Author: Drakensis
{oOo}
For once the Legion of Angron was a solemn group.
No ships traversed the Warp.
Astropathic communications were neither sent, nor heeded.
Solemnly, thousands of World Eater Astartes gathered around hundreds of hololiths near objectives across half the galaxy. Some of them carried little flags. Others wore simple, brightly coloured tabards over their armour and glared at those with differing colours.
Eldar Farseers across the galaxy shivered and made sure that none of their people were in the vicinity. Other precognitives felt the unease, which led to no small amount of caution by the enemies of the Imperium.
Magnus the Red teleported into Angron's command centre, dragging a protesting Leman Russ behind him. Senshi Mars joined them shortly afterwards, curling up next to the progenitor of the Thousand Sons on an overstuffed armchair.
And in remote corners of battle barges, strike cruisers and other vessels, a very small number of Astartes made joyous preparations for war.
They were the Librarians of XII Legion.
They were the Legion's astropaths, their navigators, their predictors and their counsellors of the uncanny.
There weren't very many of them and they were ferociously overworked. Cloistered and burdened with duties that kept them from the battlefield, something that frustrated all true sons of Angron.
But they always had their hopes and aspirations, centred upon one ritual enacted by their caring and compassionate Primarch. One day, THE day, when they could go out and play. One day [I]every[/I] year when they could prove to the rest of the Legion that they - Were - Still - WORLD EATERS!
Dozens of Astartes Librarians left their bases and ships by boarding torpedo or Thunderhawk only if teleportation wasn't an option. Hololiths lit up and thousands of World Eaters leant forwards like the eager sports fans that they were.
Within moments the blood of the enemies of Mankind flowed as the geeks, nerds and freaks of Angron's Legions began to kill them.
Kill them with their MINDS!
{oOo}