I am back! In this chapter, Ordo Sinister finally shows there stuff, the Kaban Machine comes into play for the first time (it's been too long; my bad on that), and the Titans fight. I think you'll enjoy it with no further intro needed.
However, I would like some reader input on a few things (so, please, I'd like to hear from you even if you don't usually review). I feel as if some of the stuff lately has been... less interesting. There's less characters and characterizations, and more just plain long battle scenes. I feel as if the story started off well, the middle was solid, and I have an interesting ending planned, but I feel as if lately I've just been missing some stuff. So, if things haven't been as interesting, or if there's something I'm missing, then I'd like to know from you. Note that I cannot nor will I just throw in more stuff: for instance, if you wanted to see more on the Minervans or the Hawk Lords or some faction, I won't be doing that, but if you noticed "Hey, this character needs to show because your introduced them earlier and we haven't seen them in a while" or "You need to explain this before the end", then that's the sort of stuff I'm looking for. (Also, I'd like to thank Fernix13 for their excellent review and making me realize a few flaws in my writing, planning, and process, which I've moved to correct and which is why I'm asking this.)
Now, with all that said and done, I think you'll all like this chapter and the next. On to all your wonderful reviews!
Dragon Blaze-X: Thank you! That's quite the compliment. I should probably mention that the Steel Legion "hull flash" scene was inspired by the "Broken Arrow" scene from the movie We Were Soldiers.
Pathreader: That's very true. The problem is it's hard to determine these things, and I wanted to showcase the Olympus's sheer power and the Imperials' panic at its arrival.
Lesser Bird-of-paradise: Happy New Year to you as well!
Doc43Souls: Thank you, as always, for finding my typos. Sorry about the names, by the way. I knew I might have run into that problem.
Degastin: We'll see what will happen in the coming chapters.
valhalan guardsman: Sorry. There's just so much stuff it seems I've overlooked them.
Blin12: Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it.
lucho406: Very true. As for Dante, perhaps. We'll see what happens in the next chapters.
Chronus1326: Thank you. I'll think on your idea, but the problem is I'm running out of time and space, so there might not be anything to fit it. I would have liked to in the past, but most of the naval stuff has been quick, overwhelming battles where one side comes in and establishes dominance over a planet, which doesn't really fit that style.
777: Your point is certainly valid, though I believe lucho was merely speculating, not suggesting.
BonesofSmite: Thank you. I'm glad you liked it, and I hope you like this one.
ADeter: It won't happen, but it would be fun.
Colossus Bridger: That is indeed why; the Guardsmen aren'tthat well-informed. Also, glad you liked the Palaven scenes, and I hope you like this chapter.
Fernix13: Thank you for your review. I've thought on a lot of things you've said, and I think I'm going to take some of your suggestions. The long chapters and lack of characterizations were actually less fun to write than the shorter parts, so I think you have an excellent point there. I've also realized a lot of what has happened in regards to the setups and lack of follow-through with characters was mis-timing (which I've still not fully figured out), and poorer planning than I thought. So, ultimately, I will try my best to implement your advice in what I have left in the story, and will certainly take things into consideration in my future projects. Again, thank your for your review and advice, and I hope you stick around and enjoy the rest of the story!
Anatheras: Yeah, I probably should have included him more. I might have to do that in the future.
oOo
Sinister
"Fools have asked 'Why did the Dark Age of Technology end in the fall of humanity?', and other fools answer back 'Folly' or 'Pride' or 'The worship of progress', as if these things alone had any meaning. The answer, as the wise know, is simple. It is because finally humanity had the arts at their disposal to make their dreams reality, and the dreams of humanity have ever been the darkest things in all creation." -Introduction to The Emerald Testament, suppressed work of Technoarchaeologist Synecius Thorn, M39
oOo
"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," ordered Princeps Turnet over Legio Mortis's wide-band vox frequency.
Around him, the Titans of Mortis shifted, swinging around and out of the way of Ordinatus Earth's line of fire. Turnet smiled within Dies Irae's cockpit. Mortis would overwhelm Ignatum's flank. The Ordinatus, a slow, ponderous weapon, could not touch them here.
However, as Princeps Turnet turned his attention back to the battle at hand, he did not know the threat on Mortis's other flank was far greater than a simple Ordinatus engine…
oOo
"The traitors approach," came the deep yet whispery voice over the Titan's vox. "To battle." Deep within the blackness of the Crucible, the Heart of Darkness, eyes snapped open, moving for the first time after hours of long and patient meditation.
"We hear, and awaken," replied Preceptor-Intendent Coeus. He settled back within his seat, and closed his eyes once more. He did this because it was ordained he do so. He then drew three long breaths, letting each one out slowly and peacefully. This action, too, was performed because it was his duty.
He did not feel the Titan's MIU growling or groaning at him. He did not feel the thrum of the Titan's power. It was both because Polaris-Bellerophon, the augmented Warlord around him, did not have such things, and because Preceptor-Intendent Coeus could not feel.
"Argentis, saturnis, martias," intoned the Preceptor-Intendent gravely, reaching up and sliding the controls of the Titan into their first set of alignments. The controls were unlike anything of the mundane Titan Legions of the galaxy- indeed, they were unlike anything else ever seen in the universe. Coeus's throne sat in the center of a sphere of steel rods. Dozens of shapes of dozens of materials hung from the rods: pyramids, circles, triangles, pentagrams, and hexagons of gold, silver, copper, lead, jade, and gold.
This sphere where Coeus sat was called the Crucible. Apart from the cables clamped into the sockets at the base of the Preceptor-Intendent's skull, the Crucible and its various levers, buttons, and switches were the only way to control the Titan.
"Numina, kadeth, ki," said Coeus, sliding the controls to their next set of alignments.
Beneath his throne, the three system governors were jerked to awareness. Each of them was a servitor, their brains cut with careful surgical precision so that each was exactly one third of a consciousness. Darkness was the first to awake. He shivered and hissed and expelled and sucked in air rapidly from between teeth made of chrome. Tubes burrowing into his eye sockets twitched and warmed up as they came online. Hololithic projections unfolded before the throne, meshing flawlessly with the symbols of the Crucible. Exactly as intended. Runes, powerful and flowing, casted eerie shadows on Coeus's cold, pale face.
"Tau, mementes, aurumina." The controls moved once more, sliding into their third set of alignments. Coeus's hands spun. Weird runes and projections swirled. The heart of Polaris-Bellerophon came online with a shudder, power conduits opening and plasma warming. Fiery plasma and coolant flooded the systems. The Titan shivered. Chains rattled against its armor. Coeus felt nothing.
On the Titan's back, twin sets of tri-mounted turbo lasers pivoted in their mounts. Sparks danced over the barrels. The huge power claw on the Titan's right hand flexed with a sound like screeching metal and snapping bones.
The system governor called Silence whimpered from her place beneath the throne. Her mouth was sewn shut, her tongue taken. The whimper pulsed through the psi-Titan; a chilling, terrible feeling. Polaris-Bellerophon roared. Preceptor-Intendent Coeus felt none of it.
"Animus," intoned Coeus. Moving his hands, he slid the controls into a different path. The Crucible turned into the first of its greater alignments. The Titan shuddered.
Deep inside Polaris-Bellerophon's armored body, the sleepers awoke. They had laid in their crystal coffins, dreamless and dead, blessedly silent, their bodies wrapped in amnion. Each of them was a psyker, and as they awoke, they screamed. Psychic lightning lashed across the Titan's armor and through its framework. Fire and frost rolled across its skin. Energy, unnatural and terrible, coursed through special-made conduits and collected at the center of the Titan's black heart; the almighty Ciricrux Anima, an Emperor-designed psychic amplification matrix. The plasma reactor beat harder, its power raised by that of the swirling energies.
Preceptor-Intendent Coeus still felt nothing. He could not. For he was a psychic Blank, and only Blanks could command psi-Titans. Even the power of the Emperor's own hand, creating the runes, the esoteric devices, and the Crucible could not protect a normal man from the sheer overwhelming might of the psychic energy flowing through the Titan. Thus each commander of the Ordo Sinister had to be a Blank, the rarest of all humans, chosen specifically for their duty to the Ordo out of the hundreds who came to Holy Terra to be selected for the Culexus Clade or the Silent Sisterhood.
Warp power spun around the darkness of Coeus's presence like a cyclone; the eye of the most destructive storm ever unleashed upon this planet. Even such natural disasters as hurricanes and tornadoes could not even come close to comparing with the awful, almighty power of the psi-Titans of Ordo Sinister.
"Aetherica," said Coeus. He nudged the orbiting symbols into a different path. The Crucible shifted. The power through the Titan accelerated and grew, swirling even higher.
At Preceptor-Intendent Coeus's feet, the last of the trio of governors convulsed and twitched to life. This one had no eyelids, and the interior of his mouth was coated in metal, his jaw permanently opened into a gaping cave. Cables were connected to where his ears once were, slotting into his skull and plugging into the Titan.
He was called Pain, and as he screamed without sound, Polaris-Bellerophon began to walk.
oOo
It hungered. Oh, how it hungered. Roving around the empty plains upon huge treads, going at speeds high enough that its signature would disappear quickly enough to not be caught by anyone, it hungered.
Its terrible, malignant intelligence could feel the power of the psykers locked and bound to it; could feel their energy ghosting along its conduits, could feel the wind upon its metallic body and the dust upon its treads. But, most of all, it felt a wild, terrible, animalistic and malevolent hunger course through every circuit and conduit that made up its being.
The Kaban Machine had spent the time of its newfound existence roaming around North America, murdering whatever it could find. It had started out by slaughtering a platoon of Dark Mechanicum skitarii, delighting over the feel of their corrupted blood splashing over its body and coating its claws a filthy black. It delighted at their screams and the feeling of taking their lives and watching breath fade from their bodies. But that was only the beginning.
Its bloodlust satiated for the present moment, it had gone into battle against the servants of the Corpse Emperor, silently slipping around Legio Mortis as it looked for something to kill. The bound psykers screamed in agony. Somewhere within the Kaban Machine's malevolent brain, it grinned, lapping up their torment. It truly did enjoy pain.
In the opening salvos of the mighty battle between Legio Mortis and Legio Ignatum, the Kaban Machine had gone around in search of easier prey. While it was certainly powerful, far more so than any meager soldiers on the ground, it could not hope to match the might of god-engines. Besides, this was what the Kaban Machine did best: harass, pick off, assassinate, murder. It was not good at all-out battles, and had no wish to take part in one.
It had started by slaughtering a squad of Blood Angels. The Marines had been taken by surprise by the Machine's sudden arrival. Tearing through ruins at high speeds, it had come upon them without warning. Metallic claws flailing, ancient and terrible weapons whirring, it had taken them apart, piece by piece, with a speed and ferocity that was downright horrifying.
Power armor was torn asunder. Limbs were ripped apart as Marines screamed in pain. Bolter shells pinged harmlessly off the Machine's armored body. Helmet lenses shattered. A single rocket, perhaps what might have been able to stop it (though the Kaban Machine scoffed that a mere rocket could even slow it down) went wide as it flicked the projectile away with psychic force. It chortled in glee.
Astartes blood, rich and scarlet, jetted into the air. The Blood of Sanguinius. How beautiful. How Pure. The Kaban Machine delighted in its feel; the glorious sight of it as the Marines died in agony. Oh, how it wished it could taste it… but it could not. Disappointing. Still, the feel of the blood splashing against its frame was wonderful, terrible, and soothing… and made it hunger for more.
The next group of unfortunates were a few platoons of Cadians. They fought well (Cadians would be Cadians, after all), but really stood no chance. Their blood, more muted and crimson compared to the Marine's rich scarlet, joined the Kaban Machine's new, terrible outer coating.
The broken bodies of the Guardsmen behind it, the Kaban Machine moved around the country, ever-killing, ever looking for more things to satiate a terrible hungry rage that could never be satiated. Guardsmen, Martian skitarii, Alliance Marines, support personnel, anything and everything it could find were blasted apart or ripped to shreds in fountains of blood and gore. Even Husks, Cannibals, Marauders, and Dark skitarii were not immune to the Kaban Machine's lust for blood. All were devoured.
At the present moment, the Kaban Machine found itself somewhere behind Imperial lines. It was to the south of the great Titan battle being fought between the loyal and traitor sons of Mars, doing… well, whatever it felt like doing. It harassed behind loyalist lines, killing and destroying whatever it could get its hands on.
It was always a commander's dream to get their forces behind enemy lines, and the Kaban Machine was proving to be the perfect equipment for the job. It cared for nothing beyond killing and sowing mayhem. Death, as gory, bloody, and disturbing as possible, was its trade.
However, another thing any good commander knew was that their supply lines could not be disrupted. Thus, Lord Dante and the Grand Master of Ignatum had ordered in additional forces to hunt down and destroy whatever was causing so much mayhem behind their lines.
The Kaban Machine had been hunted before. Distantly, as if a fever dream, it recalled dueling, and losing, to the Knights of House Taranis upon the red sands of Mars during the Heresy. It snarled.
While the Kaban Machine hated just about everything, including the Dark Magi that put it together, it reserved a very poignant, special brand of hate for the Knights of Taranis. They killed it. They were everything it was not, everything it could not be. Damn the Knights of Mars!
Thus when the Kaban Machine turned the corner of a broken and ruined street in some unnamed city, and saw the red and silver form of a Knight of Taranis, it was filled with a rage so deep the psykers bound within it screamed in agony over their shared link. The ground beneath it buckled with telekinetic force as the damned within released a pulse of tormented power. Everything within the Kaban Machine's vision was tinged red. It narrowed and focused at the bipedal, scarlet-painted form of the walker in front of it… and charged.
The Knight whirled around as the Kaban Machine came on at precarious speed, covering ground in the span of a heartbeat. It had only one objective on its mind: kill the Knight. Slaughter, slaughter, slaughter.
The Knight whirled around, alerted to the Machine's presence by the grind of its treads on the ground. It raised the thermal cannon mounted on its arm, but the Kaban Machine was too close and closing too fast. Realizing this, it turned again, pivoting, as the reaper chainsword mounted on its left arm whirred to life.
The two engines met in a clash of sparks and the terrible, screeching grind of metal. Kill, kill, kill. Razor sharp metal claws lashed out, spinning wildly, seeking only to rend the Knight limb from limb.
The Knight's chainsword ground against the Kaban Machine's hide with a shower of sparks and the scream of clashing metal. Raging against the hideous creature in front of it, the Kaban Machine roared in pain as the Knight's weapon connected. It redoubled its efforts, seeking to tear the hateful servant of Taranis limb from limb, to rip the pilot out and crush it between its claws, and to bathe in the glory of the dead machine's internal fluids. Death to the Knights!
As the Knight's pilot angled the chainsword further, driving it deeper into the Kaban Machine's body, the vengeful A.I. finally tore a rent in the Knight's external armor. It was a small thing: barely large enough for any form of gunfire to take advantage of it. Yet the Kaban Machine was not using gunfire: its long, sharp, plier-like claws could easily exploit even the most miniscule gaps with extreme precision. Lukas Chrom had made it well, though the Machine itself would never acknowledge the authority of its creator.
Squealing in pain at the still-grinding chainsword and joyous rapture at the knowledge that it would get its wish to annihilate this hated enemy, the Kaban Machine plunged its claws into the rent in the Knight's armor. Sharp metallic talon ends met fragile internal wiring. The Kaban Machine chortled in glee, then hissed in pain as the chainsword finally hit something that hurt. How dare the pitiful servant of Taranis do that!
Sharp claws plunged deeper, hitting even more wiring, then pushed out. Armor rent with a terrible, ear-wrenching squeal. Slowly yet surely, exerting all of its terrible force against its nemesis, the Kaban Machine wrenched away the Knights armor, widening the gap. The chainsword bit into something important. It shrieked.
Plunging its claws deep within the gap in the Knight's armor, it pulled. Something broke. The Knight winced in pain, yet kept the chainsword in place, still spinning, still grinding away, hoping to break the Kaban Machine before it broke the Knight. Still locked together, their fates inescapably entwined, it was kill or be killed, as quickly and as brutally as possible.
The Kaban Machine pulled harder, sinews of adamantium firing as its claws ripped downwards. With yet another awful screech of tortured metal, the Knight's right arm was torn asunder. It dangled for a moment, hanging on by threads of interior wiring before the Kaban Machine redoubled its efforts and ripped the thermal cannon straight off. Tossing the now-useless limb to the side, delighting in the violence and feel of oil leaking on its frame, the Kaban Machine pulled back its claws and lunged.
Diamond hard, sharp pointed talons punched through the Knight's head, finally making it jerk its chainsword away from the Kaban Machine's body. Thrashing like a wounded beast, the malevolent AI punctured the Knight's armored helm and ripped it away. The enemy walker staggered. Reaching further in, as if looking for some delectable treat, the Kaban Machine's talons closed around the struggling, wriggly, squishy, distinctly organic form of the Knight pilot.
Grinning to itself, it pulled the Knight out of its machine and crushed. Blood jetted everywhere, soaking the Kaban Machine's claws. If it had a mouth, it would have licked them clean. Delightful.
Rich human blood and offal dripping off its talons, the Kaban Machine looked back to the body of the Knight. Dead and pilotless, it crashed into the dust and moved no more. The hateful chainsword stopped spinning.
The Kaban Machine considered for a moment. What to do, what to do? First, it would start with the other arm, the one with the chainsword, and rip it from the Knight's body. Then it would move to the legs, and tear them off, then it would desecrate the torso and throw guts and oil everywhere…
Its musings were interrupted by the stinging pain and dull, pinging blasting noise of bolter fire ricocheting off its armored frame. Snarling in pure rage, it spun around, wondering who dared interrupt, who dared not leave it to pulverize its prize and bathe in the Knight's oily blood… Only to see yet another Knight of House Taranis standing a distance away, blasting at it with an arm-mounted avenger gatling cannon.
Seething, snarling, raging and filled with hate for House Taranis's general existence, the Kaban Machine spun around on its treads and started towards the Knight Warden. More bolter shells pinged off its armor. They stung; little more, but the endless barrage could take its toll after a time.
It was halfway to the firing Knight Warden when the Kaban Machine heard the distinctive thump-thump sound of a rapid-fire battle cannon. A moment later, it felt the impact of explosive shells upon its armored skin. Shrieking in rage and pain and wrath, it turned to its right and saw yet another Knight of Taranis advancing. This one was a Knight Paladin, and though the Kaban Machine thought itself above such things as Knights, somewhere deep inside it was a primordial fear of death. It did fear death: it had experienced it once, and didn't want to taste death's cold touch again. Logically, though it knew it could win, it also knew the Knights presented a threat to its existence.
The threat had to end, before the Kaban Machine did.
With a pulse of such murderous hatred it would make the followers of Khorne recoil, the Kaban Machine launched a bolt of pure Warp energy at the advancing Knight Paladin. Harnessing the power of the tormented and bound psykers within its back, it channeled the power of the empyrean through its specialized circuits before unleashing it.
The bolt of psychedelic, churning unreality rocketed towards the Knight of Taranis before slicing through its ion shields and plate armor alike. It blew an awful, gaping hole in the Knight's chest before dissipating over the walker's surface like arcing electricity.
The Knight shivered, convulsing in agony before it seized up and dropped, dead, into the dust. The Kaban Machine chortled in glee. One more hateful child of Taranis dead. One of these days, it would wipe them all out… if Mortis and Vextrix didn't get there first.
Turning back to the Knight Warden once more, it sent another pulse of searing psychic power slicing through the air. It was not meant to kill, only wound, for the Kaban Machine did not want to murder the Knight outright. Oh, no. It wanted to enjoy this. It wanted to do this up close and personal.
The psychic blast hit the Knight Warden head-on and dissipated over its body, staggering it and slowing its systems. Already, the Kaban Machine could feel the rate of bolter fire upon its skin decreasing. Somewhere within its malignant brain, it smiled.
It got closer, even closer, to the Knight Warden. It took its time, toying with its prey, enjoying the sensation of triumph and the fear in the eyes of its greatest adversary. Oh, how it wished it could prolong the Knight's suffering, but alas, there was no way to do that. Perhaps in the future, it could come up with something clever…
Another meter, then another. The Knight was almost in reach now. It shrank back, trying to get away, still firing, but neither fight not flight would ensure its survival. The Kaban Machine grinned wildly. Death!
The last thing it ever felt was a sudden pain, searing in its heat and power, impact its back and punch a charred hole cleanly through its torso. The psykers bound within died instantly, granted blessed relief from the torment that was their existence.
From behind the Kaban Machine, hidden in the ruins to the side of the road, the last Knight of House Taranis in the hunting party stepped from its place, thermal cannon still glowing. It tilted its head, regarding its comrade, worried. The Knight Warden limped forward, wounded by the psychic blast, but still alive. The Knight Errant lowered its thermal cannon.
"Engine kill," it voxed.
oOo
With a shudder that howled through reality, making Marine Librarians hundreds of kilometers away jerk in alarm, the Nightmare Titans of Ordo Sinister began their attack. Their unmarked conveyors had landed behind and to the right of Legio Ignatum's flank, then moved up to take Mortis's left. They did not inform Ignatum they were coming, for there was no need. The Left Hand of the Emperor was not required to inform anyone save the Right Hand and their Master Himself of their movements.
Throughout the city, the very air was haunted by the nameless dread of the psi-Titans' presence. There were three in total, all from the Polaris fortress-crypt upon Terra. There was nothing particularly special about each individual crypt; the reason for their separation was so even under the Emperor's direct control and under the iron guard of the Adeptus Custodes, the terrible power of the Ordo was fractured. They could not band together, even if they wanted to.
But still it was conducive to logistics (and the Emperor's way of war) to send Nightmare engines from one crypt to one battle. Such was the dictate of the Master of Mankind, and such was the way of the Ordo's deployment from its inception.
Howling with psychic power, the psi-Titans made their way to Legio Mortis's left flank. It was exposed: Princeps Turnet had no information that there was anything there. Indeed, Legio Ignatum had no information there were reinforcements arriving. Ordo Sinister would live up to their names: they were nightmares, sowing death and destruction, and would vanish as quickly as their sleeping counterparts.
The three Titans were called Polaris-Bellerophon, Polaris-Phorcys, and Polaris-Cepheus. All three were Warlords, taken from Mars and other forges long ago by the Emperor's own command. Even though they shared the same size, bulk, and framework of the standard Warlord-class Titan, it was obvious to any observer that these god-engines were different, and terrifyingly so.
The very air around them was haunted by whispers and groans of agony. A prenatural, horrible fear surrounded them like a shroud. If there were any human soldiers present, or even the corrupt and mindless skitarii of the Dark Mechanicum, they would all flee in profound terror.
Stones beneath the Titans' tread levitated as if affected by some strange gravitational flux. Breathing, tasting, feeling, and even the blood flowing in one's veins would slow and stifle. The psi-Titans radiated molten heat and unnatural chill at the same time.
But it was not only the dreadful feel of the Titans that was conducive to the idea they were something more than simply standard god-engines.
Instead of the typical knightly helm that stood out from most Titans' chests, the psi-Titans' faces were simple blank masks of bronze- or black-colored alloy. Their faceless visages served to make them all the more terrifying.
Upon their backs were heavy tri-mounted turbo lasers, crackling with eldritch energy. Their right hands ended in claws; a heavy, brutally powerful crushing and slashing hand. Sparks of Warp power danced along each individual talon.
However, by far the strangest, and by far the most utterly ruinous out of all the psi-Titan's weapons rested upon its left arm. It looked like nothing special: the weapon was a smaller-sized cylindrical battle cannon in appearance, painted pitch black. It certainly was not the massive calibers or mammoth, destructive-looking weapons of most god-engines. However, this singular unassuming device was probably one of the singular most horrifying and destructive of any weapon in creation.
It was called the Sinistramanus Tenebrae. Translated literally to "Left Hand of Darkness" from High Gothic, it was just that. Each Warlord psi-Titan of the Ordo Sinister possessed one such weapon, and each was mounted upon their left weapon limb. It was a hybrid of strange technologies; the most terrible secrets of the Dark Age combined with the ingenious mutilation of the principles behind Warp drives.
Its purpose was simple. It focused all the antipathy, all the rage, all the pain, the hatred and the suffering of the psi-Titan's bound psykers to create a fracture in reality itself. Whatever was caught in the Sinistramanus Tenebrae's blast radius was instantly obliterated, its very molecules broken apart and thrown into the Warp.
It was for good reason that only the Master of Mankind Himself had control over such technologies.
The psi-Titans advanced quickly, methodically, carefully, as Legio Mortis's flank swung wide to try and envelop Ignatum. Weird runes scratched on their sides glowed with eldritch power. Tempests of psychic energy rolled off their skin. In Polaris-Bellerophon's Crucible, Preceptor-Intendant Coeus ordered the three Nightmare Titans forward in a general advance.
The god-engines of Legio Mortis and Ordo Sinister ran into each other almost as if by accident. Searing psychometric and blank, black, blue and tarnished gold hulls faced off against those corrupted by the Plague God. Filthy greens and browns, dripping with excrement, rot, pus, and ooze, the god-engines of Legio Mortis stopped short, astounded to see enemy Titans where there should be none. What was more, these three Warlords were not engines of Legio Ignatum. They did not bear the Fire Wasp of Mars's own Legion- in fact, they bore none at all.
But it hardly mattered what they were. They would die all the same. This was an entire battle line of Mortis Titans, comprising half a dozen cohorts of various makeups and sizes. There was hardly anything that could stand against them. The only ones who might were Legio Ignatum, and it was the loyal sons and daughters of Mars the true Fabricator General's own sought to destroy this day.
The flank was led by Princeps Tyberius Errat and his engine Harbinger of Woes. Within the corrupted Warlord's cockpit, the hideously mutated form of Errat looked out through the Titan's sensory systems. His fleshy, sticky, mouth-thing made an unnerving hissing noise.
"What are these?" he demanded of his Moderati. Somewhere within his mind, Errat felt a strange, almost unnatural fear at the appearance of the Titan trio. He tried to shake it off, but failed. Whispers, not from Harbinger of Woes, crept through his mind. The feeling was… disconcerting.
From below, where the Moderati was plastered over what had once been her station, her fused flesh, blood, and bone congealed into a blob to speak with her Princeps.
"I do not know, my Princeps," replied the Moderati. "They bear no identification markings, and are not otherwise within our databases. In addition, we have no idea what the runes upon their torsos and weapons on their left arms are." Errat growled. The strange fear would not go away.
"Open fire!" he ordered. The Moderati nodded, and passed the word along. As one, the Legio Mortis battle line turned upon the psi-Titans and opened fire.
Missiles and rockets streaked away as glowing blue-white and corrupted bright green plasma shots sped towards the Titans of Ordo SInister. Bolter shells flickered off their void shields.
Preceptor-Intendent Coeus still felt nothing.
Polaris-Bellerophon pulled back as its cousins advanced. Upon its broad armored shoulders, the turbo lasers spun to life. Coeus pulled a lever, then reached upon to input a firing solution for the guns. While the Warlord-Sinister class of psi-Titan did not have an MIU and could not be controlled outside of the Crucible due to the instability of its psychic powers, it made the regular functions of the Titan much harder for the Preceptor-Intendent to manage.
Red pulses of power, crackling with the faint hiss of psychic power, flashed towards Legio Mortis's line. They splashed against a corrupted Warhound's void shields.
The Mortis battle line was jockeying for position, moving into formation, determined to advance and crush these three singular engines. In turn, Polaris-Phorcys and Polaris-Cepheus moved forward, taking the fight to Mortis. Bellerophon hung back, supporting its cousin engines.
As fire washed over the psi-Titan's shields, making them spark, crackle and flare, the very air around Polaris-Phorcys deepened and darkened as if a storm was raging around its form. Levitating rocks and bits of rubble flew around the psi-Titan. The runes along its body, and inside its Crucible, glowed brighter. The storm picked up.
Crowned with a halo of unhallowed lightning and surrounded by hurricane-force winds, Phorcys unleashed its pent-up power in a wave of Warp lightning and scouring gales. Void shields along Mortis's line flickered and died. The damned within the psi-Titan screamed, eyes glowing as their power fueled the machine around them.
"Keep firing!" screamed Princeps Errat in panic as Harbinger of Woes's void shields flickered.
Voids down to twenty percent, the daemonic Titan whispered through his mind. He shuddered. What were these things they were facing?
The metallic body of Polaris-Cepheus alit, glowing an eerie blue. The backed knee joints of the Titan glowed with strange power, and Polaris-Cepheus jumped forward, moving at a pace nothing as large as a god-engine had any right to. The claw on its right hand flexed, sparking and crackling, eager for blood.
A Legio Mortis Reaver Titan stepped forward, and a strange dark blue enveloped its body. Cocooned in dark matter, it let loose a blast of power at Polaris-Phorcys. The psi-Titan's shields buckled and flickered.
In reply, a bolt of Warp power, glowing every color yet no color, lanced towards the biotic Reaver. Representing the seething hatred and murderous torment of trapped within the psi-Titan, it hit the biotic Titan head-on. Eldritch energy coursed over corrupted framework and fleshy outgrowths.
Deep within, the Reaver's machine spirit screamed in agony as the death pulse of Warp power touched its very soul. The backlash over the MIU caused the princeps to finally succumb to the madness of ten thousand years and go completely insane.
Within Harbinger of Woes, Princeps Errat reacted with panic. The Reaver began to wander aimlessly, lashing out at anything that came close. He'd seen it happen before, Princeps lose their minds due to Warp corruption or the meddling influence of daemons or the Gods, but there was nothing ever like this that caused such a reaction.
"All engines, open fire on the central Warlord!" he screamed to the rest of Legio Mortis. One of the strange, unmarked Titans had to go.
The Legion reacted with clockwork precision. Turning their weapons, they fired as one at Polaris-Phorcys. Through normal eyesight alone, one could barely see the body of Phorcys through the flashes of the bombardment and the impacts on the Titan's void shields.
Behind Phorcys, Polaris-Bellerophon recognized the danger. It raised its left arm and took aim at a circling Reaver.
A bolt of pure darkness, sucking all light from the world around it, flashed through the air between Bellerophon and its victim. It struck the Mortis Reaver directly in the center of its torso. The god-engine simply ceased to exist; erased, as if it was never there in the first place.
Princeps Errat gaped. If his form had still been human, his open-mouthed expression would have been comical. But as it was, there was nothing comical to him about the situation.
Iron Baron simply ceased to be. There was no flash of light, no explosion, no nothing as the bolt of ethereal blackness stuck it. It was simply gone, as if plucked from the surface of the planet by a god. What… what were these things? What was the weapon on their left arm?
"Keep up the bombardment!" screamed the Princeps as the engines around him faltered, nervous at Iron Baron's sudden and terrifyingly unexpected demise. These three engines were all the same. Each of them had the same strange, unassuming cannon mounted on their weapon limb. They represented the same horrifying propensity for destruction, and thus one of them had to die.
Polaris-Phorcys's void shields screeched, faltered… and failed. Even a psi-Titan could not withstand the full power of an entire Legion battle line. There were simply too many engines in front of it.
But it was not helpless; far from it.
It raised its Sinistramanus Tenebrae.
Within Harbinger of Woes's cockpit, Errat felt a cold touch of dread course through the Titan's body. By the Dark Gods, no…
Polaris-Phorcys fired.
Another bolt of terrible blackness, leeching all light from the very air it traveled through flashed between the god-engines. Next to Harbinger of Woes, Tellum Ire, another Warlord that had served faithfully over ten thousand years, simply disappeared.
As the engines of Mortis blasted away at Polaris-Phorcys, Polaris-Cepheus advanced with terrible speed, outpacing even the nearby Warhound Scout Titans. Point-defense guns fired, impacting off Cepheus's shields with little effect. Inside the Crucible, the Preceptor-Intendent sighted her prey.
Another Warlord, directly in the path of Polaris-Cepheus's charge, turned as it saw the psi-Titan coming. Its gatling blaster spun to life, and unleashed a flurry of shots against the charging engine. Bolter shells sparked harmlessly of Cepheus's voids. The Preceptor-Intendent grinned. Quickened by the psychic energy flowing through the Titan's circuits, Polaris-Cepheus closed the distance between the two Warlords in a heartbeat.
The power claw mounted on the psi-Titan's right arm flashed out. The corrupted Warlord, dripping filth, raised its own power claw to parry. However, hastened by the power of the damned within, Polaris-Cepheus parried and knocked the other claw away. With the speed of lightning, claw crackling with empyrean energy, the psi-Titan plunged its open hand into the Warlord's chest. It bypassed shields and armor alike as if they didn't exist. The Warlord screamed. What was this?
Cepheus's claw closed around the Warlord's beating hard. Talons, razor sharp and dripping with psychic energy, cut through wires and plasma conduits. The psi-Titan pulled, and the Mortis Warlord shrieked aloud in agony as its reactor was ripped from its body.
The Titan fell with an earth-shattering boom. A huge, jagged hole was ripped in the center of its torso. Wires and putrescent filth spewed out of its ribcage. Polaris-Cepheus crushed the dead Titan's reactor in its hand and moved to its next victim.
His left in disarray, Princeps Errant ordered the battle line to redouble its efforts in slaying Polaris-Phorcys. The line could not target Cepheus: it was tangled up in close range with other Mortis Titans, slaying them with claw, Sinistramanus Tenebrae, and psychic lightning alike. Better to kill the engine in front of the line first, then pick off the next two one by one.
A plasma shot rocked Polaris-Phorcys, scouring a steaming hole in its armor. A missile impacted its shoulder, sending shrapnel into the vulnerable circuits of the joint beneath. Bolter shells, numbering in the thousands, pinged off its chest and legs.
In the back, Polaris-Bellerophon fired its Sinistramanus Tenebrae. A Mortis Warhound, moving up and trying to flank Phorcys, simply ceased to be.
Another missile hit Polaris-Phorcys, blowing off a chunk of its torso armor. And yet…
Princeps Errat watched in horror as ghostly light flowed across Polaris-Phorcys's form, delving into the broken cresses of its body and levitating its shattered armor from the ground. Metal plates and wiring re-knitted themselves as broken machinery snapped back into place. Meanwhile, the discordant screams of the psykers trapped within Phorcys's body echoed through the minds of all nearby- for the terrible truth was that the damned paid with years bled from their own lives to shore up the bars of their prison.
"My… my princeps?" whispered Harbinger of Woes's moderati, shocked at the sight of the psi-Titan's armor knitting itself back together. The bombardment faltered for a moment. A pulse of psychic light surrounded Polaris-Phorcys for a moment… and its void shields came back to life.
"I… I…" For the first time in over ten thousand years, Princeps Errat was at a loss for words. His words became a discordant scream as Polaris-Bellerophon turned its Sinistramanus Tenebrae on Harbinger of Woes.
With a pulse of pure darkness, Harbinger of Woes, a veteran of The Titandeath with hundreds of confirmed kills to its name, vanished as if it had never existed in the first place.
oOo
"My Princeps, report from the left flank!" said Moderati Aruken urgently. Within the cockpit of Dies Irae, Princeps Turnet's horrible, jelly-like form looked down on his Moderati.
"What does Princeps Errat have to tell us?" he replied with a frown. Beside him, Irae's war maniple advanced, the earth beneath them shaking under their titanic strides. With each step, pus, rot, and decay was left behind, polluting the surface of the planet. This was the final push to glory: break Ignatum's center as Legio Mortis had broken all their enemies, and ride onward to victory.
In front of Dies Irae, Legio Ignatum's line stood proudly in their red and orange-yellow, weaponry streaking across the field of battle. As Dies Irae's cohort charged forward, they were met by Ignatum's overwhelming fire. All manner of explosive death crashed against the Titans' shields as plasma and laser weapons flashed bright blues and reds, shrieking and whining. This was power on an unimaginable scale: two of the most powerful Titan Legions in the universe blasting away point-blank at each other.
"The message is not from Princeps Errat, my Princeps!" replied Moderati Aruken, an edge of some strange emotion( it couldn't have been panic, could've it?) in his voice. "It's from Princeps Eisron!"
"Why? Where is Errat?" snapped Turnet in reply.
"Princeps Errat is dead, my Princeps!" replied Aruken, a tad too hysterically for Turnet's taste. "Princeps Eisron reports that Harbinger of Woes was instantly annihilated by some sort of super-weapon! Our flank is under attack by what she reports to be psi-Titans!"
Psi-Titans. Damn. Turnet swore as he tuned Dies Irae's senses to high alert. There had been some Eldar psi-Titans that Mortis had fought during the Great Crusade. There had also been a few from left-over civilizations from the Dark Age of Technology, but there hadn't been anything since…
Snapping himself out of his thoughts, Princeps Turnet turned to the battle at hand. The psi-Titans did not matter. The flank could hold long enough to bring the full power of Legio Mortis to bear against whatever enemy was to be found there. But first, Ignatum's center had to break, or they would be in ever more trouble.
But Dies Irae could do it. It would break. Ignatum's center would fall, the Fire Wasps would scatter, Mortis would destroy them and force whatever pitiful survivors remained into retreat. Then they could deal with the problem on the flank. Whatever was there, no matter what it was, it could not stand against the full might of Legio Mortis, headed by Dies Irae.
Princeps Turnet was Dies Irae, and Dies Irae was Princeps Turnet. They were marked by dark fates, and they could not lose.
Irae's cohort moved even closer to Ignatum, their god-engines devouring countless meters in their behemoth strides. Various explosives and energy projectiles bounced off the Titans' void shields. The utterly massive form of the Emperor-class Irae blotted out the sun.
"Void shields at fifty eight percent and holding, my princeps," announced Moderati Aruken. Turnet growled in reply; a feral, haunting, triumphant noise that assaulted the ears and played on the soul. In front of them, Legio Ignatum loomed ever-closer.
Time to do what Dies Irae did best: break the line.
With a thought in the MIU, Turnet activated Irae's wide-band broadcast frequency. Within the Titans of Legio Ignatum, the fallen Princeps's horrifying voice sounded over Imperial vox for the first time in ten millennia.
"You cannot win, foul servants of stagnation and ignorance!" boomed Turnet's voice over the engines of Ignatum, hissing and chortling. "It was I who conquered worlds under the Warmaster; the true Emperor! It was I who destroyed the Marines upon Istvaan! It was I who brought low the walls of the Palace, succeeding where even the Lord of Iron and the Reaper failed! It was I who destroyed your Imperium! I am Dies Irae, and I cannot lose!"
oOo
Aboard the mighty Warlord-class Titan Imperator Bellum, Princeps Fierach cursed within his amniotic casket, slamming his hand against the glass in rage. Princeps Turnet. The most reviled man among the Collegia Titanica.
The traitor's voice was horrible and intense, daemonic and evil. What did he want? Why contact Ignatum? Just to gloat? Probably. Such a reaction was in line with the servants of Chaos.
In front of Imperator Bellum, Dies Irae finally got into range. Princeps Fierach watched in appalled horror as Irae simply vaporized a nearby Reaver Titan, arm-mounted weapons spinning as it fired again and again into Ignatum's battle line. The Reaver stood no chance against the Emperor-class Titan's overwhelming assault. None of them did.
Irae spun, far too graceful for such a large and horribly corrupted machine. Dancing, it unleashed all its weapons at once. Bolters, plasma and las bolts, missiles and point-defense cannon shells smashed through another Titan's void shields, cracking them like glass. A moment later, the second Ignatum engine fell under Irae's assault.
Retaliatory fire flew from Legio Ignatum, only to be swallowed by Dies Irae's own shields like pebbles thrown into a pond. Irae was an Emperor-class, the one and only king of this battlefield, and it could not be stopped.
Ignatum had their own Emperor-class Titans, but they were all engaged throughout the line. Princeps Turnet had made sure of it. In his long experience and tactical genius, he had ordered the other Emperor-class Titans of Legio Mortis to duel their counterparts in Ignatum (a task they were more than happy to carry out) while he broke the Fire Wasps' center.
"Dammit," whispered Fierach from his casket. Below, his Moderati shouted orders as Imperator Bellum opened fire on Dies Irae with everything it had. It wouldn't be enough, the Princeps knew. Emperor-class Titans were simply too large, and Dies Irae itself simply too powerful. It would take firepower they did not have, or a massive bombardment coordinated on a single point on Irae's void shields to even begin to hit the corrupted Titan's armor beneath.
They would lose, for Dies Irae was marked by dark fates. It always won.
An idea, an insane, idiotic, stupid, crazy, not-bound-to-work idea entered Fierach's head. Would it work? Possibly. Was it a good idea? Probably not. Was it literally the only thing he could think of? Yes.
Sighing to himself, Princeps Fierach ordered his crew to continue firing as he activated the communications systems to the rest of the Legion's commanders. Inputting the specific frequency of the Warlord standing beside Imperator Bellum, Fierach was greeted by the ghostly image of Princeps Daekian floating in front of his amniotic casket.
"Fierach," greeted Daekian curtly. He was strained, Fierach knew. They all were. It was really only a matter of luck that Dies Irae hadn't vaporized them yet.
"Daekian," responded Fierach warmly. It was good to see the other man; to know that Imperator Bellum wasn't alone in this fight. Besides, Princeps Daekian was one of his closest friends. Imperator Bellum and Clavis Regni were in the same cohort. They had fought in dozens of battles by each other's side.
"What do you want, Fierach?" asked Daekian. "I'm a little busy at the moment." Imperator Bellum shook as a nearby Warhound detonated with an almighty boom beneath Dies Irae's assault.
"I have an idea, Daekian," replied Fierach.
"I do not have time for your ideas, Fierach!" replied the Princeps of Clavis Regni. Daekian looked distinctly frightened. It was the first time Fierach saw the look on his friend's face. "We have to kill Irae! Somehow…"
"And we can't do it," said Fierach soothingly. "We can't beat Dies Irae through normal means. We simply don't have enough firepower. However…" He told Daekian his idea.
oOo
Dies Irae roared in triumphant glee as its guns smashed yet another Ignatum engine. Princeps Turnet laughed maniacally along with it. He was Dies Irae, and Dies Irae was him, and they could not lose.
Nothing could stop them. They were the greatest servants of the Warmaster and Fabricator General. They had conquered the galaxy. They had destroyed Legions. They had succeeded where Perturabo and Mortarion had failed. They had laid the foundation for the slaying of the God-Emperor and the destruction of the Imperium.
They were Dies Irae, and they could not lose.
A Knight, a foolhardy, noble, aggressive Knight of Krast charged forward, chainsword humming, and attempted to bring down Irae in close-quarters. Turnet laughed as the god-engine's massive armored foot kicked forward and squashed the puny walker flat. Poor Krast; foolhardy, aggressive, honorable Krast.
He'd so enjoyed destroying their planet.
It was too bad for them, then, that they would not get their vengeance this day. House Krast despised Legio Mortis with a passion, Turnet knew. They would do anything in their power to slay Mars's own treacherous legion.
But no Knight could stand against an Emperor-class Titan, let alone Dies Irae. Turnet's engine was loose in Ignatum's battle line, and neither the engines of the Fire Wasps nor the Knightly support of Taranis and Krast could stop it.
So Turnet and Irae laughed together as they pivoted and fired, unleashing hell upon the hapless engines before them. Titan after Titan, Knight after Knight was blown to smithereens. Some simply exploded under Irae's sheer firepower, oily and shrapnel-coated craters the only testament they had existed at all.
Turnet could feel it shivering through his flesh, pulsing through every circuit and wire of the Titan around him. This was the same feeling he felt on Ullanor, on Istvaan, on Chrysis, and on Terra just before he broke the walls of the Palace. This was victory. None could stand before Dies Irae. Not the Orks, not Captain Loken, not Corvus Corax, not Rogal Dorn… not even the Emperor Himself.
Another Ignatum engine exploded in a brilliant flash of plasma. More Titans moved up to face Dies Irae, but they only came to their deaths.
For Dies Irae was on the precipice of victory, and they could not lose.
oOo
"This is suicide," hissed Princeps Daekian. Within the cockpit of Imperator Bellum, Princeps Fierach sighed.
"It's the only way. It's the only thing I can think of that even has a chance of stopping Irae," he replied. Another explosion rocked Imperator Bellum as a nearby engine detonated beneath the traitorous god-engine's weapons.
"It's…" For once, Daekian was at a loss for words. "I…"
"I know," replied Fierach with a sigh. "I know."
"Good luck, Fierach," said Daekian somberly as his ghostly form winked out of existence.
"You too, old friend," replied Princeps Fierach to the open air. "You too." With another sigh, he turned down to the Moderati and the rest of Imperator Bellum's crew. "Moderati!"
"Yes, my Princeps?" replied the Moderati.
Fierach told his crew his plan.
"My… my Princeps!" protested the sensori. "We… We cannot hope to-!"
"There is no other way," replied Fierach resolutely. "If there is, if you have another plan, something that might work better, tell me now. Otherwise… This is the only thing I can think of that might give us a chance to beat Dies Irae and end its shadow forever." Silence filled the cockpit. The steersman and sensori looked at each other, weighing their princeps's plan.
"I like it," said the Moderati with a laugh. "I like it, and I think it might just work." Fierach grinned.
"Well, sensori? Steersman?" They would not be doing this without the full support of the crew.
"I… I suppose," replied the sensori, resigned. "I… There is no other way."
"Let's do it, my Princeps," said the steersman with a simple nod. Within his casket, Princeps Fierach cracked his neck.
"Well, then… It's showtime."
oOo
From the Ignatum line, two Titans, both Warlords, burst forward, careening at top speed towards Dies Irae. One went left, the other right, taking Irae's flanks and trying to split its fire. Within the corrupted engine's cockpit, Turnet sneered.
"Oh, look, what do we have here? A touch of bravado? Desperation?" The two Ignatum engines opened fire. Plasma shots, missiles, and bolter shells alike spent themselves harmlessly on Irae's void shields. "Very well, then," sneered Turnet. "For your bravery, I shall grant you the mercy of a quick death." With a mental command, he leveled Irae's guns.
oOo
Imperator Bellum staggered as it took the full power of Dies Irae's arm cannons directly to its void shields. A moment later, the protective cocoon around the Titan disappeared with a shriek like rending metal. Imperator Bellum screamed in agony as Princeps Fierach doubled over due to the pain. Somewhere, an alarm sounded.
"Void shields, down, my Princeps!" warned the Moderati.
"Keep going!" hissed Fierach through clenched teeth.
"We're at full stride!" reported the steersman. "Reaching Irae in a few seconds." Even through the pain, Fierach looked down at his crew with a smile.
"My friends…" Dammit, who knew saying goodbye was this emotional?" "It was an honor to serve with you." The Moderati smiled.
"The honor was all ours, my Princeps."
It was an honor to serve you as well, great engine.
A moment later, Imperator Bellum stepped directly before Dies Irae's massive armored feet. With a single mental command, Princeps Fierach detonated Imperator Bellum's reactor. The sheer contained force of the plasma explosion, plus the ammunition stored aboard Bellum, shattered Dies Irae's void shields. The cylindrical banks of defensive projectors crumbled like sand.
oOo
"What?" roared Turnet as his engine's voids fell around him. Panic entered his mind. This had never happened before. Not even during the Siege of Terra had Dies Irae's void shields fallen.
This had not been planned. What Princeps was insane or suicidal enough to not only destroy themselves, but their engine along with them to try and take an enemy down? It was… unthinkable.
"Weapons up!" he screamed at the crew.
oOo
Behind Irae, Princeps Daekian advanced in Clavis Regni. His Titan was spared from the power of the explosion by Dies Irae itself as the Emperor Titan's own shields took the brunt of the force. Now, Irae's vulnerable back knee joint was positioned directly in Regni's line of fire.
"Fire everything!" ordered Daekin. Clavis Regni's front seemed to explode as the Warlord unleashed every weapon in its arsenal into a single point. Weakened by bolter and point-defense cannon shells, Dies Irae's back knee joint buckled. A plasma shot burnt away the exterior armor; a missile swiftly finished the job.
With a great groaning and creaking of strained steel, Dies Irae's knee blew apart, and the huge Emperor Titan slowly toppled forward. All the present engines apart from Clavis Regni watched in disbelief as Irae fell with an almighty, terrible screeching clash of corrupted metal. Dust coated Clavis Regni.
Nimbly moving forward, as fast as it could as if Irae could come back to its feet like some malignant ghost, Clavis Regni walked around the once-great Titan's sprawled limbs and to its head. It stopped a moment, taking in the spectacle of the most dreaded Titan in all the galaxy laying sprawled and helpless before it.
Slowly, Clavis Regni raised its arm-mounted plasma blastgun and fired. The single shot connected with Dies Irae's unprotected head, vaporizing it.
The air on the battlefield seemed to still.
"Engine. Kill," voxed Princeps Daekian. Distantly, he heard his fellow Princeps and his crew cheering. He ignored it. His closest friend and partner on the battlefield was dead.
Dies Irae was slain, but as Daekian looked around at the countless multitudes of destroyed Ignatum engines, he couldn't help but think the price was simply too high.
oOo
Codex:
Ordo Sinister and psi-Titans:
Ordo Sinister, also known as Titanicus Terranic Ordo Sinister, or, more informally, "The Left Hand of the Emperor" and "The Nightmare Titans" is an elite Titan Legion of the Collegia Titanica's highly secret Divisio Telepathica that employs special psychic weapons and tactics. Ordo Sinister is considered perhaps the singular most secret, covert, and macabre of all of the Imperium's agencies of war and political control.
The purpose of Ordo Sinister was and is the battlefield employment of macro-level weaponry of such terrible potency and nature that they were expressly forbidden to any within the Imperium, be they Primarch or planetary governor. These were the weapons born of the terrible science from the Dark Age of Technology, and some from ancient xenos civilizations which had risen and fallen before life had even begun on Terra. Only the Emperor of Mankind, or those operating under his direct supervision, could use such things, and rightly so.
Ordo Sinister is made up of four allied but self-contained fortress crypts upon Terra, each with their own defenses, support staff, menials, and techno-arcanists, each in support of a "chamber" made up of five Warlord-Sinister Psi-Titans. The psi-Titans are crewed by the damned: numerous psykers are surgically locked in place and slaved to the will of the "Preceptor-Intendent", who is the only real crew of the god-engine, and takes the place of a princeps. The psi-Titan uses the power of the bound psykers to cast terrible powers, and to fuel its main weapon, the terrifying Sinistramanus Tenebrea, a weapon that instantly annihilates anything it targets by breaking it down into molecules and throwing them into the Warp. Such is the psychic power of a psi-Titan that only Blanks can crew them.
While the Ordo Sinister is rarely seen and is unknown outside the Imperial House, its destructive potential is so great that only the unanimous decision of the Knight-Commander of Silent Sisterhood and the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes can order their deployment. They have never officially been seen on any battlefield since the days of the Heresy, but only the Imperial House knows for certain in which terrible campaigns their records have been struck from.
oOo
There we have it! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Hopefully the Ordo Sinister were good, and hopefully Dies Irae's sendoff was also good enough. As for next chapter, it's the final battle. Again, if there's anything I need to add, or any advice you can give me, I would greatly appreciate it, just as I always appreciate all your comments, criticisms, questions, concerns, and reviews. Thank you all for reading; it really means a lot to me, and thank you for sticking with the story for this long. I look forward to the next chapter, and look forward to hearing from all of you!