WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I NEED TO APOLOGIZE. I TRIED TO MEASURE HOW MUCH DAKKA WAS ACTUALLY ENOUGH, AND I BROKE REALITY. I MEAN, I FIXED IT, BUT IT STILL WARRANTS AN APOLOGY.

Someone made a comment about how I have many OCs in this story, and it's getting hard to keep track. I will now provide a handy dramatis personae so that everyone remembers.

(*): Technically canon, but I have done a lot to change them.

Alexia Shepard*: N7 Engineer (Former), Council Spectre (Former), Imperial General (Former), Elector Countess of Wissenland (Former), Living Saint

Hiral Fenn: 99th Vigilant Guard (Former), Bearer of the Shepard Banner

Temperance Blaise*: Canoness Superior, Order of Our Martyred Lady (Former), Order of the Iron Tears

Constance Mallis: Canoness, Order of Our Martyred Lady (Former), Order of the Iron Tears

Carolya: Alexian Superior, Alexian Guard, Order of Our Martyred Lady (Former), Order of the Iron Tears

Rychelle: Seraphim Superior, Order of Our Martyred Lady (Former), Order of the Iron Tears

Xem-Beta: Archmagos, Stygies VIII

Jonah Vils: Tempestor Prime, 7th Deltic Scorpions

Hadrian Rex: Confessor, Ecclesiarchy

Sirruk Dartan: High Admiral of the Shepard Crusade, commander of the Vehemence

Stevron Helmin: Lord-Marshal of the Shepard Crusade

Klinner: Colonel, 11th Vigilant Guard, First-Blooded

Rand: Commander, 1022nd Cadian Armored, First-Blooded

Riona: Duchess-Colonel, 50th Hecheron Artillery, First-Blooded

Losvor: Colonel, 77th Duranian Rangers, First-Blooded

Sren: Commander, 48th Miasman Redcowls, First-Blooded

Raquilon Zandtus*: Chapter Master, Necropolis Hawks

Arquevan Torlim: 3rd Company Captain, Necropolis Hawks

Loronin: 10th Company Captain, Necropolis Hawks

Artin: 1st Company Lieutenant (Former), Dreadnought, 'the Pure'

Malakim Phoros*: Chapter Master, Lamenters

Garask Brol: Centurion, Death Guard (Former), High Commander, Reapers

*actually sees how many OCs I've created*

Holy shit, and this list only covers the ones who are with Shepard, have shown up more than once, and are still alive. I'm counting Shepard because at this point, this version is very much my creation.

Anyway, I think we were about to invade one of the creepiest places in all of 40K, right?

*sigh*

Let's do this before I get scared off.

Star-Bound

Chapter 25

Invasion

Aside from resupplying, repairing damaged equipment and vehicles, and tending to their wounded from the battle at Gorgontia, there was little for the Shepard Crusade to actually do. While many wanted to assist other elements for the upcoming campaign, Guilliman had already created such an efficient system that the Shepard Crusade would just get in the way.

For some soldiers, it was an opportunity to hone their skills. For others, it was a chance to relax that they might not have again, and they were taking full advantage of that.

Hiral and Rychelle were two of the latter. Hiral was a modest man, and had protested being given larger quarters, but Shepard had insisted. Hiral still thought that he hadn't done enough to warrant such a reward, but times like these made him forget about his misgivings.

"When do you have to leave?" he panted as he lay next to Rychelle.

His lover drew the sheets over their sweat-soaked bodies. "Tomorrow morning."

Hiral looked at the timepiece on his wall. "Er… technically, it is tomorrow morning."

Rychelle paused, and then sighed and snuggled closer. "Then I have six more hours."

"Six hours…" Hiral's grip on her tightened enough to make her take serious notice. "I've heard stories about what the Drukhari do, and we're charging right into their home."

"Don't tell me you're afraid," Rychelle said. "You're one of the bravest men I've ever met."

"I'm not afraid of death." Hiral was actually surprised that he meant it; if it was in service to the Imperium, he would gladly give his life. "But the idea of getting captured alive—of anyone I care about getting captured alive—by those depraved xenos is terrifying."

Rychelle gently kissed his cheek. "Remember, we fight in the light of the God-Emperor, and under the banner of one of His Living Saints—a banner you carry into battle. No alien can stand before such might."

Her sheer belief was palpable, and Hiral felt his anxiety diminish. "You always know what to say."

"Of course I do," Rychelle said, her imperious tone ruined by her playful smirk. "Now, enough talk about battles yet to come. We still have a few hours left, yes?"

"We do," Hiral confirmed, and rolled over so that he was on top of her. "And we should make the most of it."

…

Shepard sometimes wondered just what went on in a Primarch's head. She could see the proverbial gears turning, but at a speed so far beyond her that it was honestly a little frightening. In this case, she could see what happened when a Primarch applied his superhuman mind to his element. Guilliman had organized a fleet of thousands of ships and the collective army in only a few days, accounting for unit types, specializations, preferred tactics, equipment, and a thousand other variables.

"Is it just me, or is he enjoying this?" she asked quietly as she watched Guilliman effortlessly talk down two squabbling commanding officers from rival Militarum regiments.

"It's not you," Corax said, not looking up from a report he was reading. "Roboute has always enjoyed organization and statecraft."

Only the Raven Lord had decided to stay and assist Guilliman with his preparations; Jonson had taken overall command of the Astartes not under the Shepard Crusade, and Russ just didn't care enough for the minutiae. He and the Space Wolves would be ready for the fight, he had promised, but he didn't want to be bothered with the small stuff; he would be where he was needed, nothing more.

The only thing Shepard found herself doing was running interference between the Ecclesiarchy and the Primarchs. The Imperium's state religion saw the Emperor's sons as nothing less than living conduit's to the divine, and often tried to pester them. Shepard had decided to bite the bullet and lead the many preachers in sermons, or just distract them by walking around with her wings manifested. Thankfully, she never traveled anywhere without Sororitas and Astartes guards, so the mobs of faithful didn't try to swarm her. The priests had also decided not to bother her after sunset—they needed sleep, after all—and that allowed Shepard to rest, either on the Vehemence, or in the Primarchs' sanctum.

"Hey, I haven't seen our guests since the other day," Shepard muttered. "Where'd they go?"

"The Ynnari will help us when and where they see fit," Corax said sourly. "Likely when it is most advantageous, and risks as few of their lives as possible."

"To be fair, wouldn't we do the same if we saw two of our enemies fighting each other?" Shepard had no love for the Aeldari, and she wouldn't have said something so heretical if she wasn't friends with the Primarchs, but it was the truth.

Corax nodded, conceding the point. "As long as they contribute to the battle, I won't object, though our largest gains will be made afterwards."

"Because a royal pain in the ass is off the board, or because an ally will have a base of operations?"

"Yes."

Shepard clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter; Corax's deadpan response had been so unexpected that she almost lost control of herself. She was still battling to contain her laughter when there was a signal chime from the door, indicating that someone needed to come in. Considering that Guilliman generally only summoned people for meetings, it had to be important.

"Enter," Guilliman said, and dismissed the two officers, who had had a peace brokered between them.

An Ultramarine waited until the Militarum officers were gone, and then escorted a man in grey armor into the room. Shepard immediately tensed; it had been years since she'd seen Inquisitor Strakk, but it would be even longer before she forgot the pain she'd suffered when he'd interrogated her.

"Lord Guilliman, Lord Corax." Strakk bowed to the Primarchs, and then to Shepard. "Saint Shepard, it is good to see you again."

"Likewise," Shepard said neutrally, though she'd really be happier if she never saw him again.

"Inquisitor, I assume that you have finished your sweep of the fleets for signs of heresy?" Guilliman certainly noticed how wary Shepard was, but didn't react; Corax, on the other hand, subtly placed himself between her and the Inquisitor.

"I have, and I am pleased to report that very few individuals showed any taint." Strakk crossed his arms. "They have already been dealt with."

"I didn't realize the Inquisition was joining us," Shepard said mildly.

"In an army this large, there are more than a few of us present," Strakk replied. "Most of my comrades serve the Ordo Xenos; they are eager to find anything of note in the Drukhari capital that might help the Imperium exterminate more aliens."

"Yeah, I'll bet." As much as Shepard hated people like the Drukhari, she was still unsettled by the relish in Strakk's voice.

"Was there something else, Inquisitor?" Guilliman had already returned his attention to a series of reports. "You could have said all this over the vox."

"Ah, I suppose I was rather unsubtle." Strakk tapped the badge of office on his chest. "I was hoping to ask Saint Shepard for a favor."

"Happy to help," Shepard said, her tone carefully neutral.

"I would ask for a small detachment of soldiers to accompany me on an objective given to me by the Inquisition." Strakk shrugged. "Our knowledge of Commorragh is limited, but what we do know suggests that there is something of great value to my superiors, and I know where it is."

Shepard didn't blink. "I expected you to have your own troops for something like this."

"Normally, an Inquisitor would, but I usually work alone, and I don't have time to requisition Inquisitorial forces." He paused, as if considering something. "No Space Marines, please; I've found that they tend to shoot things that the Inquisition would rather leave intact."

Shepard couldn't deny that one. "Fine. I'll have a strike force sent to you. However, I'm not giving you my people for a suicide mission. Bring as many back as you can."

Strakk bowed his head. "Of course. If there is nothing else, I'll take my leave."

The Inquisitor waited until Guilliman dismissed him, but no one doubted that he would have left on his own if he wanted.

"Asshole," Shepard growled after the door closed.

"You know him?" Corax asked.

"He 'tested' me to see if I was corrupted back on Vigilus," Shepard said. "Most of these tests involved needles."

"He tortured you?" Corax shifted, as if he was a breath away from going after Strakk and eviscerating him.

"The term he insisted on using was 'interrogating'," Shepard said sardonically.

"As outraged as you may be, brother, please restrain yourself." Guilliman fixed Corax with a mildly stern look. "The Inquisition has many flaws, but its services are vital to the Imperium's existence."

Corax glowered. "Oh, I understand that, Roboute, but do not think for a moment that I will ever trust them."

"Speaking of trust," Shepard said as she got up, "I'm going to have to get some people I trust to go with Strakk. If you'll excuse me?"

"Of course, Shepard." Corax rose and walked with her. "You don't really need my help, Roboute; I'll escort Shepard to her ship."

Guilliman nodded. "Very well. I will see you when we begin the operation. Rest well, both of you; we will all need it."

…

Shepard wasted no time calling a war council aboard the Vehemence. As usual, Xem-Beta only attended as a hologram, but everyone else was present.

"Temperance, Hadrian, do you remember Inquisitor Strakk? He was on Vigilus."

"I recall the man," Rex said with a thoughtful frown. "He was part of the group who tested you for your divinity, Your Holiness."

"Yeah, him." Shepard didn't comment on how Rex didn't mention the pain those tests had caused her. "He's part of the invasion, and he wants some help on a side-mission. No Astartes, though." She shrugged apologetically at the three Chapter Masters. "He's worried your boys might blow up whatever he's trying to get his hands on."

"It's not like we can refuse a 'request' from the Inquisition," Vils said. "Who do you want going with him?"

"He sent a request for a battalion-sized force." Shepard looked over the dataslate Strakk had sent her. "We might not be able to legally refuse him, but that doesn't mean we have to trust him. Temperance, I want Mallis' Preceptory to go with him; Stevron, can you divert a few Valkyries for air support?"

"Quite easily, Your Holiness," Helmin said with his typical bombastic flair, while Blaise just nodded.

"Good. Lord Guilliman sent us our orders, by the way. Typical rapid-assault tactics—the Space Marines and the Scorpions will hit key targets, the Sisters will fill gaps between each strike force, and that'll create a landing zone for the rest of our ground forces." Shepard didn't hear any opposition; those were the kinds of tactics the Shepard Crusade had mastered over the years. "Our primary objectives will be to take the main arenas; we'll be trying to keep the Wych Cults from supporting the larger factions."

"The logic is sound," Xem-Beta commented. "Drukhari tactics revolve almost exclusively around raiding, combining elements from various sub-groups to achieve certain objectives. If we can prevent such elements from fusing, our victory will be easier."

"Just say 'divide and conquer', Xem," Shepard said with a smile. "It's more efficient."

Xem-Beta tilted his head in that way they had all come to associate with his amusement. "Of course, Saint Shepard."

"Cancel all training for now," Shepard continued. "I don't want any accidents three days before we ship out. Focus on equipment maintenance, and double-checking that we have everything we need. Hadrian, please advise our regimental priests to focus on prayers that help steady nerves; I've heard enough horror stories about the Drukhari to know that this is gonna be a rough one."

Rex made the sign of the Aquila. "As you command, Your Holiness."

"Remember, everyone—watch out for each other, don't do anything reckless, and we'll all meet back here to celebrate a job well done." Shepard locked eyes with each of her friends, and shared a smile. "If there's nothing else, let's get it done."

…

Only a few Imperials in the command structure of the army were told where they were going, which was a wise decision, in Shepard's mind. If the entire force found out that the Ynnari were leading them to a Webway entrance within Ultramar, there would be calls for the aliens' heads, alliance or no.

Though Webway travel was faster and more accurate than using the Warp, the fleet's pace was measured. Eldrad had cautioned them about how sections of the Webway had collapsed, and only careful navigation could prevent a disaster. Shepard had wondered how a dimensional shortcut could collapse like a mineshaft; Yvraine had scoffed at her.

"Try not to exert your mon'keigh brain too far," she'd taunted. "You'll only hurt yourself."

Several of the war council, including Corax and Russ, had bristled at the insult, but Shepard had only raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, explain the mechanics of sub-dimensional travel, the energy required to maintain what is basically a series of interconnected wormholes, and how something like that was created with bones grown by singing." When Yvraine didn't answer, Shepard grinned. "Looks like I'm not the one whose brain shouldn't be exerted, huh? Don't come to the game without knowing who you're playing with."

Yvrain had merely looked away with disdain, but most of the Imperials had reacted with approval at Shepard beating an Aeldari with wordplay; Russ in particular had thrown his head back and laughed.

Aside from Yvraine's attitude, the trip was relatively smooth; among the Shepard Crusade, soldiers found the trip almost relaxing, though no one was willing to risk actually looking outside. Shepard had also been able to relax; without the need for a shield against daemonic threats, she was able to truly relax during spaceflight for the first time since her days in the Alliance.

She had been in the middle of a fascinating historical account of the Macharian Crusade—certainly doctored, but still a good read—when alarms blared throughout the Vehemence. Shepard had her armor on in minutes, and practically ran to the bridge; normally, the bulkheads would have remained sealed, but Shepard's authority allowed her to bypass the safety procedures.

"What're we looking at?" she asked without preamble.

Dartan, who had fully recovered from his illness, gripped the arms of his command throne and gestured to one of the bridge officers. "See for yourself."

Shepard had seen many impossible feats of engineering in her time among the Imperium. Some were of human design, the technology to replicate it long lost; others had been forged with the powers of the Warp, which ignored the laws of physics completely. Commorragh was a fusion of physical material and psychic manifestation, held in place by a science far beyond mortal understanding.

To call it a city was a gross understatement; it dwarfed even the mightiest Imperial hive a thousand times over. It was more like an artificial planetoid, divided into districts that stretched into separate pockets of reality. Twisting spires curved up into dark skies, and writhing shadows concealed all but the largest buildings.

Shepard had wondered if the invasion force had been overkill; now, she worried it might not be enough.

"Sir, enemy ships are on approach," the auspex officer reported.

"Numbers and composition?" Dartan asked calmly.

"Approximately one thousand vessels—most are equivalent to our escorts, but I'm reading two hundred of cruiser-size and larger. At the rate both fleets are advancing, we'll be in engagement range in two hours."

"Should we be worried, Sirruk?" Shepard asked.

Dartan pondered the question for a moment. "In a straight fight, our vessels are superior to the enemy. However, we are on their turf, and I would not be surprised if this is just the first wave of their defenses. I expect multiple engagements before this campaign is over."

"Okay, got it." Shepard took a deep breath to center herself. "I should go. The transports will be deploying soon."

"It is a shame you won't be able to see what is happening," Dartain teased. "I understand that the Lion is a master of void-war."

While Guilliman was the overall commander of the campaign, Jonson had been placed in command of the fleet. His task was to punch through the Drukhari defenses so that the Imperium could land on Commorragh, and then create a blockade to prevent the aliens from leaving, or getting reinforcements. Guilliman would assume command of the ground forces, though Corax and Russ had a high degree of autonomy; technically speaking, so did Shepard, but she knew that Guilliman had strategic abilities far beyond what she could ever hope for, and was perfectly willing to follow his commands.

"Good luck, High Admiral," Shepard said, fondly patting the old man on the shoulder before she left.

"May the Emperor guide you to a swift victory, Your Holiness." Dartan bowed his head, then turned his full attention to his battlefield.

…

With Mallis helping Strakk with his objective, Shepard and the Alexian Guard would fly into battle alongside the Reapers. A section of the Overlord Dawn Unending had been cleared out for them, though each of the Reapers not-so-subtly approached the Saint and greeted her. If Shepard thought the Lamenters loved her for saving them from extinction, the Reapers practically worshipped her; after all, they would never have existed at all without her.

"Apologies, Lady Shepard," rumbled Commander Fralk, captain of the Second Company. "My brothers are… excited that you have honored us with your presence for the coming battle."

Shepard smiled patiently at him; Fralk was one of the original Primaris Captains, and the one Brol had hit when they had first met. He still bore a scar on his cheek from the blow, one of many that now crisscrossed his face after his helm had been shattered by a Chaos Marine a year earlier. Like most Reapers, he wore a suit of Gravis armor, and had taken up the Crusade's custom of carving the names of those who died in battle alongside him into his plate.

Despite how little emotion he showed, Shepard liked him; he was calm and deliberate with almost everything he did, and he emphasized efficiency to temper the eagerness of his new Chapter.

"You've never fought the Drukhari before, have you, Commander?"

Fralk shook his head. "No, but I have been briefed extensively on all of the Imperium's foes. The Drukhari are fast, and prefer asymmetrical warfare. Their infantry weapons are typically more effective against unaugmented humans, and their anti-armor weapons are rarer."

"Good answers, but there's something I want you to remember." Shepard waited until the other Reapers were listening. "These bastards are cruel; they literally feed off the suffering of others. If they hated it, but did it out of necessity, I might understand—I'd still kill them for it, but I wouldn't hate them. But the Drukhari take a sick joy in every atrocity they commit, and they don't care who they torture. I've seen them take the skin from living babies so that they can make a cape, and that should be all you need to hear."

Carolya gripped the hilt of her sword tighter at that reminder; after butchering those responsible for that incident, Shepard had openly wept. The Alexian Guard had sworn a silent oath to kill a hundred Drukhari for each tear shed by their Saint.

"I'm just saying," Shepard went on, "that if any aliens deserve what's coming, it's these guys."

Fralk nodded, scarred face twisting in barely-controlled rage. "I understand, Lady Shepard. We will not leave any survivors."

"Brothers! Lady Shepard!" the Overlord's pilot called over the vox. "We will be landing in two minutes! Our landing zone is filled with the foe, but our guns will thin them out for you."

"Just leave enough for us to get a warmup," Shepard replied.

"I can make no promises; I enjoy watching the xenos die to my guns."

"Gotta respect a man who loves his job, I guess." Shepard rose to her feet and put on her helmet. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the kind of war I love! The Drukhari have been a source of pain and grief for the galaxy for a long while, and I say it's high time they got what they deserved."

Some of the Reapers raised fists or banged them against their chests. The Alexian Guard saluted with their swords, and Fralk gave a short bow.

"The ramp will lower in thirty seconds!" the pilot shouted. Even through the Overlord's thick armor, its passengers could feel the tremor of its guns as it pounded unseen foes.

Shepard manifested her wings and flew out of the transport as soon as the door was open, followed closely by flying Zephyrim and charging Astartes. "Kill them all!"

The first Drukhari Shepard met was a small squad of Kabalite Warriors. They wore thin, interlocking plates of armor and an elongated helm, all decorated with spikes; each carried a splinter rifle that fired poisonous barbs that could instantly send a normal human into agonizing convulsions.

The xenos were fast, but they were disoriented by the firepower of fifteen Overlords. Shepard brought Liberator down onto one warrior, pulping helm and head alike; the others were massacred by the Alexian Guard, who immediately took up a defensive position around her. Other Drukhari were taking cover a short distance away, but what little cover they had was blasted apart by Fralk and two squads of Heavy Intercessors. Like his brothers, Fralk carried a heavy bolt rifle that made a mockery of the aliens' armor.

A squad of Aggressors stomped up to where more Drukhari were hiding; splinter rounds bounced harmlessly off their armor, and the few that didn't have the good sense to flee were roasted alive by their flamestorm gauntlets. Behind them, one of the Heavy Intercessor squads began planting charges to demolish some of the surrounding buildings; while the Reapers wanted to pursue the aliens, their first task was to create a beachhead for the non-Astartes, like the other Space Marine strike forces.

"Reports coming in," Fralk said curtly as he reloaded. "All Reaper strike forces have secured their initial objectives. The Lamenters have taken seventy-three percent of their assigned landing zones, but are facing heavier resistance than anticipated, and have had to bring in their armor early."

Shepard nodded, but wasn't too worried; the Lamenters had survived the worst battles back when they were still cursed, and with that curse lifted, their stubborn grit had turned into an overwhelming drive.

"What about the Necropolis Hawks?"

"The only thing I know is that they are in heavy combat, and have requested additional air support." Fralk gripped his bolt rifle tighter. "The closest of them are two kilometers away."

"And there are probably a thousand ambushes between us and them," Shepard said grimly. "We'll continue as planned, and then push towards them once we establish our foothold, but ask the High Commander if he can spare some of that air support."

"It shall be done."

While Fralk communicated with Brol, Shepard waited impatiently for the first wave of transports to arrive. She worried about the Hawks like she worried about all of her 'children' in the Crusade, but she reminded herself that they were Space Marines. There were few situations that an entire Chapter of experienced Astartes couldn't fight their way out of.

The first of the reinforcements to arrive came in the silver transports of the Order of the Iron Tears. The entire Order had been committed to the invasion, and even more Drukhari buildings were demolished to make room for them.

Blaise was the first down the ramp of her shuttle; while her Condemnor-pattern boltgun had been repaired after her battle with the Swarmlord, she had replaced her power sword entirely. She now carried a flanged power mace, a relic gifted to her by the Ecclesiarchy called Sinbreaker; forged in the tears of a thousand penitent sinners, it was supposedly able to bring a heretic to their knees after making the slightest contact with the weapon.

Privately, Shepard thought that had more to do with getting struck by a power maul, but she wasn't about to say that to her friend.

"Your Holiness," Blaise greeted. "I see that you have begun your righteous work without us."

"What can I say, I wanted to see our boys at work." There was a loud bang as a Heavy Intercessor executed a fleeing Drukhari with a well-placed shot to the back of the head. "See what I mean?"

Blaise smiled. "Of course."

Shepard leaned in closer as more Sororitas streamed out of their transports. "How are the girls doing? I heard a few rumors before we shipped out."

"There are many stories of these foul xenos capturing Sororitas and inflicting untold atrocities upon them." Blaise's organic eye narrowed in hatred. "They enjoy trying to break us."

"That's not happening again," Shepard promised. "We're killing these assholes, Temperance, and we're saving anyone we can. The slave pens should be close to the arenas."

Blaise nodded, but they both knew that the odds of anyone they saved recovering from their torments were slim. Most of them would probably have to be given the peace of a swift death.

"Come on," Shepard said, as the Sororitas and the Reapers finished assembling. "We have a lot of work to do." She paused for a moment. "Hang on. Fralk! Get me the Lamenters."

…

Zandtus scowled as he took cover behind the wreckage of a Repulsor; the heavy vehicle had been the lynchpin of his position, but a dozen Drukhari dark lances had turned it into so much burning scrap. Though it hurt his pride to admit it, the Necropolis Hawks weren't making progress. Their initial landing had been disrupted by xenos aircraft, and their strike forces had been strung out, allowing the Drukhari to isolate them.

"Lord, our position is untenable," an Intercessor sergeant said. "We must fall back."

Zandtus nodded, though not before he raised his auto bolt rifle and dropped three Drukhari with well-placed shots. "We hold for two more minutes. If we are not reinforced, we will try to break out of the encirclement."

The Necropolis Hawks were as frustrated as their Chapter Master; Space Marines were accustomed to moving battles, and if they did have to hold their ground, it was only so that more of their brothers could flank and destroy an occupied enemy. This was especially true for the Necropolis Hawks, as descendants of the Raven Guard.

"Lord, four Overlords on approach," the sergeant reported; Zandtus would have been contacted himself, but his armor's vox had been destroyed by a lucky hit minutes into the battle. "They will level everything within five hundred meters north of our position."

"Good. Have your squad provide covering fire while we pull back. Brother Artin will cover your withdrawal."

The sergeant nodded; he quickly and efficiently organized his squad so that each Intercessor could add his fire to that of the brothers on either side. Zandtus took only a moment to scowl again at the dozens of light vehicles the Drukhari were advancing, and then pulled back. Despite their anger, Astartes discipline won out, and the Necropolis Hawks retreated in good order.

"Brother Artin," Zandtus called out, "you are needed."

"For Chapter, for Imperium, for Emperor." Artin's words were slow and deliberate, as were his echoing footsteps as the Dreadnought stomped forwards. As a Primaris-pattern Redemptor Dreadnought, his right arm was replaced with a massive heavy onslaught gatling cannon, while his left was a ponderous fist with an underslung smaller gatling cannon. Mounted to the front of his sarcophagus were two storm bolters, and on top of his chassis was a cylindrical Icarus-pattern rocket pod.

Artin had not taken well to becoming a Dreadnought; physically, there had been no problems, but his mind had nearly shattered. It was only several months ago that the Chapter's Techmarines, Apothecaries and Chaplains had finally agreed that he was fit for service again, and the assault on Commorragh was his first battle since Auramus.

The first Drukhari to come into view were a trio of jetbikes; their weapons, meant to shred light infantry, barely scratched the pain on Artin's hull. In contrast, the howl of Artin's weapons sent two of the jetbikes to the ground in flames, and then massacred any Drukhari foolish enough to stay in his range.

"Xenos suppressed," Artin reported, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Many thanks, brother," Zandtus said. "Continue for another sixty seconds, then regroup with the rest of us."

Shortly before the minute finished counting down, four Overlords in the dull-yellow of the Lamenters arrived, unleashing torrents of fire that finally drove back the Drukhari. Some of the Necropolis Hawks cheered for their cousins, while others escorted a pair of Apothecaries around the landing zone; nearly thirty of their brothers were downed, either too badly injured to continue fighting, or were dead.

"Your arrival is most timely," Zandtus said as one Overlord lowered its ramp; to his surprise, Phoros was the first out. "Malakim? Why are you here? I thought you were coordinating your brothers south of here."

Phoros took his fellow Chapter Master's wrist in a warrior's grip. "My men can handle things without me for a little while, my friend. I thought one Chapter Master should rescue another; sending a subordinate felt like an insult."

"What this feels like is a competition," Zandtus joked, as more Overlords and Stormfury gunships, this time in the livery of the Necropolis Hawks, arrived to reinforce them. "I suppose I owe you."

"If you feel you must repay me, my Fourth Company pushed too far ahead, and has become cut off from their resupply. I would consider any debt paid if you could deliver more ammunition while we destroy the xenos holdouts."

"With pleasure." Considering how many of his brothers had been killed today, Zandtus would enjoy slaughtering every alien he found. "Before we part ways, how did you respond to our call for aid so quickly?"

Phoros laughed. "How do you think?"

Zandtus shook his head; he should have known. "Shepard?"

"Shepard."

…

"I do not know how she managed it."

Mallis knew better than to engage in conversation with an Inquisitor, but there was a mocking edge to Strakk's tone that couldn't go unanswered.

"I assume that you refer to Saint Shepard," she said. "What is it about her that confuses you?"

Strakk leaned back in the Immolator he and Mallis shared. "I know more about her than most; I knew that she would lead a Crusade out of notions of justice and morality. So many before her proclaimed the same, only for their ego to bring ruin to their own cause, or for jealous underlings to sabotage their efforts. Instead, Shepard has only gathered more followers, and their devotion has only grown. There are many of my fellows who would become suspicious of her."

Mallis inwardly bristled, but didn't let it show on her serene expression; nevertheless, she suspected that Strakk knew exactly how she felt.

"Does the Inquisition doubt a Living Saint? She has done more for the Imperium than any other in thousands of years."

Strakk's own expression was hidden by his blank helm, but Mallis was positive that he had a mocking smile on his face.

"The Inquisition suspects anyone who gathers so much power, or has so many influential figures supporting them. If you recall, Goge Vandire became quite influential, and he never found Primarchs."

At the mention of Vandire, Mallis' control slipped, and she gripped her chainsword. "You would be wise to mind your words, Inquisitor."

"I only need do so before the God-Emperor." Strakk would have said more, but something impacted against the hull of their transport. "What was that?"

"Small-arms fire," the driver reported. "We have encountered resistance."

"How close are we to the coordinates?" Strakk demanded.

"Five kilometers, and the roads are blocked ahead."

Mallis rose from her seat. "Then we will have to proceed on foot."

"An armored convoy is the safest way," Strakk argued. "The Drukhari are experts at fighting infantry."

"How badly do you want your prize, Inquisitor?" When Strakk didn't answer, Mallis nodded. "Then we walk from here." She tapped her vox bead. "Sisters, our route is blocked; disembark and slaughter any xenos that tries to stop us."

The Immolator's multi-melta screamed as it fired into a Drukhari transport; the explosion that followed illuminated Mallis and Strakk as they exited the vehicle. All around them, Sororitas piled out of their Rhinos and Immolators, firing bolters at distant targets; above, Seraphim fought aerial duels with jetbikes, and bodies from both sides tumbled from the skies.

Mallis fired her bolter at a Kabalite Warrior as she and Strakk joined several squads. "Inquisitor, my sisters will create a blockade to cover our advance. We will only be able to take a small force with us if we are to reach your prize with any speed."

"Agreed," Strakk said reluctantly. "The objective will be heavily guarded; bring only your best."

With a few curt orders, Mallis assembled her strike force—four standard squads of Sisters, a squad of meltagun-armed Dominions, Retributors with heavy flamers, and a squad of Seraphim under Rychelle. At the last second, a pair of Sisters joined them; they wore a new addition to the Sororitas' arsenal, the Paragon Warsuit. The exoskeleton gave the wearer a hunched appearance, but also provided the mass and armor that exceeded a Space Marine. One suit had a multi-melta for a left arm and carried a massive power sword in the right, while the other had a heavy bolter and a flanged power maul. Both suits had missile launchers built into the upper part of the carapace.

Some of the more conservative Sororitas were wary of using such new technology, especially when it was rumored that the accused heretek Belisarius Cawl had had a hand in their development. However, the dissent died when Saint Shepard had enthusiastically embraced the warsuits; her argument was that the Sororitas had little in the way of heavy infantry, and needed something with a little more punch.

"We push onward," Mallis told them all. "In the name of the God-Emperor, we will rob the xenos of their prize."

"It shall be done," the sister intoned.

They pushed deeper into the darkness.

…

Shepard's heart burned with rage, and no matter how many aliens she slashed, bludgeoned or shot, her fury refused to subside. After nearly two hours of hard fighting, her forces had made their way to one of many Drukhari slave pens, and though she had seen such things before, it horrified her just as much now as it did then.

Most of the slaves were human, though there were a few T'au and Craftworld Aeldari among them. The latter had borne their torment well enough, but the others…

Shepard held a woman's hand as she bled out in her arms; her death had only been possible because she had been removed from the torture device that kept her alive. Her skin had been peeled back, her organs shredded, and her skull opened to allow needle-sharp blades access to her brain matter.

Nearby, Blaise was praying for a trio of Sororitas that had been captured. They had been sewn together at the shoulders, while the one at the center had had her arms removed. According to one of the few sane prisoners, they had been forced to fight a series of beasts in that condition. Blaise made sure to note their names before giving them a quick death.

Out of nearly a thousand slaves Shepard had found, perhaps only thirty didn't need to be put out of their misery. Shepard had ordered that each mercy-kill be made as painless as possible, even for the aliens; fifty-three had died at her hand, despite Blaise's insistence that she didn't need to play executioner.

"If you're going to do this, so will I," Shepard had replied, and that had ended the matter.

It wasn't just the slaves who had to be given quick deaths. Drukhari weapons inflicted horrible pain on anyone they injured, and more than one among the Militarum, and even a few Sororitas had been driven insane from the agony. Only the Space Marines had been able to push through the pain, their genehanced physiologies resisting the poison and expelling it from their bodies.

After the surviving slaves had been secured, Shepard's forces regrouped; each of their hands was stained red with blood.

"Our target is the arena, approximately two kilometers west of here," Shepard said. "It's one of the territories claimed by the Wych Cults, and they're not going to give up their playground so easily. We're going to draw them in and kick their asses. I know I probably don't have to say this, but there will be no quarter given. Kill them all."

"It shall be done," Blaise said, teeth clenched in hatred.

There was little resistance on the way to the arena, but that changed once they actually arrived. The outside of the arena was more like a fortress, with reinforced alcoves to shield Drukhari warriors as they rained down fire. Hundreds more flew overhead, either on bladed boards, jetbikes, or actual wings, while others manned hovering transports.

It wasn't enough. Along the way, more and more of the Shepard Crusade had gathered around their Saint, and by the time they'd arrived, all five regiments of the First-Blooded, two Preceptories of the Order of the Iron Tears, and most of the Reapers were at her back.

Through her orders, Riona claimed the first shot; the Basilisks and Wyverns of the 50th Hecheron opened fire on the outside of the arena. Their shells blasted apart cover, and anyone unlucky enough to be hiding behind it. The Drukhari flyers tried to take out the artillery, but they were protected by Hydra flak tanks that filled the air with shells. The Drukhari pulled back to try again, but found themselves in an aerial battle against a mass of Valkyries, Seraphim, Inceptors, Stormfuries and Overlords.

"This is it!" Shepard roared over the deafening noise of war. "Temperance, Garask, we're storming the arena!"

The great doors to the arena were blasted apart by the twin las-talons and multi-meltas of a Valiant-pattern Gladiator tank, a Primaris Marine battle tank that utilized repulsor technology. The gunner popped out of the hatch and held his fist to his chest as his brothers and Sororitas charged through the breach, and Shepard responded with a quick salute of Liberator.

Every step inside the dimly-lit structure only made Shepard's fury grow. The walls were lined with 'trophies' that the Wyches had taken—heads, skins, and even glass containers with more esoteric prizes, like a victim's last scream.

"Remind me to have everything here burned before we hand this place over to the Ynnari," Shepard muttered.

"With pleasure," both Blaise and Brol said at the same time. A hundred of Blaise's sisters and a demi-company of Reapers that accompanied them inside shared the sentiment as well.

It wasn't long before the first Wyches emerged from the shadows to ambush them. As lethal as they were fast, the first sign of their arrival was when the lenses of an Aggressor's helm were punctured by two knives. He was dead before he hit the ground, while his killer flipped over his corpse and landed next to Brol; only decades of experience allowed him to parry her strikes with his power scythe. The Wych tried to pull back, but she was in a tunnel packed with Astartes and Sororitas; as she tried to flip back, Brol snagged her leg with one hand, crushing her bones in an instant, while another Aggressor stomped her head into paste.

Rather than risk further ambushes, anyone armed with a flamer bathed the walls in fire, setting alight the closest hidden Wyches before they could move, and sending the rest fleeing to find a better location. The advance halted only long enough for an Apothecary to harvest his fallen brother's gene-seed.

Aggressors and Retributors armed with heavy flamers led the way from then on, torrents of fire turning stone and metal into an enormous kiln. Shepard's armor kept the heat down, but it was still an uncomfortable journey.

While the fire did clear the way, the heat itself did little to dissuade more ambushes. Shepard barely avoided a Wych that slipped past the Alexian Guard, and only because she was expecting it. Her attacker, like all Aeldari, was slender and inhumanly agile; she wore light armor around her forearms and calves, but other than that, she only wore tight pants and a high-cut top. Her dark hair was bound in a tight braid, and if Shepard's eyes weren't deceiving her, the glint in the Drukhari's hair suggested something sharp had been woven in as well. In each of her hands, she carried a serrated blade, too long to be a dagger, but too short to be a true sword.

Shepard knew she couldn't match an Aeldari for speed, especially one like this. Instead, she waited for her attacker to make the first move. She swung Liberator in an upward arc as soon as the Wych leaped, the hammer-side catching her on the chin; the front half of her head was violently torn away, and what was left hung to her spinal cord by a few gory strands.

"Apologies, Your Holiness," an Alexian Guard said.

"Eh, you'll get the next one," Shepard replied, confident that her guards would be even more vigilant.

Groups of Sororitas and Reapers entered from other breaches, then broke off to head down side-passages, ensuring that the entire arena would be swept clear. Two thousand Sisters of Battle and nine full Companies of Space Marines was usually overkill for any one location, but over thirty thousand Space Marines had been part of the invasion, as were several minor Orders of Sororitas. In an odd occurrence, the Imperium actually had Astartes to spare.

"There's a large open area ahead," a Reaper reported. "Auspex scans show at least two hundred bio-signs."

"They're waiting for us." Brol hefted his power scythe. "Aeldari are not ones for a straight fight. There must be some trick in store."

"I would be supremely disappointed if there wasn't," Shepard said, her voice deliberately nonchalant. "These assholes are following every other cliché that makes them the bad guys, why not that one too?"

The center of the arena was flat and dusty, with darker patches of old blood. Waiting for the Imperials was a crowd of Wyches; leading them was a specimen that radiated malice, a serrated blade in each hand, a red tattoo under her left eye, and silver hooks woven into her long red hair. Her armor was more ornate than her followers, but still revealed plenty of skin; some might have been attracted to her, but there was an unearthly presence about her. She was too perfect, too fluid in her motions to cause anything but revulsion.

"Greetings, mon-keigh," she said, twirling her knives as she mockingly bowed. "It is rare for such… prepared… prey enters my arena. Do make this dance interesting, will you?"

Shepard slowly drew her plasma pistol, and kept Liberator loose at her side. "I like to know the names of my dance partners, if it's all the same to you."

"Oh, of course! How rude of me." The Drukhari smiled. "I am Lelith Hesperax; and you must be Alexia Shepard."

"How do you know who I am?" The other Imperials fanned out around her; the Wyches kept watch, but didn't act until their mistress gave the word. "I'm not in the habit of handing out my name to cheap whores."

"Apparently, you've grown quite famous," Lelith said. "So many of my mon-keigh playthings cried out for you to save them, when they weren't begging your dead Emperor." She laughed. "So many of them prayed for your arrival, in so many ways, I had a fairly good idea of what you looked like."

"Say the word," Blaise growled. "Say the word, and I will execute the xenos filth."

Lelith ignored Blaise, and continued to speak to Shepard. "Of course, when you didn't come to save those poor wretches, they fell into such despair. It tinted their blood oh-so-beautifully when I drained them for my bath."

"I stand corrected." Shepard raised an eyebrow. "I meant to say that I don't give out my name to cheap psychotic whores."

"Name-calling is so banal." Lelith sighed and took a single step forward; at some unseen signal, hidden slots in the ground opened up, and spiked walls rose, separating the Imperials in a maze. "You have a lovely voice, Alexia Shepard! Will it sound as lovely when you scream as I carve you apart?"

Shepard scowled; she had been separated from everyone, including the Alexian Guard. She could hear the sound of bolters firing, the roars of Astartes, hymns from the Sororitas, and the laughter of alien murderers. Before she could manifest her wings and fly out, the cage was sealed with a thick ceiling of alien metal.

"And today started out so well," she muttered.

Cliffhanger! Shepard fights Lelith herself! First of all, this particular alien bitch is the gladiator champion of Commorragh. She kills whole squads of Space Marines faster than a dozen Commissars would kill a platoon of Guardsmen.

Here's the thing about Drukhari: they do not fight pitched battles. Their tactics, their lore, and their unit roster all revolve around moving fast, hitting fast, and doing their best not to get hit back. An invasion on their home turf, with artillery blasting apart their hiding places in a grid pattern, while tanks roll down the streets and hundreds of thousands of soldiers march over the remains? That's not the kind of fight they win. That's not to say that they'll make this war easy for the Imperium; once the surprise wears off, the humans are going to have some issues.

Oh, and those Paragon Warsuits I brought in are actually canon. They were announced a while back at a GW preview. I don't know their backstory, but since they've never been introduced before, I'm gonna say that Cawl made them. Probably when he was bored and had an hour off.

And now, an announcement. While I will still be updating this story, the wait between chapters will be longer. This is because I have been neglecting work on my next book, and obviously, that's more important. I need to devote a lot more energy towards that. I'm not taking a full hiatus, just… taking a few steps back while I get my priorities straight.

However, because my next book is getting close to done, now is the best time to buy the first one of the trilogy, Alpha Sanction, by Josh Gottlieb. You can find it on my website (link in my profile), or on Amazon as an eBook or physical copy.

If you want me to focus on fan fiction all the time, please consider donating to my P-atreon page (link in my profile). If I make enough through that to actually live on, I'll probably be able to update at least one story every week.

Thanks to the following awesome people who have helped found that dream:

Serious Muffins: SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, Anders Lyngbye, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, John Collins, Red Bard, Aaron Meek, Shaolin Khalil, killroy225, Zann Nightroad

Incredible Muffins: RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Crazyman844

Ultra Muffins: Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll

Next Chapter: The battle for Commorragh continues—not just for Shepard, but all her friends and allies. Meanwhile, the true goal of the Ynnari comes to light…

I am an agent of the Imperial Inquisition, and I answer only to the Muffin Himself.