A/N – And here is part two. The Primarch makes an appearance, but he is still without his Legion, while they finish their campaign.
o-0-o
(Somewhere close to the galactic core, unknown date, eighth century M30)
Theseus moved through the no man's land. Servomotors of his armor fighting against the sticky, ever-present mud. The ground was already soaken in blood and water. The pouring rain turned the mud into a deadly trap for the careless.
He looked at the city walls, breached in few places by the artillery during one of its previous barrages. Since then however it was filled back by hastily thrown sandbags and barricades. Perhaps making it even more dangerous than the monolithic form of the ferrocrete wall.
Between the uneven edges of the barricade a pair of heavy stubbers and a grenade launcher were nestled. The moment the first Marines of the company were seen the three sang a song of destruction. Their position fully revealed to the attackers and sending death their way.
Theseus felt rounds impact against the pauldrons of his armor and chip away the ablative plating. He ignored it and moved forward. A grenade exploded directly in front of him, a fountain of soil thrown into the air in its wake.
"Heavy support, take them out," Theseus muttered into the vox, looking at the barricade.
Moments later five rocket launchers were fired and the heavy stubbers and the lone grenade launcher disappeared in a ball of shredding metal shrapnel and explosives.
Theseus stopped on a low hill, by a lonely tree that somehow avoided getting destroyed by the artillery barrages and glanced back towards the lines of the Eleventh. Three companies of the Marines were swiftly moving, their Vindicators slightly behind and beyond all of that a swarming mass of infantry.
He let the first, dispersed line of his company pass him and then Theseus moved. His hands clenched on his power sword and a plasma pistol. The closer they moved to the wall, the stronger the fire was, but most of it weak and disorganized and short-lived with the Vindicators and heavy support teams taking them out.
"Attack!" Theseus roared as the last thirty meters came. He broke into jog, the eight members of his honor guard around him. Their heavy boarding shields ready to protect him from any threat. They scaled the walls and were upon the humans.
Theseus' sword's power field flickered alive with an ethereal glow.
In a fluid move he blocked a strike at his head and sliced through the axe. Then he pushed the blade forward and severed his opponent's head from shoulders. With that done he looked around and saw that his guard and the other Marines that joined them secured the wall.
"Split," he said and then looked at the city. "Third of you go down and into the city. The rest divide into two units and clean the wall." He shot a mace wielding giant of a man that appeared out of nowhere and then turned to look at his Centurions. "If they surrender, you stop fighting, immediately."
"Tribune?" One of them asked.
"That's an order from the Legate," Theseus said. "I'll lead the advance into the city. You handle the walls."
He jumped down, the armor taking the brunt of the impact.
The city was well-organized with wide streets lined with trees and flanked by dozens of buildings. Most of them looked like workshops, a thing that Theseus noted with joy as it meant that the city would be able to contribute to the wider Imperium almost instantly.
Then an animalistic growl left his throat.
Off, in the distance there were spires of something that could be only a place of worship. A thing that had no place in the atheistic Imperium of Man, everything was driven by logic and reason and science and there was no place for belief in religion.
With fury boiling in his chest he moved forward. The power sword in his hand scything down the militia that threw themselves at him. Their strikes harmlessly raked against his armor while his weapon reddened itself in their blood. Clothes and simple armor providing no resistance for the energy.
o-0-o
The Legate watched the battle unfold with his gaze calculating the movements of troops and the progress of battle. He was not like the commanders of the other Legions, they led from the front and risked their lives. A thing he and other higher ranking members of the Eleventh found foolhardy and unnecessary.
They all could fight and often led their troops, but rarely they spearheaded the assault. For that they had other officers and champions, the best warriors in the whole Legion. Life of them was expendable, or at least more expendable than that of a Legate.
Each of them was from the earliest group of recruits and each of them was prepared for command from the very start of their training and indoctrination. There were only thirty of them, scattered across the whole galaxy and overseeing various campaigns of the Legion.
Life of each guarded by eighty warriors strong Hetairoi guard. Hand-picked warriors, some of them brash and arrogant youths, some of them veterans. However the purpose of the Hetairoi was not only to die in the defense of their charge, the more important one was to offer the advice and counsel when needed.
"My Lord, Orion," one of them said and the Legate glanced at the mention of his given name. "Tribute Theseus breached the walls and is pushing forward. He sent a request for additional forces to be redirected to his position."
Orion looked at the city and then blinked, sending a command to his armor to display him the map made by the ships in orbit. He studied it for few sparse seconds, then looked at the city his decision made.
"Have two companies join the assault."
That done Orion focused once more on the battle and wider conflict. With the world secured the whole system and in fact the subsector would be all brought into compliance. A thing that meant that the Legion would soon be deployed elsewhere, perhaps to aid one of the other formations or perhaps to wage another war on its own.
Or perhaps they would be allowed to return to their hunt for the Primarch. Swift and heavily armed destroyers and cruisers hunting far ahead of the main fleets of the Crusade. Their sole purpose finding the gene-sire of the Legion.
A thunder roared overhead as another wave of the rain came from the skies, pulling Orion out of his musings and focusing his mind on the battle.
o-0-o
(Terra, Segmentum Solar, unknown date, before the eight century M30)
Twenty gestation pods filled a chamber carved from bedrock of the Himalayan Mountains. Inside of each a single being, not a human, yet still human, an effect of gene-forging and witchcraft never before seen by the galaxy.
Each of them a demigod, a perfect warrior, a genius scientist, a capable administrator and a brilliant diplomat, a perfect ruler for any realm.
The pods were tended by dozens of scientists and scholars, none of them aware of the true scope of the project. The survival of it too important for them to be aware of what was growing inside of the pods.
Between them stalked the golden warriors, their hands on their weapons as they guarded the creations of their master. Creations that were to be his generals, commanders, advisors and rulers of his new realm.
A patrol left the chamber, leaving inside only the savants ensuring that the content of the pods developed without any problems and everything was perfect. A gust of wind passed through the room and then energy flooded it. Klaxons started to howl, but after a second their noise was silenced by something.
Then it was gone. The pods gone with it.
o-0-o
(Unknown planet, unknown date, the eight century M30)
The worlds of mankind are varied, some are little more than a barren rock with no atmosphere, while some are wholly wrapped in steel and iron. The electricity and fuel being the blood, while steel was the skin and adamantium the bones.
Those were the domains of Mechanicum, Tech-Priests, their sole purpose search for knowledge and reveration of the Omnissiah. The most important of their worlds were known as forge-worlds, massive factories, laboratories and shipyards covering the whole planet.
Ptolemy stepped onto the balcony of the tallest tower of the forge known as Magma Primaris on the planet Ares. He was its Fabricator-General for the past decade, yet his body was void of any augmentation bar one. It gave him a second pair of arms ended with dexterous fingers that could be replaced in times of need with weapons. His body was too perfect to be destroyed by crude attempts to upgrade and improve it.
He looked out onto his forge, the biggest one on the planet and since the last year the capital as well. His campaign to conquer the world was swift, brutal and meticulously planned. None of the other Fabricators-Generals lost their heads, but all of them were forced to bow to him.
He smiled and then looked at the sky, in the orbit were several dozen spaceships slowly preparing to take to stars and add new forges into the empire and to feed the furnaces of Ares. He also wanted to find his creator, the man that made him a perfect specimen of humanity and an example of what his species should be.
Even now in the forges below production of warmachines and soldiers happened. From relatively simple and mass-produced Skitarii, through cohorts of heavily armed, power armored Thallax to the massive god-machines, the Titans.
Ptolemy more sensed than felt something move behind him and smiled, Archmagos Exploratory Belisarius arrived ahead of the schedule. "Yes, Magos?"
"The fleet should be ready to in a month time to begin exploration," the Magos said and Ptolemy nodded.
"Very well, when the day comes, you will be leading the first wave."
The Magos bowed and left without any words. Letting Ptolemy return to pondering the state of his forge-world. The amount of Skitarii was steadily growing and the Thallax cohorts were busy cleaning the wastelands off the mutated beasts. While the Knights and Titans clashed on the irradiated deserts, their titanic mock duels changing the landscape and shaking the planet to the very core.
Some Magii saw his orders to have the Titans duel each other as blasphemy, but their opinions didn't carry enough clout to make him change it. Also, after the first duel the princeps of Titans supported the decision, finally making those Magii relent and give up on their attempts to undermine Ptolemy's position.
As the second sun appeared over the horizon, it's light making the temperature go up by several degrees Ptolemy hid back into the tower. The door slid shut silently behind him and donning his robe of Fabricator-General, heavy piece of yellow and red robe lined with circuitry and plating design to take and soften the strength of blows, he descended into the darkness and towards the halls where production happened.
As he approached massive doors of the principal forge complex a pair of Castellax battle-automata moved, their weapons coming alive as they detected motion. They were one of the most powerful battle-automata that were able to fit in the tight corridors and thus made for the perfect guardians of any forge.
Ptolemy knew that he could tear them apart with his bare hands and without the use of his augments, but he also knew it would be a very bad idea. The Maulter Bolt Cannons and the bolters they carried at such a short range were a deadly weapon. Even something like him, with the dozens of redundancies built into his organism, had issues with its neck blasted away.
The Castellax moved aside and the gate opened. A wave of hot exhausts rushed out and only the glow of molten metal was all Ptolemy saw for a brief second. Then his eyes adjusted and he saw thousands of menials and servitors toil under the watchful gaze of overseeing Tech-Priests.
"Fabricator-General," a nearby Tech-Priests said in reveration.
Ptolemy nodded at this and stepped onto the gang plank running around the hall. He gazed down with a frown. The smelting and casting of adamantium could be a difficult and a very dangerous process. Not only the metal was hot, the fumes created from it mixing with the air were highly toxic and an unprotected human didn't last long.
Yet the sight of the heavy machinery and the metal forced to obey the will of mankind had something sacred to it. Something that made Ptolemy relax and focus on his tasks, a thing he enjoyed immensely, it helped him plan his campaigns and made ideas for new technologies or improvements of the existing ones appear in his mind.
o-0-o
(Somewhere close to the galactic core, unknown date, eighth century M30)
Demolisher Cannon was a crude, yet effective weapon that found its use in the Legiones Astartes as the main gun of their Vindicator Siege Tank. Its short range normally a problem, here was the advantage and the heavy shells fired by it often were the most potent solution to gates and walls blocking the path of an assault.
The gate of the city stormed by the Marines under command of Tribune Theseus miraculously survived the first, but after the second it burst into splinters and a new wave of Marines poured in. Some of them were on foot, but most rode on various bikes and jetbikes and was armed with a plethora of close combat weaponry.
They brushed aside the barricades right behind the gates and then with a howl of their engines the hunt started. Every defender careless enough to leave an opening found themselves with parts of their bodies torn out by the chain weapons or simply sliced away by the power field of the more potent ones.
It was also the tipping point, the one where the defenders finally broke and surrendered themselves. They were tough, stubborn people that knew hardships and always strove to overcame them, but even them had limits and they saw no point in more bloodshed.
They lost far too men sons and daughters to the senseless slaughter, hoping that the Imperium would give up after their initial show of ferocity. But it didn't and surrender now, on honorable terms was better than the wholesome slaughter and destruction of the cities and the culture.
o-0-o
Theseus entered the building that must have served in the past as a city hall and then was turned into a command point. As he looked at the walls he could see the scars of the recent battle. The chipped away stone, the broken windows, a burned out wreck in one corner.
He stopped in the middle of the empty space and pulled the helmet of his face, his bodyguards moving into a circle around him. Their boarding shields raised and ready to stop any fire coming his way. "Lower them," he muttered. "They surrendered," he added, looking pointedly at the old man in a golden circlet on his head and dressed in a stained purple robe.
"We did, tribune," the man said, then he pulled his sword out of the scabbard and handed hilt fist.
Theseus took the blade and looked at it. It was a practical weapon, the hilt simple and providing ample space for the hand of the user. The only decorative aspect was thunderbolt visible on the pommel.
"A fine blade," Theseus said solemnly. "One that fought for a misguided cause, yet now turned to light." With it in his gauntlet looked at the man. "Do you swear fealty to the Throne of Terra and the Emperor of Mankind?"
"I, Issac Isaurian, swear fealty to the Emperor and the Imperium," the man said and then looked at Theseus, challenge visible in his eyes. "What are your demands, warrior?"
Theseus laughed and looked at Issac. "None, however if you wish, we won't mind some recruits. The battles with you cost us dearly and your people would fit the Legion well.
Issac shrugged and looked at the men around him. "Seek whoever you want, as long as they agree, I won't make any troubles."
o-0-o
Several hours later Theseus stood on the bridge of the Talon, a massive Retribution-class battleship that served as the flagship of the Battalion and of the whole campaign.
"You did good," Orion said and Theseus looked at his superior. "The surrender, you did as gently for them as you could and the tithe of recruits is a good way to bind them to the Imperium. A risky one, but I think that they prefer this than us staying longer on the world."
Theseus nodded, his expression sullen, eyes focused on the distant stars. "They are defeated, but not broken. Tested and tempered in the cauldron of war," he said and then shook his head, looking at the Legate. "The thirty we collected will be a fine addition to the Legion."
The Legate stood by his side, his gaze focused on the planet below.
"Aye, they will," he finally spoke and turned to face Theseus. "There are new orders. Our long range augur arrays picked up something strange deeper into the core. The Warmaster gave us and another Battalion to check those anomalies."
"When do we depart?" Theseus asked and grimaced. "The equipment is battered, a lot of it is beyond repair and we expended a lot of munition."
"In three hours. In a week we will meet with the fleet of Mechanicum and they will let us resupply."
o-0-o
(Unknown planet, unknown date, the eight century M30)
Ptolemy looked at the gathering of Fabricators-Generals of Ares and their most senior Magii, as well as leaders of the Titan Legions and rulers of the noble houses. The biggest amphitheater of the Magma Primus was filled to the brim. Some of the most junior priests forced to stand as their leaders took seats on the steel benches.
Several long moments passed in total and complete silence. All of the communication done through noosphere links all the priests and other adepts of Mechanicum shared. The data bursts carrying much more emotions and uncertainty than they normally did. The cold logic of the machines, replaced by the agitation of flesh.
Feeling that the atmosphere reached critical point Ptolemy rose from his throne. His form garbed in a shining white and red armor, his mechanical limbs carrying heavy bolters and chainblades. Ready to attack anybody he wanted dead. His robe fluttered in the faint air circulation, the heavy fabric and armor unmovable.
"The forges of Ares serve now a single purpose," he said, stepping onto a raised dais. "We no longer murder our neighbors in senseless war. No, now we work together to once again be as mighty and powerful forge-world as we used to. The divisions between Magma and Eris, Eris and Enyo, matter not.
"What matters is that once again we seek to further development of new technology and pursue the knowledge. The knowledge we once had, but lost. Lost because we turned upon one another instead of preserving our combined lore, we destroyed it in war. Libraries burned under the treads of tanks, scientists, scholars and savants forced away from their research."
The words were harsh, far harsher than many would have dared. Yet Ptolemy saw that they reached their intended goals and that those people understood every single one of them. Perfect, he thought.
"In a week, first spaceships will leave our home system," he said and the crowd moved. Their attention focused on him. "Their target? Stars closest to ours. They will survey those systems, establish communication with sufficiently developed human colonies and subdue those less. They will purge and kill the xeno. Preparing the worlds for colonization.
"Once that's done we will set the course for Sol and seek Mars, the most holy of our forge-worlds."
Ptolemy allowed himself a small smile. He knew that the Imperium was out there and that it was one made by his creator. Other Fabricators-Generals most likely had the same knowledge, but nobody wanted to share it. A thing that suited his plans almost perfectly as his position was safer that way.