I am back! Sorry for the delay. Life is almost as determined to prevent me from writing as I am to finish this story. As penance for making you wait so long, I'm going to write a second chapter of "Thing Alliance and Imperial Forces Are No Longer Allowed To Do". I've had a lot of people ask me for that, and so I shall give the people what they want. In regards to this chapter, Ordo Sinister and the Consecrators arrive, and some of the very big guns are deployed. I hope you all enjoy. Next chapter, we go back to the war on Rannoch and Palaven (sorry if that breaks up the pacing, but one of the reasons for this taking so long to get out was due to me trying to work out a perfect timing for everything, which I wasn't able to do without some small sacrifices or making this a lot longer, which I didn't want to do.) After that, we have Ordo Sinister in action, as well as the war comeing to a head. I'm sure you'll all love it! Thank you for all your wonderful reviews. I love to see them. Speaking of which:
Dragon Blaze-X: AVE IMPERATOR!
BonesofSmite: Thank you. Sinister shows up here, and they will deploy two chapters from now. I hope you like them when they show. I'm glad you liked the Cadian scene, and I hope you like this chapter.
TheOnewithmanyquestions: I'm glad you liked everything! The Mordians are more compitent than a lot of people think, but I certainly understand your point. At least I was able to make someone laugh. The Mechanicus is fighting on Earth. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to showcase a lot of them, because there's just so much to do.
Yankee718: The Emperor protects. Always.
OscuroSignore-51: Ordo Sinsiter shows up this cahtper, alongside the Consecrators. As for what happens in the future...well, who knows? I think this is the last of the Technophiles series. However, there will certainly be more stories to come, involving Mass Effect and Warhammer. I have a very good idea that I'm very excited to write after this story's done. I think a lot of people will like it.
jakjak505: I'm glad you liked it! It was a fun scene to write.
Fernix13: I'm glad you liked everything, and I'm glad I was albe to write Shrike well. You do have a good point on the Anthame beacon, though I guess it could really go either way. The Blood Angels are certainly taking casualties, which will be an important point soon. As for the scale, you make an excellent point. I've thought on this a lot, and have been thinking about it throughout the story. Unfortunately, I'm just one man trying to write an entire galaxy-wide war. I just can't cover it all. I've been trying to showcase as many groups and people as possible, and try to show everyone the scale through the writing style of showing off new groups and characters through each new scene, but I can't do everything. Even now, there are a lot of scenes I would have loved to write that I had to scrap because I didn't have the time to write them. It's too bad, but, like I said, I'm only one person and I only have the time to write so much. As for logistics, again, you are correct. However, I'm not good with determining the numbers behind it, and I think if I tried a lot of people would say they're wrong. In addition, they are less fun to write and more boring to read, and so with the limited time and scenes I have, I've tried to cover the central events of the war. Thank you for your review and helpful thoughts and criticisms! I really appreciate them.
DAVIDGAMERXYZ: Natrius and the Quarians are coming next! I can't wait to get back to them!
Anatheras: Shepard is here, and your question will be answered. I would say the recovery process after the Reaper War would be long, just as it would in regular Mass Effect, but first we have to get through the war. As for the Dark Mechanicum using Exterminatus more often, they want the planets as intact as possible, and they like keeping the organics alive so they can turn them into servitors or skitarii or mybe use them for experiments or blood sacrificies.
Doc43Souls: Thank you for your corrections! Hopefully the Mordian scene was okay. As for the Blood Angels, I'm not super deep into their lore, nor have I read any of the books. To be honest, I looked up the forces disposition of the Blood Angels, and the chart I got was what I used. It might be old, though, so I guess the timeline is based on that. If you have any lore input on the Blood Angels's forces, I'd love to hear it!
fahriuchiha: Yep. That's how it usually goes in these two franchises.
Lucho: Hopefully Dante can pull it off in a less Sanguinius-like fashon...
Rogal Dorky: Thank you for your reviews! There will be another story after this, which I think a lot of people will like. Stay tuned! As for Guilliman and the Custodes... we'll see. Maybe, maybe not.
oOo
To Rule the Galaxy
"We are the Angels of Darkness, for us there is no peace, no end but war and death. We shall not walk in the golden halls of Mankind's future, but stand resolute in the shadows beyond. While we still draw breath, this Imperium will not fall, and we will not know defeat, for I pledge every warrior, every drop of blood in the Legion in the name of victory, no matter the cost." -Oath of Lion El'Jonson to the soldiers of the First Legion
"Let me see it, if only one last time. Your splendid blade, dancing amongst the scarlet rot." -ghost on the shore of the Swamp of Aeonia, Elden Ring
"A contest of titans commence
These days will dictate their fate
The grand fleet prepares their guns
Unleashed as the dreadnoughts clash at last
Unopposed under crimson skies
Immortalized, their legend will rise
And their foes can't believe their eyes, believe their size, as they fall
And the dreadnoughts dread nothing at all." -Dreadnought, Sabaton
oOo
Aboard the mighty Imperial battleship Glorious Victory, dozens upon dozens of crewmen worked on the bridge, hard at work monitoring the space surrounding Earth. Dead-eyed servitors trundled about, completing their menial tasks as the naval crew, resplendent in their brilliant blue and gold uniforms, stood at their stations. The captain watched everything with his cold eyes: one an icy blue, the other a bulky red augmetic, glowing as he took everything aboard his ship in. His hands were clasped neatly behind the cloak on his back; the typical pose of Imperial Navy officers. Indeed, most officers on the bridge, whether walking or standing, wore the same pose with pride. The black-armored naval voidsmen, clad in their shining carapace armor with hot-shot lasgun clasped to their chests, stood silent vigil to the sides of the bridge.
High above, intricate carvings, paintings, and decorations, more suited to the interior of a chapel, coated the ceiling of the bridge. Murals of the God-Emperor and long dead Lord High Admirals adorned the spaces, making the room feel like more of a place of worship than the command center of a combat vessel. This place was older and far more beautiful than any grand wonder of Earth, and yet it was still a battleship first and foremost.
The scene encapsulated everything about the Imperium of Man: ancient, powerful, ornate, intricate, brutal, beautiful, authoritative, strict, and mighty. Such were the vessels of His Majesty's Navy.
At her station, Lieutenant Vydros monitored the various sensory systems of Glorious Victory alongside Lieutenants Markon and Heinick. The trio were always hard at work, for they were the eyes and ears of the great vessel, the necessary components needed to keep everything in perfect shape. If a certain system failed, the vessel could live without it: not so for power or senses. Running dead or blind wouldn't do, and it was up to the trio to keep everything in order.
Below them, the various servitors they commanded focused single-mindedly on their tasks, clicking away at the less complicated controls. Behind them, Magos Felquen clattered by on his spindly legs, frowning as he made sure they were all handling the technology of their stations correctly. The lieutenants hid smirks as he went by. Tech-Priests were always so fussy.
"Anything on the scope?" asked Hienick, turning to Vydros.
"Besides our ships?" replied Vydros. "No. Nothing. Just us and the Alliance here so far, which is just the way I like it." The other two grinned. As they turned back to their equipment, the console started to beep alarmingly. Markon looked down with a frown.
"What's that?" asked Vydros, concerned.
"Warp portals opening up…" replied Markon. "Hang on…" He looked up. "Looks like a Space Marine chapter fleet."
Indeed it was. The ships were dull black, and organized in the typical formation of an Adeptus Astartes fleet. Battle barges were surrounded by the lighter vessels and cruisers, while supply ships, typical of a void-based chapter, cruised alongside them. Each vessel bore a haloed flame of crimson emblazoned upon the void-black of their painted sides. Gun turrets moved ominously.
"Do we… have any announcements of a Marine fleet arriving?" asked Vydros, concerned and slightly confused at their arrival. Heinick went back to his console, a slight frown on his face.
"Checking," he replied swiftly. With the press of a few buttons, and the twist of a few knobs, Heinick brought a form to his screen and poured over it. He looked back to the other officers. "Uh… yes, it seems we do. The, uh… Consecrators," he informed them. The other two nodded.
"Very well then," sighed Markon. With a swiftness borne of countless years of practice, he typed up a communication form to the captain and the rest of the fleet informing them of the Consecrators' arrival and their pre-ordained orders to come help with the battle for Earth.
"Space Marines," muttered softly Heinick l so that no one else might hear. "Always think they can do whatever they want and get away with anything without talking to the rest of us." Vydros and Markon nodded in agreement. The super-soldiers were the Emperor's own Angels of Death, but with that came an arrogance of thinking they could do as they pleased, whenever and wherever they pleased, often without informing the Guard or Navy of their movements.
As the Consecrators' chapter fleet pulled towards Earth itself, the officers of the Glorious Victory went back to their stations. The Marines had plans to aid the war effort on the ground, no doubt, and though they had arrived with little prior warning, at least they had the good sense to tell everyone they were coming. They were badly-needed reinforcements, and they followed protocol at least a bit. Wonder of wonders. Despite the officers' misgivings, they all had to begrudgingly admit it was good to see more Marines arrive. That was always a good sign for the forces of His Divine Majesty.
As Vydros, Markon, and Heinick went back to their consoles, Vydros reflected on how the campaign was going. At least, from the perspective of someone sitting high above the planet in one of the finest warships the Iron Rings of Mars had ever built.
The Naval blockade over Earth was total: after landing their forces on the planet, the Reapers and the Dark Mechanicum could not and did not reinforce them. His Majesty's Navy ruled the void. Not that it seemed to exactly matter to the Dark Priests on the ground, and from what she'd heard, they were doing just fine without orbital supremacy… Vydros was snapped out of her thoughts by Heinick's muttering.
"Hang on, what's this?" he asked, frowning as he peered down at the scope.
"Looks like… more Warp portals opening," muttered Vydros, annoyed, as she fiddled with the controls, making them more clear. Turning, she hit a buzzer on the console, summoning Lieutenant Commander Freson to their section. They already had one Marine fleet arrive. Who else could possibly be coming?
The Lieutenant Commander came quickly, boots clicking crisply on the deck, hands neatly clasped behind his back. Resplendent in gold lacing and epaulets, hairline neat with high cheekbones and a slight scowl on his face, Freson was the epitome and perfect stereotype of an Imperial Navy officer.
"What seems to be the trouble?" he asked with a slight frown.
"Warp portals opening at coordinates 7426," replied Vydros crisply, turning back from her station to report. Next to her, Markon and Hienick worked busily to clear up the picture and figure out precisely what was happening. Freson said something to another officer who had come over to their station; the officer in question nodded and spun to go report to the captain.
"Who exactly are these newcomers?" asked Freson.
"Checking," said Hienick smoothly.
In the distance, the Warp portals spat out a small fleet, made up clearly of all Imperial vessels. The fleet was made up of sixteen Imperial Navy cruisers and one frigate-sized ship made of scarlet and gold. The cruisers seemed to be more embellished than most, though they were still of the standard make. As for the frigate, Vydros and the other lieutenants, along with their commander, had no idea precisely what it was. It was gilded and ornate: certainly more so than any normal Imperial vessel, but from the distance they were at, no one aboard the Glorious Victory could make out any further details.
But it was not these ships that caught the eye or the scanners of the naval blockade of Earth. The seventeen warships were escorting four boxy unmarked Titan conveyors, each made of plain unburnished metal. There were no insignias, no gildings, and no markings of any sort to convey precisely what these ships were.
Yet they were certainly Titan conveyors. No other ships in the universe looked like that.
Lieutenant Vydros looked back up at Lieutenant Commander Freson, who was now joined by Captain Lysander. The two officers stared down icily at the sensor station, peering at the data readouts in front of them.
"What is this?" asked Lysander. His frown deepened, becoming more of a scowl. Combined with his scars, augmetics, and hooded face, he cut quite the intimidating figure.
"Not sure sir," replied Vydros crisply, trying not to let the attention of all her superior officers observing her show. "An Imperial fleet just transitioned in-system. From what I know, sir, we've received no notices of such a movement." Lysander nodded.
"Indeed. And it seems they would not be willing to tell us they were coming, doesn't it?" Another scowl. "Hail them. Ask for their purpose, and credentials," he ordered. Vyrdos nodded.
"At once, sir," she said. With deft hands, she inputted the captain's message and credentials into the cogitator, broadcasting it to the newly-arrived fleet.
"Who are these idiots, I presume, who think they can just stroll past the Navy and do as they please?" muttered the captain, speaking to himself more than anyone else. "I don't care if they're part of a bloody Titan Legion; there's protocol to be had. Besides, we have as much sway as them." No one said anything to this. Instead, they stood there for an indeterminable amount of time, waiting for the strange fleet's response to their message.
When it came, Lieutenant Commander Freson ducked down to look at it with a frown, blocking Vydros's line of sight. He took one look at what was on the screen and recoiled as if burned.
"Let them pass," he whispered, eyes wide, wild, and hollow. He wasn't even speaking to anyone in particular. "For Throne's sake, let them pass!" Captain Lysander stared down at his subordinate, a new frown on his face, this one more quizzical than annoyed. Vydros looked past him and to the station to see precisely what could make someone like Freson act like this, and immediately did a double take.
There was no response on the screen, only a single symbol. A double-headed eagle of gold, eyes wide open, wings splayed high into a V, dual thunderbolts clutched in its talons. Surrounding the outer edges were three simple words:
Magisterium Lex Ultima
Personal seal of the God-Emperor of Mankind.
Vydros stumbled back, eyes the size of saucers. Markon stepped forward to see what was the matter, but was beaten to the punch by Captain Lysander. He too peered at the symbol, then stumbled back, shock evident on his face. He looked wildly around the bridge.
"Let them pass!" he said, wild-eyed. "Let them pass…" His words trailed off as all of the naval officers simply stared at the symbol on the screen.
In the distance, the fleet neared Earth, and the Titan conveyors began the descent to the surface of the planet.
oOo
Aboard the Reliquaria, Grand Master Nakir paced as his fingers tapped restlessly on the hilt of his sword. The other members of the chapter's Inner Circle stood nearby, muttering amongst themselves. Much like their Chapter Master, many fidgeted with their weapons, frowning.
They were in the main congregation chamber of the Reliquaria, with its wide sweeping spaces and dark mosaic floors, showing ancient heroes of the Legion etched in the stone forever. Around them, flaming braziers and hooded stone statues surrounded them, throwing eerie reflections off the stained glass windows looking out into the void.
As the various members of the Consecrators' high command stood around, quietly speaking to themselves, the massive double door to the central chamber clanked upon with a huge grinding sound. Valtruvian, Master of the Forge, walked in, servo arm and mechadendrites twitching above his heavy armor. Nakir looked over as the others continued to speak.
Valtruvian walked to the slightly raised dais where Nakir stood, bowed to the Chapter Master, and began to fiddle with the holoprojector sitting there. Nakir looked over to the Master of the Forge with a frown.
This was the battle for Holy Terra, and Throne-dammit, Nakir would have the Consecrators deploy their full arsenal. However, the other members of the Inner Circle, cautious and suspicious as most of the sons of the Lion were, did not share his convictions.
Even now as Valtruvian fiddled with the holoprojector, the members of the Inner Circle's mutterings reached a pitch, then silenced. Nakir rolled his eyes unseen as he turned over to them, ready to address the topic they'd all been debating over the past day.
"My lord, while the chapter can and must deploy, I am… still apprehensive over deploying many of the chapter's… relics," said Seden, lord of the Ravenwing. A few of the Deathwing and Ravenwing Knights behind him nodded in assent. Master Oriel of the Deathwing looked slightly uncomfortable that many of his Knights were agreeing with the Ravenwing commander. Nakir sighed.
"This is a full-scale battle for the homeworld of humanity," he stressed in response. The Grand Master crossed his arms, annoyed. "We must deploy at full strength. And yes, we are not aiming to destroy Earth, unlike Thessia, and so we won't be using phosphex, phosphor, or Dreadwing formations, but the fact still remains that we must use whatever means we have at our disposal to turn the tide." Seden frowned. The Knights behind him muttered amongst themselves.
"I understand, my lord, but what if someone asks questions?" said Seden fearfully. "They will know we have access to the weapons of the Legion, including wargear that hasn't been seen since Old Night. They will look further into us, further into our chapter, and perhaps could even take our gear or find out about the Fallen." A chill hung in the air and the members of the Inner Circle fidgeted nervously at the mention of the Dark Angels' ancient shame.
Nakir sighed once more. That was what it came down to. The Dark Angels, and the Consecrators most of all, enjoyed their privacy. They did not like other Imperial, or, Lion forbid, Mechanicus, bodies scrutinizing them.
The issue was rather split. Nakir, Oriel, and the Master of Souls were for deploying the Consecrators' full might, whereas Seden, Valtruvian, and most of the Knights were firmly against. Nakir could order them around, of course, but no good leader simply just dismissed his subordinates' concerns. Besides, when they got back to their own galaxy, they would have to report to Supreme Grand Master Azrael. What the others were afraid of was the possible wrath of the Keeper of the Truth.
But Nakir was not thinking of the question: what would Azrael do? Instead, his mind was running through what would the Lion do?
To Nakir, the answer was simple. Their gene-father would have victory, no matter the cost.
"My lord, it is ready," said Valtruvian with a bow, snapping the Grand Master out of his thoughts. Nakir turned and advanced on the holoprojector even as the other members of the Inner Circle shuffled back into the shadows, still murmuring quietly.
"Are lords Dante and Shrike on time?" rumbled Nakir as he looked over the holoprojector, trying to find the right rune to activate the call. Valtruvian cleared his throat.
"Erm… that one, sir," he said, pointing to a prominent button on the projector's side. Nakir nodded gratefully and pressed it. "And I believe everyone is on schedule, my lord," continued the Master of the Forge as the holoprojector suddenly sprang to life.
Glowing shakily on the static projection field were two figures. Both Valtruvian and Nakir bowed respectfully as they appeared, the former backing out of the picture as the latter advanced.
The first wore armor of black and white, nearly slim in contrast to the normal armor of the Marines. He was helmetless, his face extraordinarily pale, even compared to Nakir. It was topped by a mop of solid, jet black hair. Even to the insular Consecrators, the man was instantly recognizable: Kayvaan Shrike, Shadow Master of the Raven Guard. Apart from the pallor of his skin and the solid blackness of his eyes, Nakir was struck by how utterly normal the man's face was. It was nothing like his own marked visage, or the countless heavy-set, scarred, and muscular faces of countless Marines across the Imperium. It was unassuming, and Nakir was beginning to think that might be its purpose.
The second figure borrowed his Primarch's face instead of his own. The Death Mask of Sanguinius stared down from above gilded golden armor, angelic jump pack wings sprouting from the armor's back. Lord Commander Dante stared impassively at the other two Chapter Masters, his golden mask utterly unreadable.
"Lord Dante, Lord Shrike," began Nakir politely, "I am honored by your presences," he continued with a small bow.
"And I both of yours," replied Shrike magnanimously. The Death Mask of Sanguinius flickered from Nakir to Shrike.
"Indeed. It is good to see and speak with you both," said Dante, voice floating clear and powerful even across the shaky connection. "As I and you both know, we're quite busy, so shall we get to it?" he suggested. There was no condensation or annoyance in Dante's tone; it was simply the voice of someone who had seen too much to be anything other than practical. Nakir couldn't help but approve.
"An excellent idea," replied Nakir. "Thessia has fallen. The Consecrators have arrived in full chapter force. Where would you like us to deploy?" he asked, getting to the heart of the matter. To the Grand Master's surprise, it was Shrike who answered.
"I'm sure you have familiarized yourself with the geography of this Terra," he began. Nakir nodded. He had pored over countless maps and the very latest battlefield updates on his journey from Thessia to Earth. He knew the intricacies of Terran geography as well as anyone from the planet itself; perhaps better, considering his augmented mind. "There have been major Dark Mechanicum breakouts throughout the globe. The Blood Angels are currently deployed in full chapter force in North America, alongside the border of Mexico and the United States to stop the largest of these pushes, coming from Vancouver. For our part, the Raven Guard are deployed throughout the globe, moving from trouble spot to trouble spot as we are needed. Our forces are stretched thin. That's where you come in."
"It would be best if the Consecrators split into two main forces for their deployment," said Dante, stepping forward and continuing where Shrike left off as the Shadow Master stood back respectfully. "There are few allied forces in Africa, and Marine reinforcements would be an extreme help in securing that continent; something we were unable to do before. You may choose what elements of your chapter you send there and where they are deployed, of course, but I suggest a north-central location, probably in Niger or Chad." Nakir inclined his head respectfully.
So, this was the way they were doing things. He was originally surprised when Dante, the Lord Commander of the crusade and by far the most senior of the three (and just in general, actually) had deferred to Shrike's tactical planning. Yet Shrike had given control of the conversion back to Dante, who in turn had allowed Nakir to do as he saw fit with the Consecrators. Certainly, they were suggesting where he deployed his men, and the Grand Master would end up deploying them where they had suggested (he trusted Dante and Shrike's reputation for strategy enough to listen), but the point remained he could refuse. He was an equal. They were a triumvirate of Marine commanders, and all of their opinions were welcome.
"The second part of the Consecrators's forces should go to Southeast Asia, to contain the Dark Mechanicum outbreak from Singapore," continued Dante. "That way, the Raven Guard can focus their operations more on containing enemy forces coming into Europe from London."
"An excellent suggestion, Lord Dante," said Nakir. "I'll look into what forces to send, and deploy in the sectors you and Lord Shrike have laid out." He looked over to the two other Chapter Masters. "Is there anything more?" he asked. Shrike cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Err… Why, yes, there is, as a matter of fact," he replied. Dante looked over to him sharply, death mask tilting curiously as if he wasn't expecting this. It put Nakir slightly on edge. "Now, let me preface this by saying it would be best if you heard me out in my entirety before coming to any conclusions or making… rash decisions."
Now that was a set of words that usually never preceded anything good.
"As I'm sure you know, the Raven Guard enjoys keeping its eyes and ears open at all times, always listening and watching to the galaxy around them." Nakir looked at Shrike carefully. The man's solid black eyes betrayed nothing. "There have been… how shall I phrase this… Certain… tidings coming from Thessia and North America. Reports of… strange and esoteric things happening." Nakir stiffed the same time Dante did. Neither Chapter Master moved, though they both had the same thought on their minds.
Oh, shit. He knew.
"Now, let me say that all Astartes chapters and all Astartes gene lines have their secrets," continued Shrike, black eyes suddenly displaying a wealth of humanity. "It is simply the nature of being Astartes. What the issue is, though, is that there are… outside elements that are always watching. Waiting. Judging. Hoping for us to fall as the traitors of the Heresy fell." Solid black eyes bored into Nakir and Dante. "We of the Raven Guard know our cousins are loyal and true, and are prepared to state without any shadow of a doubt that they have done nothing suspicious and upheld the letter and law of the Lex and Codex at all times." The gaze became even more intense. "This war must be won, by whatever means we have," he whispered. "And in what happens afterwards… None may argue with three different sources, all well renowned and trusted, claiming loyalty of the utmost."
Oh.
"Thank you, Lord Shrike," whispered Dante. Shrike nodded.
"It is my duty and pleasure, Lord Dante," he replied. He looked over to Nakir. "I believe that concludes things, unless Lord Nakir has something to say?" Nakir shook his head; a minute, small movement. Shrike winked at him. Nakir blinked. Hard. "Well, then, I must get back to the front. It has been a pleasure, my lords." With that, the hologram winked out. Nakir stared.
"My lord?" prompted Valtruvian, knocking Nakir out of his stupor. The Grand Master whirled around to face the Inner Circle.
"That settles it. Ready the chapter," he ordered. "Full gear, full weapons, full deployment."
"But… my lord!" protested one of the Ravenwing Knights. Nakir frowned at the man in question. "What if they see? What if they ask questions about how we got so ancient of armor, or-"
"Did you not hear?" demanded Nakir. "Shadow Master Shrike, and Lord Dante along with him, are willing to state that nothing is out of the ordinary among all our chapters, and I will be attesting the same. We all have our secrets, and this is a war for the survival of Man and the elimination of one of the most foul and ancient of traitors that must be won. Our gene-father would demand nothing less if he were here." The Knight stepped backward, cowed.
"Very well, my lord. It shall be as you say." Oriel bowed. Spinning, he turned towards the door and flicked his wrist in a follow me motion. "Deathwing, to me! Suit up, for we have enemies of the Imperium and Lion to kill."
"Seden, Yyris, ready your warriors to split between our two deployment zones," ordered Nakir. The Lord of the Ravenwing and the Master of Souls nodded and bowed, turning to prepare. Their retinues followed them out the door. "As for you, Valtruvian…" Nakir turned to the Master of the Forge. "Awaken the Ancients… and open the Ironwing vaults aboard the Ferrum Letum."
Valtruvian, who had nodded his agreement to the first, turned and stopped dead at the second command.
"My… my, my lord, we can… we possibly cannot… if… we…" Valtruvian's face was extraordinarily pale. He gave the impression that he was not hyperventilating, per say, but rather he would be hyperventilating if the ability to do so hadn't been bred out of him.
"This is a battle that must be won," rumbled Nakir. "By any means necessary."
"My lord," said Valtruvian in what was almost a whimper, "We cannot open the Ironwing vaults," he pleaded. "What is stored there is not merely… It… it is damnation itself… If Lords Shrike or Dante got even a whiff of this, they would pull their protection immediately, and for good reason. Not to mention what would happen if the Mechanicus found out…"
"I am Grand Master of the Consecrators," said Nakir with finality. "My predecessor was given the honor and burden of this duty, and his predecessor before him, all the way up to our father himself, and Grandmaster Thrane before even him. This power and this burden was granted to us because we are the bringers of darkness, the original Angels of Death, the First Legion, and to us falls the task of the enemy's total annihilation… by any means. And now, we require the power to break the most ancient and powerful of traitors. Thus, you must open the vaults aboard the Ferrum Letum." Valtruvian swallowed and nodded shakily.
"Request…" He swallowed again. "Request that my objection be noted in writing in your report to Supreme Grand Master Azrael." Nakir and the other remaining members of the Consecrators in the chamber stopped dead and turned to the Master of the Forge.
To object to a command decision among the Adeptus Astartes was rare. In many chapters, it was enough to be shunned or to be suspicious of the individual. To request that your objection be written down in report was simply unheard of. Anywhere else, Valtruvian would have been demoted to a rank-and-file brother in a battle company instantly.
However, considering exactly what Nakir was asking him to do…
"Granted," replied the Grand Master with a nod. Valtruvian's eyes silently whispered thank you. Nakir nodded again in reply. "As for the rest of you, go forth and prepare for war! For the Lion and Terra!"
oOo
The loyal skitarii of Mars, in their endless, red-robed multitudes, marched against their traitorous brethren. The armies of the Machine God were out in their entirety to fight and slay the most hideous and ancient of traitors; those who had destroyed and devastated Mars during the Heresy. No quarter was asked for on either side; none would be given. It was kill or be killed in what would become the most bloody battle of the entire Reaper War.
On the side of the good, the stalwart, the loyal and the virtuous stood tall and proud. They were led by Legio Ignatum, their vengeance against their oldest and most hated of rivals still unquenched. There were the seemingly infinite numbers of the Legiones Skitarii, backed by the robots of the Legio Cybernetica. Then, of course, supporting the Titans were the Knights of the Questor Mechanicus: House Taranis of Mars and House Krast of Chrysis. Together, they represented one of the most fearsome arrays of Mechanicus firepower ever put together.
But still, there was more. The most feared and powerful branch of the Adeptus Mechanicus (save the Collegia Titanica) had given their expertise to the ground war, and were ready to bring the Omnissiah's wrath to the traitors.
Across the fields and plains of what had been the southern United States and parts of northern Mexico, the Titans, gods of the battlefield, slugged it out with each other. Mortis against Ignatum, traitor against loyalist, two branches of the ancient Triad against each other in the greatest engine war seen since the Heresy.
There was no clear winner in sight. It was a brutal, protracted, bloody and violent battle, with god-engines that had stood for millennia dropping like flies, yet still one side could not gain an upper hand against the other.
But today things would change. Both sides were desperate to break the deadlock. While increasingly more ground forces were being funneled into the battle, it would not be enough. The numbers of the skitarii on both sides simply added to the size of the fight, not the end result. But now both were bringing new power to the fight: the Dark Mechanicum even more Titans upgraded by the infamous Ardim Protos, and the Adeptus Mechanicus the equally-infamous Ordo Reductor and Centurio Ordinatus.
Masters of extraordinarily powerful weapons of a bygone age, Ordo Reductor were the masters of taking down threats that seemingly no one else could. The bigger they were, the harder they fell, so the saying went, and Ordo Reductor fully subscribed to this belief.
For all this time, they had been hard at work creating a legendary machine of the Centurio Ordinatus, known only as an Ordinatii. These massive machines, all completely unique, were huge mobile weapons of mass destruction created or shipped for a specific campaign.
This one was no different. The Magi of the Ordo had been laboring over it for a long time alongside, strangely enough, a few Alliance engineers. There had been much speculation at why a notoriously secretive and prickly sub-section of the notoriously secretive and prickly Adeptus Mechanicus was working with Alliance engineers, of all things, but such questions would be put to rest today.
Behind the skitarii legions, the heavily armored and augmented Thallaxii shock troops of the Ordo Reductor advanced. Created exclusively by the Ordo, they were rarely-seen soldiers of terrifying potency and creation. The Thallaxii used a divergent form of power armor technology known as the Lorica Thallax. Perhaps more sinisterly, the heavy armor was surgically bound to the wearer's body; more an exoskeleton than true armor. Indeed, many Thallaxii were only brains and skulls and spinal columns taken from their biological bodies and implanted into their Lorica Thallax.
Each had plasma reactor cores in their armor, which fueled their movement and weapons. True to the form of their Ordo, each had a fearsome array of ancient technologies at their disposal. Today, they would fight alongside their skitarii brethren to rid the galaxy of traitors.
Behind, the ground seemed to vibrate, rumbling and shaking as if the treads of a thousand tanks were coming forward. This was the miracle machine the Magi of the Ordo had been laboring over for so long.
After the Thallaxii passed through, far behind the soldiers of the Omnissiah so as not to run any of them over or hurt them in the blast, came the most utterly monstrous cannon anyone on Earth had ever seen.
It was mounted on a series of treads, six in total with three massive sets on each side. So large was the gun that two long sets of tracks wouldn't do: multiple were needed.
The gun itself was a thing of beauty. A huge, sleek affair made of shining silvery metal, it was nearly 100 meters long, with lustrous vents and glowing heating coils lining the length of the barrel. It sat squat upon an armored mount, the boxy body of metal armor designed to dissipate heat and reflect incoming fire.
The armored mount of the gun was built into the moving chassis on treads. The combined mount housed the complex and powerful interior mechanisms of the gun, while the box-like armored mount atop the chassis housed the loading mechanism, weapon controls, and ammunition storage.
All servants of the Machine God, and what few Alliance personnel there were to bear witness, looked up in awe as the mammoth weapon rolled past. Fingers unconsciously made the sign of the Cogwheel as mouths moved in binharic prayers to the glory of the Omnissiah. The Thallaxii and skitarii cohorts moved forward, enraptured, confident that the greatest display of the Omnissiah's power was now moving with them.
For this was Ordinatus Earth, the freshly-made Ordinatus engine for the campaign to liberate this world. The Magi of the Ordo Reductor had labored long and toiled hard, and this was the result.
Ordinatus Earth was a new weapon: a one-of-a-kind piece. It was a powerful ground-deployed mass accelerator cannon, but with a twist. The Priests of the Ordo had figured out a way to infuse the gun and its ammunition with plasma, making it that much more deadly. While they had grumbled over the inclusion of the Alliance engineers, the latter group was needed for their expertise in mass accelerator weaponry. (In all reality, Ordo Reductor was so jealous of their secrets that the Alliance personnel had merely given them the principles behind mass accelerated weaponry, and did no real work on Ordinatus Earth itself. Such were the ways of the Mechanicus.)
In the distance, the skitarii legions came into contact with their twisted and dark counterparts as the Ordinatus engine ground to a halt. Skitarii fights were brutal and deadly; some even said they surpassed those of Space Marines vs. Space Marines. However, what would have been the main attraction to many a battle was simply an afterthought here.
Farther to the right, in the distance, flashes of bright light and the screaming roars of sirens and screeching metal marked the Titan duel between Ignatum and Mortis. There was no clear winner yet- both sides were evenly matched. Ordo Reductor hoped to break that stalemate today and end the reign of the Dark Mechanicum on Earth.
As Ordinatus Earth stopped, Tech-Priests and servitors scurried forth, clambering over the gun mount like bees in a hive. Heating coils along the weapon's barrel glowed to life as plasma infusion pumped along its length. A Priest fussed over the firing controls, daubing them in sacred oil and muttering binharic benedictions to the Machine God's glory. Servitors cranked the weapon's elevation and angle on the orders of another Tech-Priest, while others imputed the sequence to load the massive gun.
The Tech-Priest given the singular honor of commanding Ordinatus Earth, one Fyroc Indectus, peered out through the noosphere and into the engine battle raging in the distance. He could not make out precisely what was happening nor who was winning, but it was not his place or purpose to do so. He was to assist Legio Ignatum, one of the greatest glories of the Machine God, with yet another one of the Machine God's blessings.
Through the smoke and haze, Indectus could make out a cohort of Legio Mortis engines advancing toward Ignatum's lines. They were all blasting away with wanton abandon, seeking to soften up the Legion of Mars before they charged into the fray. Indectus noted one of the Reavers swinging wide to secure Mortis's far left flank. He nodded to himself.
Target acquired.
"Down three degrees!" he ordered. The servitors at the alignment controls jumped into action, swiftly carrying out his orders. The other Tech-Priests checked and rechecked the mechanisms of the weapon, making certain that everything was in perfect working order.
"Ordinatus locked and loaded, my lord!" called another Tech-Priest. Behind his metal faceplate, Indectus grinned with glee. He gave the command.
"Fire!"
A huge whine sounded through the air, echoing through the nearby plains. The heating coils along the barrel of Ordinatus Earth glowed. With an almighty CRACK that echoed for kilometers around, the engine fired. Its recoil shook the entire platform and caused dust to swirl as if shaken by a powerful wind. The Tech-Priests fought to keep their robes in place.
In the distance, the Mortis Reaver Titan exploded into a ball of fire and ruptured plasma as it was instantly obliterated by a munition many times faster than the speed of sound. The Tech-Priests looked on with undisguised glee at their creation at work. One even rubbed her mechadendrites together excitedly.
Truly, the Omnissiah blessed.
oOo
"My lord! Ordinatus engine spotted along our right flank!" came the slightly hysterical call over Dies Irae's interior vox. In his seat, Princeps Turnet frowned (as much as sentient fleshy ooze could physically frown). Peering out through Irae's powerful systems, he turned and looked over the left flank. Black Consul had been instantly destroyed by an utterly massive behemoth of a cannon behind skitarii and Thallaxii lines. Turnet snarled. Damn Reductor! They should have sided with the Warmaster!
"All engines, Ordinatus engine sighted to our right flank behind enemy lines. All engines swivel right. Put Legio Ignatum between us and the Ordinatus. They won't fire on their own engines," commanded Turnet over the Legion's wide-band frequency.
Turnet turned his attention back to Legio Ignatum. They had been fighting to a stalemate for a while, and now the time was right. The arrival of the Ordinatus engine had been a blessing in disguise. With Mortis swinging right, they could overwhelm Ignatum's flank. But, as Turnet had planned from the beginning, Diea Irae would now move up with a few other hand picked Titans and break Ignatum's center, smashing through them, turning their flanks, and annihilating everything within. After that, the Ordinatus could be dealt with. Such machines were ponderously slow. Perhaps they could capture it?
Turnet put such thoughts to the side. Right now, he had a battle to win, and win it he would. For they were Legio Mortis, the Death's Heads, and they would bring the false Mechanicum and the servants of the Corpse Emperor to their knees this day.
oOo
Black drop pods fell throughout the plains and jungles of northern Thailand and south-central Laos. Screaming missiles had come before them, blanketing the ground in an all-consuming bombardment. Stormtalon gunships streaked across the sky, hammering through ranks of Reaper and Mechanicum monstrosities. Bolter shells, fired in the hundreds of thousands, blasted apart hideous beasts until nothing remained besides pieces of metal and the stains of their corrupted blood.
Everything had been calm but a moment ago. The skitarii beneath, in their filthy, corrupted multitudes, had been moving onward at the behest of their dark masters, hungry for blood. No enemies of Lord Hal were in sight, just the lush green expanses of the flora of Southeast Asia. Now they chittered and screamed as they died, blown apart by orbital missiles and gunship weaponry alike.
The drop pods of the Consecrators slammed to earth only moments after the bombardment abated, giving their enemies on the ground no respite and no time to recover. Marines burst forth a second later, bolters already up and firing. Bright blue flashes of plasma interspersed with the streaks of bolter shells, impacting against the largest and most powerful of enemy creatures, their wielders aiming sure and true with decades, if not centuries, of practice.
More gunships roared overhead even as the Deathwing Terminators, led by Master Oriel himself, teleported in with massive cracks of displacing air. The Deathwing wasted no time in moving up to the center of the Consecrator line, engaging the brunt of Dark skitarii forces with the might of their nigh-invincible Cataphractii armor.
Firewing Enigmatii Marines jumped from Stormhawks flying high above, their jump packs flaring as they sped through the skies to take the enemy's flanks. More gunships landed, disgorging even more Marines into the fray.
The campaign for Southeast Asia was reaching a turning point with the arrival of the Consecrators. They had informed the Alliance Marines, Mechanicus skitarii, and Guard forces (to the complete surprise of all three groups) of their plans to secure the front and push back the forces of the Dark Mechanicum.
It was simple enough. The Guard and Alliance would reposition their forces to launch a counter-attack through Myanmar, while whatever other forces could be spare would move in a general advance through northern Vietnam and Laos. The Consecrators would deploy in full shock-and-awe style, smash through the Dark Mechanicum right flank in the latter two countries, and, followed by the allies, would wrap up the left flank and seal the Malaysian Peninsula. Simple enough, and if it worked, that would be one of three major Dark Mechanicum cities contained.
The Consecrators in the Asian theater were led by Master Oriel of the Deathwing, alongside Yyris, Master of Souls, and Master Ivaitien of the Firewing. Grand Master Nakir and the other commanders of the Inner Circle were leading the African campaign. Oriel was honored to be chosen, though it was less of a matter of his skills and more that he was the most senior commander not in the African campaign.
As he advanced, The Death of Worlds unsheathed and held at the ready, Oriel heard the scream of more incoming drop pods. He turned and craned his head upward as far as he could, limited by the bulk of his armor, as he casually slashed through a corrupted skitarii with his massive blade.
The drop pods were not the typical stubby cone-like affairs usually found among Marine chapters, but rather huge bricks made of specially-reinforced adamantium. Oriel's keen eyes could pick out a few normal pods interspersed with the larger, stranger models. The two types, and those within, were paired, he knew.
Oriel also knew what was in the larger pods. He knew that the Ironwing Techmarines had everything in hand, and that they had shut down protocols and kill switches at the ready. He only hoped it would be enough. Even with the protocols in place, the last time these had been deployed was under the direct supervision of the Lion himself.
The incoming pods landed with earth-shattering crashes of such power it nearly bowed over the Cataphractii-clad Terminators. The Consecrators opened wide, the Deathwing Knights at the center redoubling their efforts as they pushed the skitarii apart in the center. The formation swung open like a gate, making way for the newly-arrived Ironwing formation to take the center of the field from the Deathwing.
The Techmarines hustled out of their drop pods, jogging towards the heavier boxes, ignoring everything else going on around them. The larger, boxier specialized drop pods were sealed; triple barred and locked, only able to be opened by the Techmarines of the Ironwing.
Said Techmarines did so now, throwing back the adamantium bars and digitally unlocking the cages. They then stepped back, hands poised over wrist-mounted switches, weapons and mechadendrites agitatedly ready.
From the massive, prison-like pods, the strangest creatures Oriel had ever seen burst forth. They looked like the cybernetica battle automatons of the Mechanicus, yet something was… different.
For one, they looked nothing like any of the various types of automata used by the Legio Cybernetica. While there were many different versions of robots used by the Mechanicus besides the standard Kastelan, these were not any of the older, more powerful variants found in the arsenals of the Machine God deployed to Earth.
For another, they were fast. There were no plodding steps, no methodical advances, no careful, Tech-Priest-controlled movements. Instead, the automata advanced wildly, hungrily, on powerful and churning spider-like legs into the fray.
Last, and certainly the most frightening, were the looks of the automata. Their torsos were broad, powerful, and heavily armored. Their heads were broad cylinders mounted through and atop their torsos, with multitudes of optics taking in the world around them as multitudes of powerful legs churned beneath them. Multitudes of esoteric and ancient weapons, some not seen since the Dark Age, poked out from arms and specialized ports. Each one of these automata was slightly different; some had heads, made of metal and carved into terrifying skull-like leers mounted in the center of the armored torsos. Others walked on two legs, with blank metal sheets for faces, but they all shared the same speed and murderous, terrible rage. In fact, the emotions present on the automatons (if it could be said they had emotions) looked far too similar to the hungry, murderous visages of the corrupted skitarii. Yet, somehow, the robotic feelings of these newcomers ran deeper than simple hunger or rage at the behest of controlling masters. There was something else there.
Master Oriel knew precisely what these things were. He did not like them, he did not necessarily agree with Nakir's decision to unleash them, but he understood their sheer murderous power would help to annihilate the enemy and secure the continent.
As they advanced, the automata tore into the Dark Mechanicum lines, pulse cannons, rad weapons, phosphex launchers, and graviton projectors blasting away. Their arms lashed out, impaling and slashing, the automata themselves cackling and shivering with murderous glee and seething, hungry rage as corrupted blood and oil splashed against their chassis.
They were maelstroms of churning legs and slashing claws. Gouts of arcane flame, radiation blasts, and precision nerve shredders danced wildly across the battlefield. The automata took vicious and perverse delight in the carnage they wrecked against the Dark skitarii, driving themselves further and further into the frenzied slaughter, seeking only to destroy.
Oriel kept the Knights and other brothers of the Consecrators as far away from the automata as possible. He knew from the Techmarines that the terrible machines sought to annihilate whatever was closest to them, with little regard to friend or foe. In fact, all were foes, regardless of side, and Oriel knew why. The common Marines might not have, told that these were specialized Ironwing constructs and to not ask questions, but the Master of the Deathwing was better informed.
These murderous automata were dully called "Excindio-class Battle Automata". The name did not do them justice, nor aptly describe what they truly were.
It was only known to the Dark Angels Legion and the Emperor Himself what they truly were. They were not the clumsy automata of Mars, nor were they based upon the long-suppressed technological prowess of the Imperium. Far from it.
Each surviving Excindio was the tortured, bound, and neutered remains of a Dark Age artificial intelligence, the very last of the dreaded Silica Animus chained by the Emperor to the service of Mankind. Representing the very worst horrors of Old Night and the Unification Wars, the Excindios were Abominable Intelligences forced into the bodies of Dark Age battle constructs, their once-limitless intelligence severed by the Emperor's own hand. Even though they had been blinded, deafened, crippled, and muted, they still represented an opponent of terrifying prowess and horrifying speed and skill. Indeed, as Oriel watched, they tore through the Dark Mechanicum line, clearing the way for the Deathwing Knights and the other Marines as they advanced ever-onward into the slaughter.
After the Heresy and the disappearance of the Lion, the Excindios and their awful truth were passed to the Consecrators alongside the most powerful of the First Legion's weaponry. Now they would serve their new masters on the battlefield for the first time; their first deployment since the Great Crusade.
Oriel only hoped the Ironwing could keep them under control for long enough to complete their mission on Earth.
oOo
Commander John Shepard stared numbly at his omni-tool. Next to him, Tali leaned her head on his shoulder. She was crying, he knew, for there were tears streaking softly down her face, making his shoulder damp, but she made no sound while doing so. He couldn't help but give a soft and strangled smile at the thought: at least she could keep her mask off within the confines of their cabin.
But the thought of happiness was squarely quashed when he looked back down at the messages splayed before him.
…regret to inform you that Urdnot Wrex… KIA… Tuchanka destroyed by Dark Mechanicum superweapon…
…regret to inform you that Urdnot Grunt… KIA…
..regret to inform you that Samara, Asari Justicar… KIA defending the Temple of Athame… Thessia destroyed by Dark Mechanicum superweapon…
…regret to inform you that Mordin Solus… found dead in STG facility alongside slaughtered guards… intentions unknown…
…regret to inform you that Barzov, Leonid M., Major, N7… KIA while defending Admiral Anderson alongside his N7 and Kasrkin bodyguard… Informing you as one of the few surviving N7's…
…regret to inform you that the health of Thane Krios is worsening… Likely little time left… Huerta Hospital assures you that they are doing everything they can…
…regret to inform you that the battle for Palaven is going poorly, and Praetor Vakarian and Generals Strasis and Adelpuinis must return to defend our homeworld… It's been an honor to serve with you, Commander… Your's Truly, Primarch Fedorian…
Regret to inform you…
Regret to inform you…
Regret to inform you…
Regret to inform you…
The words pounded over and over through Shepard's mind. They were the words that no one ever wanted to hear, and yet here he was. Over, and over, and over and over again. We regret to inform you that everyone you know is dead or leaving, possibly forever.
The arm around his back tightened- Tali pulling him closer for her to lean on. His hand reached out to squeeze hers, and he turned to press their foreheads together softly. She leaned into the contact, grateful for his warmth.
At least he had her. He would always have her, and he knew she knew she would always have him.
With a great shuddering breath, she pulled back and wiped the tears from her eyes. (They were beautiful eyes: even after years of looking at them Shepard still found himself lost in them.)
"So many people, so many of our friends… gone," she whispered. In response, Shepard kissed her.
"I know," he said sadly. He held her closer. Somehow, everything around them, all the death, all the misery, all the pain, seemed to melt away if only for a time when she was there in his arms and he in hers. "But it'll be okay in the end. It'll be okay," he whispered in her ear. "I'm here for you, and you're here for me. That's all I need." She smiled at him, and it seemed as if then everything would be all right.
Of course, it was not precisely to be, as there was still a war on. Shepard and Tali both looked down as the terminal in front of them beeped. Sighing, Shepard disentangled himself from Tali to receive the message.
"Yes?" he asked. In front of him, the ragged figure of Admiral Anderson stared tiredly.
"Shepard, it's good to see you," began the Admiral. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but we are in need of the Normandy's crew. You and the ground team are to deploy to these coordinates and meet up with another team there. Lord Commander Dante has requested your presence on the battlefield to secure part of the Angels' flank."
Shepard swallowed. So far, he and the Normandy's crew had been on Earth, and it had indeed been bad, but this was a whole new level. They would be deploying to northern Mexico and push forward in the southern United States, right into the heart of where the most massive battle in galactic history was raging. True, they would not be near the Titan fight, but being where the Blood Angels had deployed in full chapter force was certainly no picnic. Apparently it was on a flank too, and Dante had wanted the crew of the Normandy… Shepard shuddered. Whatever they were going in to, it felt a lot like the suicide mission to the Collector Base. They had Alpha Primus there, which didn't make it so bad, but even though they had a full chapter of Marines here Shepard still felt a twinge of worry deep in his bones. Some sixth sense told him this wouldn't be good.
"I'll alert the crew," replied Shepard, running his hands roughly over his face. Anderson nodded. He seemed like he'd lost weight since Shepard last saw him.
"Good. We've lost a lot of people in this war already. Try and keep yourself safe, and give my regards to Tali," he sighed. "Anderson out." The hologram faded away. Shepard turned back to his wife. He was once more met with those beautiful silver eyes, radiating concern.
"Looks like we have a job to do," sighed Shepard. Wordlessly, Tali nodded as they began to get ready.
oOo
The air was extraordinarily dry as the Normandy's shuttle landed in the swirling dust of some random location in northern Mexico. The shuttle touched down with a whine, its element zero engines flaring. The doors opened swiftly, and one of the most famous and dangerous teams in the history of the galaxy stepped out.
Shepard led the way, his hellgun cradled casually in his arms, black N7 armor in place. He was followed, as always, by Tali, her enviro suit a beautiful and colorful contrast to the blandness of the desert around them. Both felt a pang of emptiness as the third slot next to them, which was always filled by Garrus, was taken up by the stern, black-armored form of Carnius Kevral. It was too bad Garrus had to be taken; had to go back to Palaven to complete his duty with Camivia, but such was the nature of being a soldier. Despite not having their best friend and typical teammate with them, Kevral was no slouch. He would make up for the gap. Hopefully.
Next were the other members of the ground team: Kasumi, in her black hood and catsuit, Zaeed, with his hellgun, grenades, heavy armor, and massive assortment of weapons were next. Swiftly following were Robert, with his typical Alliance Marine attire and weapons, and Solana, with her Hierarchy equipment.
Shepard looked back. The team seemed pitifully small. The crew of the original Normandy was gone and dead, the crew of the second spread out throughout the galaxy, and the third installment he had so recently was broken. Wrex and Grunt were gone along with Samara and Mordin. Dimitri the Ruststalker had given his life during the evacuation of Earth. The Turians who had fought with him in this war had returned to their homeworld. Now it was only him, his wife, a thief, a mercenary, an Alliance Marine, his best friend's sister, and an Inquisitorial Stormtrooper. It felt… lonely. He looked down at Tali.
Maybe not.
In front of him, standing in the swirling dust, were three full platoon's worth of Imperial Stormtroopers. He heard a few of his crew murmuring behind him. He frowned behind his helmet. This was more people than he'd ever led or fought beside in his entire career. It was a strange thought, considering the numbers of this war, and Shepard almost laughed at the thought, but it was true nevertheless.
The Stormtroopers were standing around, postures relaxed but ready. The leaders from each group stepped forward to meet the newcomers from the Normandy as Shepard walked towards them.
Two wore the drab olive green of Cadia, their carapace armor and more advanced weapons marking them as Kasrkin. The third wore extremely dark grey armor, tinged with blue. His helmet was blood red, and upon his shoulder was a red triangle inside a white border, followed by another red triangle. Shepard did not know the symbol, but through the process of elimination he could easily tell what organization this individual belonged to.
The 43rd Iotan Dragons were the only non-Kasrkin, Guard-aligned, or Inquisitorial Stormtrooper outfit operating in this galaxy. Shepard guessed this individual had to come from that organization, though he knew little of it or how it operated in the grand scheme of things.
"Commander Shepard, I'm Lieutenant Gidius," said the first Kasrkin officer, voice polite and cultured. He took off his helmet, revealing a mop of brown hair, and held out his hand. Shepard took it. The next Kasrkin shook his hand as well, introducing himself as Lieutenant Tyberius, though he disdained to take off his helmet. The third officer of the Iotan Dragons followed suit, introducing herself as Lieutenant Abrigal. Shepard nodded, introduced his crew, and moved over to the makeshift camp the Stormtroopers had set up.
Gidius, seemingly the de-facto leader of the three, pointed to a spot on a huge furled out map. It was a local tactical map, displaying everything a soldier might need to know about the surrounding area. It was odd to see such a thing drawn out on paper instead of a holographic projection, but Shepard dismissed the thought as he peered down.
"We're here," said Gidius, stabbing his finger at a point. "The Blood Angel's Fifth Company is here," he stabbed at a different point, "And we're to move up to support them." He looked around. "We'll be updated on the direct tactical situation when we get there by the captain of Fifth Company. Any questions?" he asked, looking around. Shepard shook his head. The other lieutenants remained quiet, their silence their answer. "Good," said Gidius. "Let's get to it then."
oOo
Ever since the arrival of the small fleet bearing Magisterium Lex Ultima, the bridge crew of Glorious Victory had been in a daze. How… who, what…? How was that possible? What was that fleet? Who did the Titan transports belong to? Mars? They didn't have the cog or symbol of Legio Ignatum on them. Who, then? Why did they bear the Emperor's own sigil?
Everyone went about their tasks silently, methodically, with robotic precision, as their minds all pondered the strange question of the newly arrived fleet. The Consecrators had been put out of their minds; even the war below for the homeworld of humanity took second place to Magisterium Lex Ultima itself. What did the forces of the Imperial Throne have to do here? They were not Custodes, were they?
No: the Custodes would have announced themselves. Probably. No one aboard had ever met them, of course, but it seemed on-par for the bodyguard of the Emperor to say they were coming.
Then who? Who were these newcomers? What were they doing here?
No one dared ask, for if the bearers of Magisterium Lex Ultima did not want to announce their intentions, then it was for damn sure that no one would ask. This was a secret kept by the Throne itself, and no one in the naval blockade would dare break it.
Vydros and the other lieutenants' musings were such that they did not notice their consoles beeping until the high, repetitive sound had been going on for a few seconds. Hurriedly, Vydros looked down at what the trouble was. Her eyes snapped back up, trying to find Lieutenant Commander Freson. When they did, she quickly motioned him forward .
"Sir! We have readings for a Warp transition coming in!" she said as the Lieutenant Commander hurried to her station.
"What now?" he moaned, right hand coming to rub at his forehead. "We first have Space Marines coming, then something bearing Magisterium Lex Ultima. What else could possibly be showing up today?"
"It looks like… just one Warp portal," said Heinick crisply. The Lieutenant peered over his readout before his eyes suddenly snapped up with alarm. "It's… it's opening inside fleet parameters!" Freson whirled around to the Captain.
"Captain! Warp portal opening within blockade parameters!" he called out powerful and clear above the background noise of the bridge.
"Battle stations!" roared the Captain in reply. The bridge exploded into activity.
"General quarters, general quarters, all hands man your battle stations!"
Outside the Glorious Victory, the unholy, gut-churning unreality of a Warp portal opened directly next to the fleet. Around it, the various ships of the Alliance and Imperial Navies sprang into confused action, their massive, powerful engines roaring to life as gun batteries swiveled in place.
"Throne of Terra, that thing is huge!" remarked Freson, eyes bulging. Vydros had to agree with him. The Warp portal was one of the largest she'd ever seen, even bigger than Imperial Wrath, flagship of the fleet and command of Lord Admiral Stilicho. She was sure the Navigators of the fleet were probably going nuts in their hidey-holes over the sheer amount of raw Warp power bleeding through the fabric of space. Whatever this was, it was certainly not good.
"Do we have any more incoming fleets?" muttered Markon. "I mean, with the things we've been seeing today this could be anything."
"Well, whoever it is, if it's a friendly, they certainly didn't tell us they were coming," replied Heinick. The portal crackled menacingly. "I don't think it's friendly."
Without warning, the largest and most viscerally terrifying starship Vydros had ever seen shot from the portal. At least thirty five kilometers from bow to stern, it was a filthy, horrendous and twisted black. Its sides were coated with blood, rust, pus, oil, and seemingly dozens of other less-identifiable substances. Towers and crenulations rose from the central mass of the vessel seemingly at random, all dismal and disgusting. Atop the mammoth starship was an utterly behemoth cannon, coming to nearly at least two kilometers in length.
Upon the prow, and near the stern on both the port and starboard, was the same identifying symbol: one half a twisted and scarred human face, ruined with wires and tubes, with sunken and hollow eyes; the other half a human skull. Surrounding this halved sigil was an eight-pointed star. The symbol of the Dark Mechanicus.
There was only one vessel in this galaxy or any other that looked like this: Olympus Mons, flagship of Arch-Heretek Kelbor-Hal.
Vydros watched in awed horror as the Olympus sped forward, massive engines powering it through the void. Gun turrets powered up and swiveled, tracking targets through the void.
The Olympus had cut through the center of the fleet like a knife through warm butter. Around it, ships desperately took evasive action or jockeyed for position. Behind Vydros, the captain screamed out orders as alarm klaxons blaired. It was pure chaos.
From off the Victory's starboard, the Imperial Wrath, flagship of the fleet, raced forward. The most powerful naval vessel here, it was one of the few that, with the support of the other battleships, might have a chance at fighting the Olympus.
An Alliance dreadnought, tiny in comparison to the size of the titans around it, fired its main weapon. The mass accelerated slug bounced harmlessly off the void shields of Hal flagship, barely even causing them to flicker. The Olympus ignored the dreadnought. Instead, the mammoth cannon mounted atop the came to life with a wail of unreality that even the non-psychic bridge crew of the Glorious Victory could hear. It turned, far faster than Vydros thought such a thing should be able to turn, and pointed directly at Imperial Wrath.
Even if the Wrath had wanted to turn out of the Olympus's line of fire, it could not. The space around it was too crowded, and there was simply no time to do so. Instead, it sped head-on towards the Olympus, seeking to close the distance and get beneath the terrifying cannon's line of fire.
It was not to be. With crimson energy crackling along the length of its barrel, the massive gun fired. A beam of pure red shot forth, coming end-to-end from the cannon's mouth to impact the Imperial Wrath. The mighty battleship buckled, then imploded with a roar. Ever soul aboard, including Lord Admiral Stilicho, died in the span of a heartbeat. There were no survivors.
oOo
"Turn to port 110 degrees!" ordered Archmagos Belisarius Cawl. The bridge of the Serendipity was in controlled chaos. The emergency lighting had turned on at the orders of the Archmagos to save power for the engines and guns. Alarms announcing the arrival of the Olympus still rang clear and true.
The Archmagos himself gripped the edge of the railing overlooking the main portion of the bridge. His iron grip was starting to bend the metal, so intense was his concentration. Behind him stood Alpha Primus. The gray-armored Marine stood silently, bolter still in hand, ready to carry out his master's orders at a moment's notice.
Around them, the crew of the Serendipity swiftly and silently carried out Cawl's commands. The huge ark mechanicus, in Earth's orbit ever since the reconquest of the planet, swung about to engage broadside to broadside with the Olympus Mons. Behind Imperial Wrath, Serendipity was probably the only ship powerful enough to engage the Olympus with any hope of victory.
Besides, the wily Archmagos had a few tricks up his sleeve that mere Admirals of the Imperial Navy did not.
"We are in position, my lord, and await your orders," droned the captain of the Serendipity. Cawl grinned feral behind his faceplate. As he looked out onto the mass of the Olympus Mons hanging to the Serendipity's port, he suddenly realized that he wanted this. Now was his chance for vengeance, ten thousand years overdue, against the man who had ruined the Mechanicum, torn apart Mars, and convinced so many of his friends to serve Chaos.
"Prep the nova cannon," he ordered, an edge in his voice no one had ever heard. Kelbor-Hal would fall today, or Cawl would die trying.
The massive gun on the center of the Serendipity's port broadside clanked as it moved the few meters necessary to properly aim at the floating mass theat was the Olympus. Deep within the ark mechanicus's bowls, servitor crews labored to load a massive plasma shell into the weapon's breech. With a great grinding and clanging (and a few crushed servitors in the process), the shell was put into place and the breech of the weapon closed.
"My lord, nova cannon loaded and ready," informed the captain. "However, I cannot recommend firing it at this range." The destructive power of nova cannons was such that they were only used at long range. If fired point-blank, the blast might encompass the ship firing the weapon.
"Fire anyway!" snapped Cawl, eyes glowering. "If we give that main gun enough time to recharge, we're dead!" The captain nodded in reply.
"Very well, my lord." He turned to the Priest manning the weapon systems. "Fire the nova cannon!"
As the two ships closed, their weapons peppered each other. Lance batteries and macro cannons blazed through the void; enough power to obliterate a smaller vessel several times over. However, the power simply splashed harmlessly off both warship's void shields. All that would change in a moment.
With a roar, the Serendipity's port nova cannon fired. Its projectile sped at nearly the speed of light, so quickly that to any outside overserver, it instantaneously impacted the side of the Olmypus Mons.
A plasma explosion lit up the void. The Olympus's shields flickered… then shattered. A great cheer went up through the allied fleet.
However, so powerful was the nova cannon's explosion that it impacted the Serendipity. The massive ark mechanicus rocked as its shields died under the weight of its own weapon. Aboard the bridge of the Olympus, Kelbor-Hal smiled. Ah, young Belisarius, so stubborn, so naive, so righteous. So powerful. A shame that he did not follow his master into Sota-Nul's clutches. It mattered little now. As impressive as Cawl's ship was, the Olympus was a far superior vessel.
Lance batteries rocked the unprotected side of the Serendipity, slicing through the ark mechanicus's heavy side armor. Emergency servitor crews tried to fix broken systems, put out fires, and seal the open patches into the void, but the Olympus's assault was relentless. The ark mechanicus tasted the Olympus's full broadside, and was found wanting.
"My lord, the power is fluctuating out of control, there are fires on decks twenty to one hundred and five, the weapon systems are offline, and the engines are failing. We have no control over the ship, and we're headed into Earth's gravitational pull," said the captain, still hard-plugged into his station. Behind him, Cawl slammed his hand into the railing in frustration. The metal finally snapped beneath him.
"Get damage control to do whatever they can!" he ordered. "Get the guns back online!" The captain went back to his console. An explosion rocked the bridge, staggering even Cawl.
"Master, we must evacuate!" urged Alpha Primus, laying his hand on Cawl's shoulder urgently. "The Serendipity is finished! We cannot stand the Olympus's assault! We must evacuate now and live to fight on another day, while there's still time!" Cawl slammed his fists down frustratedly in response, finally destroying the railing. The words no, we stay almost escaped his lips before he looked back to his faithful bodyguard. He saw the pleading in Primus's eyes, hidden as they were behind a heavy helm. Cawl sighed.
"Very well." He turned back to the captain. "Abandon ship!" he ordered. The captain nodded.
"Very well sir." Leaning over, he pressed the alarm button for abandon ship.
With four or five different types of alarms blaring around them, Primus and Cawl made their way to the nearby savior pods. With the push of a button, the pod blew from the Serendipity and careened towards the planet beneath.
The mighty ark mechanicus itself listed, engines gone as it was pulled into Earth's gravitational field. It began its plummeting descent to the surface far beneath, holes blasted throughout and flames licking across its length. The great ship was doomed. The captain and many of the crew stayed aboard, for they were part of the ship, and if it died, they died with it.
Still untouched and under full power, the Olympus Mons made its way methodically to the orbital space above Vancouver. Its weapons fired almost casually, annihilating starship after starship with ease. The Imperial and Alliance Navy vessels, accompanied by the vessels of the Mechanicus, the Space Marine chapter fleets, and the Titan transports of Legio Ignatum and the bearers of Magisterium Lex Ultima were jumping out of Earth's orbit, desperate to get away from the behemoth before it destroyed them all. Soon enough, the Olympus was the only remaining vessel above Earth. Debris of the finest ships the Imperium and Mechanicus had ever made littered the void as Kelbor-Hal reigned unchallenged.
The war in orbit was won for the Dark Mechanicum in one crippling strike. Soon enough, Hal would personally make certain that the war on the ground went the same way.
oOo
There we have it! Hopefully the ending was good; tell me what you think. As I said before, next chapter is Rannoch and Palaven, and then after that is the really juicy one. I should have those out in the next several weeks. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I hope you enjoy the next ones!