It is a time of ending…
For Ten Thousand Years, the Emperor has ruled Mankind and its galaxy spanning Imperium from the Golden Throne of Terra.
His Armies are innumerable, their strength unconquerable.
For Ten Thousand Years, Mankind has stood defiant against a hateful galaxy devoid of mercy.
Millions of worlds swear allegiance to the Immortal Emperor, and trillions serve the almighty warmachine that is the Imperium of Man.
For Ten Thousand Years, Humanity has persisted through the fires of hell itself.
It is a regime of unbridled cruelty, and unstoppable agony.
It is a people who refuse to be brought low by the pain of existence.
It is an Empire that is dying.
From every corner of the Galaxy, the enemies of Mankind watch and wait.
Terra is in its death throes.
The Imperium is split in two.
Threats from without and within tear at the walls of Humanity's bastions.
The Imperial Regent, Lord Guilliman, has decreed the formation of Explorator Fleets, to scour the stars, and find those of his loyal brothers who still yet live.
But the hour is coming.
The blood of Man will spill.
As the dying Imperium licks its wounds, and gathers its numbers, the four make their moves, and the devourer draws ever closer.
There can be no peace amongst the stars.
For in this age of the 41st Millennium, there is only war.
Chapter One:
The Maelstrom.
Mankind has always imagined space as cold. Holovids and numerous fictional tomes have described the empty vacuum of the void as cold, devoid of feeling. This is true, to some extent. There is little friction in space, due in part to the lack of air resistance. This allows for Ice crystals to form rapidly in the void where moisture is present. It also allows for superheated air to be used for minor propulsion, jettisoning the air in the direction opposite the way you want to go.
Those who have spent any amount of time voidfaring would disagree, however. The vast emptiness of space is not cold. It is hot. Burning with mouthwatering hatred. It boils with an insatiable hunger. The void is a monster. It hungers, constantly roaring its indignant thirst for blood. Our blood, and the blood of every living thing in this galaxy. Every successful voyage through its teeming expanse is a wad of spit in the monster's face.
Indeed, the Galaxy is a monster. And humanity has been spitting in the monster's face since we first dragged ourselves from the sticks and mud of Ancient Terra, to dwell amongst the stars, to conquer the Galaxy that so defies our dominion, and call it our own.
Many remembrancers argue as to what happened to get us where we are. Those too stubborn see the Horus Heresy as the downwards spiral. When Gods walked among men. Those ancient days of legend, the day our Emperor was so marred by his wayward Son. Horus, the archtraitor, may the Emperor curse his name. Still others see the return of the Lord Regent, Roboute Guilliman of the Ultramarines Legion, as the start of our decay.
There is no simple answer to the question. There is simply the here, and the now. The Imperium is bleeding. And we are so desperately trying to staunch the wounds that weaken us. But we endure, because we must endure. Humanity is a race that hates absolutes. By all reasoning, we should have gone extinct millenia ago. Yet here we are. Like an obstinate child, when told he cannot do something, and does it anyways. We were not supposed to survive. The Universe had decreed it so. But we defied it. We survived. And, Emperor willing, we will continue to survive, forever more.
"Pride Leader." The voice cut through the silence like a chainblade. The sound crashing against the plasteel walls of the massive chapel. Jabari inhaled, letting his mind settle back into the calm, the prayers and litanies on his lips, each letter whispered with stone purpose.
The voice shattered his calm once again, and Jabari nearly added a curse to the words noiselessly marching from his tongue.
"Unless someone is dying, I am busy." He intoned, his own voice rich and deep, with a heavy accent borne of his birthworld. He already knew why Philemon was interrupting him. Rare was it for the soft spoken Retributor to go about begging for the attention of his battle brothers. The Inquisitor called. It was Jabari's duty, whether he wanted to or not, to obey the summons.
"I know. You say the same thing every time. And, as is also the same each time, the Lord Inquisitor has-" Philemon started, only to be cut off by the now disgruntled Celestial Lion.
"I am aware of the Inquisitor's summons. He voxed me the moment he remembered that we exist. He no doubt has some mess for us to clean up, yes?" Jabari inhaled deeply, lifting his helm from where it sat beside him, and donning it, taking small comfort in the hiss of magnetic seals locking into place. "Come, we shall not let the small funny man wait too much longer. He might get too angry, and may just die from a stroke. Wouldn't that be just so terribly tragic."
The Retributor cocked his head to the side as Jabari stood, and followed his brother out of the Cathedral and towards the central lift. "I detect sarcasm in your tone brother. This is funny to me."
Jabari wished, some days, that he still had the capacity to shed tears. As it were, he did not. Instead, he simply contemplated beating his skull against the nearest solid object as he and his gray armored brother boarded the lift that would bring them to the Lord Inquisitor.
Lord Inquisitor Heinrich Weisser. Jabari peered at the man through his helm, the bitter look on his face thankfully concealed. He didn't like that man. Not at all.
The Lord Inquisitor was old. Even regular rejuvenate treatments cannot entirely remove the effects of two hundred and seventy years of service to the Inquisition's Ordo Xenos. Nearly three hundred years, and the ancient Inquisitor still handled his duties from not only behind his desk, but also behind his boltgun.
"Stop that." The old man grunted in Jabari's direction.
"Inquisitor?"
"Stop eyeballing me."
Jabari muttered a curse under his breath. He didn't like that man. Or any Inquisitor for that matter. How could he? The echoes of Kattar still thundered in the memories of every Celestial Lion. It was only due to the censure of the Inquisitors responsible by combined elements of the Black Templars and, unsurprisingly, the Space Wolves, that the children of Elysium IX were once again free to prosper as a Chapter. That, and Jabari's devotion to the Deathwatch. One of many necessary sacrifices, to satisfy the ire of both sides.
"Oh, forgive me Inquisitor. I assumed we are here because there is something, or someone, you want us to kill. And there is nothing in the galaxy that makes me want to kill something more than looking at your face." Jabari replied, a scowl marring his otherwise handsome features.
The Inquisitor smiled. It was an ugly thing. Devoid of any emotion at all. Jabari thought to himself, with a vicious smile, that the man before him looked more like a corpse than anything else. What he wouldn't give to see such a thing go from a mere idea to reality.
"I see. Well, I hope you got a good look then. This is going to be a prolonged deployment. There will be minimal support for three weeks at best." The Inquisitor paused, and for the first time, Jabari noticed something about the Inquisitor. Whatever they were dealing with, it had the Lord Inquisitor more than a little concerned. That was bad. Or, at the very least, not good. "The Maelstrom is dead."
"Ah. Sounds like bad news for the Kine." Jabari couldn't help but chuckle with murderous glee.
The Maelstrom. A massive warpstorm. Standing between Segmentum Solar and the Galaxy Center within Ultima Segmentum. It was a region of space that was unstable at the best of times. For many years, the thrice cursed Huron Blackheart and his Red Corsairs had made that accursed segmentum their haven, rapidly damning hundreds of worlds in Huron's own name, and that of the Ruinous Powers. But that was all moot now. Information of the past.
The Maelstrom had died, and with its death, the Imperium brought its steel clad fist to bear. The Inquisitor let his gaze travel over Jabari and Philemon, his voice cold.
"The High Lords, as well as the Lord Regent, have demanded immediate expansion into the previously lost systems. Forces from across the Imperium have been split so as to gain as much ground as possible before our enemies capitalize on the now undefended worlds. The Regent has also rerouted one third of the Indomitus Crusade. They will reach the borders of the Ultima Segmentum within the month, God-Emperor willing."
The old man turned to the holotable, pulling up information feeds, pict and vid captures, and meteorological charts. "You and your brothers will be sent to the Moravius System, specifically, Moravius Secundus. When the summons first came, elements of the 985th Krieg Regiment deployed to the surface of the world, and successfully created a beachhead. Their last contact with Segmentum Command consisted of two parts. The first was that they had located the human population. The second, they had suffered attacks from an unidentified species of Xenos."
Heinrich clicked several rune keys, highlighting several reports. "Unfortunately, the Korpsmen had few picts of the creatures, and most of our current information is description and word of mouth, as these beasts have the nasty habit of…"
The Inquisitor paused, as if searching for the right words. "Disappearing. Or dissolving, if you will. The creatures match descriptions of ancient Terran fauna. But that is where similarities end. These are much larger, ravenous for noble human flesh, and, from what the Korps Commander described, demonic in nature."
"If they carry the taint of the heretical, then why send us? We are Ordo Xenos. Let Malleus wage their war with the Neverborn abominations." Jabari grumbled. This whole ordeal sounded like a headache.
"Because these abominations, thank the Emperor, do not carry the mark of the Daemon. I've reviewed what few picts we received from Segmentum Command, as well as the reports received, and consulted my associates within the Ordos Malleus and Hereticus. They concur." The Inquisitor leaned over the holotable, his eyes set with a cold determination.
"If it's not some new strain of Xenos, then someone has been tinkering with things they shouldn't be." Philemon ground through his teeth. "Thrice damned fools."
The Inquisitor let his gaze fall to the displayed maps and graphics, and a shadow fell over his face, ancient lines of age and scars belying the hot temper of a man too old for these matters, yet too stubborn to let them go unresolved. "In either case, you will be going to Moravius Secundus. You will kill every Xenos you find, and, if it turns out to be the case, you will destroy whatever is making them."
The Celestial Lion and the Retributor shared a look. "How long until we are within range for deployment?" Philemon questioned.
"Seventeen Hours. More than enough time. Should you require any specialized equipment, you have my authority to take what you need." The Inquisitor's answer shocked both of the Astartes, though they didn't show it. Inquisitor Heinrich Weisser was not a man prone to giving things away. Even the Killteam under him was only allowed strictly what was provided by the Watch Fortresses of the Ordo Xenos.
It also brought to light the gravity of this operation. Failure was not an option, and the Inquisitor was doing what he could to mitigate as much of that risk as possible.
The old man stood straight once again, pulling up a communications roster and forces disposition chart. "What's more, the Eighth Company of the Raven Guard, led by Shadow Captain Reszasz Krevaan, are en route to support your operation. They estimate their arrival one to three weeks after you and your brothers make planetfall."
With this knowledge, and the clearance to prepare as needed, Jabari couldn't help but smile. As long as he was given leave to purge Mankind's enemies wholesale, he was happy. "We shall prepare, then. I will let my brothers know. The Emperor Protects."
Inquisitor Heinrich smiled, that cruel, emotionless twist of his lips that sent chills down the spine of any mortal man unfortunate enough to find them before the Lord Inquisitor. "The Emperor Protects."
"Brother." Jabari couldn't help but feel the weight of each syllable spoken as his footfalls echoed within the Armorium he and his brothers had turned into their living quarters. Down to his soul, the word that met his ears was as if the speaker was invoking the Emperor's name. In a way, he was.
"Grimaldus." The Celestial Lion returned the greeting, not bothering to wait for Philemon before beginning his explanation of the Inquisitor's summons. "The old fool has given us unto the maw of death once again. And once again, we will laugh in its face when death instead feasts on the souls of our foe."
"You draw unnecessary ire with your antagonations, as deserved as they are. It would be wise, if nothing else, to limit your barbs towards the Inquisitor." Grimaldus intoned from where he sat upon a cot made from Grox skins piled atop several empty ammunition crates. The Black Templar carefully tended his wargear, cleaning cloth in his hand as he polished the gleaming silver skull of his helm.
Jabari and the others knew, quite well, of the rarity of witnessing the naked face of any chaplain. He averted his eyes, then, knowing that while the Reclusiarch would hold no grudge against any one of them, laying eyes upon the Chaplain's face without being offered the privilege would go against his brother's unspoken wishes. "If such a thing is impossible, at least hold your words to closed vox."
"Is that an order, brother?" Jabari questioned. Anyone else would have mistaken his question for blatant insubordination, but between brothers of the long watch, such a manner of conversation was normal. Grimaldus paused, turning over his deathmask and symbol of office in his hands, searching for imperfections with brutally efficient scrutiny.
"No. Just a suggestion. You are the squad leader. You make the decisions and give the orders. It is my duty to follow as you ask of me, and to give suggestions when I deem it appropriate to do so." Grimaldus answered after a moment, the oiled cloth in his hands once again pressed against the cold silver of the Emperor's grin, attacking a rather persistent smudge of something, Jabari assumed Xeno blood.
Jabari considered his brother's words. "It is as you say. I take it then, you listened in on the meeting?" He questioned, removing his helm.
Grimaldus did not stop his work this time as he spoke, though Jabari and Philemon could both tell that the Black Templar did not like what he had heard. "I did. What manner of foe could manage to wipe out a subjugation force of Kriegsmen? And he thinks to send five Astartes for up to three weeks with minimal to no support."
"Do you think we cannot handle whatever awaits us?" Philemon rumbled, sitting himself on his own makeshift cot.
"No. I know that we can handle whatever our enemies send against us. But it does beg the question. Though we received this information from Damaroth Watchfortress a few standard days prior, this information is already old." Grimaldus paused, placing his helm onto his head.
"It has been well near ten years since the Guard forces made planetfall. And they held out until one month ago our time. Their second to last report stated that they had enough supplies to last a year of murderous siege. So the question remains, how did an entire Planetary Subjugation Force disappear?"
The Reclusiarch's query was not a comfortable one. The Death Korps of Krieg was a regiment known for their utter brutality. And while every campaign they had participated in resulted in staggering losses on their part, the children of that nuclear hellscape never failed to produce results.
Grimaldus himself had seen a lone Kriegsman destroy a Warhound class Chaos Titan, armed with nothing but an empty lasgun, his bayonet, and undying faith in the Emperor. Adding to the fray, this was no mere Company or Brigade that had made planetfall. It was a Subjugation Force, hundreds of thousands of Imperial Guard, their equipment, and supplies to sustain them all for several years.
The three brothers were all thinking the same thing. There are few things in the galaxy short of Renegade Astartes that could hope to do any lasting damage to an enemy of such numbers. There were only three other options, each horrifying in their own right. The Orks, in sufficient numbers, could easily overtake an entire system in a matter of days if unchecked. The Tyranids, similarly, were well known for the carnage they wrought, reducing whole swatches of Imperial space into nothing but carbon husks where once had been shining examples of human economical domination. But it was the third option that was the most concerning.
A new race of Xenos, previously unknown. The Imperium was already fighting a war of attrition from every side. To add one more theatre of battle to that mix would be a headache the assembled battle brothers didn't want to consider. Yet, as Duty and Honor demanded, they did.
"I will speak with Petrus and Oreste further on this. For now, we must prepare for every eventuality. The Raven Guard will meet us within a month of our deployment. Our first move upon making planetfall must be to locate and take the Imperial Guard outpost, should there still be one, and prepare it for our use."
Jabari agreed, deferring to Grimaldus' experience.
"It is as you say. I have fought alongside the Eighth Company. They are good men, and Legends in their own right. Their experience will be invaluable to us, in addition to your own."
Philemon's throaty laughter of jubilation filled Jabari's ears as Grimaldus considered his brother's words.
"Yes. Whatever face our enemy takes, we will cleanse their existence from the Galaxy. So ordains the God Emperor, and so it shall be."
Seventeen hours, a little more than half of a Terran day. The Brothers of Killteam Trucido had worked unceasingly, every moment of those seventeen hours dedicated to their mission. Pallets of supplies, ammunition, and communications nodes, among many other items, were loaded onto the Killteam's Gunship, a Corvus Blackstar sporting the Inquisitorial 'I' in gleaming silver on either side of the coal black craft.
Grimaldus and Jabari stood by each other, overseeing the loading of each piece of Equipment. It was imperative that what they had would last until the sons of Corax reached them.
"Brothers." came the greeting as Petrus Dumeo, the only Astartes on the killteam who was not a Son of Dorn, approached the Gunship. His armor was the black of all Deathwatch Marines, decorated with numerous motifs and consecrated relics denoting his lineage as belonging to the Angel of Baal.
Petrus Dumeo was a Lamenter, his Chapter's checkerboard colors beneath the bleeding heart of the melancholic children of the noble Sanguinius emblazoned on his right pauldron. Petrus was the only brother on the killteam to have received his Terminator Honours during his time within the Deathwatch, and it was a title he took pride in.
His massive bulk shook the deck of the embarkation bay as he strode forth, each step like that of a meteor striking the earth. "The Shipmaster says one hour until deployment. I have concluded my preparations for the coming campaign."
"Good." Jabari answered, checking his bolter, whispering the litanies of appeasement and functioning to the Machine Spirit of his thrice blessed Boltgun. "We shall be ready."
"Just not too ready. I'm still finding fragments of Philemon's previously shattered rib cage in the flesh of my face." Orreste growled as he approached aside Petrus, his voice like savage teeth crushing stone.
The team's Apothecary walked with a limp, but only a fool would think of him as less dangerous because of such things. Orreste was still an Astartes. He was a Hospitaller. Noble sons of Dorn, his chapter was one of the few who had joined the Black Templars in taking the oaths of Eternal Crusade. It was Grimaldus himself who had requested that Orreste be added to the killteam.
"I am aware of your concerns brother. We will do our best to minimize injury until you can properly and safely treat what few wounds we are given."
"Good." was Orreste's only reply.
The air that flowed through the opening in the forest canopy was silent and slow. A cool mist floated millimeters from the warmth of the dirt beneath. The sounds of numerous creatures, both small and large, meek and wrathful, murmured in the moonlit darkness.
Predators watched and waited, hoping that some weak minded prey would cross its path, and sate the bloodlust of its killer. But alas, the time of the local predatory fauna's dominance as this world's apex predator had ended.
A deafening silence, like the moments before a storm, washed over the darkness. A deep, massive shadow eclipsed the moon's light, and lowered itself towards the earth. As it touched down, the air around it exploded in a muted roar.
The shadow's maw opened, and from it marched slaughter personified. Five hulking forms, each blacker than the darkness that surrounded it, spread out from the entrance to the gunship. After a moment, three large crates slid to the earth behind them.
The five Astartes closed ranks and formed together as the gunship lifted off, the silence returning as the stealth craft sped for high orbit.
The Inquisitor would wait with the Imperial Guard fleet stationed in high orbit for twenty four hours to ensure that the five brothers had succeeded with the initial stage of their mission. After which, he would move on, his retinue of Imperial Guard and Stormtrooper Divisions would aid him in taking the worlds adjacent to this one within the Moravius system.
He had also seeded the upper atmosphere with satellite drones that would aid the killteam in navigating this world's geography.
"Mark this location. We make for the Guard outpost." Jabari ordered over the internal vox network. Weapons raised, the five stalked forth, pushing into the darkness of the Forest.
Two hours found the Killteam treading along a dirt path leading up the sides of a massive canyon, an ancient river flowing through it. The Imperial Guard outpost, according to Intelligence gathered by Segmentum Command, was located at the top of this main access road cut into the stone and dirt by the Guard upon their planetfall.
"Jabari. Contact front, five hundred meters, six lifeforms. Unknown if they are human or not." the voice of Philemon over the vox was swiftly answered by the team leader.
"Acknowledged. Grimaldus, Orreste, flank to the left and attempt to identify and engage if possible. Petrus, Philemon, and Myself will provide rear cover."
The Astartes moved as one, guns, maul, and blades forward as they prosecuted their contacts. Grimaldus and Orreste broke left from the formation, pushing well ahead of the other three, covering their advance.
Once the two Astartes were ninety meters away, Grimaldus opened vox to Jabari. "Brother, relaying visual feed."
As Grimaldus spoke, the view from his eye lenses superimposed itself over the left portion of Jabari's HUD.
The creatures displayed matched the descriptions of Xenos relayed to them by the Guard. Elongated bodies and limbs, snarling, canid-like faces covered by chitinous plates, and random protrusions of chitin scattered over the abomination's black-furred body.
Jabari spoke one word. "Engage."
Grimaldus and Orreste reacted instantly, plasma and bolt pistols raised and fired with absolute accuracy. Two of the creatures died, one simply evaporating to its base particles, the other's skull exploding in a shower of bone, smoking flesh, and grey matter. Two more died in a similar manner, while the final pair of creatures finally became aware of their plight. However, instead of running like any sane creature, the two xenos turned and charged the astartes.
Grimaldus was silent as he advanced to meet their charge, Crozius maul charged with eldritch energies. Orreste marched by his side, the chainsword in his fist roaring as the Apothecary gripped the activation rune.
The closest monster screamed as it leapt at the Chaplain, jaws wide, saliva frothing its lips. Its face was met with thrice blessed ceramite fingers, its whole head fitting in Grimaldus' hand as he brought the now scrabbling beast close to him, his baleful eyelenses boring into its own eyes.
"Like Orks." Grimaldus muttered to himself.
Orreste meanwhile had swung his chainblade in a low to high arc, bisecting the midair monster lengthwise. "Brother?" He asked, turning to Grimaldus. "You say something?"
Grimaldus continued to gaze into the creature's eyes, skull-helm cocked to the side as the chaplain considered something.
"Like Orks, Brother Orreste. Like Orks. Mindless, defying all logical responses to a foe that outguns them. And their hate. Oh, their hatred brother. Can you feel it? Can you TASTE it?"
Orreste shrugged, disengaging his chainblade's activation rune and mag locking it to his belt. "I cannot say I do, Grimaldus, but I will take your word for it, yes?"
The Chaplain laughed, the sound like the that of falling mountains. "Good." He answered after a moment. "And now, we have proven that they can also be killed like Orks."
This said, Grimaldus began to close his fist, laughing all the more at the screams and squeals of agony the creature produced as its skull fractured and caved.