's wreckage blocking the way forward, the burning rear transport blocking the way backwards, both side streets blocked with rubble, and the remaining Catachanis holding the high ground, the pavilion quickly became host to a grox-shoot. Burkhart tossed a fragmentation grenade in through the hole at the Chimera's side and placed an extra lasbolt into each of the surrounding bodies before turning to rejoin his men.
"Look here," the Catachani circled the area with the tip of his combat knife, "Claims there's an Imperial fortress dug in at this pavilion."
One of the renegade Guard officers was comparing the pavilion to markings on a map when a sniper bullet ended his life, splattering the paper with the contents of his skull. The same flamer burst that cooked the Chimera's passengers also burned most of the map to uselessness. By some miracle of the Emperor, however, the area around Pavilion 99-22-Gamma remained readable.
"There's supposed to be a handful of Sisters and Skitarii dug in at a hab block there," Xander nodded as he shouldered his way through the crowd, "Not a proper fortress, but pretty damn close to it: the enemy's lost nine regiments trying to take that pavilion. The one we just took out was probably meant to be lucky number ten."
An unspoken question hung in the air. Though the Catachanis had exacted an enormous toll on the enemy, they were dying a death of a thousand scratches. Minor wounds and the occasional casualty multiplied across a hundred engagements had steadily ground down their numbers and their supplies. They were barely a quarter of their original number and running critically low on rations and ammunition. Agreement manifested as a series of near-imperceptible nods.
Imperial Artillery Park, Outskirts of Argyre Planitia
Operation Desert Goliath D-Day Plus Five
Whatever reservations the Imperial generals may still have held regarding Field Marshal Schwer's capabilities vanished literally overnight. A second flyover of Black Knights capital ships blanked out the Iron Warriors' detection grid as the convoy neared its rendezvous point, allowing fast-moving and lightly-escorted Valkyrie utility vessels to punch through the air battle overhead and deliver mountains of ammunition and prefabricated fortifications. Meeting the newly-arrived forces mere hours later were quantities of servitors and Astartes warriors that only somebody acting with the authority of the Emperor himself could have mobilized on such short notice. When the heavy anti-air screen finally forced the warships hovering overhead to withdraw, allied forces had already erected a number of well dug-in firebases all around the Argye Planitia impact crater's southern rim.
"Fifteen minutes! If you forgot anything, too late to get it now!"
Sergeant Radek Rutkowski put out an arm to stabilize his cargo as he maneuvered the pallet around a sharp turn. Grav-lifts affixed to the bottom of the pallet allowed the lone Guardsman to transport several dozen ground-attack rockets, a task that would have normally required a squad's worth of muscle or a heavy-lift Servitor. Radek was rapidly discovering the mixed blessing behind the technology, as he was now the only one standing between the notoriously-volatile munitions and accidental detonation. Several Astartes parted to allow the Sergeant and his explosive cargo passage as he rounded the final bend, stopping before one of the numerous rockcrete shelters that dotted the clearing.
"Ten minutes! Let's get these things loaded!"
The tortured squealing of an overtaxed motor, designed for neither the sand nor for the load it was now bearing, assaulted Radek's hearing for a split second before he fumbled hearing protection into place. A crude-looking artillery piece—little more than two missile storage racks with guide rails hastily welded on and the entire assembly sloppily bolted onto whatever chassis the Enginseers had on hand—emerged from beneath the rockcrete shelter's shadow. The ground attack rockets the Sergeant had rushed over were just a hair shy of two meters long and massed just over forty kilograms apiece, just enough for two Guardsmen to manhandle onto the launch racks.
"Five minutes! We're cross-referencing firing solutions with HQ now!"
With a grunt, Radek and his partner slid the fourteenth and final rocket into place. The aging servo protested loudly as the launch rack was slowly elevated, and the surrounding Guardsmen feared it would give way entirely.
"Thirty seconds! All personnel to shelter positions!"
The cacophony of light and sound nearly blinded and deafened Radek despite his protective equipment, and he almost passed out with the heat wave that followed. He chanced lifting his head for a split second, watching as countless thousands of rockets—some from his own artillery park and others from the surrounding clearings—arced into the sky and soon disappeared behind the Martian clouds.
Most would not find their target, nor were they expected to. The rockets were old and of low quality, discovered in a forgotten warehouse. With the means to launch them long since forgotten, the Enginseers were forced to improvise. The resulting vehicles lacked both the range and precision of purpose-built artillery, but literally any usable chassis—from cargo trams to Chimeras—could be so converted in less than twelve hours and literally driven from the workshop to the battlefield. With thousands of tons of munitions flung into the air with each volley, the batteries of improvised rocket artillery had little need for precision.
Imperial Bomber Heretic's Bane
Skies over Argyre Planitia
"Attention all units, we will now be syncing our chronometers with the ground forces. Time is 0450 hours in three. Two. One. Mark!"
"Approaching release point in ten minutes! Look alive, everyone!" Captain Aruna Delany yelled to his crew, slightly muffled by his oxygen mask clicking into place.
Metallic clanging interspersed with grunts filled the Heretic's Bane's crew compartment as the dorsal and tail gunners lugged long chains of bolt shells up to their stations. The click-clack of the chains being fed through and the quiet whir of electric servos followed, as the veteran crew of the Heretic's Bane prepared for battle. Even the greenest of their number had survived at least twenty-five missions, and none even so much as flinched when a swarm of red appeared at the edge of the auspex.
"Enemy fighters are climbing up to meet us. Maintain present course. Seven minutes to release point."
The sixty Marauder bombers that comprised the 8th Imperial Navy Bomber Wing loosened their formation as a squadron of Nightwing interceptors screamed past. Aruna flinched as one of the Eldar aircraft passed close enough to buffet the Heretic's Bane. A squadron of Imperial Thunderbolts followed closely behind, diving into the cloud of aircraft below and driving deep into the enemy horde. Neither eye nor auspex could penetrate the writhing mass of aircraft, air-to-air missiles, lascannon bolts, and autogun shells that now obscured the ground. The deck plates of the Heretic's Bane rumbled below Aruna's feet, due to both near-misses from enemy anti-aircraft fire and the heavy bolters now chattering away. The Captain mentally inserted the quiet clinks of spent bolt shells hitting the ground. Over one hundred eighty turrets, despite limited firing arcs, created a brutal crossfire that shredded what few Chaos aircraft managed to break through the formidable allied fighter screen.
"Five minutes to release point."
Aruna kept his eyes straight forward, glued to the instruments and the skies before him, even as a neighboring bomber went up in flames. The Marauders below parted slightly to allow the burning hulk passage, and several fighters broke away from the melee below to provide covering fire as several grav-chutes emerged.
"Jamming wings, prepare for descent to release altitude. Three minutes to release point."
A small portion of the first bomber wave—several hundred out of the nearly ten thousand blanketing the skies over Peturabo's southern flank—had exchanged their bomb payloads for chaff dispensers and flare launchers. The enemy interceptors were a pack of ravenous wolves pouncing upon prey as the special detachment, the Heretic's Bane and the fifty-six other survivors of the 8th Imperial Navy Bomber Wing among them, broke away. Flaps extended and rapidly bleeding off velocity and altitude, many a bomber was battered out of the sky before fighter escorts caught up.
"One minute to release point."
Ecclesiarchal Palace Courtyard
Holy Terra
"As we speak, allied forces have launched an all-out offensive on the Iron Warriors' southern flank. Artillery and air will carry out round-the-clock bombardment of enemy positions to pave the way for the ground assault. Their ultimate goal is to break through both Chaos encirclements and establish a corridor into the Argyre Planitia force complex."
Several small, Chaos-red arrows sprouted from the main concentration of enemy forces, merging into one large arrow that pointed at Peturabo's northern flank. A number of Fleurs-de-lis popped into existence on the map, some within the forge complex itself but the vast majority in the central belt of allied forces. Multicolored arrows—Imperial yellow, Eldar green, Tau orange, and Black Knights blue—faded into existence next, thrusting deep into the red-tinted territories.
"The first phase of Operation Desert Goliath, while tactically stalled, has achieved its main strategic goals of drawing the enemy's mobile reserve to the northern front. This has taken significant pressure off other portions of the line, allowing us to strategically reinforce critical strongpoints with Battle Sister squads."
As the Prioress had discovered the previous evening, a translation error had labelled the Adepta Sororitas as the "Brides of the Emperor" in the Black Knights' database. Correction came swiftly at the hands of Agrippa Laelia, her command squad, and all other Sisters present: the name was old—cast aside in the waning years of M37—and an unwelcome reminder of the centuries during which the heretic Goge Vandire had lead the order astray. The Emperor seemed relieved at the revelation, muttering something about "Kaguya Sumeragi" and "Zero's harem." The words meant nothing to the Sisters, but the Emperor's companion broke out into a strange half-smile, as though the pair were sharing some private joke.
A low blip accompanied the formation of a broad yellow arrow, Fleurs-de-lis appearing at regular intervals along its length and it cut through the base of the Argyre Planitia salient.
"Due to the Titan workshops in the Argyre Planitia forge complex, Abaddon has grown obsessed with holding and widening this salient. The commencement of Operation Desert Goliath has significantly slowed Peturabo's advance into the main complex, but reinforcements continue to pour into the region daily. Your goal in this operation is simple: Peturabo has stripped away most of his rear defenses to continue pressuring the forge defenders. The designated units will land at the salient's southern base and fight their way north, with the ultimate goal of meeting with Operation Desert Goliath's northern front, encircling the Iron Warriors, and annihilating the resulting pocket. As Abaddon has stretched his forces thin elsewhere to sustain this offensive, the resulting chaos will allow allied forces to consolidate, and Operation Desert Goliath will move into its third and final phase," Lelouch concluded, "Any questions?"
"Father, the Salamanders stand ready," the Primarch Vulkan lightly tapped Dawnbringer's handle against the rockcrete floor. His seven Captains stood alongside him, their weapons held loosely at their sides.
Years spent on the battlefield had trained Canoness Superior Domitia Cloelia to hide her emotions, but even she could not suppress a slight nervous tremble. She silently thanked the Emperor that her current role called for her to do nothing more than stand a pace behind and to the right of the very figure she was currently silently thanking. Though she had liaised with the Orders Famulous in the past, Domitia doubted anything could prepare her for standing in the presence of such venerated company. Though Canoness Superior Cloelia was the most combat-experienced Canoness remaining on Terra, the Prioress' announcement that she was to command the Sororitas forces not accompanying the Martian strike force came as a surprise.
"Vulkan, this is Canoness Superior Domitia Cloelia, your counterpart in the Adepta Sororitas for this operation," a Canoness less experienced than Domitia may have squeaked in surprise as the Emperor motioned towards her.
"It is an honor, Canoness Superior," Vulkan and his entourage nodded. Unsure of how to respond, Cloelia presented the sign of the Aquila.
"Mars will not occupy Abaddon's attentions for much longer. Black Knights Intelligence estimates that, at their current rate of advance, the Iron Warriors will seize Argyre Planitia forge complex within three months. They also estimate that, by then, Abaddon's assault on Terra will be well underway."
The Emperor's matter-of-fact tone, which left no question as to whether he was discussing hypotheticals or inevitabilities, sent a chill up the Canoness Superior's spine.
"I won't insult the intelligences of anybody present with false reassurances: we do not have the forces to repel an invasion of that magnitude," Lelouch paused for a moment to let the bombshell sink in, "If we try to defend the entire planet, we will defend nothing. I have already instructed the Adeptus Custodes to begin defense preparations at the Imperial Palace. Anything of strategic value located outside the walls will be evacuated or destroyed."
Domitia's eyes met Vulkan's, and for a split second, both completely comprehended the other's thoughts. What of the hives?
"You have one mission: go into the hives and catacombs surrounding the Imperial Palace. Bring as many people into the Palace walls as you can," Lelouch continued, "There are countless billions living outside the walls. You cannot possibly save them all, but defending Terra is pointless if there is no humanity left to rise from the Imperium's ashes."
Lelouch took a step forward, psychically lifting himself into the air to look Vulkan in the eye and placing a hand on the Primarch's massive pauldron.
"The people of Terra do not trust Astartes. They are afraid to say it, but they have not since Horus' attack all those thousands of years ago," Lelouch and Vulkan nodded, both of them thinking the same thought, "Give them a reason to trust Space Marines again."
Bond Crater, Surface of Mars
Seventeen Hours Later
The World Eaters and the Thousand Sons made for strange bedfellows, having pledged their souls to rival Chaos Gods. Yet, one overarching goal—the destruction of the Emperor and the Imperium—kept the two Legions away from one another's throats long enough to turn their weapons onto Mars' defenders instead of one another. When lapses took place, Angron's blade or Magnus' sorcery were all that was required to restore order. As they rapid-marched towards Argyre Planitia to join the ever-growing battle, the World Eaters' desire for slaughter and the Thousand Sons' thirst to unlock the Black Knights' arcane psychic secrets continued to focus their energies towards annihilating the increasingly-desperate Imperium and its allies.
The bloodlust from annihilating the Raven Guard and the 34th Militia Group had not died down even days later, so when their advance stalled on account of an unforeseen and ludicrously-persistent pocket of resistance, neither Angron nor the legions of Khornate Berserkers under his command uttered a single complaint. Thousands of power armor-clad militiamen ambushed them in the Bond Crater and were determined to fight to the last.
"Your blood will paint my master's throne!" Angron roared as he rammed his blade through the Knightmare's torso.
The militiaman weakly struggled, trying to bring his blasters to bear on the Daemon Prince's face as his blood flowed over the Black Blade and stained the ground crimson. The fallen Primarch smirked in amusement as a faint red glow built up at the Knightmare's forearm, only to die out moments later as the Black Knight finally slumped over. The sight of the glowing green eyes going dark bought Angron a savage glee he had not felt in many centuries. One massive hand grabbed the corpse by the legs, the bones inside reduced to powder with a wet crack, and the other tugged the massive blade upwards, splitting the militiaman from stomach to crown.
"Too easy!" Angron snatched up a militiaman in the process of finishing off a Berserker with his scatter cannon and crushed the man's torso. A stroke of the Black Blade cleaved the Berserker in two, a punishment for being so easily bested.
The Daemon Prince looked at the dead militiaman's forearms, noting with disdain the single chevron amidst the mottled reds and browns. His vision clouded with rage, Angron could make little sense of the markings. All he cared about was that the Knightmares bearing thin stripes and chevrons on their forearms might be challenges for the Berserkers, but not him. There were panicked reports of a Knightmare bearing four broad rings—the top one looped—tearing through Berserkers and Rubricae by the dozens. Considering the only opponent that had given him even a minor rush displayed only two rings, the Daemon Prince had spent the last few hours smashing aside anyone who dared stand in his way, frothing at the mouth and challenging the warrior to come out and face him.
Hill Beta-Epsilon-Beta Bravo
Argyre Planitia, Surface of Mars
As a major armor depot on Peturabo's southern flank, the hill codenamed Beta-Epsilon-Beta Bravo was particularly hard-hit in the opening attacks. Massive waves of ground attack rockets bombarded the Iron Warriors' positions, inflicting a frightening toll on the entrenched forces despite their inaccuracy. The shelling began soon afterwards, pulverizing what fortifications remained standing. The surviving artillery's attempts at counterbattery fire only served to highlight their positions to the waves of ground attack aircraft that followed. When the surviving Iron Warriors clawed their way out of the rubble, rallying their remaining slave-soldiers with promises of plunder and the occasional execution, they discovered to their horror that the air attack was only meant to muffle the engine sounds of approaching armor.
Forty Leman Russ tanks crested the low ridge at the hill's base, then a hundred, then two hundred. Anti-armor weaponry—mounted and shoulder-fired—whirled around to meet the oncoming plasteel wall as the slave-soldiers scrambled to start what few tanks remained operational. The chattering of heavy bolters was punctuated by the deafening booms of 120mm cannons. The Imperial armor fired as they advanced, abandoning any semblance of precision but still scoring numerous hits through sheer shell volume. The Leman Russ' thick frontal armor and rugged construction allowed them to continue rolling even as lascannon bolts and krak missiles blew huge holes in their frontal armor, the plasteel phalanx protecting the more fragile Eldar and Tau vehicles behind them.
Infantry rode atop the Imperial armor, taking potshots at any slave-soldier foolish enough to reveal themselves. Return fire grew steadily more organized: krak missiles corkscrewed through the air, and long bursts of bolt shells and stubber rounds raked the phalanx. Casualties were simply disregarded: bullet-ridden bodies were tossed over the side, and burning tanks were driven around. By the time the first traitor Leman Russ rolled out to meet the allied advance, the attackers had already reached the first belt of anti-tank ditches at the hill's base.
"Seven Leman Russ at the base of the hill! They're closing fast!" the commander of Leman Russ 34, of the Arcadian 34th Armored Regiment, shouted into his vox bead.
The loader had already rammed an AT shell home before the commander even finished his sentence.
"Up!"
"Fire!"
Well-practiced hands seized another shell from the ammunition hopper as though it weighed a tiny fraction of its twenty kilograms, and fingers drummed impatiently against the casing as the loader waited for the barrel to return to firing position.
"Negative im-," a lasbolt through the throat cut off the commander's report.
The hellish squealing of metal giving way accompanied an enemy tank plowing head-on into Leman Russ 34. The locker containing laspistols was already open and the contents distributed before the characteristic thump of boarders reached the crew's ears.
Bond Crater
Surface of Mars
Even to his blood-maddened senses, Angron could tell the Knightmare before him was not like the others. Even under the dust, blood, and gore, he could tell that it was painted white and gold compared to the mottled reds and browns of the others. If the dozens of bodies at its feet were any indication, its wearer was a great deal more skilled as well.
Angron roared, raising his blade into the air as he charged the white Knightmare. His vision narrowed, and he cared not that a dozen Berserkers—determined to gain Khorne's favor for themselves, no doubt—charged as well. The warrior took one brief look at the approaching horde and exploded in action. A flash of green, and two Berserkers fell to the ground, neatly bisected across the waist. A blade emerged from the back of a third, and the Astartes writhed for a second before a second sword appeared in the Knightmare's hand and decapitated it. The corpse, sword and all, was tossed into a fourth Berserker, sending him flying back. Even to a Daemon Prince's senses, the rifle appeared to suddenly disappear from its spot on the white Knightmare's back and appear in its hand. Two shots fired seemingly without care, and two more traitor Astartes' charges were cut short, their heads snapping back as momentum carried their bodies briefly forward.
"Blood for the Blood God!"
A Berserker finally reached the white Knightmare, his chainaxe held high as he leapt towards his opponent. His body was sent flying back a second later, missing a chunk of his torso courtesy of a point-blank scatter cannon shot. Another leapt, perhaps hoping to strike his opponent while he had his back turned, and met a similar fate. The warrior skewered the next Berserker unfortunately enough to be in striking range, twisting the blade and yanking it back out before decapitating the corrupted Astartes with one clean stroke.
"Skulls for th-"
Angron cared not that he had stopped moving moments ago. He was growing accustomed to the warrior's movements, and was able to track the next onslaught. The white Knightmare spun through the air, decapitating one Berserker with a vicious spin kick and landed before another. A backhanded strike shattered the fallen Astartes' chainaxe and bought his arm down, a series of lightning-fast hand-to-hand strikes shattered his armor and sent him staggering back before stumbling, and a stomp ended his life. Two wing-like structures unfolded from the Knightmare's back, and two glowing green blades sliced the final Berserker into four pieces. The Primarch-turned-Daemon-Prince tightened his grip on the Black Blade as the victorious warrior casually retrieved his discarded blade, decapitating both the Berserker whose body it was lodged in and the one pinned under it for good measure.
"Slay him. Sacrifice his skull and blood to me," Khorne whispered into Angron's ear, "And your rewards will be endless. Any boon, any blessing that you may desire, I will grant you."
"Blood for the Blood God!" Angron roared, his voice carrying across the crater, as he raised the Black Blade into the air, "Skulls for the Skull Throne!"
If Angron's opponent was surprised by a Daemon Prince suddenly bearing down on him, he hid it admirably as he bought a blade up to meet the attack. The fallen Primarch's eyes widened in surprise as the white Knightmare stopped his attack despite the massive disparity in size.
"I am Suzaku Kururugi," the white Knightmare calmly announced, "You have killed quite a few of my men already. That stops now."
Argyre Planitia
Surface of Mars
"Defenders of Argyre Planitia, you grow weary! You continue to spill your blood in a battle you cannot win! Your Corpse-Emperor cannot help you!" the voice of a Dark Apostle boomed from thousands of vox casters, "Defenders of Argyre Planitia, your refusal to yield has impressed the Despoiler, and he is prepared to offer mercy! Abandon your positions; abandon your hope in a dead Imperium! Climb out of your trenches, and join us! Discover the true freedom of Chaos!"
Though her hearing had yet to fully return, Aureliana Verginia had recovered enough of it to hear the Dark Apostle's foul blasphemies. The arrival of fresh Battle Sisters from Terra, coupled with news of a renewed offensive to the south, had sent the defenders' morale soaring. Perhaps sensing the shift, Peturabo had changed tactics: the droning of bombers was once again heard overhead at all hours, but instead of explosives, they dropped thousands of vox casters throughout the impact basin. The voices of Dark Apostles assaulted their hearing and sanities at all hours of the day.
The familiar droning of Chaos bombers sent the Sisters and Skitarii scrambling for cover, and the rustling of parchment bought them back out. Against her better judgement, Aureliana snatched one of the squares out of the air and flipped it over. Anyone of lesser faith would have immediately gone insane and succumbed to heresy upon viewing the picts, but Battle Sister Verginia merely threw the leaflet away and retched.
"Defenders of Argyre Planitia, you now see proof of your struggle's hopelessness!" the Dark Apostle continued, "Our armies have laid low Roboute Guilliman, Primarch of the Ultramarines! If he cannot-"
A horrific screeching sound filled the air, as though another voice were battling to be heard.
"Yet it took an army to do so!" a new voice boomed, "While one of their own Daemon Princes was slain by a man! Not a Custode, not a Space Marine, but a Security Officer of the Imperial Navy! Defenders of Argyre Planitia, hold your ground! Your Emperor is now with you, and a legion stands behind me!"
The bomber formations overhead scattered as thousands of drop shuttles materialized in the skies about Argyre Planitia.
A/N: Well, life has made me into a liar. But this chapter is finally out, and I can only hope I can write a few more before grad school kicks in again. The Metal Monsters arc nears its end, maybe two or three chapters at most. As a hopeful olive branch, I extend to you all the working title of the next plot arc: Operation Midway.