Chapter 2: Fury and Zeal
Tactical Dreadnought Armour, better known to the citizens of the Imperium's many worlds as Terminator armor, had been developed ten thousand years ago during the Great Crusade, the suits originally intended to supplement those Marine forces fighting in conditions that were too cramped to allow for Dreadnoughts and armored support yet still had a need for units capable of absorbing more punishment than their armor was able to endure. However, when the galaxy burned at the hands of the Arch-Traitor and the hopes and dreams of humanity burned along with it, most of the information regarding the construction of these mighty suits was lost, a trend that had continued to this day. Veteran Brother Klivak doubted that his suit was one of those worn during those dark days, but that did not make him any less lethal on the field of battle, nor did it make him any less proud of the honor that he had been given by being deemed worthy of wearing this ancient suit of blessed ceramite to war against the many enemies of mankind.
He transitioned back to the Materium from the Warp, violently displacing the air that had occupied the same position as his armored form now did with the thunderous crack that heralded a successful completion of teleportation. Another crack followed his a second later, informing him of Yonthul's arrival. A quick glance showed him that they had materialized within the confines of a tiny, white hab-unit that was surrounded by other tiny, white hab-units, while the sound of shots and a ping of the auspex embedded in his armor told him that Brother Thram's squad was nearby.
"Teleportation complete, moving to engage," he voxed Captain Nemros as he impassively stared down upon the trio of renegades that stood before him. Most likely they were confused as to how the Terminators had managed to suddenly appear in their midst. Those few moments of bemused incredulity was all he needed to activate the power field that surrounded the pair of Lightning Claws that sprouted from the gauntlets of his armor, bathing the interior of the crude structure in a pale blue light.
Moving with a speed that belied the bulkiness of his armor, he was amongst them in seconds, his weapons shredding their armor and the flesh beneath as if they were made of paper. As their mutilated forms tumbled to the ground in pieces, he heard the sound of Yonthul's Thunder Hammer making short work of another renegade behind him.
"Come brother," he voxed to Yonthul while staring at a nearby hab-unit that was slowly disintegrating under the weight of the firepower brought to bear upon it by Sergeant Thram's squad before beginning to force his bulk out the narrow door of the unit. "The Emperor's work waits for no man."
"Auspex is showing a large group of renegades approaching the rally point," Yonthul reported as he squeezed out after him. "Two particularly large dots, most likely armored support. Should we request Thunderhawk support?"
"These debased wretches have not impressed me so far with their technology," Klivak said confidently. "We can destroy anything they dare to throw at us."
"Then let us advance brother. None shall block our path."
Without another word, the pair of Terminators set off. Block after block passed before they reached the column that had been marked on their visors by the technicians aboard the Shadow that had also detected its approach. The two large dots had materialized into what appeared to be oversized exoskeletons, like mankind was rumored to have used prior to and during the early years of its original great expansion amongst the stars. Congregated about them were around two dozen soldiers, most of which were the kind that they had first encountered upon their arrival, while the majority of the remainder were of the type that Sergeant Thram had designated as the leaders. However, there were a few that there had been no mention of yet, lithe female forms that carried swords and wore faceless black masks with red slits.
Klivak grimaced underneath his helmet, both at the gross lapses in discipline that he observed amongst them as they meandered their way towards rally point Alpha and at the fact that Thram and his squad would be overrun by this group reinforcing the rest of their ilk should they arrive unmolested. "Brother," he said to Yonthul as he drew up beside him, "You shall smash into their backs whilst I teleport into their front. Leave none alive."
"And the exoskeletons?" his fellow Terminator asked, a faint note of battlelust creeping into his normally dry, toneless deadpan. Clearly the veteran Marine had come to the same conclusions about their foes as he had.
"Try to leave one for me," Klivak rumbled deeply, chuckling slightly as he vanished with a sudden and loud crack, the sound of which roused the renegades from their complacent inattention and drew their eyes towards Yonthul…
…just as Klivak reappeared behind their now-exposed backs. The only ones who realized he was there at all were the pilots encased within the exoskeletons and those few soldiers wise enough to not leave their flank completely open.
"In the name of the Emperor and the Primarch, death to the enemies of man!" Klivak thundered, mentally increasing the volume on his vox to deafening levels as he charged forward into the shocked and confused group that was even now breaking apart into incoherent groups before the first blow had even been struck. He gutted the first trooper to cross his path, a leader too slow to evade his rampaging charge, sending a fountain of blood gushing into the air. The body had yet to touch the ground completely when he impaled a soldier, destroying the majority of the man's internal organs before brushing him off with a disdainful flick of his Lightning Claws.
Yonthul had not been lax either, bellowing his own war cries as his Thunder Hammer caught one of the sword-wielding females. The sheer force of the blow pulverized the warrior-woman's armor and turned her bones to powder while the momentum from the Hammer's swing sent her limp form flying off into an alleyway. A trooper burst apart in a literal cloud of red as he was unlucky enough to be caught by the return swing.
Together the two of them reaped a grim harvest of bodies amongst those who would dare oppose the might of the chosen of the Emperor.
Out of the corner of his eye, between decapitating the last of the sword users and ripping open the chest cavity of one of the common soldiers with an upward swing of his Claws, Klivak saw one of the exoskeletons reach Yonthul, trampling two of its comrades in its eagerness to engage with the giant that was shredding its support group. Klivak sneered at such a display of conscious disdain that the pilot of the suit showed towards his allies before bringing his foot down upon the fallen form of a stunned enemy, pulverizing the man and turning him into nothing more than a red smear upon Klivak's boot.
He looked up in time to see the exoskeleton bringing a churning mechanical claw in a downwards arc towards Yonthul's head, the speed of the motion too great for mortal eyes to track.
But Klivak had long since transcended mortality in the name of service to the Emperor. He saw Yonthul neatly bring his Storm Shield upwards in one smooth motion, intercepting the intended crushing blow. Mechanical claw met adamantium shield in a thunderous noise, and the carefully-crafted gift that the priests of the Red Planet had bestowed upon the chapter over a millennia ago did not yield to the strike.
The hesitation on the part of the exoskeleton's pilot was warranted, Klivak thought in a fit of generosity. No doubt such an event had never happened before. But while the man pondered what he had just witnessed, Yonthul struck. The first blow shattered the arm that bore the claw, reducing it to a twisted ruin. The second blow struck the joint of the left leg, sending the machine stumbling before falling over backwards, helpless. The third and final blow slammed down upon the cockpit, annihilating both machine and pilot.
"Engine kill," his Brother snarled triumphantly over the vox.
Klivak had not been lax himself, despite watching his fellow Terminator display the might of the Imperium to its foes. By the time Yonthul had turned back to the remaining mortals, only half a dozen still drew breath, the rest laying lifeless upon the ground. The few that still lived ineffectually shot at either Klivak or Yonthul. Klivak ignored the patter of their gunfire as it bounced off his blessed form, instead eyeing the remaining exoskeleton that stood a ways off, having spent the majority of the fight moving into a position whether it could bring its weaponry to bear. It was the only thing that could conceivably harm either of the Terminators if its driver was skilled enough, while the soldiers on the other hand would likely have more success throwing grains of sand at him rather than using their current weaponry.
"It's yours Brother," Yonthul said as he moved to finish off the soldiers.
Without a word, Klivak launched himself at the machine while it leveled a massive arm cannon at his oncoming form. Blasts smashed against his chest and upon his shoulders while alarms blared in his helmet, alerts warning him about armor integrity in the impact sites. Where the small arms of its comrades had been a joke, this machine was a threat should it manage to continue its assault against him.
Reaching its bulky mass, Klivak lashed outwards, the power fields that surrounded his Claws weakening the matter that comprised the arm substantially before the adamantium fingers tore it to shreds. Intercepting the claw arm before the pilot could attempt a similar attack against him like the other pilot had done to Yonthul, he tore that one apart as well. The sheer ferocity of the strike tore the claw arm out from the socket that held it in place, twisting and spinning the machine to the ground, trapping the pilot inside the cockpit as the exoskeleton landed face first into the dirty and bloody street. One final strike from Klivak tore the suit's power supply to pieces, trapping the soul inside.
"You have an idea, Brother?" Yonthul said from behind him, having watched Klivak tear apart his foe.
"The Captain will no doubt wish to learn what he can about our foe. I'm sure the apothecaries can learn what he needs from this one," he said as he turned away from the sight and back towards his Brother. "Come, our duty here is done, and I am certain that Thram and the rest could use our assistance back at Alpha."
"Once more to war, then," Yonthul remarked as the two of them moved away from the carnage and towards the rapidly-escalating warzone that was beginning to engulf the city.
Nemros stared at the cogitator's holographic display as it projected a list of names at him. Each name tore at him. Each name a fallen brother, all either lost during the fighting on Arthan Prime or during their time in the Warp. Each name was one less brave warrior of the Emperor left to guard the borders of the Imperium of Man from a myriad of threats, threats that ranged from the multitude of xeno species that preyed upon mankind to the minions of the Great Enemy that sought to turn the galaxy into their eternal plaything.
Sergeant Relos, a veteran of three hundred campaigns and First Company candidate. Brother Tvan, once a member of the secretive Deathwatch, and upon his return, esteemed Battle-Brother of Nemros' Fifth Company and the chapter. Sergeant Herox, slain defending the apothecarium during the Company's sojourn in the Warp. Three names that stood out amongst dozens. Another seven under the care of the apothecaries. A company of ninety-two reduced to forty-six over the course of a week. Truly these were devastating losses for not just the Fifth Company alone, but the chapter as a whole.
But perhaps the most grievous casualty of them all was Epistolary Vargus. The Librarian had fallen into a coma that had been triggered by his Sus-an Membrane during his valiant defense of the Shadow's Navigator, and Nemros desperately needed his Brother's advice now.
An alert on his helmet's HUD alerted him to an incoming vox from his Brothers planetside. With a blink, he established the requested connection. "Speak Brother," he said, eyes never leaving the lists.
"Landing point secured Captain, we are pushing to designated locations now. No casualties," came the voice of Scipio squad's sergeant.
"Good, continue the assault. Drive the renegades from the city boundaries."
"Understood Captain. Be advised Thunderhawk One is heading back to the Shadow with a prisoner," the sergeant said before cutting the link.
Had Nemros been mortal, he most likely would have sworn at that moment. The transmission had reminded him that he did not have enough Marines to bring this world into a stable state of compliance, even before the losses they had suffered. The Sixth Company had been with them previously, but they had been recalled to the chapter's fortress-monastery in order to replenish losses that they themselves had suffered fighting Eldar Corsairs, leaving the Fifth Company alone when they had discovered the desecration of Arthan Prime. He would have to act swiftly and decisively if he were to conquer this world for the Imperium.
Even here, far from the Imperium, they would do their duty, just as the Astartes had for the past ten thousand years.
"For the Emperor," he mumbled as he dismissed the lists and brought up a display of the planet below him. He had a campaign to plan.
Far away, in a station orbiting a slowly dying star, the Illusive Man stared at the feeds that were streamed directly from his forces on Benning to his personal office, absentmindedly running a finger around the rim of a glass of bourbon as he did.
To a man that had built his entire career and reputation upon the acquisition of knowledge in order to further the cause of mankind, the unknowns that were currently tearing through the forces that he had dispatched to garrison the planet and quell any potential rebellions were immensely frustrating. They wore armor that shrugged off the mightiest weapons his soldiers could bring to bear, they carried guns that tore his drone-warriors to shreds, and they did it all with a speed and efficiency that could only be described as inhuman.
Yet the shape of their armor and bodies clearly stated these people had to be human. So who were they? Where did they come from? How did they construct all of this wondrous technology? These questions and a thousand more buzzed through mind, a steady hum of mental activity that threatened to drive him mad should he spend too long pondering them. Thinking was already hard enough these days with the constant migraines.
So instead of thinking, he watched impassively as one of the giants flash fried a group of troopers with a massive cannon. The blindingly white flash produced by the weapon coupled with the orb of energy that issued forth suggested some form of plasma technology, something that had long been dismissed by Citadel scientists as exceedingly expensive and impractical. Likewise, another giant was wading through the combined fire from an entrenched squad as if the mass accelerator rounds were naught more than drops of rain. His mind struggled to accept what it was seeing. The suit appeared to be some sort of highly advanced power armor, a concept that mankind had only been able to dream of previously. Like the impossible plasma technology, power armor had been deemed too expensive, along with needing an entire fusion plant to power it, an obstacle that these newcomers had seemingly overcome.
He needed this technology. He needed these newcomers. Above all else, he needed every last thing that was currently playing before his false eyes. With both them and the Reapers, mankind's destiny amongst the stars would be secured for all eternity.
There was, of course, the small matter of his organization and these giants currently fighting each other, but the Illusive Man knew that individuals were, in general, rational and reasonable.
His face darkened momentarily as a thin scowl crossed his lips. In general, with one very notable exception to that rule. But aside from a few outliers, shrugging off the superstitions of the past to push further along the path of process was one of the fundamental characteristics of mankind. It was one of the many things that made humanity so great, and he had no doubt that, once his goals were explained, these new humans would assist him in propelling humanity further along the path to greatness.
His thumb caressed a button that was nestled in the arm of his chair while he thought, weighing and planning the steps he would need to take for this. The first step, fortunately, was simple enough. The thumb pressed downwards, sending a signal to a location further within the station. "Yes sir?" came the voice of his secretary in reply.
"Send a message to Commander Krensen. Tell him that he is to evacuate Benning immediately, no matter the casualties he suffers."
"Yes sir," came the reply as the signal dissipated.
Sighing, he brought the glass of bourbon to his lips, the sound of ice gently clinking together the only sound in the room. Lawson would be furious about his decision. No doubt he would go on and on about how he relied upon the civilians from Benning to supplement the stock he had on Sanctuary, but the potential benefits from this move were just too high. Henry would simply have to make do with what he had for now. Other sources would present themselves in due time.
Patience and subtlety, as they always had would see him through to success once more in this endeavor.
Success meant progress beyond all current understanding. Failure meant the total annihilation of the human race.
And the Illusive Man never failed.
Captain Fred Harding's day seemed to be fluctuating perpetually between good and much worse.
Originally hailing from the Alliance's 62nd Marine Division that had been stationed on Arcturus, Harding had been visiting family on Benning when the Reapers had launched their devastating assault, turning the Arc to scrap and leaving him one of the few survivors of the unit by pure chance. After the arrival of Cerberus, he had taken up control of the burgeoning resistance forces on the planet, eager to do his part in fighting back. Up until today, he had thought things had been bad but still manageable. Yet as the day wore on things insisting on becoming stranger and stranger.
Their long-planned attempt to evacuate large groups of civilians out of the city and into the relative safety of the surrounding countryside had been a success, pulled off without a hitch. However, the operation and drawn in more and more Cerberus troops in an attempt to crack down on their efforts.
Until they arrived.
The reports were scattered, contradictory, confusing, and above all, seemingly unrealistic. The first report had come from a group led by one Richard Helermann, who had claimed that giants had fallen from the sky and slaughtered Cerberus by the dozens. Harding had written it off as hallucinations due to a lack of sleep, food, and drink. But as more and more reports filtered in one by one, he was starting to believe them himself.
Metal-clad giants wielding a myriad of bizarre weaponry that all had one theme in common, that theme being extreme lethalness, were fanning out into the various districts from a point near the center of the city, killing every single Cerberus-affiliated human and mechanized assets that they found. Scouts reported bodies torn to shreds or blown apart, and mechs half-melted where they stood.
But the latest report was perhaps the most unbelievable of them all. Cerberus was running. Every last one of them.
Even though the occupation had only lasted slightly longer than a month, it was rather hard to imagine a Benning without Cerberus. Harding had been fully expecting that this world would be his grave, his body left to rot after the resistance headquarters had inevitably been located. It was a fact that he, along with the other volunteer Alliance officers that had been infiltrated in after Commander Shepard's raid and all of the resistance fighters that made up the Arcturus First Division, had accepted as reality.
But now everything had changed within a few hours, and he suspected that that fact would soon come to apply to the rest of the galaxy within a few days.
Making his way towards the planet's only remaining intact QEC, he mentally began drawing up the report he would give to Admiral Hackett. The Alliance had to know what happened here on Benning.
Retreating.
Captain Nemros sneered as he received the news. These renegades had apparently been on this planet for over a month, inflicting their depredations upon the helpless populace, but the moment that the Emperor's Finest had arrived and taken the fight to them, they fled with their tails tucked between their legs.
"Understood Sergeant Thram, hold position and await further orders," he said before he cut the link.
He pondered the renegades' evacuation plan as it was uploaded in real time to his hololithic array by the Shadow's auspex array. The device itself was rare archeotech, gifted to the chapter by the Mechanicus as thanks hundreds of years ago for aid in a matter that Nemros had not been privy to. Dozens of boxy transports lifted off from the planet's surface, each one carrying a dozen renegades to an awaiting pair of tiny ships that orbited on the opposite side of the planet. Laughably small, these raiding ships had undoubtedly been built with an idea to increase stealth capabilities by possibly being able to pass themselves off as asteroids when their engines were powered down in mind.
He idly contemplated sending Thunderhawk Two after them, but he had no idea what sort of weaponry they possessed, and could not risk losing such a valuable asset to the Company so lightly. He could make a small-scale Warp jump and take them by surprise, but many of his surviving Marines were still on the surface on the planet and he did not want to risk another daemon incursion without them. That move could be potentially disastrous.
In the end, he simply decided to let them go. The Shadow could track their movements and extrapolate their coordinates from that. He had hunted heretics before on less.
For now, however, he had a Company to help rebuild, a world to subdue, and above all, a prisoner to see to. And the Emperor's work waited for neither man nor Astartes.
Deactivating the array, he headed for the hangar bay that Thunderhawk One had just touched down in. This would hopefully prove to be an enlightening conversation.