All throughout the Red Tear and her picket fleet, the message of war had been broadcast. Deckhands and the menials of the legion rushed about at a zealous pace, loading armaments into waiting Storm Birds and Thunder Hawks. Adepts of the Mechanicum read the rites of activation and maintenance over the various heavy armored units that would accompany the legion into the battlefield. Deep inside the mighty vessels the massed ranks of the Blood Angels space marine legion readied their wargear. Bolters were zeroed in and serviced, the explosive penetrating ammunition checked and blessed by servitor machine slaves. Power weapons were activated and calibrated, each weapon's power field more than capable of punching through the heavy armor plating of a tank.
The first company stood alone in specialty ready rooms. Scores of menials armoring each warrior, readying the most lethal force in the Legion for combat.
The armor each marine wore was exquisitely made, the tactical dreadnought armor painted the purest white. The shoulder plates, sections of the breastplate and accent lines up the arms and legs of each warrior were trimmed in gold. While terminator armor was less agile than the mark IV plate it made up for that loss by making the wearer virtually invulnerable to any ballistic attack. What would shred a regular Astartes would barely scratch their plate. Rocket launchers, Reaper auto cannons, and other built in heavy weapons ensured each marine was a walking fortress, an instrument of pure destruction on the battlefield. Choral servitors intoned the litany of fury as they fluttered overhead on their repulsor fields, their long dead faces replaced with speakers, filling the armoring space with song.
Tilious stood at the front of his company, pride swelling in his chest as he watched his men, his brothers, prepare for battle. After the weapon checks were finished every marine fell into formation in front of Tilious, bowing their heads as the first company chaplain, Saturion, made his way to the front of the company. Unlike the rest of the company Saturion was clad in midnight black mark IV power armor. The shoulder pads were trimmed in gold, the elbows and knee pads fashioned into what looked like soot stained skulls. The helmet, unlike the standard space marine helmet, was likewise fashioned into a grimacing skull, eyes glowing bright red. The choral servitors fell silent, the only sound being the steady footsteps of the chaplain as he walked to stand next to Tilious. His face was inscrutable, the skull mask of his helmet a grim portrait.
Saturion stood before the company, hands clasped behind his back. His vox-enhanced voice boomed out from his skull helm. The sound easily carried out across the barracks.
"My brothers...today we are to bring war to the people of the world below, to bring fiery retribution to any that dare stand against the great crusade!"
Saturion hefted his crozarius, the massive two handed mace, a lethal and potent symbol of his office as chaplain. The head was shaped into a two headed eagle, the symbol of the imperium. He swept it over the gathered warriors. They intoned as one.
"We are the Angels of death! Our presence here brings doom to the enemy below!"
"We are the wrath of the Emperor made manifest!" Saturion boomed out.
The gathered warriors intoned in response,"His will made flesh! None may stand before us!"
Saturion hefted his weapon high over his head, his voice inundated with righteous fury.
"For Sanguinius!"
Every warrior gathered smashed their left fist onto their breastplate, the sound crashing through the hold like thunder.
"For the Emperor!" They roared, shaking the room with their zeal.
As one they turned, heading for the embarkation deck. The armoring hall had been huge, but the embarkation deck was massive on a whole new scale. Scores of Thunderhawks and Stormbirds sat ready to depart. Dozens of Predator tanks, Rhino transports, and Landraiders sat idle, waiting only for the order to launch. Thousands of deckhands and servitors ran about as they finished their final checks and arming procedures. Catwalks ran above the massive chamber, the ceiling arching above them and all but hidden in shadow. Over five hundred Astartes had been tasked with bringing the world below into compliance, five full companies. Tilious' first company, along with Ronarious' Second, had the honor of leading the assault that would break the fortress guarding the planetary capital. The seventh and ninth companies would assault the main shipping and space ports on the planet, while the third company would be a mobile reserve and reactionary force. Should the Lyrans attempt to counter attack the third would deploy via drop pod to disrupt it.
Land raiders stood waiting for the warriors of the first, as no other transport could ferry the mighty Terminators. The land raiders themselves rolled forward onto massive drop ships once full, their pilots already running through their final checklist before launch.
Ronarius watched as his warriors boarded their Rhinos. Unlike the first company veterans, his Astartes wore standard Mark IV plate—agile, practical, lethal. The armor did not boast the sheer resilience of Terminator plate, but it was swift, and Ronarius valued mobility above all else. His forces would be the hammer that shattered the enemy's missile artillery would be accompanying the eighth, along with lascannon equipped predator tanks. He sighed as he watched, his patrician features twisting momentarily in a look of great pity. Running a hand through his short trimmed hair he turned to Osturi.
Osturi was squad leader of the first squad in Ronarious' company, and second in command of the company. Similar in build to Ronarious himself, Osturi was the exemplar of the typical astartes. Over seven feet tall and almost five feet across in the chest, his muscles honed to perfection through combat and rigorous training. His features were regal, like theBaalic heroes of old. Like most of the legion, and Ronarious himself, he was an initiate from Baal, the home world of their primarch. He watched his captain run his hand through his hair, sympathizing with him.
No human should ever have to face the wrath of the Legion in combat.
"We bring death to this world Osturi, but the primarch, in his wisdom, would not have it a slaughter. I'm ordered to transmit one last plea for sanity, to give the people below one last chance to surrender. The eighth holds fire until I give the order, understood?"
Osturi bowed his head. "Understood sir."
Ronarius fitted his helm, dismissing Osturi as the helm auto adjusted for a moment before integrating with his armor, sealing the suit. As he turned to head into the waiting transport he could not help but feel a moment of pity for the people below. Taking his designated seat he stowed his bolter overhead, blinking once to open his built in vox unit, opening a channel to the driver.
"Loaded, proceed to transport."
"At once my lord." The pilot replied respectfully.
The Rhino accelerated smoothly, the driver expertly navigating his way through the maze of warriors and equipment until they reached their designated Thunderhawk. Driving underneath it he signaled the pilot, docking clamps hissing into position to hold the vehicle in flight. Once loaded the craft edged forwards on its launch rails, first in line with dozens of other craft awaiting the order to launch.
Ronarius blinked over to Tilious' channel.
"The Eighth is loaded and prepared to launch sir." He reported dutifully to the commander of the 1st.
"Acknowledged...your humours sound out of balance brother. What troubles you?"
Ronarious chuckled quietly. "You know what troubles me. I'm loath to ever bring our might against our cousins amongst the stars. Not all of us are as bloodthirsty as Angron's berserkers, you know."
"Sympathetic to the last eh? As you should be. The world below has no idea what is about to be unleashed upon them."
Tilious laughed then, the deep voice echoing inside Ronarious' helm. "We were made for this war brother." Then in a more somber tone he said, "Transmit your plea for surrender. Let us hope they see reason."
Ronarious sighed, melancholy on the eve of battle. He always was, facing his lost kin.
"Would that this war was not necessary."
As the fleet prepared for war, so too were alarms ringing across the Capital of Lyra.
Kim was hurriedly making her way down the hallways of the central command center of the capital, soldiers snapping to attention as she passed them. The Officer's cap nestled in the crook of her right arm, Kim saluted in passing, her fiery mane of red hair trailing behind her as she walked. The command center was well constructed, steel reinforced concrete making up the vast bulk of the structure. Murals of previous conflicts, the invasion of 345, the little gap campaign, and even a mural of herself leading her howling banshees to victory in the battle of the Urals, lining the hallway leading up to the war room. She stopped for a moment, blanching slightly at the figure of herself depicted in the mural. The artist certainly had been given full license.
Shaking her head she pushed open the war room door, moving briskly to the round table dominating the center of the room and sitting in her chair. She immediately activates her terminal, scanning for new reports even as she settles in.
Several high ranking officers of the Lyran army were present, most nodding to her as she sat. The high chancellor, or at least a holograph of him, was already speaking.
"And that is why we cannot allow our guard to slip for a moment. While the enemy has retreated we must maintain our vigilance, and continue the supplies moving to the front."
Kim leaned over slightly to her right, keeping her voice low.
"What did I miss?"
General Vough, a heavy set man with a truly impressive handlebar mustache, leaned in slightly.
"The High Chancellor has been outlining the continuation of the war effort, pushing all of us to maintain our vigil and.."
A squeal of static echoed over the speakers of the room, causing everyone to flinch in surprise. The hologram of the chancellor went silent as a hard voice, sonorous and regal, came over the speakers.
"By the will of my Primarch. I am offering you all a last chance to surrender. You will not suffer repercussions for your resistance, your populace will not be harmed."
Everyone stared for a moment, a look of bewilderment coming over their faces. The chancellor cleared his throat before speaking.
.
"I am High Chancellor Micheal Griffon...to whom am I speaking?"
The war room was dead silent. Kim leaned forward in her seat, listening intently. They had beat off everything the imperium had sent at them so far...why the sudden order of surrender?
Why announce their intentions at all? All of Kim's warrior instincts were sounding alarms.
"I am Ronarious, captain of the Eighth company of the Blood Angles Legiones Astartes. You and your world face annihilation should you continue this conflict. I urge you to surrender now, spare your people the coming storm."
Kim and every officer in the room scowled, their own expressions mirroring the Chancellors. Annihilation indeed.
"As we told Lord General...Brahmas? Yes, that was his name. As we've said before we have no intention of joining your so-called Imperium of Man. You attacked our planet without provocation, killed thousands of our troops, and now you dare threaten us further?"
The chancellor drew himself up to his full height, his face set like stone.
"No. We will never surrender to the likes of you."
Kim felt an enormous sense of pride at that moment. She was proud of her Chancellor's defiant words, proud of her planet. Yet that pride was tempered. They had bested army and armored units. They had yet to face these Legionnaires.
Ronarious scowled. He clenched his fists, his voice tight with fury and regret.
"I will not offer again. Surrender now, or face the wrath of The Emperor's Angels."
Kim growled low in her throat, red faced. The medals on her chest clinked together as she jumped to her feet, her chair crashing to the ground.
"Your arrogance astounds me captain. We've beaten your invincible armies back before, and will do so again. I swear, here and now, that the people of Lyra will never bow to your false Emperor! Tell THAT to your primarch!" Kim's chest heaved with the force of her ire, only dimly becoming aware of the thunderous applause that followed her proclamation. She grinned sheepishly, righting her chair before sitting down. The chancellor smiled down at her, clapping himself before waving his hands to calm the room.
The voice came again, hard as stone, sending a chill down the spine of everyone gathered.
"So be it."
Kim turned, leaving the war room, her hair a red banner. She lifted her vox into her hand, sending a call to her Wailing Banshees.
"Prepare for combat."
Aboard his Rhino Ronarious cut the vox, allowing a moment to compose himself before opening a channel to his primarch.
"They have refused my lord."
Sanguinius, standing in his own storm bird with the Sanguinary guard, sighed deeply. His armor was resplendent, deep gold chased with silver. Each piece had been crafted with a masters eye, hand forged by the Emperor's own armorers. A gold halo sat above his head. The blade Encarmine sheathed at his side, the scabbard covered in priceless gems. At his other hip was the illuminator, a plasma pistol of prodigious power, gifted to him from his brother primarch Ferrus Manus. Coal black tears had been painted on his face, signifying his reluctance to make war on their lost brethren. He looked aside, his angelic features downcast for a moment. He sighed as he opened a channel to the combined companies, regret etched into his voice. "The Lyrans have refused to surrender...commence operations, and spare all that you can my sons."
The order was given, and there would be no turning back.
The Legion was unleashed.