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Hi all! This is my first real go at writing 40K fic. It's inspired by and based on the armies and battles that go on in my particular 40K group, so pretty much any battles mentioned have happened in games we've played. XD So the results of said fights in the story depends entirely on how the games actually went, heh (with a bit of artistic license, natch). Makes for challenging writing.

This is, of course, a work in progress. Any comments and feedback are appreciated! And for the record, my army is the Thousand Sons one. Anyway, on with the story!

* * *
A planet of teaching and learning, that reminded him of a long-lost home. A vast repository of knowledge, both mundane and extraordinary, that shone red and white like a beacon. A hidden item of great significance, held deep within the repository, that radiated with power. A key, a key to something... something incredibly important...

The vision became less clear, as a growing shadow encroached and slowly started to spread. The shadow radiated hunger and destruction and a terrible, unshakable purpose. The red and white beacon began to dim as the shadow expanded and started to overwhelm it. Tendrils of darkness curled and slithered outwards, thickening and joining together as they consumed all in their path.

The tendrils drew closer and reached for him, hungry and unstoppable, wrapping around him and holding him fast. Try as he might, there was no escape. The shadow grew and grew and consumed everything, and he was lost to the darkness--

Captain Akil awoke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright on his cot with a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin, his hearts thundering in his chest. It took him a moment to realise that he was back in his physical body, in his own quarters, and not trapped in a horrible dream of all-consuming darkness. Or, more accurately, a vision - a vision of the future, though one shrouded in allegory and symbolism.

He took a deep breath at let it out slowly, calming himself with a mental recitation of the Enumerations. It was not for nothing that the Thousand Sons had received the best mental training of all the Legions, and even after so much time, Akil’s mental discipline had not waned in the slightest. Emotions under control, he clinically analysed the images from the vision, trying to find some clue as to its true meaning.

Even as he thought, he rose from his cot and began donning his armour with the ease of long practice. It was still an hour or two until the next shift, but Akil knew he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep now. As an experienced member of the Corvidae cult, he’d learned to trust his instincts, and right now they were telling him that this vision wasn’t to be ignored. Whatever the beacon represented, it was vitally important and had to be protected from the encroaching threat.

The trick now would be to decipher the vision and figure out what it was, and where it was, before it was too late.

Once Akil was fully armoured save for his helmet, which he hung off his belt, he left his rather spartan quarters and strode through the quiet corridors of the ship. As one of the commanding officers on the vanguard cruiser Aten, his quarters weren’t far from the bridge, and it didn’t take him long to reach it.

The bridge was dim and quiet, as the ship was currently cruising through an area of unoccupied space, changing heading before the next warp jump and making sure nothing was tailing them. There was only a skeleton crew manning the bridge; the rest were off-duty, recovering from a recent hurried extraction, an extended period of combat readiness and a long stint of evasive manoeuvres and warp jumps.

While investigating a sector after an earlier encounter with Necrons, the Sons had been ambushed by a group of Space Wolves. Though the Sons had won that little skirmish, it had been decided that the Aten’s best course of action was to vacate the area immediately, before the Wolves could regroup enough to pursue. Since then, the Aten had made several jumps through the warp, changing direction each time it emerged so as to better confuse its trail.

Lending to the ship’s current feeling of quiet was the fact that it was also lacking over half its usual complement of Thousand Sons. Sefu, one of the other commanding officers aboard the Aten, had taken half the squads and most of the other Sons with Terminator honours in one of the cruiser’s Stormbirds. The reason behind their departure was twofold. One, as an extra precaution against the Aten being followed; and two, to acquire more supplies and resources if the opportunity arose. Though the Aten was well-stocked, it wasn’t easy keeping it that way.

As Akil entered the bridge, the helmsmistress currently on duty turned to face him, giving a salute. “Captain.”

Akil halted on the viewing platform that overlooked the rest of the bridge and nodded in acknowledgement. “Status?”

“No signs of pursuit so far,” the helmsmistress replied crisply. “All ship systems are functioning at acceptable levels. We’ll reach the next launch point within the hour.”

“Very well,” Akil replied absently, most of his attention still focused on unravelling his vision. “Carry on.” If the helmsmistress noticed his distraction, she gave no sign and merely saluted again before turning back to her console.

Time passed slowly as the Aten glided through space, heading towards a point where it could more easily enter one of the myriad currents through the warp. Akil let his mind drift, musing over his vision and possible interpretations of it. If he’d been any other Corvidae, he would have dropped into meditation and attempted to better divine the future, but his particular talents in that area had never responded well to forcing. His foresight came when it willed, and not before.

He ignored the bridge crew as they murmured amongst each other while they worked, at least until the helmsmistress addressed him directly. “Captain? We’ve reached the launch point, but the Navigator has detected an anomaly in the warp.”

That got Akil’s attention, and he blinked and looked down at the helmsmistress. “What sort of anomaly?”

“The Navigator described it as a shadow in the warp, which seems to have its origins within the Qantm sector.”

Akil was immediately alert. “What data do we have on that sector?”

The helmsmistress consulted her console briefly before replying. “Imperial held, four inhabited worlds. They’re of little note except for the fourth, which houses a significant Librarium.”

A Librarium. A vast repository of knowledge... Akil didn’t even have to stop and think about it. “Set a course through the warp to the Qantm sector,” he ordered. “Inform me immediately if the Navigator detects anything else.”

The helmsmistress saluted sharply. “Right away, Captain. Engaging Geller Field.”

As the Aten slipped into the warp and began its journey, Akil remained on the bridge, silently wondering what awaited in the Qantm sector and hoping his foresight would give him more clues to the future.

* * *
“Brother-Captain, an unidentified ship has just emerged from the Warp at the outer edges of this sector.”

Brother-Captain Stern stood aboard the bridge of the strike cruiser Retributio Titanica, clad in the steel grey armour of the Grey Knights. He leaned forward and rested his hands on the rail separating the viewing platform from the rest of the bridge, his attention momentarily distracted from concerns about the reports of the xenos invasion of this sector. “Bring it up on screen, and tell me anything you can find out about it.”

A moment later the vis-display flickered to life, showing a once-sleek but now rugged and battered-looking cruiser of a design he wasn’t familiar with. Its metal hide was coloured a dark, mottled grey that made it almost disappear against the backdrop of space, save for the glow of its engines. Closer inspection revealed that the mottling seemed to be a mix of old battle damage, repairs, scorch marks, aged metal, and scraps of dull, tarnished red and gold.

Stern eyed the vessel’s image warily, trying to find some clue as to its origin or purpose. His examination of it was interrupted however by one of the bridge crew speaking up again. “It doesn’t match the signature or description of any vessels currently in Imperial service. It does, however, seem to match the specifications of an older design of Imperial cruiser.”

“How much older?” Stern asked, his eyes never leaving the vis-display.

“Pre-Heresy old.”

Stern’s breath caught in his throat for a moment, but before he could say anything footsteps beside him announced the arrival of another Grey Knight. “It certainly looks its age,” Justicar Alaric commented dryly, coming to a halt beside the Brother-Captain and eyeing the vis-display closely.

“Hm.” Stern glanced down at the bridge crew. “Any records on which Legion preferred this design of cruiser?”

There was a brief pause before he got his reply. “Records suggest that this particular pattern was favoured by the fleets of Prospero.”

Alaric hissed a breath through his teeth. “The Thousand Sons Traitor Legion.” He frowned thoughtfully, once again examining the vis-display. “It doesn’t bear the usual trophies or markings of the Traitor Legions, though...”

Stern remained silent as his mind worked rapidly, but then the vis-display showed the cruiser’s engines flaring, and one of the bridge crew spoke up again. “Sirs, the cruiser has started moving deeper into the system.”

“Are they on a battle heading?” Alaric asked, allowing Stern to continue his thoughts without interruption.

“No sir, they seem to be investigating.”

“Investigating what though?” Stern muttered. “The chance to raid the Librarium while we are busy with the xenos invasion? We cannot afford to have our attention divided...”

“But we also do not have the forces to stem the xenos tide alone,” Alaric commented quietly, then nodded towards the vis-display. “Perhaps we can turn this to our advantage.”

Stern gave Alaric a hard look. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

Alaric shrugged. “Only that they may not necessarily be an immediate threat. And if they’re not, then perhaps we can use them as temporary allies.”

Stern eyed Alaric as if the Justicar had gone mad, then shook his head slightly. “I shouldn’t be surprised at such a suggestion from you,” he grumbled. “What makes you think they’d even want to risk themselves?”

“Like I mentioned before, they do not have the look of the Traitor Legions about them. And something has obviously drawn them to this sector,” Alaric pointed out. “I find it hard to believe they’ve turned up here and now through sheer coincidence.” He paused, then added, “Besides, what have we got to lose?”

Stern scowled and thought for a long moment, then looked back down at the bridge crew. “Any word from the Imperial forces on the ground?”

“They’ve just fought off another wave, and the xenos have fallen back for now. But the Imperial forces have taken heavy losses. Their need for reinforcements becomes more dire by the hour.”

“Damn it,” Stern muttered, the news of the Imperial forces’ plight cementing his decision. He sighed and rubbed his face with one hand, then glared at Alaric. “Fine. We’ll try it your way, but if I see or hear anything I don’t approve of, we’re not risking it.” Alaric just nodded, and Stern raised his voice so the bridge crew could hear him again. “Comms, hail that cruiser. Vis and vox.”

“Aye, sir.” The comms officer worked at his console for several moments, then glanced back up at the Brother-Captain and Justicar. “They’re responding. Establishing connection.”

Alaric moved off to the side, and Stern straightened, folding his arms across his chest. “Bring it up.”

The vox crackled for a moment with static, and the vis-display flickered away from the view of the cruiser to instead show a Space Marine in deep blue, gold-trimmed Terminator armour of a much older mark, bearing the trappings of a company Captain. His hands were folded behind his back and his helmet was hung on his belt, showing a calm, ageless face with dark, unreadable eyes. Most interesting however was the white symbol on one pauldron - the eclipsed sun badge of the pre-Heresy Thousand Sons legion. It looked out of place against the blue armour, but nevertheless gave Stern a brief flicker of hope.

“Perhaps this will actually work,” Alaric muttered off to the side, his eyes narrowed as he took in the vis-display. As Stern took a breath to address the cruiser’s captain, he found himself mentally agreeing despite his doubts. Perhaps it would.

* * *
“We’ve reached the Qantm sector and are nearing the edges of the warp shadow, Captain.” The helmsmistress of the vanguard cruiser Aten glanced back at Captain Akil, who was standing with his hands behind his back, his blue and gold armour gleaming dully in the dim bridge light.

Akil nodded in reply, though he didn’t look at the helmsmistress, his attention focused somewhere not in the material plane. His vision - he was not going to call it a mere dream - had drawn him here, and he was determined to investigate. “Drop us out of the Warp.”

“Reverting to realspace.” The helmsmistress turned back to her console, and a few moments later the Aten slid out of the warp and back into the material plane with barely a ripple. “Disengaging Geller Field and scanning for local broadcasts.”

Akil blinked and shook his head slightly, returning his attention to the here and now. The bridge was silent for several minutes, then the comms officer spoke up. “We’re picking up several distress calls, though they’re at least a week old and pretty broken up. Something about this sector’s Librarium being under attack, and them requesting aid from any free fleets.”

Akil frowned slightly, a sense of foreboding washing over him. “Any mention of what they’re being attacked by?”

“Give me a moment...” The comms officer worked at his console, then suddenly paled and leaned back in his seat. “Hive Fleet... they mentioned a Hive Fleet.”

“Tyranids.” Akil growled the word. “That explains the warp shadow.” A shadow that radiated hunger and destruction... He shook his head, then looked back at the bridge crew. “Are there any other fleets in the sector?”

“None that we’ve picked up on yet, though we’re too far out to tell for sure. There’s a lot of interference.”

“Move us in closer, but keep our exit route clear.” Akil didn’t bother waiting for the helmsmistress’ affirmative and activated his vox, embedded in the collar of his armour. “Zuberi, I need you up here.”

A few minutes later another armoured Space Marine entered the bridge, taller and broader than Akil, but without the symbols of rank. “Captain. News?”

Akil turned to face Zuberi, his expression grim. “Nothing pleasant. We’ve got Tyranids. Can you estimate the size of their force or pick up anything else?”

Zuberi’s face went blank as he sent his mind out, probing for information. A few moments later he winced and took a step back, then shook his head. “I can’t get through. Judging by the size and strength of the shadow though, there’s significantly more than we can manage with the forces we have at the moment. Even if we had everyone here, we’d most likely still be well out of our depth.”

“Damn. This sector’s Librarium is far too valuable to lose to the Tyranids, but we can’t afford the time it’d take to get reinforcements...”

Zuberi gave his captain a questioning look. “What do we care about an Imperial Librarium?”

Akil tapped the side of his head with one finger. “I believe there’s something incredibly important in that Librarium, and we need to protect it.”

Zuberi frowned but nodded in understanding, familiar with Akil’s little quirks of foresight. Before he could say anything else though, their quiet conversation was interrupted by a chirp from the cruiser’s vox, and a moment later the comms officer looked up at the two Space Marines. “Captain, we’re being hailed.”

Akil immediately straightened. “Bring it up.” Zuberi moved off to one side as the comms officer pressed a button, and a moment later there was a crackle of static as the connection was established. The vis-display flickered on, showing the stern countenance of a Space Marine in steel-grey armour, his arms folded across his chest. The Marine eyed Akil briefly before speaking up.

“Unidentified cruiser, you are in Imperial space. This is Brother-Captain Stern. Identify yourselves immediately.”

“Brother-Captain Stern, this is Captain Akil of the vanguard cruiser Aten,” Akil replied calmly, keeping his expression neutral even as Zuberi’s voice whispered in his head, “Grey Knights”.

On-screen, Stern’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the distinctive colours and markings of Akil’s armour. “I notice you didn’t mention your Chapter.”

“Neither did you,” Akil pointed out, carefully keeping his voice level. “However, I’m sure we both recognise the other. Right now though, I believe we have more pressing concerns. You seem to have a Hive Fleet invasion on your hands.”

Stern couldn’t quite suppress a grimace, and gave a curt nod. “You are correct. The Tyranid forces have grown exponentially in the time it has taken us to respond to the distress call.”

“The Tyranids are a threat to all.” Akil raised an eyebrow. “I take it you also lack the numbers to meet them head-on.”

“You’d be correct again.” Stern hadn’t failed to notice the ‘also’ in Akil’s sentence, and he eyed the Captain through the vis-display with suspicion. “What interests do you have here?”

“As I said, the Tyranids are a threat to all,” Akil replied. “Besides, they are attacking the sector’s Librarium, a known repository of much valuable knowledge.” He quirked one corner of his mouth in a faint smile. “Knowledge is power, and we must guard it well.”

Stern blinked, briefly startled, but recovered quickly. “It would not go down well for my squads if we were discovered to have consorted with yours,” he commented guardedly. “The Imperial forces on the ground are, however, in dire need of more reinforcements than my men alone can provide. The xenos are amassing for another assault, and it won’t be long before they attack again.”

“Speed is paramount, then.” Akil paused for a moment, thinking. “If my battle-brothers are not... blatant... in the use of our abilities, and we keep our distance, the Imperial forces may not ever realise who exactly answered your call for reinforcements. If we’re victorious, I’m sure you can come up with some satisfactory explanation to our presence, or even gloss over it completely, as I intend to withdraw my forces as soon as possible afterwards. And if we fail...” He shrugged, his armour exaggerating the movement.

“If we fail, nobody will know or care,” Stern agreed grimly. He considered for a moment, then sighed and nodded. “As much as I dislike it, I see little other choice if I’m to keep this sector safe. As long as you can refrain from any overly ostentatious displays, and give us no reason to... pursue the matter once the xenos are dealt with, then any assistance you can provide would be... accepted.”

Akil nodded, then hesitated a moment. “I must warn you, my forces do contain elements that you would most likely prefer not to see, but without them I do not currently have the strength to be of any real help.”

Stern’s eyes narrowed in a hard frown. “Daemons?”

“No!” Akil’s reply was a little more forceful than he intended, and he took a breath to calm himself. “Never daemons. We have other methods at our disposal. There are no daemons in my forces, you have my word.”

“And I’m to accept your word as a Tho--”

“You are to accept my word as an Astartes,” Akil interrupted flatly.

Stern stared long and hard at Akil, but Akil didn’t twitch or waver, and finally the Brother-Captain gave a curt nod. “Very well. How soon can you launch?”

“Within the hour,” Akil replied. “Give us the coordinates, and we will be there.”

Stern nodded again. “Keep this frequency clear. I’ll be in touch.” He hesitated a moment, as though debating whether or not to say something more, then merely saluted before the connection closed and the vid-display flickered off.

Akil let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, then looked over as Zuberi approached. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Zuberi asked dubiously.

“Not really, but leaving this sector to the Tyranids would be an even worse one,” Akil pointed out. “Rouse Runihura and alert Usi, Khentimentiu, and the Vindicator crew, and get them to the launch bay. I need to re-arm.”

Zubari raised an eyebrow. “You’re not taking your war staff?”

Akil let out a snort. “Even without Stern’s warning against ‘ostentatious displays’ I would not risk tapping into the Warp beneath such a shadow. Fire and steel should do well enough against Tyranids.”

“True enough,” Zubari agreed, then grinned faintly. “Good thing Sefu’s not with us at the moment. That wouldn’t have gone down well on either side.”

Akil let out a little bark of wry laughter. “Too true. His appearance is rather... startling, and I doubt I’d be able to keep him out of the fight no matter what. Though I admit, his abilities will be missed, and he’ll be rather annoyed at missing out.” He shook his head and started towards the bridge exit. “Well, no matter. You have the bridge. Keep me informed, and be prepared to run extraction at short notice, just in case.”

“Understood, Captain.”

With that, Akil left the bridge and headed for the armoury, his mind focused on the battle ahead. It promised to be very interesting.

* * *
Brother-Captain Stern watched the vis-display flicker out, his mind busy with all that he’d learned. Alaric moved up beside him, his brow creased in a thoughtful frown. “That... actually went better than I hoped,” he murmured, his voice quiet to keep it from carrying to the bridge crew.

“Let’s just hope it continues to go well,” Stern replied shortly. “If they take advantage of all this to turn against us, or raid the Librarium, we will have to deal with them immediately.”

Alaric snorted. “They’d have to be stupid to try that in the middle of a Tyranid assault, and their captain did not strike me as the type to be stupid.”

“We shall see.” Stern leaned forward to eye the bridge crew. “No word of what has just transpired leaves this room,” he stated firmly, voice pitched to carry to every corner of the bridge. There was a murmured chorus of assent from the crew, and Stern eyed them all for a moment before stepping back, satisfied. He then turned to Alaric, dropping his voice. “That includes you too, Justicar,” he murmured. “I want no distractions from the fight against the xenos. Tell your men only that we have allies.”

Alaric hesitated a moment, then nodded sharply. “Understood, Brother-Captain.”

“Have no doubt that I will be keeping a very close eye on things,” Stern added. “Now, prepare your men and be ready to launch at a moment’s notice. I need to coordinate with the Imperial forces on the ground.”

Alaric saluted crisply and left the bridge. Stern stood still and silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then addressed his comms officer. “Establish a connection with the Imperial Guard forces planetside. We have much to prepare.”

* * *
“They’re falling back, Commander!”

Commander Kieler shot the writhing xenos on the ground in front of him twice in the head, then watched it twitch and die. Only once he was sure it was no longer a threat did he look up and scan the battlefield. Sure enough, what remained of the attacking xenos forces were breaking from combat and retreating. Many of the xenos filth were shot down as they ran, and Kieler took a few opportunistic shots of his own. The more they killed now, the less would come back at them later.

Not that it seemed to make much difference. Each wave of the xenos assault had been larger than the last. Unfortunately for the Imperial forces, their own numbers were diminishing rapidly.

Once the last retreating xenos was out of range and sight, Kieler let his gun arm drop and took a deep breath, ignoring the stench of battle. He ached all over, and a gash on his arm that he hadn’t noticed until now oozed blood. All around him, scattered amongst the shelled-out ruins of buildings, were the remains of battle; bodies of xenos and Guard alike, torn-up and cratered ground littered with rubble and soaked with blood and ichor, and wounded soldiers being tended by their weary fellows.

One soldier trudged up beside Kieler, wiping blood from his face before saluting. “Commander.” Beneath the blood and grime, Kieler recognised the vox-carrier of his veteran squad, and felt a flicker of a relief. “Veteran Lewis. Good to see you still in one piece.”

“Likewise, sir,” Lewis replied, and his eyes fell to the sluggishly bleeding gash on his commander’s arm. “You should get that tended, sir.”

Kieler glanced at his arm and shrugged. “It can wait. There are others in more need of aid than I.” He started to head back towards the command post, occasionally offering a nod of recognition or a word of encouragement to the weary and wounded soldiers he passed. Lewis trailed behind him dutifully, ever alert for any threat to his commander.

It took a while to get back to the command post, as it was set well back from the front lines. It, and indeed the entire battlefield, were overshadowed by the towering red sandstone cliffs looming at their backs. Atop the cliffs rested the capital city of the planet, elevated above the surrounding plains. Deep within the city, sunk into the sandstone, lay the sector’s pride and joy.

The Librarium.

There were only two main routes up the sheer cliffs to reach the city, and the Imperial forces were lined up across their entry points with the command post set up between them, flush against the red sandstone. Streets and buildings surrounded the base of the cliffs, clustered around the access points. But after days of relentless fighting, most of the buildings were now collapsed and hollow ruins, and the streets were pocked with craters. Carefully positioned tanks blocked some roadways, with clear lines of fire out to the plains. Their crews scurried around them, taking advantage of the reprieve to reload ammo and carry out hasty repairs.

Beyond the shells of the buildings, the plains themselves were of red and brown dirt and rock, with scattered heaps of boulders and stocky stone pillars littered around the rolling, uneven ground. Fresh craters marred the plains, surrounded by xenos corpses of various sizes that had fallen victim to the shelling. But enough, more than enough, of the xenos forces had weathered the barrages of firepower and made it to the front lines, where the Imperial Guardsmen had had to hold them off at close range.

The fighting had been fierce, and waves of xenos had been crashing against the Imperial forces for almost a week. There had been a brief reprieve early in the assault, when a passing force of Tau had attempted to wipe out the Tyranids, but they’d been unsuccessful and had been driven off, quitting the planet entirely before they could be totally overwhelmed. Since then, only the sheer numbers and stubborn pride of the Imperial Guard had kept the xenos from swarming the city.

But they were fast running out of numbers, as well as energy. Commander Kieler knew this - he felt it himself. He was bone tired, and there was no end in sight. Still, he refused to show any signs of weakness, and continued to walk with his back unbowed and his head held high. It seemed to give his men that little extra bit of encouragement to see him still proud and unbeaten.

Kieler finally reached the command post and nodded at the guards stationed outside it before ducking inside, with Lewis still in tow. The command post was alive with voices, as reports came in and were fielded and recorded. “Status?” Kieler demanded over the noise, and one orderly immediately approached him, data slate in hand.

“We’re still receiving reports, but so far all armoured division squads have reported in, as have the majority of the infantry squads,” the orderly informed him, still professional despite the edge of weariness on his voice.

Kieler nodded, ignoring the medic that had shown up at his side and was tending his arm. “State of the armoured division?”

“Most of the armoured division are still functional, but they’re running low on munitions.”

“See if any can be found and delivered from the city stores,” Kieler commanded, and the orderly nodded and tapped at his data slate. “Troop casualties?”

“At least seventy per cent either dead, missing, or injured too badly to keep fighting.” The orderly looked vastly unhappy at having to deliver such grim news.

Kieler resisted the urge to curse and just nodded sharply. “Organise whatever’s left of the city militia to post a watch from the city walls, and organise watch shifts amongst any Guard who are still uninjured. I want to know immediately as soon as they spot any xenos movement.” The orderly saluted and moved off, and a moment later the medic followed suit, having cleaned and bandaged the gash in Kieler’s arm.

“We’re not going to be able to keep this up,” Lewis murmured to his commander as he moved up beside him, his voice low to keep from being overheard and his expression grim.

“We have little choice,” Kieler replied flatly, giving Lewis a stern look. “We will hold out as long as possible, and longer. We may yet receive reinforcements.”

Lewis didn’t look like he held much hope for that, but he wisely kept his doubts to himself and just nodded. Kieler ignored his expression and thought for a moment. “See if you can find out what happened to the rest of my command squad,” he ordered eventually. “Promote replacements as necessary.” Lewis saluted and ducked back out of the command post, leaving Kieler to his thoughts.

As much as he hated to admit it even in the silence of his own mind, Kieler knew Lewis was right. Without reinforcements, the remaining Imperial Guard would most likely be swarmed over by the next assault. There had been talk of a strike cruiser entering the system earlier, but nothing had come of it and the latest xenos attack had driven the rumours out of his mind.

He was pondering the logistics of getting the majority of the Librarium’s contents into the deepest catacombs and then sealing the Librarium entrances, hopefully to be rediscovered in times to come once the xenos hordes had moved on, when a crackle of static echoed through the command post. Kieler immediately focused on the comms officer at the offending vox, who was hunched over the device and listening intently. A moment later the comms officer looked up at him, repressed excitement in his eyes. “Commander, it’s the Brother-Captain of the strike cruiser that’s just entered high orbit.”

Kieler wasted no time crossing the command post and taking the seat that the comms officer swiftly vacated for him, slipping one of the headsets on and settling it in place. There was no vis-display, since the command post lacked the power to support such a device, but the vox was enough. “Brother-Captain, this is Commander Kieler of the Chryos Second Regiment.”

The vox crackled slightly in his ear, the reply laced with static. “Commander Kieler, this is Brother-Captain Stern. I apologise for not arriving earlier - we came as fast as we could.”

Kieler couldn’t quite keep the relief out of his voice. “No apology necessary, Brother-Captain. I’m just grateful you arrived at all.”

“We’ll be--” Whatever the Brother-Captain said next was lost in a sudden surge of static, and Kieler winced at the raw sound grating on his ears.

“Repeat that, the signal’s breaking up,” Kieler said urgently into the vox, alerting the comms officer to the problem. The comms officer immediately began examining the vox unit, frowning and muttering to himself. There was more static and a keening whine that overlaid the Brother-Captain’s next words, rendering them practically unintelligible.

“Something’s interfering with the link!” The comms officer began fiddling with the vox unit, trying to maintain the connection, and was quickly joined by other comms specialists.

“Divert power to the unit, boost the signal gain!”

Kieler did his best to tune out the urgent commands and actions carrying on around him and concentrated on what he could hear from the vox unit, closing his eyes to better focus. He caught fragments of sentences - something about numbers, and allies. The growing hiss and crackle of static made it difficult to understand the full message, and the signal was getting worse by the second.

Then one of the comms officers did something to the vox, and the line suddenly improved enough that Kieler was able to piece together the last, and most important, sentence.

“Hold fast. Reinforcements are incoming.”

The connection abruptly cut off completely despite the comms officer’s best efforts, but by then it didn’t matter. Kieler opened his eyes, feeling his weariness dropping away as hope gave him a fresh surge of energy, and he began issuing crisp orders. “Prepare landing zones and let the men know we have reinforcements incoming. The Space Marines are here!” He watched the news bring the same hope and energy to the others in the command tent, and knew a similar effect would quickly sweep through the whole army.

Perhaps they’d survive this after all.

Chapter 2

Stern surveyed the surrounding area from his vantage point atop a half-collapsed building, the broken duracrete rough and uneven beneath his armoured feet. The sky was a flat, charcoal grey, the cloud cover hanging low and heavy. What dim light that managed to filter through the thick clouds muted all colour and left no shadows save in the deepest crevices. A thin grey mist was beginning to build, rolling along the ground and curling around the damaged buildings.

Stern and three squads of his Grey Knights had teleported down to one of the landing zones prepared on the planet’s surface, with the help of their Librarian and his acolytes clearing a path through the warp shadow. A fourth squad had just landed in a Storm Raven, with their Rhino securely fastened in its rear clamps. Stern and the Imperial Commander, Kieler, had spent some time exchanging information, and Kieler had ceded command to the Brother-Captain with a mix of relief and reluctance.

It hadn’t taken Stern long to organise the remaining Imperial forces and plan a satisfactory defensive layout, with his Grey Knights stationed strategically amongst them. While the men set up and positioned themselves, Stern had removed himself to the edge of the area, and was now waiting for Akil’s forces to arrive.

The sound of large, powerful engines had thundered overhead some time ago, but the vehicle itself had been impossible to see through the thick cloud cover, and there had been no word from Akil or any others of his forces. Given the interference in communications, most likely caused by the Tyranids themselves, the lack was hardly surprising, but it grated at Stern nonetheless.

Footsteps crunching through the debris below caused Stern to glance down, and he spotted Alaric weaving his way through the rubble towards him, leaving a swirling trail through the mist in his wake. Stern went back to scanning the surroundings, and a few moments later the Justicar climbed up the rubble and stood beside him.

“No sign yet?” Alaric asked, likewise scanning the area.

Stern just grunted in response, then looked over at Alaric. “Everyone set up?”

“Just about,” Alaric replied with a nod. “Haulvarn’s a bit sore about being ‘relegated to babysitting’ the Imperial troops, but I told him that if the xenos break through, that’s where he’ll be most needed.” He gave Stern a calculating look. “I’m also guessing that’s where he and his squad will be least likely to clearly see our new allies.”

“Guessing nothing,” Stern snorted. “You know that’s the case.” Alaric just shrugged with a faint smile, and went back to looking out over the shelled, ruined buildings and surrounding landscape.

Finally, through the increasing gloom and thickening fog, they spotted movement; the silhouettes of Space Marines weaving between buildings and picking their way through the rubble, led by one in Terminator armour. Though they were still some distance off, with several buildings still between them, it was obvious that they were heading straight for where Stern was standing.

Stern activated his armour’s vox - although longer-range communications were down, their armour’s own vox still worked well enough at short ranges. “Dvorn, Thawn, with me. Haulvarn, keep an eye on things back there.” He received short words of affirmation, though Haulvarn did indeed sound rather grumpy about it. As they waited, he and Alaric made their way back down to ground level, and were soon joined by Dvorn and Thawn.

“What is it?” Thawn asked, warily glancing around at the half-ruined buildings surrounding them. “Enemy movement?”

Stern shook his head. “Our potential allies,” he replied shortly. Thawn nodded and moved to stand beside Stern and Alaric. Dvorn stayed behind them, leaning casually on his massive warhammer and keeping a wary eye out for attacks from behind.

The thickening mist swirled lazily around their legs, shrouding the surrounding buildings and muffling sound. Finally, the crunch of footsteps became clearer, and a moment later Akil emerged from around the corner of a building, mist curling around his legs and torso. He was shadowed closely by two other Marines, while the rest of their squads stopped a little further back and stood motionless with their bolters held across their chests.

Around him, the rest of the Grey Knights tensed - Stern could hear it in the small sounds their armour made as they shifted. He himself remained still, arms folded across his chest as he watched Akil and his companions warily. Their armour was deep blue trimmed with gold, but only Akil wore Terminator armour. They all bore the white eclipsed sun badge on their shoulders, each with a different symbol in the middle of the badge, though Stern couldn’t yet quite make out the details.

“He only has two squads,” Alaric murmured softly beside him, sounding a little surprised.

“That we can see,” Stern muttered back, his eyes never leaving the approaching Marines.

Akil stopped a few meters away, his combi-bolter mag-locked to his back and his left hand encased in a taloned powerfist. His helmet was again hanging off his belt, and he regarded Stern and the knights gathered around him calmly. There was silence for a few moments, the growing tension almost palpable, then Akil gave a respectful nod. “Brother-Captain Stern.”

“Captain Akil,” Stern replied with a sharp nod of his own as he took a couple of steps forward. “These are all your forces?”

“Most of them,” Akil replied with a rueful little twist of his mouth. “My heavy support are still on their way - what looks like a recent landslide has blocked the passage here from our landing zone, and they’re having to clear a way through it. They should be here shortly. In the meantime,” he gestured to his two companions, “I should introduce my sergeants, Usi and Khentimentiu.”

Usi just nodded as he was named, casually holding a large power axe slung over one shoulder as if its weight was insignificant. His face was broad and rugged, with a square jaw and dark, half-hooded eyes. On the other side of Akil, Khentimentiu gave a half-bow as he was named, his features narrower and more finely chiseled, and a sheathed sword hung at his side.

Stern appraised them both briefly, then nodded and gestured back at his own men. “Justicars Alaric, Thawn, and Dvorn.” Alaric’s nod was cordial, but Thawn’s was curt and suspicious. Dvorn just glanced over the blue-armoured Marines, then went back to guarding his brother-captain’s back.

If their suspicion bothered Akil at all, he made no sign, remaining as calm as ever. “Well met,” he murmured, then looked back to Stern. “I take it you’ve already assessed the area and positioned your men. Let me know where you think my brothers will best serve.”

Before Stern could reply, Khentimentiu suddenly straightened and quickly turned his head to face the plains, eyes narrowed as if he were looking right through the ruined buildings. “Lifesigns, Captain,” he said quietly.

Akil and Usi were immediately alert, Usi quickly donning his helm. “How far?” Akil asked, also turning to look towards the plains.

“Still some distance out, but several groups are converging,” Khentimentiu replied in an emotionless voice that was almost eerie in its calmness. “There’s some big ones out there.”

Stern repressed the urge to ask how he could be so sure - he was certain he didn’t really want to know the answer, not yet. “Thawn, Dvorn, back to your squads,” he ordered. They nodded and quickly moved off, Thawn still shooting suspicious glances at Akil and his men as he departed. Alaric stayed by Stern’s side, though he’d also put on his helm and was standing alert and wary. “Captain Akil, we’re set up in a perimeter around these coordinates.” Stern rattled the numbers off quickly. “Position your men wherever you think best.”

Akil didn’t bother wasting his breath on a reply; he just donned his own helm and gestured to his sergeants. “Khenti, with me. Usi, get a good vantage point with a clear field of fire.” The two nodded, then paused for a brief moment before following after Akil, who was already rapidly striding away.

Behind them, half-shrouded in the thickening mist and growing darkness, the two squads of Marines that had been standing still and silent began to move again. They marched with no noise save for the thud of their footsteps, their movements precise and almost mechanical. They held their bolters close across their chests, and their eye lenses glowed eerily. They completely ignored the two Grey Knights as they moved past, and Stern couldn’t quite suppress the slight shiver down his spine at the sight of them. “Rubricae,” he hissed, frowning. Akil hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said his forces contained elements the Brother-Captain would much rather not see.

“Definitely best if Haulvarn doesn’t get a good look at those,” Alaric muttered dryly. “Come on, we’d better get back to our own squads.”

Stern grunted an affirmative then turned and started back to where he’d left his squad. It was going to be a long, hard fight against the xenos, even with the help of Akil’s unnatural forces.

He just hoped he hadn’t made a grave mistake in allowing this alliance in the first place.
* * *
Next up - The battle begins! Comments and feedback welcome.

The sky was now almost completely black, the heavy clouds hanging low and oppressive and letting out the occasional grumble of rolling thunder. The mist had thickened to the point where it lay like a waist-high grey carpet, swirling and eddying sluggishly. Akil waited on the upper floor of a half-ruined building that faced out onto the plains, with Khentimentiu standing beside him, bolt pistol at the ready. One squad of Rubricae were also in this building, spread between the upper and ground floors, all with good lines of sight out onto the plains.

Alaric’s squad was downstairs as well, keeping a careful distance between themselves and the Rubricae. Akil could feel the mistrust and suspicion radiating from the squad, but his position in the Enumerations allowed him to remain calm and unaffected by it. He just hoped their suspicion wouldn’t distract them from the real foe.

Akil checked his helm’s readout and saw that Usi’s squad was in place in the building next to his, spread out along the upper floor, with Stern and his squad occupying that building’s lower level. Dvorn’s squad was stationed a street or two back, and behind them the Imperial forces were lined up; a mix of whatever tanks and infantry were still in fighting condition, along with a solitary squad of snipers positioned on a ledge on the side of the cliff.

Akil turned to the broken window facing the plains and peered out into the gloom, but saw nothing but swirling mist. “How far off are they?” he asked Khentimentiu quietly.

“They’re holding position,” Khentimentiu replied, almost drowned out by another rumble of thunder. “I don’t know what they’re waiting for, but they’re not advancing any more.”

“Curse this weather,” Akil muttered, trying to see through the darkness and fog. “It’s as if the xenos--”

He was cut off as the storm finally broke with a violent flash of lightning and an appalling crash of thunder almost directly overhead. Rain began to sheet down, hammering into the buildings and drumming against the armour of tanks and Marines alike. The ruined buildings they were in offered little shelter against the driving rain, and visibility was cut down to mere meters.

“Here they come!” Khentimentiu called, bringing his pistol to bear.

Out on the plains, shrouded by the darkness and rain, shadows began to move. Another flash of lightning briefly lit up the area in stark black and blue-white, and in that moment Akil saw dozens of low, sleek shapes darting towards their lines, with larger silhouettes looming behind them. “Contact!” He opened fire with his bolter, and a split second later the Rubricae in his building followed suit, while Khentimentiu let off snap shots with his pistol.

Their barrage of firepower was met with animalistic shrieks of pain, but it was impossible to see how many of the approaching xenos had fallen. Back from the Imperial Guard’s position there came the distinctive krump of tanks firing, then a massive detonation as a shell found its target. One of the larger shadows hovering out on the plains disappeared with a cut-off death cry as the explosion engulfed it.

Akil barely registered the explosion though, too busy trying to distinguish targets in the downpour. Lightning strobed across the sky and he managed to get several more shots off, each greeted with a hissing shriek or rattling death-cry.

Then something was shooting towards him and he had to jerk back behind the wall to avoid being hit in the face. More xenos firepower followed, smashing against the walls and shooting through the holes. Beside him, Khentimentiu was crouched beneath one of the gaps, also taking cover from the barrage. Akil risked a glance out, but couldn’t see much of anything beyond the pouring rain.

Suddenly, Khentimentiu was moving towards one end of the building, keeping low as he ran to avoid any fire from outside. He drew his sword and the blade flickered to life as he activated its power field, blue-purple lightning crackling over its surface. “Genestealers! They’ve reached the line!” From downstairs came the harsh sounds of combat, as the genestealers tore into the Rubricae and they retaliated in kind.

Akil followed as quickly as he could, though the bulk of his Terminator armour slowed him down. Khentimentiu leapt down through one of the holes in the floor, avoiding the damaged and unstable stairs to get to the fight more quickly. As Akil reached the hole he paused to assess the situation.

Genestealers poured through a large hole in the wall and swarmed across the ground, mobbing around the Rubricae, who fought back with precise, mechanical accuracy. Xenos corpses littered the floor, along with a couple of lifeless Rubricae shells. Alaric’s squad had crashed into the fight as well, their halberds carving with ease through genestealer carapaces and flesh alike. Khentimentiu was in the thick of it, his power sword sizzling and crackling as he wielded it with deadly, fluid grace, occasionally punctured with a point-blank snap shot from his pistol.

And behind the melee was one xenos, noticeably larger than the rest, urging them on with snarls and hisses. It was obviously the leader of this pack, and there were too many genestealers between it and the Marines for anyone to reach it.

There was, however, another large hole in the ceiling just above it.

The broodlord was caught entirely off-guard as Akil suddenly dropped down on top of it, his armoured weight smashing it to the ground. It was tougher than Akil had expected though, and as he rolled off it and back to his feet, the xenos staggered back upright as well and launched itself at him with a shriek. Akil warded off the first blow and avoided the following strikes as the power field around his taloned left fist crackled into life. He pivoted on one heel to dodge yet another strike, then smoothly continued the movement around to gather momentum and drove his energy-encased fist into the broodlord’s face.

Akil’s blow sent it flying out through the hole in the wall that the genestealers had originally come in by, the broodlord landing hard in the mud outside. Akil followed it outside, but before he could land another blow the broodlord scrambled back to its feet with a shrill hiss and scuttled off into the darkness.

* * *
Lightning sheared across the sky, followed almost immediately by a deafening crack of thunder. Stern’s helm automatically deadened the sound to acceptable levels, but he could still feel the vibration of the thunder right in his bones. From above came the sound of bolters firing as Usi’s squad, positioned on the upper level, opened fire. Stern’s current position though was behind a thick wall that lacked any windows or large holes. As a result he couldn’t see out onto the plains, and had little idea as to what was approaching or what they were shooting at.

Another flash of lightning and crash of thunder lit up the area and shook the building. “What can you see?” Stern called up to Usi through a hole in the ceiling once the thunder had died down.

There was another burst of bolter fire before Usi yelled back in reply. “Hormagaunt swarm, couple of packs of warriors, and--” Usi was cut off mid-sentence as what felt like a psychic explosion detonated overhead. Stern winced and braced himself, feeling the psychic blast hammering against his mental barriers. Upstairs there was the sound of an armoured body or two hitting the floor, and Usi let out a curse.

“Zoanthropes! Looks like two of--” There was the krump of a tank firing from the Imperial lines well behind them, then a moment later the sound of an explosion somewhere ahead. When the noise died down, Usi continued. “Correction, one of them.”

“We’ll have to deal with the other one - get ready to move out,” Stern ordered his squad. Then another psychic blast hit the upper level, and again Stern’s mental barriers took a hammering. They held though, as did the barriers of the rest of his squad.

Usi however didn’t seem to be faring so well - he swore again, as more lifeless Rubricae shells hit the floor. There was a pause, then he yelled down to Stern and his squad, “Brace yourselves, hormagaunts incoming, right flank! I’m coming down!”

Stern made a quick gesture with one hand, and one of his squad swiftly set up in front of the group, his Incinerator held at the ready. A moment later Usi landed beside the Incinerator-bearer, the field around his power axe flickering a dull red in the gloom, and a couple of Rubricae landed behind him.

Then the hormagaunts swarmed around the corner, ready to pounce - but the Incinerator met them with a massive gout of blue-white flame, and the hormagaunts shrieked in agony as they began to burn. An instant later, the Incinerator’s flame was joined by a second, lighting up the lower level of the building and sending flickering shadows dancing across the ground and walls. For a moment Stern was confused - his squad only had one Incinerator. Then he saw where the second flame was coming from, and found himself wishing he hadn’t.

Usi was holding his axe at his side, his other hand stretched out towards the hormagaunts, and blue-white fire of his own was streaming from his palm. With a twitch of his fingers, Usi spread the fire from both him and the Incinerator throughout the hormagaunt swarm, controlling the flames with a casual ease that set Stern’s teeth on edge. He had to admit it was effective though, as the combined fire cut down the majority of the hormagaunt swarm before the xenos could react.

As the xenos writhed and burned, the flames from both Usi and the Incinerator cut off, and Usi strode forward, the head of his power axe wreathed in fire. He used it to dispatch the few surviving hormagaunts, then moved out of sight around the corner of the building, his few remaining Rubricae in tow.

Stern glanced around at the rest of his squad, who looked back at him with a mix of unease and wariness at what they’d just witnessed, unsure of how to react. Thawn was outright scowling, radiating disapproval. “So much for not being blatant,” Stern muttered to himself, shaking his head slightly and gesturing for his squad to form up. At least it had only been his own men in a position to see the sorcerous display, and not any of the Guard.

Suddenly something massive tore through the sky and slammed into the ground outside with a thunderous impact. The brutal arrival sent shockwaves through air and ground, knocking down several of his squad and sending Stern staggering. The already-damaged building they were in creaked and groaned ominously, and as soon as he’d recovered his balance he was helping his fallen men back up to their feet. “Out, now! Go go go!”
* * *

“Fire, fire, fire!”

The sound of tanks and rifles firing filled the air, occasionally almost drowned out by the crash of thunder. Commander Kieler stood in the back of his Chimera, ignoring the rain pounding down on him, and looked over what he could see of the battlefield. Which, in the darkness and driving rain, wasn’t anywhere near as much as he would have liked. He couldn’t see or hear anything from the front lines where half of Stern’s men were, and could only trust that they would be enough to keep the xenos from swarming them under.

Beside Kieler was Krathga, Master of the Ordnance. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, vox transmitter in one hand and a cigar clenched between his teeth. How he was managing to keep the rain from putting it out was a mystery. The grizzled old veteran was silent, surveying the field with narrowed, calculating eyes.

Beams of light from the spotlights mounted on the Hellhound and Leman Russ tanks cut glaringly through the darkness, the harsh light glittering off the falling raindrops and casting flickering shadows. They swept over Dvorn and his squad, who were stationed near Kieler’s Chimera and waiting warily beneath the driving rain for the first signs of any xenos that might have gotten past the front line. Near them were some of the surviving Imperial Guard, determined to do their part and fight beside the legendary Marines.

The spotlights continued their sweep across to the right flank of the army, where Haulvarn’s squad was waiting in their Rhino. The lights cut past them and reflected off a nearby wall, then fastened upon a broad, hulking shape some distance off and approaching through the rain. It snarled at the sudden illumination, and beside it another hulking shape let out an answering bellow. Around their feet clustered a sizeable swarm of smaller xenos, who hissed and growled and skittered around their larger brethren.

“Carnifex and hormagaunts!” Kieler called, then gestured towards the larger shapes framed by the spotlights. “Aim for the big ones! Take them down!” Further back in the Chimera, his vox bearer Lewis quickly transmitted the orders to the other Imperial forces. Krathga barked his own orders into his vox, taking his cigar out of his mouth and gesturing with it, its end glowing cherry-red.

The reply was almost immediate. Fire from the snipers perched on the cliff ledge high above lanced through the air, smashing into the carnifexes’ thick, carapaced hides and eliciting snarls of pain. Heavy ordnance fell from the artillery encampments placed in the city high above and landed almost on top of the xenos group, showering the beasts with fire and shrapnel and cutting down several of the hormagaunts. The turrets of both Leman Russ tanks swivelled around, away from where they’d been shelling the plains, and fired upon the closest carnifex. It went down with a shriek as the shells hit it and exploded, engulfing the beast and some of the surrounding hormagaunts in flame.

The surviving carnifex bellowed, and from behind it came an answering, deeper bellow. Another, larger shape could just be seen approaching, framed by the ruined buildings on either side and briefly highlighted by an eye-searing flash of lightning.

Then the carnifex and its accompanying horde of hormagaunts charged.

* * *
“That’s our cue, let’s go!”

On the Imperial line’s right flank, Haulvarn’s Rhino began to move, but before it could get more than a couple of meters, it was rocked in its tracks by something hitting its side. Almost immediately stranglethorn vines lashed out from the impact site and ensnared the vehicle, stopping it dead in its tracks.

Haulvarn swore and hit the release button for the rear hatch. It whined and shifted a bit, but otherwise stayed firmly closed. He raised one armoured foot and kicked viciously at the hatch with a resounding clang of metal that echoed through the stricken transport.

The rear hatch crashed open and Haulvarn’s squad poured out, weapons at the ready. They avoided the lashing vines still entangling the Rhino and swiftly moved around to a point where they could unleash their firepower on the charging hormagaunts.

Off to one side, the Hellhound spat out a long tongue of white-hot flame, searing a swathe of hormagaunts to cinders. The Incinerator-bearer in Haulvarn’s squad followed suit with a shorter but no less deadly gout of fire, while the rest of the squad opened up with their bolters. Hormagaunts shrieked and fell, bolter shells detonating and sending bits of xenos flying, while flames continued to burn despite the rain.

The surviving hormagaunts that weren’t on fire or riddled with bolter holes shrieked and fell back to the carnifex, clustering around its feet like frightened children. The carnifex roared, and as Haulvarn’s squad advanced with weapons still blazing, the monstrous xenos fired at them. Blobs of some sort of organic matter flew towards them, the missed shots splatting sickeningly on the ground.

One shot however hit the incinerator-bearer square in the chest, punching through the armour. He let out a strangled cry of pain and fell over, clawing desperately at his chest as blood and ichor spurted from the hole and mixed with the rain washing over him.

“Take cover!” Haulvarn commanded, gesturing briefly to a nearby ruin of a building. He and one of the other squad members grabbed their gurgling brother by the arms and hauled him with them as they hurried towards the structure, ducking more fire from the carnifex.

By the time they reached the building, their felled brother was still and silent, all life signs extinguished. Fat, maggot-like worms oozed out of the hole in his armour and dropped to the ground, wriggling. From outside came the hunting cries of the remaining hormagaunts, once again charging towards the squad.

“Move further in, right to the back!” Haulvarn yelled, gesturing for his remaining men to fall back deeper into the building. “Go!” They hesitated for a brief moment, and Haulvarn snarled at them. “Damn it, I said go!”

They went, leaving Haulvarn standing over the body of their fallen brother, the Incinerator pack lying beside him. Moments later the hormagaunts rushed into the building, boiling in through doorways and windows and holes in the walls. Haulvarn cut down or fended off the first ones to attack him, buying precious moments of time for his squad to get further away and for the rest of the swarm to enter the building. As the hormagaunts overran him, Haulvarn let out a wordless, defiant yell and speared the blade of his halberd through the incinerator’s fuel tank.

Outside, the darkness was suddenly lit up by a ball of fire exploding within the building, flame shooting out of every hole and gap. As the fireball spent itself and collapsed, the front half of the abused building collapsed with it, burying its contents in red-hot rubble.

* * *
With the broodlord fled, the remaining genestealers fell quickly. They’d taken a heavy toll however, and only one of Khentimentiu’s Rubricae remained standing. The fight had taken them out of their original building, and they were now in a cross-section of alleyways that separated several damaged buildings. Alaric’s squad was also regrouping nearby, the rain drumming off their armour.

Suddenly something lashed out of the shadow of a nearby ruin, snagging the remaining Rubricae and dragging it back into the darkness before anyone could react. A moment later the Rubricae dropped back to the ground, massive rents torn in its armour and its eye lenses dark. Before Akil could even start thinking about what had just happened, movement off his right flank attracted his attention. It was the only warning he got before a group of tyranid warriors, briefly illuminated by a flash of lightning, opened fire; but it was enough warning for him to throw himself out of the way, taking Khentimentiu with him.

Almost simultaneously, Alaric’s squad was fired upon by a large, bloated form approaching from the plains, its body held low to the ground and surrounded by smaller shapes. One of Alaric’s men fell, pierced by a cluster of bony spines. The rest quickly took cover behind whatever rubble was handy, as more spines speared through the air around them. “Tervigon!” Alaric yelled, sheltering behind a piece of building debris. “Termagants with it!”

“Warriors here!” Akil called back, ducking another splatter of acid from the warriors. He was about to shift position when a quick series of images flashed across his mind - a shape leaping out of the rain, claws extended and slashing out at him and Khentimentiu. He didn’t even need to think about it - his body reacted instinctively to the warning. He shifted his weight and brought his armoured arm up, blocking the silent, leaping attack from the returning broodlord and shoving it off to one side.

The broodlord, caught off-guard by the interception of its leap, hit the ground off-balance and tumbled over. It quickly rolled back to its feet, then was forced to dodge and weave away from swift blows from Khentimentiu’s sword. Khentimentiu wasn’t trying to hit it though, just herd it, and as it dodged one swipe it met Akil’s power fist coming fast the other way. The blow sent the broodlord reeling, carapace cracked and broken. Akil quickly followed up with another punishing blow, smashing the broodlord into the ground and driving it deep into the mud. It lay there twitching and gurgling, then went limp and still.

“Regroup with Alaric and get back to the Imperial lines,” Akil ordered Khentimentiu, keeping low to avoid any more enemy fire and scanning the area warily for any more surprises. “They need to know about the warriors and tervigon.” Khentimentiu nodded, albeit reluctantly, and quickly headed off, soon hidden by the rain.

Suddenly, Akil was staggered by something impacting his armour. Sharp hooks sank into the thick ceramite, and he was yanked off his feet and dragged into the darkness.

* * *
The rain continued to hammer down as Stern and his men hurried out of the damaged, groaning building. Usi and his remaining Rubricae had gotten back to their feet nearby and were cautiously moving forward to see what exactly had just landed with such violence. They warily rounded the corner of the building, then Usi cursed and gestured and the Rubricae opened fire.

“Spore and another zoanthrope!” Usi yelled back at Stern as he drew his pistol and fired as well. “It’s--” He was cut off mid-sentence, he and his Rubricae freezing in place for a moment before collapsing like puppets with the strings cut.

As they fell, Stern felt something pulling at his mind, trying to drain his very life force. He braced himself against it and strengthened his psychic shields, resisting the pull with considerable effort. Beside him, one of his men staggered and fell like Usi and the Rubricae had, sprawling limp and lifeless on the muddy ground. Stern let out a growl and gestured the rest of his squad forward. “Whatever that was, it dies now!”

The squad charged forward and around the corner, their weapons at the ready. At first it was hard to make out anything in the darkness, but suddenly lightning cut overhead and illuminated their target. It looked like a zoanthrope, floating a little ways off the ground, but the plated carapace covering its spine extended over its skull like a large, bony hood. Rib-like claws sprouted from its torso, crackling slightly with psychic energy, and the beast hissed viciously. Behind it loomed a huge spherical object, covered in thorns and vines and lying quiescent in the crater of its landing.

The incinerator was the first to fire, lighting up the area with a gout of purifying flame. Instead of immolating the xenos though, the flame hit some sort of barrier and parted, washing harmlessly past either side of the beast. “Psychic shield!” Stern called, readying his sword. “Distract it!”

The squad circled the beast, distracting it with feints and blows that made its psychic shield ripple and flex. As the creature’s rib-claws flickered more brightly with gathering psychic energy, readying for another attack, Stern whispered a prayer, shifted his grip on his sword, and struck.

The Nemesis force sword cleaved through the beast’s psychic shield as if it weren’t even there, and Stern drove it into the strange zoanthrope’s face before it could react. It let out a gurgling scream as Stern sank the blade deeper in, angling up into its oversized skull and spearing deep into its brain. There was a sudden pulse of psychic energy, and for a moment Stern felt his sword go hot, then cold, its power field generators whining with unexpected strain. He staggered back, wrenching the sword out, and the beast collapsed to the ground, twitching a few times before going still.

Then the massive spore that the creature had come from lashed spiny vines out at Stern’s face, just as large, taloned xenos warriors barrelled out of the darkness and hit the squad from behind.

* * *

The Imperial line was controlled chaos. A fireball had erupted out of a building somewhere past the right flank, but none knew what had caused it, and there was no sign of Haulvarn’s squad. One of the xenos had shot the main battlecannon off Tank Commander Ryza’s Leman Russ, though nobody could quite tell where the shot had come from or what the weapon had been. The other Leman Russ had been rocked by several impacts from massive bone spikes that had come flying past the remaining carnifex, but whatever had fired them was still too far out to properly see. Meanwhile the tank crew was trying to recover from the impacts, leaving the tank’s weapons quiet and unresponsive.

“Take that thing down before it reaches the tank!” Kieler yelled, gesturing at the still-standing carnifex. Krathga growled coordinates into his vox, and a moment later more heavy artillery came arcing down from above to smash into the ground almost on top of the carnifex. Krathgra let out a satisfied little grunt at his artillery’s accuracy, then grumbled something highly uncomplimentary as the carnifex refused to go down to the heavy fire.

At the same time, the snipers on their cliff ledge rained more shots down on the carnifex, followed by a missile from the squad’s missile launcher. Most of the shots hit, eliciting snarls of pain from the beast, but it remained standing. The carnifex then roared, undeterred by the damage it had taken. It began charging towards the shaken tank, its movements slow and lumbering at first. It soon began to pick up momentum though, and it seemed that nothing would halt or even hinder its relentless charge.

Then there was the familiar whistle of an incoming battlecannon shell, and a moment later a massive explosion completely engulfed the carnifex. When the smoke and fire cleared, the beast - or what was left of it - was lying in a smouldering heap on the ground, flames still licking at its charred flesh.

Kieler blinked in surprise. That shell hadn’t come from his own forces - it had come from somewhere well behind the carnifex. But he could see nothing there through the rain and darkness, and had no idea what had launched it. The Brother-Captain had mentioned allies though, even if he had been very reticent about naming them directly. So it was enough to know that they were out there, with admirable aim and timing, and Kieler quickly returned his attention to the ongoing battle.

He was just in time to see the Hellhound rolling forward out of position, its spotlight sweeping over one of the nearby buildings. “What in the Emperor’s name are they doing?” he demanded, glaring at the Hellhound as if it had personally offended him.

Behind him, Lewis muttered into the vox briefly before looking back up at Kieler. “They say they thought they saw something moving, but they’ve lost it now.”

“Tell them to get the hell back into position!” If they wanted to survive this, they needed to maintain their line and not go chasing after shadows. Especially when, with the rain and darkness, there were already far too many shadows to chase.

* * *

As soon as the battlecannon had been shot off the Leman Russ, Dvorn had gestured to his squad and they’d started to move. They recognised the signs of a psychic warp attack when they saw one, which meant that whatever had been the cause of it was now their main target. They moved swiftly and surely through the rain and mud and debris, alert and wary with their weapons at the ready.

So when the termagant swarm scurried into sight from around the corner of a building, the squad opened fire immediately with incinerator and stormbolters without even breaking stride. Caught off-guard and in the open, the termagants had no time to return fire before Dvorn and his men were in their midst. A nasty fight broke out, the termagants battling with vicious desperation. One of Dvorn’s men went down with a cry of pain, but the rest of the squad quickly wiped out the termagants before the beasts could mob the fallen marine.

Dvorn finished off the last of the small xenos with a blow from his hammer, sending it smashing into the side of one of the ruined buildings. It splattered and slid down the wall, leaving a trail of ichor. He then turned to his fallen brother, who was still conscious but unable to stand due to the massive wound in one leg. “Don’t think I’m going to be able to keep up,” the injured marine ground out through clenched teeth. “I’ll hold here.” He brandished his stormbolter with a tight grin, his other hand pressed against his bleeding leg. “Give them hell, boss.” Dvorn nodded and saluted his wounded brother, then quickly turned and headed off again, the rest of his squad quickly following. There was no time for concern; they had a job to do.

It wasn’t long before they broke free of the surrounding ruined buildings and emerged out into the plains - and there, floating a meter or so above the ground, was the beast responsible for the loss of the Leman Russ’ battlecannon. The remaining zoanthrope spotted Dvorn and his squad at the same time they spotted it, and it turned its attention away from the tank it had been shooting at to face them. They opened fire as they charged, but their shots were repelled by the beast’s psychic shields. It hissed venomously and reared back in preparation for a psychic attack.

“Jump!” Dvorn ordered sharply. Mid-stride, the squad suddenly vanished with a loud pop as air rushed in to replace the space where they’d just been. The zoanthrope seemed to hesitate, then began to turn as it sensed something - just in time for Dvorn and his squad to reappear behind it after their teleporter jump, Dvorn’s massive hammer already in mid-swing. It smashed into the creature’s psychic shield, which barely slowed it before shattering, and the hammer continued unimpeded to smash into the zoanthrope’s delicate frame.

The creature barely had time to let out a pained wail before the rest of the squad’s weapons hit it, and in moments it was lying dead on the ground, ichor oozing rom its many wounds and mingling with the rain and mud.

Once he was sure the xenos beast was dead, Dvorn straightened and scanned the battlefield for the next threat. His helm informed him that Stern and his squad were nearby, but they seemed to have whatever was occupying them well in hand, and he’d received no requests for aid. Alaric’s squad, however, seemed to be in some trouble. Two of the runes signifying Alaric’s men were already dark, and even as he watched, another rune went dark, indicating death or incapacitation. He gestured with one hand towards the rear of a ruined building, close to where he judged Alaric’s squad to be and behind whatever xenos force was attacking them. “There.”

Again the interceptor squad vanished with a pop of displaced air, the corpse of the zoanthrope they’d left behind the only sign they’d ever been there.

* * *

Alaric ducked a burst of fire from the advancing xenos, then returned fire with his stormbolter before making a dash for another piece of cover. What little cover they’d had before was sizzling and crumbling from the vile acids and projectiles the xenos had peppered them with, so he and his squad were dodging from cover to cover, doing their best to slow the xenos advance with shots of their own.

Alaric slid into the shelter of a large chunk of ferrocrete with a spray of mud and pressed his back against it, glancing around to check on the rest of his squad. Apart from the brother who’d been felled earlier by the tervigon broodmother’s clusterspines, they were all still with him, their mud-spattered grey armour blending into the rain-filled shadows. He risked a glance around the chunk of ferrocrete to assess the advancing xenos forces and let off a few more shots from his stormbolter. Flickers of lightning silhouetted the bloated form of the broodmother, with the shapes of accompanying warriors not far behind it, while freshly-spawned termagants swarmed around them, acting as a screen.

He’d lost sight of Akil and what remained of his squad, and that worried Alaric. But he couldn’t let that distract him; he’d have to trust that their unusual allies would be able to hold their own. Right now he had more pressing concerns - like how his squad was going to cross the open ground between them and the next patch of cover before their current shelter collapsed.

“One round of suppression fire, then go!” Alaric ordered his squad with a sharp gesture of his hand. His men nodded, then as one the group leant out and sprayed the oncoming xenos with fire from their stormbolters. The shots were met with shrieks and hisses of pain, but Alaric ignored them as he and his squad broke from their current cover and made a dash for it, still firing to force the xenos’ heads down.

Then something whistled through the air and landed in the mud in the midst of them. Before they could react it had exploded into barbed vines, lashing and whipping towards them. The vines wrapped around legs and torsos, halting them in their tracks and practically rooting them to the ground.

Alaric struggled against the tough, barbed vines, feeling questing tentrils searching for gaps in his armour. He managed to break enough of the vines to get his halberd into play, but it was slow, awkward work, and the rest of his squad weren’t faring much better. They were stuck in the open, with the xenos preparing to open fire on the pinned down squad.

Movement and the sound of a bolt pistol firing briefly attracted Alaric’s attention, and he spared a glance towards it even as he continued to hack at the entangling vines. Several meters off stood Khentimentiu, outlined by the crackling field of his power sword as he fired shot after shot from his pistol at the xenos horde. One shot lashed out from the pistol, larger and brighter than the rest that left a glowing aftertrail on Alaric’s vision. It whipped past the broodmother’s head, and the beast snarled and snapped its attention away from Alaric’s squad to face the new threat, with the rest of the xenos following suit.

As soon as he had their attention, Khentimentiu began moving away from where Alaric’s squad was pinned, his movements calm and calculated as he continued firing his pistol. The xenos opened fire on him as he moved; clusters of spines and globs of corrosive organic matter flew through the air in a deadly storm. Somehow, he managed to avoid most of the shots, but one lot of spines lanced into his thigh.

Khentimentiu stumbled, slipping in the mud, and before he could recover a salvo of green crystals speared towards him. Most missed or deflected off his armour, but one razor-edged shard hit his chest hard. It punched right through armour, flesh and bone and lodged there, the blood-smeared tip emerging from his back. Khentimentiu staggered backwards from the force of the blow, his weapons falling from his hands. He clutched at the end of the shard still protruding from his chest and somehow managed to pull it out, dropping it to the ground alongside his weapons.

Then Khentimentiu collapsed, sprawling limp and unmoving on his back with the rain washing over his still form.

Alaric saw what was happening in brief glimpses as he hacked and slashed through the vines, determined not to waste the time that had been so dearly bought for his squad. He managed to finally break free just as Khentimentiu collapsed, his men only a moment or two behind him. The xenos had moved closer as they’d been firing, and were now close enough that Alaric could see them clearly despite the rain. Which meant they were close enough to attack.

“Charge!” Alaric broke into a sprint, his halberd at the ready. His men charged with him, stormbolters firing as they ran. The xenos, caught off guard by the unexpected assault, were slow to react, and Alaric was only a handful of meters away from the broodmother when they finally started shooting. Behind him he heard at least one of his men go down, but there was no stopping now. Halberd held like a lance in front of him, he bulled his way between a couple of startled termagants, knocking them flying.

The broodmother tried to swipe at Alaric, tried to twist out of the way, but he was moving too fast. His halberd plunged into the base of the tervigon’s neck, with all his weight and momentum behind it. The humming blade sank deep into the beast’s body and Alaric sent a surge of psychic energy through it. The beast let out a shrill, gurgling shriek, its limbs spasming uselessly. Alaric then braced himself and savagely twisted his halberd, ripping it sideways and tearing it out of the broodmother in a massive spray of ichor.

The beast screamed, shuddered, and collapsed, and Alaric barely managed to get out of the way of its mass as it fell. Around him, termagants shrieked and keened; some collapsed as well, twitching, while others went completely mad. Alaric swung his halberd around in a flat arc, driving back the termagants closest to him, but even as they fell back he felt multiple impacts on his armour. Some merely glanced off harmlessly, but at such close range, several penetrated the thick ceramite. He staggered, feeling the agonizing pain as devourer worms and flesh borer beetles started eating into his flesh, and he caught glimpses of the last of his men going down beneath a swarm of termagant bodies.

With no other options left, Alaric focused his mental energies and overloaded his psychic shields with a wordless yell. His shields spontaneously combusted, engulfing him in bright, cleansing flame. The xenos closest to him, as well as the ones burrowing into his flesh, were instantly immolated, burning to fine ash.

But the mental and physical strain proved too much, and even as he burned, Alaric crumpled, senseless, to the ground.

* * *

.

that's pretty good, unlikely but still, one of the best stories I've heard (read) in a long time

Thank you! It's good to know someone's enjoying it so far.

Continuing on!

* * *
Akil landed flat on his back with a thump, the hooks that had yanked him into the shadowy interior of the ruined building already withdrawn from his armour. He immediately rolled to his feet, combi-bolter at the ready and power fist crackling with energy, and scanned the area.

There was nothing. The only movement he could see came from the rain falling through gaping holes in the ceiling.

Akil remained in a ready crouch, trying to find any sign of the creature that had so easily yanked his Terminator-armoured weight off his feet. Deep gouges ran down each side of his front chestplate; though the hooks hadn’t completely penetrated the thick armour, they’d come dangerously close. Concentrating, he slowed his breathing and stretched out his mental senses, attempting to locate his attacker. But the shadow in the warp lay thick, muffling his extra senses and most of his usual battlefield premonitions. It made him feel half-blind.

Then he was nearly blinded for real by a flash of lightning almost directly overhead. The eye lenses of his helm swiftly compensated, and in that moment of illumination Akil spotted something that had no right to be there. A shadow, a real shadow, cast by something that blended so perfectly into the background it may as well have been invisible. But the lightning had given it away, and Akil grinned slightly beneath his helmet. Got you.

With a flick of his thumb he quickly switched his combi-bolter’s mode to its single flamer shot and pulled the trigger. A gout of promethium-fuelled flame spewed out of his weapon’s secondary muzzle and bathed the area in fire. The flames licked against a lithe, taloned shape and clung tenaciously, burning despite the rain.

The creature let out a shriek, its chameleonic skin rendered useless by the clinging, burning promethium. It lunged at Akil, its claws ready to rend and tear, but he was ready for it and managed to dodge out of the way. The beast continued on for a few meters, then quickly pivoted on one foot and shot tough, ropy tendrils tipped with razor-sharp barbed hooks out from its chest.

Akil was still turning to track the beast as the barbs flew towards him, and they hit him in the shoulder, sinking deep into the pauldron but again not quite penetrating the thick armour. He reacted immediately, and before the beast could yank him off his feet again he grabbed the ropy tendrils in his crackling powerfist and pulled hard.

The creature staggered forwards with a shrill cry of pain as the crackling powerfist seared right through the tendrils, and before it could recover its balance Akil was upon it. He grabbed the beast by its throat, the sharp talons of his powerfist sinking into its flesh, and lifted it clear off the ground. It flailed at him with its claws and talons, but with its feet off the ground it couldn’t get the leverage it needed to penetrate his armour.

Akil pressed his bolter muzzle into the creature’s gut and fired. The bolt tore right through the xenos and punched out the other side in a spatter of ichor before exploding, eliciting a gurgling snarl. The sound was quickly broken off when Akil slammed the creature hard into the wall, which creaked under the impact. He smacked it against the groaning wall a few more times before smashing the creature to the floor and pinning it with one foot. It struggled feebly, dazed and injured, as Akil clenched his taloned fist and drove it down into the beast’s face. The blow, backed by Akil’s Terminator-enhanced strength and the power field around his fist, pulverised the creature’s skull and splattered his armour with ichor, carapace fragments, and gobbets of brain.

The xenos went limp, bits of its carapace still burning fitfully. Akil straightened and stepped off it, letting the rain wash the gore off his armour as he pulled out the barbed hooks still embedded in his pauldron.

Then movement to one side caught his eye; a group of tentacle-faced genestealers, still half-camouflaged, had emerged from hiding and were charging towards him, already far too close. Akil had just enough time to brace himself before the whole group hit him, tackling him straight through the already-weakened wall.

Akil rolled and tumbled out onto the cratered street in a shower of debris and a flurry of slashing, stabbing claws. He felt one claw pierce through the more flexible armour around his waist, sinking deep into his side before tearing out again. Even as he rolled, he lashed out with his powerfist and bolter at the xenos surrounding him. Each blow was met with a growl or snarl of pain, and as the group finally came to a halt he managed to clear enough space to get back to his feet. Several xenos already lay limp and still in the trail of debris, but the remaining genestealers were just as quick to regain their footing, surrounding him and hemming him in. They circled warily, their forelimbs seeming to shift and change shape even as he watched.

As soon as he was up Akil feinted towards the closest genestealer, ignoring the pain in his injured side, then suddenly changed direction and lunged at another. The feint allowed him to catch his target by surprise, and he grabbed it by the head, crushing its skull in his powerfist. Even as its head imploded he used the body as a club, bludgeoning down several more of the xenos. The rest lunged and slashed at him, snarling, but he managed to fend them off with his bolter, felling a couple more with well-placed, point-blank shots.

He was suddenly staggered forwards as a weight hit his back - one of the genestealers had leapt onto him and was clinging tenaciously. Another latched onto his arm, whippy tentacles wrapping around the limb, its weight dragging it down. Then he felt the ground shudder, as if something huge were approaching, and Akil’s instincts shrieked a warning. He tried to turn towards the new threat, slowed down by the xenos clinging and and clutching at him. He managed to catch a glimpse of the massive hive tyrant looming behind him just before a huge bone sword wielded by a powerful limb smashed into his torso.

His chest armour, already weakened by the deep gouges in it, crumpled inwards beneath the blow, and he was sent flying backwards. He crashed through the wall again in a spray of debris without appreciably slowing down and continued across the room until his uncontrolled flight was suddenly halted by a solid support column, crushing the genestealer still clinging to his back. The column cracked and groaned beneath the impact, and Akil slumped to the floor, dazed, badly injured and struggling to breathe.

Then the much-abused building finally gave way and collapsed inwards in an avalanche of ferrocrete and metal. Akil’s world flashed bright with pain, then went dark as he was buried beneath tons of rubble.

Chapter 3
As the spore’s barbed vines lashed out at his face, Stern instinctively ducked, whipping his sword around in a sweeping arc to knock the vines away before quickly moving out of their apparent reach. Around him, his men fought back against the attacking warriors, fending off claws and talons with their own blades and striking back with precise fury.

Thawn was forced backwards by a sudden lunge from one of the warriors; he managed to parry its blows, but his movement had put him within the spore’s range. Before Stern could yell a warning, the spore wrapped Thawn in vines, pinning his arms to his sides, and pulled him towards it. A gaping, tooth-lined maw opened in the spore’s side, and the vines shoved the struggling Thawn inside, swallowing him whole.

Stern had no time to react to this; the tyranid warrior was already striking at him, and all his attention was taken up by fending off the beast and preventing it from forcing him back into the spore’s range. The beast lashed out at him with its scythe-like talons, moving with startling speed and agility for such a large creature. He parried the blows and replied with several lightning-fast strikes of his own, forcing the creature to go on the defensive and buying himself some room.

Even as the warrior parried and dodged, Stern brought up his wrist-mounted stormbolter and fired into the creature’s path. Already committed to the movement, the beast had no time to react to the new threat. At such close range the bolts easily pierced its armoured carapace and detonated inside it, sending the beast staggering with a spray of ichor. Before it could recover, Stern swung his sword around and buried it into the side of its neck. The sword’s power generators whined, and a moment later the blade sliced out the other side. The creature’s decapitated head fell to the ground and bounced a couple of times before rolling to a stop. Then the body collapsed, twitching and spasming before finally going still.

Stern ignored the beast’s fall and quickly turned to see how his men were faring. As he watched, the last warrior was beaten to the ground by his squad’s apothecary, the heavy daemonhammer he wielded smashing the beast’s head into a bloody, messy pulp. More warrior corpses lay around in various states of mangled, and the rest of his squad remained standing, scanning the area for any more dangers.

Now that the immediate threat was past, Stern turned back to the spore, fully intending to take the thing apart with his bare hands if necessary. But as he watched it, he realised he might not have to. Something was happening inside the spore; it jerked and spasmed, its vines writhing and flailing aimlessly. Its surface shuddered and bulged, its many maws opening and shutting in soundless screams.

Then the side of the spore exploded outwards in a shower of ichor and carapace fragments, and the spore gave a final shudder before seeming to sink in on itself, its vines falling limp. From out of the hole emerged Thawn, hacking and slashing at the sides of it with his sword to give himself enough room to pull himself out fully.

Stern hurried to help his friend, the apothecary by his side. Together they hauled Thawn clear of the spore’s corpse, and the apothecary quickly checked Thawn over. He was covered in gore which the rain was already starting to wash away, his armour streaked and pocked with acid burns. He tolerated the apothecary’s attentions only for a few moments before waving him off and turning to Stern with a nod of thanks. “Nasty in there.”

Stern clapped one hand on Thawn’s shoulder in silent relief, but their reunion was interrupted by the sounds of a loud, bellowing roar followed by a huge explosion. The whole squad instantly turned towards the source of the noise, their weapons at the ready.

Back at the Imperial lines, the Hellhound tank was lying destroyed and burning, belching clouds of smoke up into the dark, rainy sky. Silhouetted by the fire was the massive form of a hive tyrant. It roared its success, ignoring the flames from the burning tank that licked around its body.

Stern didn’t even have to say anything. As one, he and his squad began to charge back to the Imperial lines, determined to take the monstrous beast down before it could cause more destruction.

* * *
As the Hellhound began to retreat back to its earlier position, it was suddenly rocked by shots impacting against its armoured hull. The spotlight immediately swivelled around to point at the source of the attacks, and Kieler bit back a curse as he saw what the light illuminated.

A massive hive tyrant strode between the buildings, stepping over the corpses of the carnifexes. A tyrant guard accompanied it, and a small number of tentacle-faced genestealers scurried before the monstrous creatures as if driven by them.

Even as the Hellhound began moving again, another ranged attack from a different direction slammed into one of the Leman Russ tanks. Kieler couldn’t see what it was that had hit the tank, but from the way it was now listing to one side, he knew it wouldn’t be moving anywhere any time soon. Lightning arcing overhead illuminated yet another threat - a second hive tyrant, further off than the first but also moving in.

Kieler swore silently, then gestured towards the first tyrant and its guard. “Take those things down now!” Krathga snarled coordinates into his vox, and the two xenos were rocked by more ordnance from above. Then the missile launcher on the cliff fired, but the tyrant guard lumbered into its path and took the impact, shielding the tyrant from the blast. Its carapace, already weakened by the ordnance, was further damaged by the missile blast, and the snipers quickly took advantage of this. The crack of several sniper shots echoed through the air, and the tyrant guard staggered, then dropped lifelessly to the ground.

Even as the tyrant guard dropped, the sound of a battlecannon firing echoed across the field, and it sounded closer than it had been before. The shell whistled past the hive tyrant and detonated in front of it, the explosion dangerously close to the Imperial tanks but serving to slow the xenos down, if only for a few moments.

That shot was quickly followed by another, though it sounded slightly different to the first, and impacted almost right on top of the hive tyrant. The creature roared as the explosion engulfed it, but it still came forward, shaking off the damage done to its thick carapace.

Kieler, familiar with the reload times of battlecannons, rocked back slightly on his heels in surprise. “There’s another battlecannon out there?”

“That was no battlecannon, boy,” Krathga growled, smirking faintly around his cigar. “I know my ordnance, and that was a Demolisher shell. There’s a Vindicator out there, mark my words.”

“Whatever it is, its aid is welcome,” Kieler replied tightly. “I just hope the aid of those out there is enough.”

The Hellhound had turned to face its weapons towards the approaching hive tyrant and let loose with a large gout of flame. It washed around the monstrous xenos, but seemed to do little more than make it angry. The tyrant charged at the Hellhound and laid into it with its lashwhip and massive bonesword. Armour was sheared off in chunks as the Hellhound rocked beneath the blows, and then the tyrant’s assault punctured the fuel tank. The Hellhound exploded in a violent, towering fireball, showering the field in flaming debris that rattled off the nearby Leman Russ tanks and bounced off the tyrant’s carapace with little effect. The hive tyrant let out a roar of triumph, ignoring the flames licking high around it.

The tyrant wasn’t the only thing lit by the burning Hellhound. The small group of genestealers were also lit up as they moved around the crater, keeping low to the ground. Even as Kieler spotted them, it became apparent that he wasn’t the only one.

One group of Imperial Guardsmen, who’d been waiting in the rain, holding the line and listening to battle rage all around them that they couldn’t quite see, had also spotted the small group of xenos. Spurred by the destruction of the Hellhound and the fact that there had been nothing in their sight for them to assault the whole battle, the guardsmen let out a yell and charged. The tentacle-faced genestealers were caught off-guard by the sudden attack, and the Guardsmen vented their built-up frustrations by hacking the xenos to pieces.

Kieler made a brief mental note to personally congratulate that squad if any survived to the end of the battle, then turned his attention back to the larger xenos. The first hive tyrant had turned away from the ruins of the Hellhound and was now ripping into the immobilised Leman Russ, despite continued fire from the snipers on the cliff. Beside him, Krathga snapped off coordinates into his vox, and the familiar whistle of heavy ordnance filled the air.

An explosion just to the right of Kieler’s Chimera made him wince and he barely managed to contain a startled oath as smoke wafted past and bits of debris rattled off the Chimera’s side armour. One of the ordnance shells lobbed from the city on the clifftop had gone astray and come dangerously close to hitting the command Chimera itself.

“Emperor’s balls, watch your damn aim!” Krathga snarled into his vox, his cigar clenched tightly between his teeth. “Whoever fired that shot is going to be cleaning the latrines for a month!”

Kieler let out a faint sigh, then looked back across the field. The second hive tyrant was drawing closer by the moment, and was now close enough that it could be seen by the light from the still-burning remains of the Hellhound.

Ryza’s Leman Russ, despite having lost its battlecannon, was not about to go down easily however. The tank’s engine roared to life and it began moving, building up speed as Ryza charged it towards the approaching hive tyrant. For a moment it looked like the tank was going to hit the monstrous xenos, but at the last second the creature moved out of the way with a speed that belied its large size. As the Leman Russ barrelled past, the tyrant brought its bonesword and lashwhip down, scoring deep gashes into the armour, damaging the engine, and slicing through the treads on one side.

The tank slewed to a stop, unable to keep going, and the hive tyrant continued to assault it, rocking the tank from side to side with powerful blows. There was another explosion as the first hive tyrant finally broke through the second Leman Russ tank’s armour, the damage causing the core to go critical and detonate.

Even as the tyrants assaulted the tanks, a small group of hive guard moved into view. The lumbering creatures turned to point their weapons at the Chimera, but before they could fire, the squad of Imperial Guard that had just finished taking apart the last genestealers spotted them. The Imperial men let out a yell and opened fire on the hive guard before charging recklessly into their midst. The beasts were slow to react, but when they did, the results were devastating. Men were sent flying or crushed into the mud by punishing blows, but they refused to give in despite the casualties and kept on fighting.

Kieler cursed to himself at the damage the massive creatures were wreaking upon his forces. “Where are the damn Marines?!”

There was no sign of them.
* * *

The Interceptor squad blinked back into existence, weapons at the ready, and Dvorn quickly surveyed the scene through the falling rain. The corpse of a tervigon broodmother lay nearby, and a swarm of termagants were in a frenzy around it, tearing at each other, at debris, and at what looked like armoured shapes on the ground.

Dvorn chopped his hand forward in a sharp gesture, and his squad opened fire. The flame from the incinerator spewed forward, engulfing the closest termagants in purifying, white-hot fire. They shrieked and writhed, the ones on the edges of the fire fleeing and bumping into their brethren, spreading the flames further. Stormbolter fire cut into the rest, mowing the beasts down with precision fire. In moments, the ground was littered with xenos corpses, some still on fire with the flames flickering and guttering in the driving rain. None of the termagants remained standing.

An explosion somewhere ahead of them immediately got their attention, and as they watched a pillar of fire outlined the massive shape of a hive tyrant. It also outlined a group of tyranid warriors between them and the tyrant, their movements determined as they headed towards the monstrous xenos.

The squad began to charge forwards at another sharp gesture from Dvorn, firing their stormbolters as they ran and peppering the warriors with explosive shells. That got the creatures’ attention, but they were tougher than the termagants and refused to go down from mere bolterfire. The xenos snarled and turned to charge at the new threat, their scythe-like talons at the ready.

Dvorn was the first to hit the xenos group, his squad spreading out a little on either side to give him room. He swung his hammer in a flat arc, knocking one warrior stumbling to the side before arresting the swing and changing its direction to catch another warrior underneath the chin as it lunged at him. The blow snapped its head back with a crack of bone and carapace, and the beast dropped like a stone, its neck broken.

Dvorn didn’t stop moving there though; he half-pivoted on one foot and brought his hammer back down onto the first warrior he’d hit as it came back at him, crushing it to the ground and driving it deep into the mud. He hit it again to make sure of the kill, pulverising its spine with a wet crack, then looked around for another target.

But there were no targets left in immediate range - all the warriors were down, lying dead and bleeding in the mud. The charge had come at a cost though, and the rest of his squad hadn’t come away unscathed. Three of his men were down as well, including the incinerator-bearer, brought low by the warriors’ thick carapaces and impossibly sharp talons. There was no time to stop and tend to them though - even as he looked around, another explosion from the Imperial line heralded the loss of one of the Leman Russ tanks and outlined a second towering hive tyrant.

With a gesture, Dvorn gathered his single remaining brother to his side, and the two continued forward, the massive hive tyrants in their sights.

* * *
Stern cursed to himself under his breath as he and his squad ran, trying to get back to the Imperial lines as quickly as possible. He hadn’t heard anything from Haulvarn or his men, but from the sight of the hive tyrant outlined by the burning Hellhound, it was obvious the right flank had been breached.

Even as he ran, he saw shells being launched at the tyrants from behind, and remembered Akil’s comment about heavy support. It looked like that support had finally arrived, but whether or not it had arrived in time to be any real use remained to be seen.

As the squad rounded the corner of a building another hive tyrant came into view - much closer to them than the first one, and as they watched one of the Leman Russ tanks tried to ram it, with no success. The hive tyrant tore into the tank with destructive force, its back to the advancing squad as it rocked the tank from side to side.

Stern put on a burst of speed, changing direction slightly even as he gestured to his squad. “Distract it!” he ordered. “Keep its back to the tank!”

“Understood!” came the reply, and Thawn led the rest of the squad as they peeled away from Stern, heading for the monstrous beast’s rear arc. As soon as they were within range they skidded to a halt and opened fire with their stormbolters, careful not to get too close.

At first the tyrant didn’t seem to even realise they were there, busy trying to pry the tank open and get at the crew inside. It soon noticed that it had come under fire though and turned to face them, letting out a bellowing roar. Stern, circling around on the flank, went unnoticed.

As his squad held the beast’s attention, Stern made it to the damaged tank and leapt up onto it, half-running and half-scrambling up its tilted, battered side. The hive tyrant’s back was to him, but it hadn’t moved away from the tank yet, apparently content to fire shards of deadly green crystals at the rest of Stern’s squad as they held its attention.

Stern didn’t stop or even slow down - as soon as he reached the highest point of the badly damaged tank, he readied his sword, gathered his legs under him, and launched himself at the massive beast. He hit the side of the broad back, just outside the large spikes that protruded from the thick carapace and ran in rows down either side of its spine. His free hand lashed out and grabbed the base of the closest spike in an unrelenting death-grip before the tyrant even knew he was there.

The thick carapace down the tyrant’s back would be too hard to get through, even with his force sword, but the carapace didn’t wrap around the tyrant’s entire torso. The area on the beast’s side beneath its arms was less heavily armoured, and it was there that Stern aimed. With his grip on the spine secure, he swung out over the edge of the carapace and drove his sword into the tyrant’s side.

The beast shrieked at the sudden, unexpected agony as Stern shoved the sword in deeper, twisting it savagely. Acidic ichor sprayed out of the wound, hissing as it struck his armour, but Stern ignored it. As the tyrant whirled to try and spot its attacker, Stern let go of the spine on its carapace and quickly wrapped that hand around the hilt of his sword as well. Now all his weight was hanging from the blade buried deep in the tyrant’s torso, and he clung with single-minded determination, his feet scrambling for some sort of purchase as the hive tyrant thrashed around.

Stern knew that even a wound like this normally wouldn’t be enough to kill something as monstrous as the hive tyrant, but all he needed, now that his sword was buried in the beast’s body, was a moment of concentration. He wasn’t going to get that moment though; before he could focus enough, the tyrant’s elbow caught him a crushing blow, numbing his whole side.

He felt his grip slipping and struggled to hold on, but the hilt of his sword was slick with a combination of rain and ichor. His scrambling feet could find no foothold to help support his weight, and as the hive tyrant’s elbow smashed into him again he lost his grip completely. The blow sent him flying several meters away, but he managed to twist around enough to land on his feet, dropping into a crouch with one hand supporting his weight, the other clutching his aching ribs.

His sword was still embedded in the tyrant’s side, leaving Stern with only his stormbolter and a combat knife. He forced himself up to his feet, ignoring the aching numbness down his side, then had to throw himself to one side to avoid a blow from the tyrant’s huge, scythe-like talons.

As he rolled back to his feet, the beast turned its back to him, its attention apparently drawn by Thawn and the rest of Stern’s squad as they continued to fire their stormbolters at it. The shots peppered its thick carapace with exploding bolts, but failed to do more than scratch the tough chitin.

It wasn’t until Stern saw the hive tyrant’s tail whipping towards him that he realised the beast wasn’t ignoring him. The lashing tail came at him too fast for him to dodge, and it caught him square in the midsection. The blow lifted him clear off the ground and sent him flying towards the crippled Leman Russ, completely winded.

Stern hit the side of the tank with a resounding crunch of metal on metal, then dropped to the ground in a dazed heap. He tried to force himself to his feet, but his torso was a fireball of pain and his limbs refused to work properly. Vision blurry, he looked up to see the tyrant facing him again, its massive bonesword raised, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid the coming strike.
* * *

They're losing all over the place.

Hehehe, it was a tough battle. For the most part, the dice were not our friends.

Kieler felt a brief rush of relief as he spotted the tyrant that had been attacking Ryza’s tank suddenly turn away, its attention drawn elsewhere. It was hard to tell through the rain and the dim, flickering light from the fitfully burning tanks, but Kieler was sure he saw the grey shapes of Stern and his men attacking the beast.

“About time,” Krathga grunted beside him as he spotted the Marines as well, then turned his attention back to directing the launch of his ordnance.

Closer to him was the fight still going on between the Imperial Guard squad and the lumbering hive guard. Only one of the xenos was left, but very few of the men were standing as well. Kieler withdrew his pistol from its holster, squinted through the rain, aimed, and fired. The shot hit the beast square in the jaw and it reared backwards, away from the sudden surprising pain.

The few remaining Imperial Guardsmen took full advantage of this opening, and in moments the hive guard was down, the men determinedly hacking it to pieces.

With the second tyrant engaged by Stern and his squad, the remaining tyrant was now the focus of all the firepower from the Imperial forces. Another battlecannon and demolisher shell exploded almost on top of the xenos in close sequence, sending the creature staggering and keeping it from charging at what was left of the Imperial troops. More ordnance lanced down from above, this time well on target, and again the hive tyrant was staggered.

But it refused to go down, shrugging off more damage than Kieler had ever thought possible.

“Tough sonuvabitch,” Krathga muttered around his cigar.

“Keep firing!” Kieler ordered, his words relayed by Lewis and his vox. “Take that thing down, it can’t take much more!”

Once again the snipers on the cliff opened fire, their aim admirable given the rain and shadows cast by the flames from all the explosions. The hive tyrant let out a bellow as well-placed sniper rounds pierced its body, punching through areas where its carapace was weaker.

Then one more missile spiralled down from the missile launcher team based on the cliff ledge with the snipers. It hit the tyrant just behind its head, exploding in a fireball that engulfed the beast’s skull. As the smoke cleared, Kieler could see a breach in the armoured hide over the back of the beast’s neck, just in front of the main carapace. He held his breath, waiting for the creature to fall - surely now it would go down.

The hive tyrant staggered, swaying, then its legs gave way beneath it. It crumpled to the ground and lay there unmoving, the rain hissing off its carapace. Kieler let out his breath in a sigh of relief, and beside him Krathga let out a grunt of satisfaction.

Then they both froze in horror as the hive tyrant began to move. It shifted and braced itself before slowly rising, hauling itself back to its feet with a snarl. A moment later it was standing again, defiant in the face of all their firepower.

* * *
Dvorn saw Stern and his squad engage the first hive tyrant, and he immediately adjusted his direction to head for the second tyrant. He saw the explosions of heavy ordnance, saw the beast stagger, and saw it then shake off the damage in defiance of all probability. As he drew closer, he heard the sharp retort of sniper rifles, then the launch of a missile. He saw the missile impact, then saw the breach in the beast’s armour that the blast had inflicted. The tyrant fell and lay unmoving, and Dvorn began to slow down, preparing to go to Stern’s aid.

Then the tyrant slowly rose again, defying all logic. “Help them,” Dvorn ordered his remaining squad member, gesturing back towards Thawn and his men. He didn’t wait for an acknowledgement of the order, sure his battle-brother would follow it, and continued running. As he ran, he shifted his grip on his warhammer and activated his teleporter pack. He blinked out of sight, and a moment later reappeared just above the hive tyrant’s back.

Dvorn’s feet hit the hive tyrant’s carapace and he immediately shifted to brace them against the spikes on either side of the beast’s spine. Lifting his hammer over his head, he gathered his strength and swung the hammer down before the creature knew what was happening.

The hammer blow hit the tyrant on the back of its neck, right in the middle of the breach in its armoured hide. The beast staggered forward and nearly fell, half-stunned by the blow. Dvorn kept his balance though and swung the hammer again, and again, and again, each time hitting the same spot. The blows widened the breach in the beast’s chitinous armour and rained down on its spine, each strike bringing the wet crack of bone.

Dvorn brought his hammer down in yet another punishing blow, and was rewarded with a meaty crunch as the spine shattered completely. The hive tyrant staggered, shuddered, and finally fell for good, with Dvorn still clinging onto its back. It crashed to the ground hard, and Dvorn leapt clear. He landed and rolled, quickly getting back to his feet.

He looked back to see how Stern was faring, then immediately broke into a run again as he saw what was happening, the scene dimly illuminated by the fitfully burning tanks. Stern was down, the hive tyrant ready to tear him apart, and Dvorn knew that even with his teleporter pack, he’d never get there in time.

But he still had to try.

* * *
Time seemed to slow down as the hive tyrant reared over him, ignoring the stormbolter fire that still lanced into its back and sides as it prepared to strike. Stern continued to try and push himself to his feet, to get his recalcitrant body to do what he wanted it to, but it felt like trying to swim through clay.

Suddenly, a large shape loomed out of the rain behind the hive tyrant, and something slammed into it from the side, sending it staggering. The hive tyrant let out a shriek of outrage and spun around to face its attacker, Stern apparently forgotten for the moment. With his vision still swimming, he couldn’t quite make out what was attacking the tyrant - all he could see past the tyrant’s bulk were the blurry shapes of giant, talon-tipped legs and huge claws.

Then Dvorn appeared by his side with a pop of air and crouched beside him. With his help, Stern managed to get back to his feet, swaying slightly before he regained his balance. With every passing moment his body was recovering, healing as quickly as only a Space Marine could. Once he could see without his vision blurring, he turned to watch the combat.

The hive tyrant and its assailant were locked together, huge bonesword, lashing whip and giant claws slashing and snapping at each other as they fought for some advantage. The flickering light of the dying fires wasn’t enough to clearly show the two combatants, but the shapes of what he could see through the pouring rain seemed familiar. Stern frowned but kept silent, unwilling to jump to conclusions just yet.

There was a screech of rending, tearing metal as the hive tyrant’s bonesword found its mark and ripped down the length of one of its assailant’s front clawed limbs. In return, the other claw grabbed one of the tyrant’s arms and clamped down, cutting through carapace and muscle before ripping the limb right off in a spray of ichor. The tyrant let out a shriek but didn’t relent, unleashing a flurry of blows that tore gouges through metal and forced its attacker to back away.

Then there was a sudden gout of white-hot flame that hit the hive tyrant square in the face, causing it to instinctively throw its remaining arms up to shield its eyes. In that moment, its attacker charged at it, smashing into its torso with its all its weight. The tyrant was sent staggering backwards, forcing Stern and Dvorn to scramble out of the way. The beast then hit the wrecked Leman Russ and stumbled over it, losing its balance and falling off to one side.

As it struggled to get back up, Stern saw his chance - he could see the hilt of his sword still protruding from the tyrant’s side, pointing down at the ground. He broke into a run, ignoring the protests of his still-injured body, and leapt for the sword. His hands wrapped around the handle and fastened on with grim determination. Even as the tyrant straightened, heaving its bulk back to its feet and lifting him up off the ground, Stern focused his mind and sent a searing surge of psychic power through the blade, bolstered by his pain and righteous fury.

The hive tyrant let out a shrill bellow that quickly trailed off into a rattling gurgle as the psychic blast, focused and amplified by the force weapon, liquefied its internal organs and shredded it from the inside out. The beast staggered, then dropped to its knees before toppling over like a felled tree, ichor leaking from every orifice.

Stern hit the ground beside it, silently grateful the beast hadn’t landed on top of him. He managed to work his sword free of the corpse, then turned to scan the area for any more threats - and froze when he spotted the looming shape standing only a scant handful of meters away. This close, even despite the rain and darkness, there was no mistaking the metallic creature that had attacked the hive tyrant and was now towering over him.

* * *

Chapter 4

A Defiler. A monstrous fusion of daemon and machine, an abomination of some mad mind. Stern’s grip tightened instinctively on his sword, and he noticed that Dvorn was again beside him, his warhammer held at the ready.

But before they could do anything, a hollow, monotone voice spoke up. “Tyranid threat neutralised,” it stated, a slight metallic echo to its words. “I apologise for my late arrival. Am I addressing Brother-Captain Stern?”

It took Stern a moment to find his voice. All the other Defilers he’d encountered before had been crazed, vicious beings, incapable of anything more than horrendous violence. Yet this one was speaking, quite clearly and calmly. It had also just saved him from being killed or at least horribly injured by the hive tyrant - Stern could just make out the deep rents and gouges in the walker’s blue-painted armour, and one of its massive claws seemed damaged almost to the point of uselessness.

“You are,” Stern finally replied, then tilted his head to one side. “I thought your Captain Akil swore there was nothing daemonic in his forces,” he added sharply, stress and weariness making him even more blunt than usual.

The Defiler shifted slightly to look down at Stern, though he noticed it carefully kept its turret-mounted battlecannon pointed well away. “He swore truthfully,” the hollow voice replied. “My name is Runihura, and I am no more daemonic than you are. You may check, if you like.”

Stern let out a dubious snort. “We’ll take you up on that.” He nodded to Dvorn, who blinked out of sight. A moment later Dvorn reappeared, standing on the back of the Defiler’s chassis, his hammer at the ready as he scanned the walker for any sign of daemonic taint. The Defiler didn’t move and just waited patiently, apparently unbothered by the Marine on its back.

Finally Dvorn lowered his hammer and jumped back down to the ground, returning to Stern’s side by more mundane means than his teleporter. “It’s clean,” he murmured to Stern. “A touch of the warp itself, but nothing daemonic.”

Stern frowned, but didn’t question it. If there had been even the slightest trace of the daemonic, Dvorn would have picked up on it. “Runihura, was it? If you’re not daemonic, how do you even function?” he asked, still unwilling to relax his guard.

The Defiler paused for a moment. “Think of me as a Dreadnought,” it said finally.

“A Dreadnought.” Stern shook his head. “Really.”

“It is... an explanation. Not an entirely accurate explanation, granted, but one that shall suffice for now, nonetheless,” Runihura replied, then turned his turret slightly to look to one side. “You may want to inform the rest of your forces. I’d like to avoid any unpleasant incidents.”

Stern looked over as well and spotted Thawn and the rest of his squad, along with one of Dvorn’s men. They were approaching warily, their weapons at the ready as they eyed the large walker. He sighed and went to meet them, inwardly annoyed at the fact that he was still limping slightly. “Stand down,” he told them once he’d reached Thawn’s side. “Hard as it is to believe, that’s an ally. And apparently not at all daemonic.”

Thawn looked at him with clear disbelief, then sighed and lowered his weapons, though he still kept a suspicious eye on the walker.

Runihura waited until the rest of the Marines had likewise lowered their weapons before speaking up again. “Now, if we are quite done wasting time, you should tend to your wounded. I don’t know about you, but I would like to find my captain.” With that, the walker rose up on its long, mechanical legs and started moving off, holding its damaged claw clear of the ground and being very careful where it stepped.

Stern grunted and gestured to his men. “The damn thing’s right,” he stated. “Retrieve our brothers and get them to the apothecaries.”

Dvorn nodded and quickly set off, his remaining battle-brother swiftly following him as they headed to where the rest of their brothers had fallen. Stern’s squad followed suit, but Thawn hesitated. “What about you, Brother-Captain?” he asked quietly. “You should see the apothecaries yourself soon.”

Stern let out a snort. “I’m fine. And I have no intention of letting that thing out of my sight, not until all our brothers are accounted for.” He nodded towards the walker’s form, already some distance away.

Thawn nodded in understanding and headed off to help his brothers, and Stern took a moment to wipe his sword clean before sheathing it and heading off after the Defiler. As he moved, he noticed the Imperial Guard forces already tending to their own injured and dead, and he made a mental note to speak with Commander Kieler later.

Up ahead, some distance from the Imperial lines, the walker had come to a halt and was carefully crouching down. Stern hurried to catch up, frowning slightly as he watched it very gently nudge a blue and gold armoured form with its undamaged claw.

At first the figure didn’t stir, and as he drew close Stern could see it was the one who’d been introduced as Khentimentiu, with a hole right through one side of his chestplate and a cluster of spines embedded in one leg, along with other damage. At first he was sure the battered form was dead and that the walker was wasting its time, but then suddenly Khentimentiu sat up, gasping. He pulled off his helmet, arms trembling slightly, then carefully tugged the spines out of his leg even as he looked up at Runihura, his face pale. “Runi,” he murmured faintly, then coughed, a wet, tearing sound. “Good to see you.”

Runihura turned its turret slightly to look over at Stern, then looked back down at Khentimentiu. “Khenti. I cannot sense any of the others,” the walker murmured, and Stern could’ve sworn there was a note of worry in the otherwise emotionless, hollow voice. “Can you locate them?”

“Give me a moment,” Khentimentiu replied weakly, leaning against Runihura’s claw and closing his eyes. He was still and silent for a while, then finally spoke up again. “I can’t find Usi, but he could be out of range,” he murmured, voice raspy. He opened his eyes and looked straight at Stern, gesturing in the direction of a collapsed building near the right flank of the Imperial lines. “Some of your men are trapped in there,” he told Stern. “Unconscious, but in no immediate danger.”

Stern blinked in surprise, but before he could ask for clarification Runihura was talking again. “What about Akil? Can you find him?”

Khentimentiu closed his eyes and went silent again, brow furrowing in concentration. Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he turned to face another collapsed building, further away from the Imperial lines. “There!” He pointed, his arm still trembling. “He’s in there-- and Runi, he’s not in good shape.” He dragged himself to his feet, using the walker’s leg for support, then stood there, swaying slightly. “We have to hurry.”

“You have to rest,” Runihura told him firmly, then turned to the bemused Stern. “Please look after Khenti. I will help to dig out your trapped men, but I must retrieve my captain first.” Stern nodded, unable to think of anything to say, and Runihura looked back down at Khentimentiu. “I will get him out, don’t worry.”

Clearly unwilling to be left behind, but just as clearly too exhausted to even really be standing, Khentimentiu just nodded reluctantly. Runihura swiftly moved off, leaving him in Stern’s care.

Stern let out a quiet sigh, wondering just how he’d managed to find himself suddenly responsible for the well-being of a member of one of the Traitor Legions. As he helped Khentimentiu back to his own apothecaries, he once again found himself hoping that he wouldn’t regret this strange alliance.

* * *

The thunder and lightning had long since moved on, the only signs of their presence the occasional flicker of light far out on the horizon, accompanied some time after by the faintest growling rumbles. But the rain still fell. It lacked the intensity of before though, and pattered down gently, washing away mud and blood and ichor alike. It produced a soothing drumming noise that echoed softly inside the Storm Raven, blending with the murmurs of the apothecaries as they tended to the wounded Marines laid out on cots within the vehicle’s hold.

Alaric lay on one of the cots, clad in a simple, soft robe with his armour carefully stashed beneath the cot. Dvorn had found and woken him on the battlefield, along with the rest of Alaric’s squad, and Alaric had been in the care of the apothecaries since then. His wounds had been tended and he’d been ordered very firmly to rest and allow his mind and body to recover. Which Alaric had been willing enough to do - he’d woken with a skull-splitting headache that had made it nearly impossible to think coherently, a result of the massive psychic strain overloading his wards had caused.

He’d slept for a while, once the apothecary tending him had finished and left to look after others. Now, however, he was half-dozing, not fully awake yet but nowhere near asleep. His head still ached, a dull throbbing at his temples and the base of his skull, but it had subsided enough that he could mostly ignore it.

Movement somewhere beside him caught his attention - the sound of a cot creaking, followed by a hiss of indrawn breath and a sharp cough. Curious, Alaric opened his eyes and turned his head to see who it was.

On the cot beside him sat Khentimentiu, also clad in a simple robe. He looked pale and tired, and Alaric caught a glimpse of bandages beneath the robe, wrapped around his torso. Alaric was a little surprised to see him still alive, especially after watching him fall to a venom cannon shard right through the chest. He hadn’t had much personal experience with the various types of tyranid venom, but he’d heard about their potency.

“Hey,” Alaric murmured, carefully rolling onto his side and propping himself up on one elbow. “I wasn’t expecting to see you still alive.”

Khentimentiu startled a little at the sound of the words, his head snapping around to face Alaric. He recovered quickly, immediately on guard. “I wasn’t really expecting to still be alive,” he replied, his voice slightly raspy.

“I know that feeling.” He hesitated a moment, thinking quickly. Though he was still wary, he was also incredibly curious about these strange new allies, and knew any information he’d be able to get would be valuable. He also suspected that if he was too blatant or prying with his questions, Khentimentiu would probably clam up completely - Alaric could see his unease at being injured and practically surrounded by strangers that he was most likely just as wary of.

So he decided to start off with something simple, and something that he felt needed to be said in any case. “Thank you.”

Khentimentiu blinked, unable to quite hide his surprise behind his mask of calm. “For what?”

“For drawing the tyranid fire away from my squad,” Alaric replied. “I have no doubt things would’ve gone a lot worse for us if you hadn’t.”

Khentimentiu shifted a little, and though it didn’t show visibly, Alaric had a feeling that he was at least mildly embarrassed by the thanks. “It seemed the logical thing to do at the time,” Khentimentiu replied with a shrug. “Better to lose just one rather than several.”

“Nonetheless, it was appreciated,” Alaric said, then looked thoughtful. “I’ll admit I’m kind of surprised you’re still alive though, after seeing you go down. I’ve heard that tyranid venom is nasty stuff,” he commented, subtly wording it to encourage a reply without asking a direct question.

Alaric’s comment was met with a nod. “It is,” Khentimentiu replied. “Very corrosive. I’m still trying to clear my system of it - having trouble healing properly while any of it’s still in there.” He rubbed the back of his neck wearily. “I’m just lucky it didn’t hit a heart,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t have been able to keep up with that.”

“Wait - you’re still poisoned?” Alaric raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t our apothecaries given you anything for that?”

Khentimentiu shrugged. “Why would they? I’m in no real need of it, and they have your own men to tend. They have already done more than I would have expected for me and my captain.” He glanced away from Alaric, looking to the other side of his cot.

Alaric shifted to look past Khentimentiu, and saw Akil on the cot on the other side of Khentimentiu’s. Akil was lying on his back and looked to be either asleep or unconscious, his breathing slow and slightly uneven. “What happened to him?” Alaric asked quietly as he settled back down again.

“Not entirely sure,” Khentimentiu replied with forced detachment. “Hit by something big - his chest was pretty much caved in - then a building collapsed on him. He had to be dug out.” He closed his eyes for a moment before speaking again. “He’s doing all right now, but it was a close thing.”

“I think it’s been a close thing for a lot of us,” Alaric murmured, glancing around the Storm Raven’s hold at all the cots occupied by injured battle-brothers. There were many there, but in a way that was reassuring; for every occupied cot, it meant that one more brother was still alive. “What about your other sergeant? Usi, right?” he asked, looking back at Khentimentiu.

“I don’t know,” Khentimentiu replied, his voice quiet, and Alaric could see his mask of calm cracking slightly. “I cannot find him, and nobody will tell me anything. Their silence is damning.” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, his fists clenching and unclenching by his sides.

Alaric was silent for a moment, puzzled by the lack of information. He could think of no reason why their allies would be denied details of the death of one of their battle-brothers; something else must be going on. But with no information of his own, Alaric decided not to comment on it. “You’ve known him a long time, I gather?”

Khentimentiu looked over at Alaric, the corner of his mouth twitching in a humourless smile. “Longer than you’d think,” he replied cryptically, then shrugged, the smile fading away. “We have always been in the same company, at any rate. He’s a good friend to have.” He fell silent, closing his eyes and letting out another slow breath.

Alaric raised an eyebrow at the first comment, considering it and its possible implications. He decided not to pursue that particular topic any further though, since he could see that Khentimentiu was struggling to keep his calm. Instead, he decided to redirect the conversation. “Speaking of friends,” he started slowly. “I’m pretty sure I saw a Defiler out there on the field. Another of your friends?” He had only glimpsed it in passing, when Dvorn had helped him back to the Storm Raven after the fight, and he hadn’t been in much state to ask about it then.

Khentimentiu nodded, apparently unsurprised by the question. “That’s Runihura. It’s good that he made it here in time.” He turned to look out of the Storm Raven, though very little could be seen through the dark and continuing rain. “I hope he’s all right.”

“You’re worried about a Defiler?” Alaric asked, not sure how to take this. In his experience, Defilers were all crazy, daemon-possessed machines of death and destruction. Someone actually being worried about one was almost incomprehensible. “Do you not know what a Defiler truly is?”

Khentimentiu turned sharply back to Alaric and gave him a flat look. “Of course I know what they normally are. I also know what Runihura is.”

“Normally? You mean he’s not an actual Defiler?” Alaric asked carefully, doing his best to keep his tone and expression merely curious and interested, and not confrontational.

“Not in the usual sense, no.” Khentimentiu’s reply was clipped, all his defenses up. “Runihura is our battle-brother. The fact that he’s also currently... in a Defiler is irrelevant.”

Alaric frowned, looking bemused. “How...?” He trailed off, unsure of how to actually word the question.

Khentimentiu hesitated. “That is something I believe I should leave to Runihura to explain. It is not my place to speak for him - and if you do ask him, it’s up to him whether or not he chooses to answer.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “But to address your main concern, no, he is not in any way daemonic.”

The amount of heat in the last word caught Alaric off-guard, and he paused for a moment, thinking. “Your captain was pretty emphatic about not having any daemons in your forces,” he started cautiously. “So I’m sure you can understand my concern about Runihura.”

“We do not tolerate the presence of anything daemonic,” Khentimentiu stated, his tone and expression carefully neutral but his muscles tense, fists clenched at his sides. “They are an abomination that need to be destroyed at every opportunity.”

“You have had experience with them, I take it?” Alaric asked, fascinated more by Khentimentiu’s reaction rather than his actual words. He could feel the reined-in fury behind the calm mask, and knew that this sort of reaction couldn’t be feigned. It was the most emotion he’d seen from the reserved Thousand Son sergeant so far; Alaric had a feeling that he normally wouldn’t have even seen this much if Khentimentiu wasn’t currently so tired that his control was slipping slightly.

Khentimentiu nodded once, sharply. “More than we’d like. We have lost many crew and a number of our battle-brothers to their predations.” He forced his muscles to relax as he reined his emotions back in, then wearily rubbed at his face. “Losses we can little afford.”

“You have lost crew?” Alaric raised an eyebrow. “Daemons have attacked you on your ship?”

“Many times.” At Alaric’s questioning expression, Khentimentiu continued with a touch of reluctance. “The Aten was trapped in the warp for... a while. Our Geller Fields held well enough, but... things still managed to slip through occasionally, one way or another. It got messy.”

“Geller Fields are usually very reliable - how long were you in the warp that daemons could break through them?” Alaric asked, trying to hide his burning curiosity.

Khentimentiu sighed and shifted so he could sit more comfortably before he replied. “Who can tell for sure? The warp has its quirks. To us, it seemed like we were stuck in that warp storm for years. Fortunately for us, we were in a recently resupplied vanguard cruiser. If we’d been in anything else, or hadn’t been so well stocked, we might not have made it out at all.”

“Years?” Alaric let out a low whistle. “No wonder daemons got through. That must have been quite the storm.” He hesitated for a moment, unsure whether or not to ask the next question. He suspected that it might make Khentimentiu clam up completely, but Alaric also had the feeling that if he did get a honest answer, it would be a vital piece of the puzzle that was this atypical collection of Thousand Sons. “If it felt like years to you,” he asked carefully, keeping his tone casual, “How much time had actually passed once you made it out of the warp again?”

Khentimentiu’s dark eyes narrowed as he pinned Alaric with an intense, unblinking stare, and Alaric got the feeling that he was being sized up. He met the stare unflinchingly, keeping his own expression calm and unchallenging. It seemed that Khentimentiu was torn about whether or not to reply, and Alaric remained silent, not wanting to risk doing or saying anything that might cause him not to answer.

“Hm.” Khentimentiu finally broke his intense scrutiny and looked away, his expression unreadable. He glanced around the interior of the Storm Raven, then dropped his gaze and closed his eyes, sitting unmoving save for the rise and fall of his raspy breathing.

Alaric waited, a growing sense of disappointment filling him. After all that, it seemed that his question would remain unanswered, and that no more information would be forthcoming. He let out a faint sigh and settled back in his cot, trying not to feel too disappointed. He’d already gotten more details than he’d been expecting, even if they raised more questions than they actually answered.

“Probably more time than could be considered credible.”

Alaric startled slightly and looked past Khentimentiu to the source of the unexpected reply. Akil was sitting up, carefully rolling his shoulders before stretching with a crack and pop of vertebrae. Khentimentiu had also turned towards Akil, his posture relaxing and a brief expression of relief flickering over his face. “Captain,” he murmured with a nod of his head.

“Khenti,” Akil responded with a faint smile, swinging his legs off the cot to perch on its edge. “You’ve done well. Get some rest now, all right?” He stood up with no apparent difficulty and clapped one hand on Khentimentiu’s shoulder. “And I mean actual rest.”

“Gladly,” Khentimentiu replied, carefully lying down again with a faint sigh. In moments, he was asleep.

Akil shook his head slightly before moving around Khentimentiu’s cot, sitting cross-legged on the floor between it and Alaric. “My battle-brothers look after me well, sometimes even to their own detriment,” he murmured dryly once he was settled, then gave Alaric a knowing look. “Now, I believe you had more questions? I would hate to deprive those who’re most likely observing of their source of information.”

Alaric frowned slightly. “Observing? What makes you think there is anyone apart from the apothecaries still tending the wounded?”

Akil raised an eyebrow. “I very much doubt your Brother-Captain would be so careless as to leave two perceived members of a Traitor Legion amongst your wounded brothers unsupervised, no matter our own injuries or any sort of agreed alliance.”

Alaric couldn’t deny that, and he suspected his placement next to Khentimentiu had not been chance or coincidence. So he just shrugged, then gave Akil a curious look. “Perceived?”

“Indeed.” Akil smiled faintly but didn’t bother clarifying. “So. I take it you have more questions for me.”

Alaric nodded. “Many, if you’re willing to answer them.”

Akil shrugged slightly. “We have nothing to hide. Khenti’s hesitation at replying was less out of a desire to conceal anything, and more about a need to protect his brothers. We are not inclined to trust anyone beyond ourselves these days.” He tilted his head to one side. “Now, where were we?”

“You said something about more time than could be credible,” Alaric replied after a moment’s thought, trying to get a feel for his new conversation partner. Akil obviously wasn’t as tired as Khentimentiu had been, and though his mental walls didn’t seem to be up as strongly, Alaric was certain that this was entirely deliberate. Any emotions he felt from the Thousand Sons captain were meant to be felt. “I’m wondering how long it was you were trapped in the warp that you’d think it so incredible?”

“I’ll let you be the judge of that,” Akil replied cryptically. “We emerged from the warp about two standard years ago. As for when we went in...” He paused in apparent thought, leaning back against Khentimentiu’s cot. “Let’s see... we’d just finished resupplying at Hexium Minora and were heading further out into the Ultima Segmentum as part of the vanguard for the 28th Expedition. While we were out there, we received word of the Edict of Nikaea. Some of us wanted to return to Prospero at that point, but we had our duty. We continued on as originally planned, working with the rest of the 28th’s vanguard for several months - without using our powers. But...” He hesitated a moment before continuing. “Something happened, and we had to make an emergency warp jump. A sudden warp storm came in out of nowhere and swept us up. Nobody had seen it coming, and our Navigators could find no way out of it.”

“Wait...” Alaric’s eyes widened slightly as what he’d heard began to sink in. Expedition? Edict of Nikaea, Prospero? “But... all that was before the Heresy!” He shook his head, unable to quite wrap his mind around it. It seemed far too unlikely to even begin to accept. “You’re saying that you were trapped in the warp for over ten thousand years?”

“Give or take a few decades... yes, that’s what I’m saying,” Akil replied calmly, regarding Alaric with an unwavering gaze. “Even though it only seemed like a handful of years to us. You see now why Khenti was reluctant to admit it, and why I said it’s more than could be considered credible?”

“I am finding it hard to believe,” Alaric admitted with frank honesty. “The warp can do strange things, but... ten thousand years.” He shrugged, then frowned slightly, thinking. “If that truly is the case, then you were part of the Great Crusade and the original Legions. So why do you wear the colours of the traitor Thousand Sons, and why do you have Rubricae?”

The corner of Akil’s mouth twitched in a slight grimace. “The colours were a necessary deception. As for the Rubricae...” He closed his eyes briefly and let out a faint sigh before continuing, his voice quiet. “Turns out that daemons weren’t the only nasty surprise for us in the warp.” Though Akil kept his emotions out of his voice and expression, Alaric could still sense them; a pain and sadness that was still very close to the surface. “We had no idea what was going on. All we knew was that we had been under attack by daemons for seemingly months before it happened.”

“So the Rubric affected you while you were still in the warp,” Alaric murmured, still trying to wrap his head around the idea. The whole story beggared belief, but he could think of no reason why Akil would even bother to lie about something so unbelievable in the first place.

Akil nodded. “Indeed. I suspect if we hadn’t been in the warp at the time, we may have escaped its effects. Then again, if we hadn’t been in the warp, we most likely wouldn’t be here now.” He shrugged, then rested one arm on the edge of the cot behind him, careful not to jostle its sleeping occupant. “That it happened at all was bad enough - over half our surviving battle-brothers were suddenly rendered mindless automatons, and we still feel their loss keenly. Worse than that though was not knowing why. We had no way of knowing, no way to find out. It was... frustrating.”

Alaric slowly shook his head. “I find it hard to imagine such a situation, let alone what it must have been like,” he commented quietly. “Though I guess frustrating probably doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

“Not even a little,” Akil agreed with a wry twist to his mouth.

“What about the colours?” Alaric asked after a moment. “You said they were a necessary deception - who were you deceiving?”

“Traitor Sons,” Akil replied simply. “I refuse to call them Thousand Sons; they no longer have any right to that name.” His words held an undercurrent of disgust and anger, along with a touch of what Alaric suspected was regret, though he still kept his voice level and quiet.

“You have had dealings with them, I take it?”

“We have.” Akil hesitated for a moment, drumming his fingers against his thigh briefly before he continued. “We encountered a group of them soon after our emergence from the warp. In a way it’s fortunate they were the first we met, and not any other. They recognised us as long-lost brothers, and it was through them that we learned of all that had happened over the past ten thousand years.” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “It was... a shock. Many shocks, really, and all of them unpleasant.”

Alaric frowned slightly, trying to imagine what it must have been like to hear about the Heresy and everything that had happened since then. “You were with them for a while?” he asked.

Akil nodded. “Almost a year. We had much to catch up on, and a lot of information to absorb.” He let out a quiet sigh. “It was a stressful time. It was... unpleasant, to see first-hand how far our Legion had fallen. We had to be very careful about what we said and did - especially once we learned just what the Traitor Sons had become and what they practiced. They believed that we accepted it and indeed wanted to be part of it, and we were very careful to foster that belief for as long as it took us to learn all that we needed.”

“But you didn’t accept it, did you?” Alaric commented shrewdly.

Akil let out a snort. “Of course not. Their beliefs and actions went against everything we stand for. Their... sorceries... have diverged so far from what we use that they may as well be considered something entirely unrelated.” He curled his lip slightly in disgust. “And they employed the use of daemons. It was a trial just to be anywhere near them, and a test of our self-control.”

“So what did you do once you’d learned all you needed from them?” Alaric asked.

Akil shrugged slightly, regaining his calm demeanour and giving Alaric a level look. “What else? We killed them all.”

* * *

ETA: 31/03/2012 - Rewrote & updated second section.

Commander Kieler stepped outside the command post and stretched, his spine popping slightly with the movement. He ran one hand down his face and sighed, listening to the gentle patter of rain and letting his mind drift. He’d spent the hours since the battle’s conclusion supervising the recovery of his men, fielding reports, coordinating the rest of the Guard, and checking on the survivors of the battle. He’d also gone to personally commend the sniper team that had been set up on the exposed cliff face for their sharp shooting, and had done the same for the handful of survivors from the squad that had charged into the face of the enemy.

By now, Kieler wanted nothing more than a dry set of clothes, a good meal and a week’s sleep - or failing all that, at least a hot cup of caf - but there were still things that needed doing. A rumble of massive engines passing overhead caught his attention, and he glanced up at the sky. Little could be seen through the clouds and misting rain though, save for the faint glow of thrusters, but the craft sounded much larger than the Storm Ravens that had landed earlier. It seemed to be heading for the plains just beyond the edge of the ruins, where Kieler had earlier glimpsed a dark blue Vindicator clearing a landing zone.

He found himself wondering about the identity of Stern’s allies - the Brother-Captain had said nothing about them, save that they would be there.

Almost as if summoned by his thoughts, a grey-armoured figure strode into view, heading for the building that Kieler had set aside for the Marines’ use. When he saw Kieler standing outside the command post, he changed direction and headed over.

“Brother-Captain,” Kieler greeted him as he came to a halt. “Thank you again for your help. We would not have been able to hold back such an attack on our own.”

Stern just nodded, his expression unchanging. “How are your men faring?”

“Better than they would have without your help,” Kieler replied frankly. “We took losses, of course, but the mens’ morale has been given a much-needed boost by your presence.”

“Good. They’ve done well to have held out here unaided for as long as they have.”

Kieler smiled faintly. “I’ll pass that along.”

Stern didn’t bother replying to that. “We’ll be staying in the sector for a while longer, at least until more reinforcements arrive. The xenos threat hasn’t been neutralised, merely delayed.”

“Understood.” As Stern turned to leave, Kieler spoke up again, a note of hesitation in his voice. “Brother-Captain?” Stern halted and turned to look back at him, and Kieler quickly continued. “After the battle, I glimpsed some sort of walker--”

Stern cut him off before he could say any more, his expression creasing into a frown. “Did any of your men see it?” he asked sharply.

Kieler blinked, then shook his head. “No, I don’t believe so. I only caught a glimpse between two buildings when lightning flashed.”

Stern relaxed slightly, though his expression matched his name. “Good. The less you and your men know about it, the better. In fact, it would be best if you forgot you saw it at all.”

Kieler choked back his curiosity and nodded. “Consider it forgotten.”

Stern eyed him for a moment. “Did you see anything else?”

“Just a blue Vindicator,” Kieler answered. “I assume it belongs to those allies you mentioned.”

“It does.” Stern’s curt reply discouraged any further questions, and once again Kieler wondered at the identity of the mystery allies. He bit back his questions though and just nodded again in understanding.

“Could you do me one favour please, Brother-Captain?” Stern raised an eyebrow but didn’t immediately refuse him, and Kieler continued. “Since it seems clear that I am not to meet them myself, if you could pass my sincere thanks for their assistance on to your allies, I would be most grateful.”

Stern considered this a moment, then nodded. “Anything else, Commander?”

Kieler shook his head. “Thank you again for your time and assistance, Brother-Captain. I pray that your injured recover quickly.”

Stern had already turned to leave, and he didn’t bother looking back at the Imperial commander. “They will,” he replied, his words drifting back through the rain and darkness. “They’re Marines.”

* * *

The main room of the building that had been set aside for the Grey Knights’ use was dimly-lit and sparsely furnished, with just a few chairs circling a round table set in the middle of the room. Currently only one place was occupied, the occupant’s armour gleaming a dull grey in the low light.

Xavier, the chief Librarian of Stern’s Grey Knights, sat with a thoughtful expression, his chin propped up on one hand and his gaze fixed on Stern’s sword. The unsheathed blade lay on the table before him, its power field deactivated but its generators still humming near-inaudibly. Stern had handed it to him as soon as the Librarian had emerged from the Stormraven that had delivered him to the surface and requested that Xavier examine the contents of the Nemesis force weapon. The results of his examination troubled him, but there was little he could do about it yet.

The sounds of two others approaching roused Xavier from his troubled musings, and he looked up to see Thawn enter the room, followed by Bottel, the Brotherhood Champion. Both were armoured but without their helmets, their heads and armour damp with rain. Xavier nodded a greeting to them, which they returned as they seated themselves at the table.

“What news from the apothecaries?” Xavier asked once they were settled.

“We lost Haulvarn and Gaius,” Thawn replied sombrely, folding his hands together on the table in front of him.

“Damn.” Xavier closed his eyes and bowed his head briefly. “They will be missed.”

“Indeed,” Thawn agreed. “However, we’re fortunate that they were the only losses - the apothecaries say everyone else will recover, though some will be out of action longer than most. There were some close calls, especially amongst Alaric’s squad.”

“I heard Alaric was down,” Xavier commented, looking back at Thawn. “How bad?”

“Psychic strain, mostly, from what the apothecaries told me,” Thawn replied. “He’ll probably seek you out later to check over his wards.” Xavier nodded, his expression thoughtful.

Bottel spoke up suddenly, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. “So what have you discovered about this, anyway?” He leaned forward and pointed one finger at the sword lying on the table, though he was careful not to touch it.

“Nothing reassuring,” Xavier replied, a frown creasing his brow as he returned his gaze to the blade.

Thawn settled back into his chair as Bottel gave the Librarian a quizzical look. “What do you mean by that?”

Xavier didn’t move, his eyes still fastened on the unsheathed blade. “I’ll explain once Stern gets here.”

The Brotherhood Champion rolled his eyes and leant back in his chair, which creaked beneath his armoured weight. He ignored it and stared into nothing for a few moments before speaking up again. “What I really want to know is what the Brother-Captain plans to do about those Traitor Marines.”

Thawn raised an eyebrow, and Xavier lifted his gaze from the sword and gave Bottel a level look. “What would you prefer he do?”

“Take advantage of their current situation and deal with them permanently,” Bottel replied without hesitation. “We shouldn’t be tolerating their existence. We definitely shouldn’t be tending them, especially not amongst our own brothers.”

Thawn let out a huff of agreement. “Bad enough that Stern agreed to this unholy alliance in the first place without consulting us, or even warning us. Fighting alongside those... sorcerers and their unnatural ilk is not an experience I want to repeat. Even worse that we’re now treating them alongside our own brothers. They’re a threat and an affront, and they can’t be trusted for even a moment.”

“They did help us,” Xavier pointed out. “Without their aid we most likely would have lost far more than just Haulvarn and Gaius. And we also don’t know what other forces they have. With so many of our brothers currently out of action, we’re hardly in a position to start anything right now.”

“They can’t have that much left themselves,” Bottel countered. “Look at how little they sent down to this fight! Why wouldn’t they have sent more if they had it? They would have ended up better off down here.”

“Perhaps for the same reasons we didn’t send down all of our forces,” Xavier replied dryly. “I doubt that they trust us any more than we trust them.”

Bottel went to reply, paused, then let out a frustrated huff. “All right, point. But still, they’re traitors and heretics. We shouldn’t be helping them!”

“So you would just leave their wounded to die, even after they fought beside us?” Stern strode into the room, his expression unreadable and his unblinking gaze fixed on Bottel. “Even after their assistance helped to spare some of our brothers’ lives?”

Bottel looked up, startled, then offered Stern a respectful half-bow of greeting. “Brother-Captain.” He hesitated a moment before answering. “I would like to know their motives for helping us in the first place. I just don’t believe they can be trusted.”

“I don’t trust them,” Stern replied shortly, taking a seat at the table between Xavier and Thawn. “However, they have honoured the agreement so far, and we will not be the ones to break it.” He turned to the Librarian beside him before Bottel could reply and gestured at the sword on the table. “What have you discovered?”

Bottel settled back with a faint sigh as Xavier answered Stern’s question. “In short, your sword’s overloaded. We’re lucky it didn’t explode during the fight, honestly.” He was about to say more when light, hurried footsteps from just outside the room interrupted. A moment later a short, squat figure strode in, the tails of his cut-down greatcoat flapping about his legs and a data slate clutched to his chest. He paused just inside the door, then bowed towards the seated Marines.

“I apologise for my tardiness,” the ratling said, sounding a little out of breath. “I hope I haven’t missed anything important.”

“Inquisitor Wilson,” Stern greeted the ratling with a slight bow of his head. “You’re just in time. Take a seat.” Wilson moved to do so, though he ended up standing on his chair rather than sitting on it so he wouldn’t be quite so dwarfed by the marines around him. Once the short Inquisitor was settled, Stern turned back to Xavier, resuming their interrupted discussion. “Overloaded how, exactly?”

Xavier gestured to the sword. “Not only is it holding brother Derran’s soul and a handful of those Thousand Sons, it’s also holding the souls of an entire craftworld’s worth of Eldar. I suspect that the xenos beast from the spore contained those Eldar, and when you slew it they fled to the comparative safety of your sword, dragging the others with them.”

There was silence for a long moment as everyone absorbed that information. Stern finally broke the silence, frowning. “We’re going to have to do something to get them out of there. Derran’s soul deserves to be laid to rest properly. I’d have to talk to the Thousand Sons captain, but I’m pretty damn sure he’d like his men’s souls out of there too.”

“I have a spirit stone we could use for the Eldar,” Inquisitor Wilson spoke up, leaning against the table edge and peering across the table at the sword. “That could come in useful as a bargaining chip at some point.”

Bottel nodded, then frowned slightly. “The only question now then is how do we get them out? Just snap the sword?”

“Definitely not,” Xavier replied with certainty. “If it’s broken, or the souls otherwise released without the proper rituals or shielding in place, the psychic shockwave will most likely kill the entire population of this world. It could even affect the rest of this system. Anyone without psychic shields or mental training will be driven insane at the very least, if not killed outright as well. Even those with mental shielding--” He paused and looked pointedly around the table, “-- including us - could be overwhelmed, and succumb to madness or death... or worse.”

Bottel shrugged. “So we make sure we have the proper rituals and shielding in place before we try anything.”

“It’s not going to be that easy,” Xavier countered with a shake of his head. “We don’t have the necessary people here, either in numbers or psychic skill. We’re going to need to call in help for this, and wait for more of our brothers to get here.”

Stern shook his head, arms folded across his chest. “We don’t have time to wait. It could be weeks before anyone else gets out here, and I’m not willing to risk anything happening in that time. Especially if the effects will be as catastrophic as you’ve just described.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “We do, however, currently have an alliance with some experienced psykers...”

“Those Thousand Sons? You must be joking,” Thawn broke in, leaning forwards with a scowl. “Yes, all right, they proved useful against the tyranids, though it was bad enough working alongside them against xenos forces. But to accept their help in something as sensitive as this? You can’t be serious, Brother-Captain. They’re part of the Traitor Legions!”

“They may not be, actually.” The quiet statement brought everyone up short, and they turned to look at Inquisitor Wilson with varying expressions of bemusement or disbelief. “If what their captain has been telling Alaric is true, at any rate.”

“And what, exactly, is that?” Stern asked, his unblinking stare fixed on the Inquisitor.

“Listen for yourselves, if you like.” Wilson fiddled with his data slate for a few moments before sliding it out to the middle of the table. The slate showed a frame of grainy video of the interior of the Stormraven currently being used as a medical ward, the camera focused down on a pair of cots. Alaric could be seen sitting on one, while Akil was sitting on the floor beside it, leaning back against the second cot with his back to the camera. “Not the best angle, but it’s the words that are important,” Wilson commented, then pressed a button to start the playback.

The room was silent save for the slightly static-laced audio playing back from the data slate. Nobody said a word throughout the whole playback, though there were various expressions of surprise and disbelief.

Finally the recording ended, and the silence continued a moment longer before Bottel let out an incredulous snort. “What an absolute load of rubbish.” He levelled a flat stare at Wilson. “Do you honestly expect us to believe any of that?”

“I can’t think of any reason why they’d be lying. Why make up something that extraordinary if you were trying to get people to believe you?” Wilson replied with a shrug.

“But something like that?” Bottel shook his head. “Ten thousand years passing during a few years in the warp? That can’t be possible!”

“It is plausible,” Xavier said slowly, sounding reluctant. “First Captain Lysander of the Imperial Fists had something similar happen to him. Granted, his particular time jump was only one thousand years, and not ten thousand... but the point still stands.”

“That doesn’t mean that what they say is true,” Thawn countered heatedly. “Having us believe their story just because it is so unbelievable is exactly the sort of manipulation their legion is known for.”

Stern had been silent the whole time, his expression unchanging. “The truth, whatever it may be, is irrelevant for the moment,” he stated finally. “It doesn’t change the fact that we could use their help. Again.” He turned to Xavier. “You said before that we’re lucky the sword hasn’t already exploded, correct?”

Xavier nodded reluctantly, and Stern continued. “Then it’s imperative that we deal with this problem as soon as possible. I will not be responsible for the destruction of a system just because we hesitated.” He looked around the table at the others. “There is also the issue that some of their own are involved in this already. If we exclude them from their recovery, they could easily interpret it the wrong way and turn against us to try and recover their brothers themselves. I would much rather have them working with us rather than against us.”

Thawn shook his head. “Even so, I still think this is a very bad idea, Brother-Captain. We have no idea what their true motives are.”

“Consider this a test of their loyalties, then,” Stern replied shortly. “If they truly are forces of Chaos, then the potential power of such a large number of souls will be a prize too tempting to resist.” He planted his hands flat on the table, leaning forward. “Believe me when I say I will be taking precautions against such a thing happening, but I will be frank here. Their captain made it clear that his intentions were to withdraw as soon as possible. I, however, would much prefer that they stay here, where we can keep an eye on them and react accordingly if it proves necessary.” Stern looked around the table at the others. “There is also the issue that, if their story is true, we have a unique source of knowledge on our hands.”

Xavier hesitated a moment, deep in thought, then gave a sharp nod and stood up. “Understood. I’ll convene with their captain as soon as possible.”

“Not alone, you won’t.” Bottel rose as well, then belatedly looked to Stern. “By your leave, Brother-Captain.”

Stern waved him off. “Granted. Try not to aggravate them too much.”

Bottel grinned, his tone flippant as his usual cheer asserted itself. “I’ll resist the urge to smite them with my righteous wrath as best as I am able.”

“Is that what you’re calling it these days?” Xavier deadpanned as he headed for the door. Bottel just laughed as he followed the Librarian out the door.

Thawn remained seated, his arms folded across his chest as he levelled a flat stare at Stern. “You are entirely set on this course of action, Brother-Captain?”

Stern nodded resolutely, meeting Thawn’s gaze with an unflinching one of his own. “I am.”

Thawn held the stare for a moment, then looked away with a sigh. “I don’t agree with it, but I will follow your lead. I shall make preparations, then.” He rose from his seat, a wry expression crossing his face. “At least we have been decently forewarned this time.” He saluted Stern, then turned and followed Xavier and Bottel out of the building.

Stern waited until Thawn’s footsteps had faded, then turned to Wilson. The ratling Inquisitor was retrieving his data slate from the middle of the table, but paused when he noticed the Brother-Captain’s attention. “Inquisitor, I may have need of one of your special forces men at some point in the near future.”

Wilson nodded in understanding. “I’ll make sure they’re ready to go at a moment’s notice, Brother-Captain.” He raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “May I ask who specifically you will need?”

“I’ll let you know when the time comes.”

The Inquisitor nodded again and tucked the data slate away beneath his greatcoat, then dropped down off his chair and slipped quietly out of the room. Stern remained where he was, his mind in turmoil as he stared at the blade still resting on the table and hoped that he’d made the right decision.

* * *

The rain had finally stopped, though clouds still blanketed the sky. The muddy, churned-up ground was strewn with rubble and littered with water-filled craters and potholes. One large area just past the outskirts of the buildings had been bulldozed mostly level though, and a mud-spattered blue Vindicator sat at the edge, its engines silent.

The cleared area wasn’t unoccupied, however. A huge winged craft sat square in the middle, its heavy landing claws sunk into the mud. Its dark blue flanks were scorched and streaked with the marks of multiple atmospheric entries, and patches of red and bare metal showed through scrapes and burnt-off areas in the blue paint. The old Stormbird lay quiet, save for the muted thrum of generators from somewhere deep within its form. The ramp to the main hold lay open, large enough to drive a Land Raider through.

Akil’s gaze wandered over the Stormbird’s familiar form as he approached after his meeting with Xavier, idly noting new burns and scorch marks on it even as he deftly sidestepped around the larger puddles. His damaged armour was still unwearable, so he was currently clad in combat fatigues, boots, and a crimson tunic trimmed in white. His bolt pistol was holstered on his belt, and a combat knife was sheathed in one mud-spattered boot.

A slight movement within the Stormbird’s hold attracted Akil’s attention, and he picked up his pace a little. His footsteps soon went from squelching through the mud to clanking against the boarding ramp as he ascended it to enter the hold itself.

Inside, the spidery metal form of the Defiler was settled at the base of one bulkhead, chassis resting on the floor with legs folded up neatly to either side. The mostly undamaged front leg was curled up with the massive claw tucked in close, but the damaged claw had been disassembled right down to the first leg joint and removed. The movement that had drawn Akil’s attention had been the Defiler’s main turret swivelling around to face him, and the walker’s eye lenses glowed an eerie green in the dim interior of the hold.

“So what’s the news?” Runihura asked without preamble as Akil reached the top of the ramp.

“We’ll be staying in the system a while longer,” Akil replied, striding over to where the large walker was settled and perching on the edge of one of the nearby arrestor harness seats.

Runihura tilted his turret down to better look at Akil. “I thought the plan was to withdraw as soon as we could?”

“The situation’s changed somewhat. The souls of some of our brothers - Usi included - are trapped in Stern’s force sword. Along with one of the Grey Knights... and a whole craftworld's worth of Eldar.”

Runihura’s stunted front leg twitched, the only outward sign of his surprise as he considered Akil’s words. “That explains a few things. We have Usi’s body in stasis - no physical degradation, or at least not enough to notice, so he should be fine once he’s released.”

Akil nodded. “The trick will be releasing him and the others in the first place. The presence of that many Eldar complicates matters.”

“I take it the Grey Knights want our help?”

“Want?” Akil let out a wry chuckle. “No. Not at all. Need, however...” He shrugged. “Stern believes that this should be taken care of as soon as possible, and I agree with him. The sword is too unstable - I’m sure you can guess what would happen if it destabilised completely.”

“I don’t think I want to,” Runihura commented dryly. “I’ve no doubt it could be felt from orbit.” He shook his metallic head, then looked back down at Akil. “So when will you be taking care of it?”

“In two days,” Akil replied. “Both our forces need to recover, and it also gives me some time to figure out the best way to do this.”

Runihura nodded, then shifted slightly, metal limbs scratching against the hold floor. “Speaking of recovery, how is Khenti doing?”

“Better, but still out cold. He’ll probably be out until sometime tomorrow.”

“Good thing he heals as quickly as he does.” Runihura shifted position again, and stared down at Akil with unblinking lenses. “What about you? You weren’t looking too good when I scraped you out from under that building.”

Akil grimaced slightly. “Thank you for that mental image,” he deadpanned, then gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’m walking and talking; that’s good enough for now.”

“Maybe for you, but it doesn’t do my peace of mind much good,” the walker stated dryly. “I still think you should take Zuberi with you when you’re wandering around amongst those Grey Knights without your armour.”

“No.” Akil shook his head. “I need Zuberi on the Aten, not playing bodyguard to me down here.” He grinned slightly. “Besides, it keeps the Knights off-balance. Am I less of a threat since I don’t have my armour, or am I even more of a threat than they originally thought because I apparently don’t feel the need for it? Am I merely confident - or overconfident - in my ability to defend myself if necessary, or am I just trusting them enough to feel that I have no need to be able to defend myself? They are uncertain, and I prefer it that way.”

Runihura let out a hollow, metallic sigh. “You and your mind games,” he grumbled. “I’d still feel much better if you had someone with you, even if it’s not Zuberi.”

“If Sefu and the others were here, I probably would. As it is though, everyone we do have here at the moment is needed right where they are.” His brow creased in a faint frown. “Which reminds me. We will need someone to take Usi’s place as squad sergeant, at least until we get him back. Perhaps one of the Vindicator crew?”

Runihura considered that for a moment, then shook his metallic head. “No. They lack the necessary mindset, and good luck prying them away from their tanks. As you said, they’re needed where they are.”

“True,” Akil conceded with a faint sigh. “Perhaps one of the initiates, if Zuberi thinks they’re ready. Makalani or Jahi, maybe. I’ll discuss it with him later.” He fell silent for a moment, deep in thought, then looked back up at the walker. “How are repairs going?”

“I have the techs working on your armour as priority,” Runihura replied. “Then this,” he waved his stub of a front leg. “After that they’ll continue repairs on our brothers’ armour.” He hesitated, tapping his claw lightly against the floor before continuing. “Some of Usi’s squad are undamaged though - they merely had their connections cut by the zoanthropes. They’re ready for you or Zuberi.”

“Noted.” Akil fell silent, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his gaze to the hold floor. He stayed that way for a while, unmoving, and Runihura remained equally still. Finally, Akil let out a long sigh. “I hate this,” he murmured, not looking up from the floor. “I hate having to bring back what’s left of our brothers, over and over again, denying them their rightful rest. And every time I have to do it, I hate it a little more.”

“I know,” Runihura replied, his hollow voice quiet and subdued. “But it has to be done. Their help is still needed. And I’m sure that, if they had the choice, they’d choose to come back themselves. They wouldn’t abandon their brothers.”

“I’d like to believe that.” Akil absently prodded at a seam in the hold’s metal floor with the toe of his boot. “I try to believe that. But how can we be so sure?”

Runihura remained still, his reply echoing faintly. “Because I made the same choice.”

Akil looked up sharply, his eyes narrowed as he regarded the walker with fierce intensity. “... That you did,” he replied after a long moment. An awkward silence followed - the topic of Runihura’s current state was one they generally avoided talking about. Akil finally broke the silence, voicing a question he’d left unasked for a long time. “Do you ever regret it?”

“Not for an instant,” Runihura replied with steadfast conviction. “I will admit that sometimes I miss... well, everything. But regret it? Never.” He paused briefly, then added, “And I have no doubt that our brothers would choose the same, no matter their final state.”

Akil regarded Runihura for a moment longer, then let his tense muscles relax as he nodded slowly. But before he could say anything, Runihura spoke up again, a note of mischievous humour creeping into his hollow voice. “Besides, this form has its perks.”

Curious despite himself, Akil raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Sure. Fore example, I don’t have to worry about getting an itchy nose in the middle of a fight any more. That always annoyed me.” As Akil gave the walker an incredulous look, Runihura continued, gesturing with his stub of a front leg. “And have you seen the damage I can do? I’m a walking death machine! Anything I target is going to end up having a very bad day.”

At that, Akil couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, his mood noticeably lightened by Runihura’s antics. “You’re incorrigible,” he commented wryly, shaking his head before looking back up at the walker with a faint smile. “... Thank you.”

Even though he lacked any sort of facial features, there was no doubt that if he could, Runihura would’ve been grinning. “Any time, Captain.”

* * *

The Repulsive-class grand cruiser hung in the darkness of empty space, its hull festooned with arcane icons and markings. Amongst them were repeated an eight-pointed star and serpentine eye, glinting silver against their purple backdrop. The massive vessel’s engines lay dormant, lending it the air of a patiently-lurking predator.

That patience was not so prevalent within the vessel, however. In one of the main chambers a hulking figure paced restlessly, clawed hands clenched at its sides. Taloned feet clicked sharply against the intricately-engraved floor, and purple armour edged in silver glinted in the glow of a dozen candles. Blue tentacles rose from the figure’s back, curling and writhing in agitation above the twin horns that curved back from the figure’s forehead. A narrowed pair of eyes glowed a baleful red and sharp ivory teeth were bared as the figure snarled and muttered to itself.

Beside the arched doorway to the chamber, the sorcerer Telthalion sighed to himself. The daemon prince Kharriaz of the Heralds of Change warband was in a foul mood again, and Telthalion had been forced to listen to his growls and ranting for what felt like hours.

“Three months, Telthalion,” Kharriaz suddenly snarled, and Telthalion snapped to attention. “Three months of chasing hints, and rumours, and cold trails through warp and space, and we are still no closer to our quarry!” The daemon prince spun around on his heel, his talons scraping across the intricately-etched floor with a sound that put Telthalion’s teeth on edge.

“They are frustratingly elusive,” Telthalion agreed smoothly. “The delay irks us all.”

Kharriaz growled something incoherent and resumed pacing. “That is a blatant understatement. ‘Irks us’, indeed.” He whirled around to gesture at the sorcerer, who spoke up before the daemon prince could say a word more.

“Because I am limited in how far I can see, you know that,” Telthalion answered the question that Kharriaz hadn’t even asked yet.

Kharriaz snapped his jaw shut with an audible click, grinding his teeth together for a moment. “You see far enough to be annoying,” he growled, glaring at the sorcerer.

Telthalion held back another sigh. “It frustrates me as much as it does you, my lord.”

Kharriaz just snarled and resumed his pacing, once again leaving Telthalion to his own disjointed thoughts. The sorcerer leaned back against the wall, letting the shadows envelop his silver-trimmed, purple armour. He was just as frustrated as Kharriaz at their lack of progress in their hunt, but for reasons entirely his own. He glanced down at the blue tentacle that had taken the place of his right arm, then resolutely looked away with a repressed shudder. Sometimes he considered it a gift, a mark of favour. But in his more lucid moments he despised the thing.

He idly watched Kharriaz pace and grumble, wondering how long the daemon prince’s foul mood would last and simultaneously knowing exactly when it would end. His mind wandered, jumping from one thought to the next with little direction or coherency. Flashes of memory from the past merged with brief glimpses of the future, and he couldn’t always tell which was which.

Suddenly one of the scenes flickering through his mind caught Telthalion’s attention, standing out from the rest. He clung to it with grim excitement, and shoved all the other thoughts clamouring for his attention to one side. Even as he wrestled his own mind into submission, he stepped forwards out of the shadows and cleared his throat. “Lord Kharriaz.”

The daemon prince halted mid-stride and turned his snarling face towards the sorcerer. “What?”

“Our prey has been located.”

“Where?!” Kharriaz straightened, his tentacles stilling for a moment, then he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Are you sure?”

Before Telthalion could reply, their comms crackled to life. “Lord Kharriaz!” Telthalion recognised the voice of their chief helmsman. “We’ve found our target. They’re in a system in the Qantm sector, and seem to be holding position deep within the Apollo system.”

Telthalion smirked to himself - his timing had been perfect, for once. Kharriaz wasn’t paying him any attention now though, repressed excitement in his voice as he barked out orders. “Get us there immediately, full speed! Prepare the vehicles and alert the squads. As soon as we’re in the system, pinpoint their location and inform me immediately.”

“Yes, my lord!” The comm crackled into silence, and a few moments later Telthalion felt the subtle vibrations through the deck as the engines came to life and began propelling the massive vessel forwards. His attention was caught by the daemon prince though as Kharriaz barked his name.

“Telthalion! Ready your Raptors.” Kharriaz’s red eyes glowed eerily, his tentacles writhing above his shoulders. “Revenge will be mine. Our quarry will not escape us this time.”

Telthalion bowed and turned to leave, his thoughts fizzing with anticipation. “No,” he agreed as he exited the room. “No, they will not.”

* * *

I'm still here, it's still great. Please keep it up- I want to see how it ends.

Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it. And I'm still writing it, no worries! It's just very slow going at the moment, heh.

Sorry about the delay in posting this part. Writer's block, argh. Hopefully the next parts will go more smoothly! Also rewrote the second section of this post.

Chapter 5
Two days later, the clouds had finally cleared, only thin white streamers left streaked across the sky. The distant sun shone down, its light thin and bright and offering little in the way of warmth. A crisp breeze gusted across the still-damp ground, wafting around a low, rocky hill and the ruined stone pillars that encircled it.

Small groups of Marines were scattered amongst the fallen pillars surrounding the rocky hill. The dull grey forms of the Grey Knights kept a wary distance from the two groups of Rubricae that stood still and silent at the base of the hill; blue and gold statues with their bolters held across their chests.

The top of the hill was levelled off, paved and edged with rounded boulders on one side and more stone pillars on the other. The paved platform was engraved with various lines, shapes and runes, though time and weather had worn them down to near-illegibility.

Stern stood at one end of the platform, at the head of the worn and broken stairs that meandered their way down to the base of the hill. He watched as Xavier and Akil conversed quietly, the sword that was the centre of their attention cradled carefully in Xavier’s hands. Occasionally one or the other of them would examine the stone pillars still standing at one side of the platform, or kneel and trace the worn-down patterns in the paving with a finger before resuming their discussion.

As this continued with no sign of change at any time soon, Stern let his gaze wander. Movement caught his eye; from his vantage point he could see Runihura pacing restlessly beyond the circle of broken pillars. Every now and then the spidery walker would pause and scan the area, turret sweeping from left to right and back again before it resumed its pacing. Alaric’s squad was nearby, some perched on the fallen pillars as they watched the walker’s movements.

“Anything going on down there?” Stern voxed to Alaric.

“No, nothing that we can detect, anyway,” Alaric’s reply cracked back over the vox. There was a subtle note of amusement in his voice as he continued. “I think he’s just bored.”

Stern let out a soft grunt. “Keep me informed.”

“Of course, Brother-Captain.” The vox cut off, and Stern went back to scanning the area. He could see Gundrick’s Purgation squad near Alaric’s, but Dvorn’s Interceptor squad were nowhere in sight, scouting around the area some distance out. What was left of Haulvarn’s squad was on the opposite side of the hill to Gundrick and Alaric, now under Mykos’ command and set up alongside the blue Vindicator from Akil’s forces.

Stern’s own squad of Terminators were near the base of the stairs, their armour gleaming dully in the thin sunlight. On the other side of the stairs stood a hulking, blue and gold form; a dreadnought that Akil had earlier introduced as Niu. The dreadnought stood almost as still as the Rubricae, only its head moving occasionally as it looked around.

Halfway up the stairs stood Khentimentiu and the marine currently taking Usi’s place; it took Stern a moment to recall his name. Stern glanced back at Akil and Xavier, saw that they were still deep in discussion, then started down the steps towards the two sergeants.

Khentimentiu was talking quietly with his battle-brother, but stopped as Stern approached and turned to face him. “Brother-Captain,” he greeted Stern with a polite nod, which was echoed a moment later by his brother.

“Khentimentiu,” Stern replied. “And Jahi, correct?”

“Indeed,” Jahi replied with a half-bow. His features were youthful, and his bright green eyes contrasted sharply with straight black hair that was pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck. “It is an honour to meet you, Brother-Captain.”

Stern just gave a short nod, then looked back to Khentimentiu. “You’ve recovered from your injuries?”

“I would not be out here if I hadn’t,” Khentimentiu replied with a half-smile. Beside him, Jahi let out a quiet snort and muttered something that Stern didn’t quite catch. Khentimentiu apparently did though, because he rolled his eyes but otherwise remained silent.

Curious, Stern raised an eyebrow at Jahi. “Am I missing something here?”

“Not at all,” Khentimentiu interjected blandly before his battle-brother could reply.

Jahi grinned at this, though he quickly suppressed it and commented innocently, “Apothecaries make the worst patients.”

Khentimentiu let out a quiet, long-suffering sigh, and Stern looked back at him, his interest piqued. “Apothecary?’

“Not as such,” Khentimentiu clarified with a shake of his head. “Still in training.”

This time Jahi didn’t bother trying to hide his grin, eyes glinting with mischievousness. “Already acts like one though.”

“Not yet I don’t,” Khentimentiu deadpanned. “I don’t have the lightning claws.”

Jahi snickered at this. “Good point. Probably just as well, too.”

Stern glanced from one sergeant to the other, unsure of what to make of their banter. Were they always like this, or was it an act put on for his benefit? He couldn’t tell. If it was an act, it was a convincing one. He shook his head slightly and remembered why he’d come down here in the first place.

He waited for a break in the conversation, then cleared his throat to get their attention. As they looked at him, Stern cast his gaze over the two small groups of Rubricae flanking the base of the stairs. “You seem to have fewer numbers than before,” he noted.

Khentimentiu nodded. “We have not had enough time yet to-- complete all their repairs.” Beside him, Jahi had looked away, his expression now a mask of neutral calm with no trace of the mischievous humour of before.

Stern noted the slight pause and wondered at its cause, but made no mention of it. Instead, he gestured towards the Dreadnought. “I’m assuming that’s why you brought him down as well?”

“That’s correct.” Khentimentiu glanced towards the silent Dreadnought. “Our captain considered it best that we have some extra support, to make up for our current lack of numbers.”

Stern mentally debated whether or not to ask his next question, then internally shrugged. It seemed as good a time as any, and if he didn’t risk asking, he’d never find out. “How long has he been interred?”

Khentimentiu paused a moment to think, apparently unbothered by the question. “Since the cleansing of Kamenka Troika, I believe,” he replied finally. “You would have to ask Captain Amari or Runihura for details though, that was before our time.”

“Any reason I could not ask Niu himself?”

Khentimentiu blinked, as if the option hadn’t occurred to him until Stern suggested it. “You could ask, I suppose, but I don't know how much of an answer you would get.” Stern raised an eyebrow curiously at that, and Khentimentiu continued. “I get the impression that he’s always been rather quiet. He doesn’t talk very much now, at any rate.”

“I see.” Stern considered for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Brother-Captain.”

Curiosity satisfied for the moment, Stern decided he should check on the progress of the ritual. He nodded a polite farewell to Khentimentiu and Jahi, then headed back up the stairs and strode over to where Akil and Xavier were still talking. Xavier had carefully planted the tip of the sword into a crevice in the paving, one large enough to support the sword upright, and was lightly holding onto the hilt. Stern waited beside the two, then spoke up when they paused in their quiet conversation. “Any progress?”

Akil glanced over at Stern and nodded. “Much. We’ll be able to star--” He broke off mid-sentence, going still as his eyes unfocused, his expression distant. Stern shot a puzzled look at Xavier, who shrugged in response, equally bemused. But before either could say anything, Akil suddenly straightened, his eyes refocusing. “Never mind.” He flicked the lightning claws resting against his armoured forearms down into their combat position, and they snapped into place with a faint hum as their power fields activated.

Startled, Stern reached for his own weapon, but the Thousand Sons captain wasn’t even looking at him, his expression grim and movements urgent as he started striding towards the stairs. “Ready yourselves. We’re about to have company.”

* * *

Nice

Buh duh bub bub baa
im loving it!

Ever get the feeling somethings gonna happen? Well I have that feeing now!!! Great job sir its really good!!

This is really good man! Keep it up!

Thank you all for all the comments! They are very much appreciated. Again, apologies for the slow updates, writing's a difficult challenge for me. x_x

“We’ve pinpointed our target’s location, my lord.”

The words emanated from the ship’s vox system and echoed through the massive launch bay, tinny and hollow. Kharriaz looked up from where he stood in the middle of the bay, his tentacles writhing above his shoulders. All around him was the bustle of battle preparations; servitors and thralls prepared a pair of Rhinos and an accompanying Vindicator, while their crews and two squads of mutated Chaos Marines checked their weapons and armour, rumbling banter and insults at each other.

A small squad of Raptors lurked well apart from the rest, sporting even more noticeable mutations than the regular marines. Massive leathery wings took the place of their jump packs, and various claws, talons and spines were the norm rather than the exception. Only the Raptor’s aspiring Champion still had a jump pack, but the mutations of his head and chest more than made up for his lack of wings.

Packs of chaos spawn, unfortunates who had lost the favour of their patron god of change - or perhaps had been favoured one too many times - snarled and gibbered and whimpered in their cages along one side of the bay. Nearby, a coven of minor sorcerers were chanting rituals of binding and appeasement around the menacing form of a purple and silver Defiler; its mechanical structure was adorned with blue daemonic growths in the form of plated chitin. Kharriaz ignored it all, his attention focused on the vox. “Excellent. Do we have landing zones?”

“Yes, my lord.” The vox crackled with static for a moment. “However, our targets are not alone down there. There’s another small force with them. They appear to be--”

Kharriaz interrupted, dismissing the words with a wave of one taloned hand. “I don’t care who they are. As long as we have clear landing zones, it doesn’t matter. We will carve through them regardless and claim our prizes. Inform me immediately as soon as we’re in position to launch.”

“Of course, my lord.” The vox crackled to silence, and Kharriaz returned his attention back to the controlled chaos around him.

Heavy footsteps approaching from behind made him turn, and Kharriaz looked down at the three Obliterators as they halted before him, their elaborate black armour seeming to absorb whatever light hit it. “Speaking of claiming prizes,” the foremost Obliterator rumbled, “I hope our deal still stands, Kharriaz.”

Inwardly the daemon prince seethed at the blatant lack of respect or obsequiousness that the Obliterators displayed, but he kept that carefully hidden. They were mercenaries in every sense of the word, and it was notoriously difficult to secure their services. “Of course,” Kharriaz replied with a curt nod. “As agreed, any and all armour, weapons and equipment salvaged from the enemy will be yours.” The Obliterators nodded in satisfaction, and Kharriaz smirked toothily. “That said, if there’s anything in particular you want from the enemy, you’ll have to take them down yourselves without damaging their gear too much.”

The lead Obliterator scowled up at him, though the expression was hard to read through the mutations and melding of flesh and machine. “You don’t tell us how to do our job, Kharriaz, and we won’t tell you how to do yours.” He turned on his heel, and the three mercenaries stalked back to the corner of the launch bay that they’d claimed as their own, keeping themselves aloof and apart from everyone else.

Kharriaz muttered something highly uncomplimentary about the Obliterators under his breath, then turned back to survey the rest of the launch bay. He was just in time to see a hapless thrall go flying through the air, trailing a pathetic little scream that was abruptly cut off when the thrall hit a bulkhead with a sickening crunch. Simultaneously amused and annoyed, Kharriaz looked over at the culprit - one of the pair of daemonically possessed Rhinos being prepped for the upcoming battle.

The Rhinos, and the solitary Vindicator, were an odd sight. The outward signs of their possession manifested in knobbly blue tentacles that sprouted from their purple-painted hulls, tentacles that were perfectly capable of crushing a man to death - or in this case, hurling someone across a launch bay. The Rhinos’ bolters, instead of being pintle-mounted, were attached to the end of thick, flexible tails that grew from the rear of the transports and curved scorpion-like over the top.

The bolter-tipped tails twitched and tracked every movement, while the tentacles writhed and flexed, stretching towards anything within range. The rest of the thralls that had been preparing the vehicles were now scurrying hurriedly away, out of the reach of the grasping tentacles. They were chased by mocking, derisive laughter from the purple-armoured Marines gathered nearby, who were watching with vicious amusement.

“You’d think the thralls would’ve learned by now.” Telthalion drifted up beside Kharriaz, his winged hoverboard unheard in the overall noise within the bay. The intricately-detailed board hung in the air a meter or so above the floor, with Telthalion balancing easily atop it, his halberd held casually in one hand.

Kharriaz let out a derisive snort. “Learn? They’re thralls. If they were capable of learning, they wouldn’t be thralls in the first place.”

“Hm, point.” Telthalion shrugged, dismissing the thralls from his thoughts. He leant idly on his halberd, his hoverboard moving slightly to accommodate the shift in weight. “I am looking forward to the conclusion of this battle.”

“As am I,” Kharriaz replied with a growl. “It has been a long time coming, but our quarry will not escape us this time. Soon, we will have them. And then...” He let out a hiss, flexing his hands. “I look forward to warping them, breaking them... making them suffer for all they’ve done.”

“If you do manage to break their wills and turn them to our cause, they’ll be worthy additions to our forces.” Telthalion looked over at Kharriaz, his expression hidden beneath his elaborately styled helmet. “Just don’t lose your head chasing revenge.”

Kharriaz unconsciously rubbed at his throat at those words; when he realised what he was doing he quickly dropped his hand and let out a vicious snarl, ready to lash out at Telthalion. But the sorcerer had already drifted well out of range, apparently unaware or uncaring of Kharriaz’ reaction as he went to rejoin his Raptor squad. The daemon prince quickly collected himself, calming his ire with a breath and a thought. Now was not the time to lose his temper; he would save his anger for the ones who truly deserved it.

Dismissing those thoughts, Kharriaz shook his head and summoned his own flying disc, a large circular platform with a ring of deadly, razor-edged spikes that spun around the disc’s circumference. The disc allowed him to move and maneuver with startling speed, and was a lethal weapon in and of itself. He balanced on it with practiced ease, hovering just above the floor. Around him, preparations were concluding, and there was a growing air of tense anticipation in the launch bay. It had been a long time since the Heralds of Change had seen any real action, and they were eager for the upcoming fight.

The vox suddenly crackled to life again, the words echoing through the bay. “We’re in position, my lord. Landing zones are locked in and we are ready to launch at your command.”

“Excellent,” Kharriaz hissed, and urged his disc higher. “Heralds!” he called, his voice booming through the launch bay and attracting the attention of everyone within. “It has been a long hunt, but finally our prey are within our grasp.” All eyes were now upon the daemon prince, looking up at him as his disc held him high in the air. Even the defiler and the chaos spawn in their cages were quiet as he spoke. “You know who we face and what they’re capable of. Strike fast, strike hard, and let nothing stand in your way.” He swept his gaze across his forces, his glowing red eyes narrowed. “But remember, I want their leaders captured alive. They are of no use to us otherwise.”

He waited a moment as the aspiring champions of each squad stated their understanding and acceptance of his orders, then nodded sharply. “Load up.” The two squads of marines quickly piled into their respective Rhinos, while the Raptors crouched in anticipation, their massive leathery wings unfurling and flaring wide. The chaos spawn began to keen and howl in building excitement, thrashing around in their cages. Meanwhile, the minor sorcerers that had been keeping the defiler in check quickly exited the bay, and the daemonic machine let out a screech of eager fury as it felt its sorcerous bonds loosen.

Kharriaz drew his own weapon and held it ready; a massive broadsword, its jagged blade carved with twisted arcane symbols. He looked up at the ceiling, his tentacles flexing and writhing above his shoulders. “Begin teleport!”

The floor and walls of the launch bay were engraved with intricate runes that swirled and flowed together, and seemed to move with an unnatural life of their own. At Kharriaz’s command, the air crackled with building energy as the runes began to glow with an eerie light, and everyone and everything inside the bay was soon enveloped in a thick purple mist. Matching runes carved on hulls and hides and armour glowed brighter in response, lighting the mist from within.

Then there was a sudden, sharp thunderclap of collapsing air as the teleport took effect. In a heartbeat the launch bay was left dark and empty, leaving behind nothing but the fading glow of runes and the thin, ghostly tendrils of dissipating mist.

* * *

The arrival of the incoming force was sudden and violent, the only warning a surge of energy and a thick billowing of sickly purple-black mist that encircled the hill and the forces gathered around it. Sharp thunder cracks of teleportation announced the arrival of each unit, the sounds rolling together and creating a crescendo of noise that almost drowned out the roar of rapidly approaching engines. Despite the forewarning from Akil, the combined Grey Knight and Thousand Sons forces were still repositioning, and had no time to react before the enemy forces opened fire, still nothing more than silhouettes in the mist.

The first to be hit was Niu; precisely-aimed melta blasts cut through the mist and hit the dreadnought, burning through armour and mechanisms and crippling all the walker’s systems. Even as Niu’s immobilised form slowly toppled over, there was a screeching bellow and the krump of a firing battlecannon from the right flank, accompanied by the harsh, sizzling blasts of more melta guns. This was followed almost immediately by the deeper krump of a Demolisher cannon.

The ensuing explosions further choked the mist-filled air with thick black smoke and blended with the sounds of a Rhino pulling up on the left flank. Moments later there was the sharp bark of bolters, combined with the whoosh of flamers as the Rhino’s unloaded squad opened fire. At the same time, the sharp retort of sorcerous lightning cracked through the din and left an acrid tang of burning ozone in the air.

Then, with a roar, the attackers charged.
* * *
Shrapnel and debris were still pinging off his armour as Akil shook off the effects of the Demolisher shell that had detonated nearby and felled several of the Rubricae. Khentimentiu staggered up beside him, shaking his head even as he held his weapons at the ready. There was no time to regroup though; a roar resounded through the smoke-filled air, and Akil could only brace himself for the charge he knew was coming.

They boiled out of the smoke and mist like a tide of malevolent meat, full of tentacles and toothy maws and far too many clawed, taloned limbs. Akil glimpsed Khentimentiu freeze briefly at the sight of the mutated beasts - only for a moment, but it was a moment too long. The wave of chaos spawn crashed into them, separating them and driving Khentimentiu backwards, out of Akil’s sight.

Akil could barely keep his feet as he fended off blows from the large grotesque creatures, their howls ringing in his ears. He lashed out with his lightning claws, parting limbs from bodies and carving deep furrows into tough hides and mutated flesh, and the howls changed to shrieks of rage and pain. His own thick armour was holding up well, and he swiftly went on the offensive, trusting his armour to continue warding off the spawns’ attacks.

He wasn’t the spawns’ only target though; Akil sensed the last of the nearby Rubricae fall beneath the vicious onslaught, unable to keep up with the beasts’ swift, unpredictable attacks. Sounds of battle nearby told him that Stern’s terminator squad were also fighting the chaos spawn, though he couldn’t make out much more than quick-moving silhouettes through the smoke and kicked-up dust.

In his helm’s display, Akil could see Khentimentiu’s rune flickering and dimming. His lightning claws sizzled and hissed as he fought his way through the pack, trying to reach his battle-brother. The spawn thrashed and flailed at him, trying to drag him down, but Akil bulled his way through, felling the beasts around him and shoving them out of the way.

The spawn’s charge had pushed Khentimentiu halfway up the stairs, and as Akil fought his way up them, Khentimentiu’s rune dimmed out completely. Akil glimpsed a blue and gold form collapse under a thick knot of spawn, and he surged forwards, slashing his lightning claws across the first of the knot he reached. The spawn shrieked and fell forwards, its spine severed. In response, the rest of the spawn abandoned their previous target and turned on him, hissing and snarling.

He fended off or avoided their attacks, and aimed his own at what seemed to be more vulnerable places on the beasts’ tough bodies. As he fought, a familiar mental presence made itself felt in the back of his mind, and he sent a wordless acknowledgement.

“Captain, a Repulsive-class grand cruiser has appeared in orbit.” Zuberi’s mental voice was calm and controlled, though there was a slight edge to it.

“Is it moving to attack?” Akil asked distractedly as he bisected a spawn in a spray of gore and shoved the two halves to one side.

“No. It’s just holding position.”

“If it does, do not engage. The safety of the Aten is your top priority.”

“Understood.” Zuberi’s mental presence left as unobtrusively as it had arrived, the whole exchange having taken only a moment.

Akil sidestepped what would have been a crushing blow and tore what he hoped was the head off the offending spawn. It obligingly collapsed to the ground, twitching, and Akil kicked the body out of the way. That seemed to be the last of the spawn in his immediate vicinity, and he could finally take a moment to properly check on his fallen battle-brother.

To his relief, Khentimentiu still lived, though he was out cold, his armour badly battered and dented. But before Akil could do anything else, a sudden flare of pain shot up his leg, and his helm flashed warnings of failing knee servos and breached hull integrity. One of the spawn that Akil thought he’d already killed had crawled up behind him, trailing gore and viscera, and had clamped its abnormally strong pincers around his knee, crushing the joint armour and sinking into his flesh.

Akil drove his lightning claws down through the top of the creature’s head, then tore them out sideways. It spasmed and went limp, though the pincer was still firmly clamped around his knee. He cut it off with another swipe of his claws and gingerly tested the leg. Damaged servos whined and sparked, and he could smell blood, burnt circuits and spilled hydraulic fluid. The joint still functioned, barely, but the damage to both armour and flesh was going to slow him down.

His vox suddenly crackled to life. “Could use a hand here.” Jahi’s voice sounded tense and strained beneath the vox’s static.

“Hold on.” Akil began moving, limping as quickly as he could across the side of the hill towards Jahi’s position. Below him, the mist and smoke was finally starting to clear, and he could make out the shapes of Stern and his terminators, the noise of battle echoing up off the rocks as they continued to fight off spawn. But as he continued across the rocks, he saw a large squad of mutated chaos marines in purple armour charge towards the embattled Grey Knights’ flank.

He saw them hit the Knights, led by a more noticeably mutated marine wielding a power sword. Saw Stern stagger and nearly fall beneath the onslaught before recovering, though hard-pressed by the traitor marines on one side and the spawn on the other. Akil knew he had to intervene, to give the Knights a chance to recover. If Stern fell, the truce between them and the Sons most likely wouldn’t last much beyond this battle.

With a mental apology to Jahi and a brief thought hoping his leg would hold out, Akil backed up a step, then charged forward, leaping off the rocks and down into the fray below.

* * *

gripping, and extremely well done.
I definitely commented so as to continue reading this.

is this going to continue? Really enjoy reading this!