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"The ignition," Hydinburg had taught. "Is our will. It must be a conscious decision, or you risk the flames self-combusting. Should this ever happen, you can expect a quick death of immolation at the hands of the Immaterium itself. Never let anger be the trigger. Never let the fire form without your explicit permission. You are the master, always!"

Mahtva pooled the dread-oil into his hand. He aimed his hand at the Scarans enduring his squad's volley. 

Burn.

Flame, bring in its orange, coalesced into existence, feeding on Mahtva's dread. In the second of its brief existence, Mahtav gave another command. 

Kill.

The mind-fire cupped in Mahtva's hand exploded. From a ball, it gushed toward the xenos, tripling, quadralping, quintupling in size. Unprepared, the Scarans bathed and shrilled in the fire. Their exoskeletons, which had provided some protection, betrayed them. It locked the heat it and cooked their soft innards at twice the speed. 

A ferocious grin laid hidden within Mahtva's helmet as he left the fire die. The results couldn't have been better as he took a deep breath. The Scaran's sudden flanking manuever coming from a shaft above the squad had been neutralized. 

Mahtva sidestepped as the corpses fell in the middle of the Wardens' push.

Hydinburg, no memory this time, observed Mahtva's handiwork and nodded. After a furious fight at the Scaran version of a landing bay, the Halcyon Wardens had followed their cousins from the First Legion into the myriad tunnels spanning the asteroid. The primary objective was to destroy the magma cannons. 

Unfortunately, close-range auspex readings revealed the quickest routes were vertical. And the Scarans did not need stairs. Several secondary routes offered workarounds but doubled the amount of time and combat the Imperial assaults faced. No matter, Mahtva thought to himself as he aimed his volkite pistol. We will overcome.

The pistol barked, Martian red burning into another wave of Scaran infantry charging at them. As before, there were too many of the xenos as they sought to bury the Emperor's warriors. The oversized beetles had learned their exoskeletons were of little protection against volkite fire. They compensated by shielding themselves with their own corpses.

A barrier Mahtva attempted to avoid as he aimed his pistol. Again, he ran through the firing fundamentals, supported by years of training. Steady breathing. Check. Use the sights. Check. Squeeze, not pull, the trigger. Check. The last step was the tricky one. Aim center mass, the command echoed in Mahtva's mind through the voices of a dozen instructors.

Center mass would do nothing here. The Scaran Mahtva aimed at carried two bodies in front of it in an organic wall of chitin and bone. He aimed low and fired, trying to blow off a leg. The shot went too low, sizzling a few centimeters in front of the bodies.

A different volkire fired, the ray slamming through a thin opening between frozen limbs. The xeno squealed as its abdomen ignited, joined by the one behind it. Mahtva's target faltered in its charge as it slipped onto the ground. It's limbs thrashed out in agony. Mahtva finished off with his own pistol.

Off to his right, Mahtva found Obelius at his side, volkite reaping through a new target. Mahtva nodded his thanks and received a small one in turn. 

Together, the Halcyon Wardens fought onward. 

~~~

Kharkis, curved sword aimed downward, ordered the two warriors next to him, "Now." Each had a firm grip on a pauldron. Anchored to the floor, the two hurled their leader down through the portal. Rock, dirt, and a strange organic residue flashed past the ayatollah. The asteroid's weak gravity field alone could no pull him down through this passageway, forcing him to request assistance. It was a worthwhile endeavor. 

Kharkis' sword pierced the next Scaran warrior attempting to crawl up through the vertical passageway. As weak as his inertia was, the sword's power field sliced through chitin and organ like parchment. Kharkis rode the corpse as they came to a soft landing on the level below. A swarm of the foul bugs surrounded Kharkis as he was the sole representative of the Imperial military in sight. 

With calm deliberation, Kharkis pulled out his blade, a scimitar, out of the dead foe before swinging through the warrior charging at him. 

The smell of burnt ichor filled the air as Kharkis bifucated the attacker. It was merely the first of a wave as the xenos sought to bury him with their corpsees. Pushing his transhuman abilities to their limit, Kharkis countered by charging the nearest xenos as he sprayed volkite beams into a different portion of the swarm. Appendages flew as Kharkis' blade thrummed. Two warrior-forms bulldozed into Kharkis' back, driving him into another at his front.

All four of them hit and then bounce off the wall in the weak gravity. Although the two Scarans scratched and clawed at his armour, he ignored them as he killed the one in front. He kicked the body, using the force to speed a spin that cut through both attackers.

Three more warriors replaced them.

Before they reached him, a Drowned Man landed on the center one, disrupting the attack. "There will be more drills," Kharkis declared even as he took advantage of the intervention. He eliminated the one on the left, while his companion countered the one on the right. 

"My ayatollah, I was supposed to go first," the Drowned Man reminded Kharkis. Kharkis recognized Yaz's voice as the two immediately put their backs together as the Scarans pressed the assault. "How are we to form proper honor guards if you insist on killing the foes before we reached them?" He asked, amusement and exertion mixed into his tone. 

Kharkis burned through two more Scarans before one slammed a claw against his chest, narrowly missing a weak spot between adamantium plates. He grunted, "Be a better warrior, and you won't be left behind." 

Another martian beam, this one from above, chipped at the Scarans' attacks. To their credit, or mindlessness, the xenos did not relent as the Drowned grew in number. For that, Kharkis was thankful. It would waste much less time than having to hunt them down throughout the asteroid. 

Rumbling waved through the corridor. Kharkis kept one eye toward the source as he slew more of the insectoids. From the end, a Scaran beast, five times the size of its smaller kin, erupted onto the battlefield. It buzzed before unleashing a piercing shriek. 

It filled half of the corridor with its bulk. Stretching its eight limbs, it gripped both walls. It charged forward, propelling itself through the low-g environment at full speed. 

"Priority target!" Kharkis commanded as he fired against the giant. His legionaries attempted to obey, but the xenos pressed on them. Only a few red beams burned against the Scaran war-beast. None of them hit a critical point. Only infuriated the alien further. 

The Scaran war-beast cared nothing for its fellow aliens as it bowled into the melee. In the weak gravity, both marine and xeno went flying, bouncing around the corridor. Kharkis was thrown against the asteroid's wall and pinned there by one of the beast's legs. Another alien landed and impaled itself on Kharkis' scimitar. This boon turned out to be poisoned as he couldn't shift the bulk off his sword to cut off the limb pinning him in place.

Kharkis wished he had brought a squad of heavy support with him, but he had deployed those to other asteroids. His honour guard would simply have to make do with what they had. As he continued his private struggle to free himself, his warriors fought back.

Malka was the unluckiest. The war-beast snatched him as he flew away. Its mouth may have been small compared to the rest of its bulk, but it bit off the marine's head in an instant.

Although taking their first casualty stung, the fate rapidly proved her capricious ways. The war-beast's charge had flung all of the combatants everywhere. Yet it was the Drowned who recovered first. Freed from the press of melee, Kharkis' bond-warriors concentrated fire against the rampaging xeno. For all of its bulk, its armored hide was no better at deflecting the energy beams as its lesser kin. It absorbed the first volley in shrieking pain; its bulk keeping it alive long enough to retaliate. 

It stabbed with its forelimbs. With pure luck did it find the weak point between plates and stabbed another of Kharkis' warriors into the asteroid. A beam, Kharkis didn't see who made the shot, sizzled through the limb pinning the Ayatollah. He shoved the detached limb off of him before freeing his scimitar from the corpse. The rest of the Scarans recovered and surged again to the legionaries. Kharkis ignored them as he focused all of his attention on the war-beast. So long as it prevented them from reforming into a cohesive unit, they were doomed to be dragged down and slaughtered as individuals. 

He crouched before shooting himself off the rocky wall. The war-beast did not react before the scimitar jutted into its thorax. It screeched and twisted and turned. Kharkis held on, but he knew he could not remove his sword without dislodging himself. Instead, he pressed his volkite pistol against its exoskeleton and squeezed the trigger. He did it again and again as the beam dug deeper and deeper into its body. With each blast, its shrieks grew sharper. It slammed itself against the rock walls. Kharkis' armour protected himself from the crushing pressure as he continued his barrage.

Finally, among the smell of burnt organs, Kharkis hit something vital.

A death shriek erupted out of the beast's mandibles as its struggles came to an end. Kharkis pushed off before the new corpse drifted to the asteroid floor. He did not revel in his victory as his attention switched to his warriors. His honour guard fought in formation as they covered each other in the melee. Two warriors, as Kharkis had foreseen, had been overwhelmed before the unit could reform. They laid in pieces, bodies torn by the aliens in what had to have been slow deaths. However, the end of the Scaran horde was in sight, their numbers finally exhausting against Imperial might.

Kharkis did not dally as he rushed forward to fight alongside his brothers.

~~~

"Kneel!" Muniza ordered, his in-built vox extending his voice throughout the new cavernous room. As one, the Lightning Bearer's line knelt. For the briefest of moments, they were exposed before the Scaran defenders. The xenos surged forward.

As if the First Legion would ever allow such a gross opening.

"Fire!" Roared the captain. The Rakurai poured another brutal fusillade into the aliens. It hammered them back with a second and then a third round. Only then did the Rakurai fire slacken.

"Charge!" Muniza commanded the second the last las-beam crossed above the heads of the Lightning Bearers.

Sizzling power katanas sliced through alien flesh as they repeated a dance started in the landing bay. The Lightning Bearers would push their enemy back in the melee. The moment Scaran numbers threatened to overwhelm them, the Lightning Bearers made one last opening in the enemy mob before the Rakurai fired volleys to erase whatever progress the Scarans were gaining. Once completed, the Lightning Bearers took up their blades once again to repeat the cycle for every contested metre. The Rakurai may not have been Astartes, but the two forces worked with a grace worthy of Lord Anasem himself.

The dance, however, would soon be coming to an end. Muniza saw this as his helm's optic sensors saw their objective: the asteroid's volcano cannons. Counting the number of remaning xenos, Muniza estimated the battle for this particular asteroid would be over in as little as four minutes.

He also saw twin disasters he had to prevent to maintain their quick victory. "Priority target," he declared as he picked out a Scaran worker among the final defenders. The worker was of a unique sub-type. Far hardier than the ones killed previously, this and its kind had much thicker armour. For these were the ones who were responsible for the Scaran's propulsion and volcanic weaponry. Before Muniza's eyes, a ring of them manipulated a series of miniature calderas. While other workers provided raw rock and earth, the unique types formed them into magma with a combination of natural and Warp heating techniques.

It was almost obscene the level of control the Scarans managed their Warp energy for all of their lack of true intelligence.

This particular worker, however, represented a unique danger. Through no intention of its own, it has the possibility of stopping the Imperial advance. “Execute,” Muniza commanded. “My warriors, let not pass.”

The order given, the Imperials changed the pace. The Rakurai rear ranks no longer supported the advance as they poured fire onto the lone target. The reduced firepower began to tell as the Scarans pressed against the Thin Lightning Bearer line. Muniza and his warriors fought furiously. To his right, a marine, Koto, had traded his pistol for his short blade, wielding two swords in the melee. Muniza would have to offer him praise later and wished he had used a sliver of his divination for his self.

The thought had not finished when one Scaran slipped past Muniza. It combusted as the Rakurai first rank blazed at it, along with any other Scarans who bypassed the Lightning Bearers.

Seconds had passed, and the target was not dead. Lasfire struggled to find a hole among the worker's thick plates. Aim suffered due to the distance and the worker continous movement. Half of the shots landed, but the creature had been created to withstand great heat, giving it an impromptu resistance against their weapons.

The window before disaster shrunk in Muniza's eye. He resisted the urge to shout at the Rakurai. Even in the height of battle, he would not besmirch his dignity with such a display. He had given his order; he would leave his trust in the Rakurai to see it through.

One of the Rakurai screamed as the first Scaran slid through both blade and lasrifle. Human blood now occupied the chamber, Muniza thought to himself as he gutted a Scaran warrior form.

The Rakurai, at last, threw back failure. One of the dozens of las beams burned past the creature’s natural armor. Muniza could imagine it shriek as many of its kind did when wounded; the noise lost in the furious battle. It fell off the caldera’s edge into the bubbling, superheated liquid.

The first disaster would not come to be. The room would not be flooded with magma, destroying the Imperial assault.

Only now did Muniza turn his attention to the second would-be disaster. This one, however, remained in Muniza’s hands to deal with. “Prepare to withdraw ten paces,” he ordered over the vox. The Scarans retained their single-minded press, but their numbers slackened. It was a good thing as well. The number of bodies piled at the Lightning Bearers’ feet, making it more and more difficult to maneuver in close quarters.

“Execute.”

Moving as one, Rakurai and Lightning Bearer marched to the rear as they continued to fight off the shrinking Scaran force. Scarcely had they assumed their new position did an ear-piercing shriek pierce through the din of combat. A monstrous Scaran dropped from the ceiling.

Right where the Imperials had been a moment earlier.

“Bearers, concentrate your efforts on the new target. Rakurai, hold position and assist.” With sudden force, the Lightning Bearers sprang forward. The now-paltry Scaran assault shredded as the Bearers pushed through it.

Muniza sidestepped a large claw before he cut into the beast’s thorax. The creature’s size did not intimidate him in the least. The future held victory in outstretched hands towards him. He would accept it in a few more second

Chapter 16: Behemoths of War

One by one, the orbiting titans of rock forming the Scaran defense network fell into the hands of humanity. Over a hundred magma cannons bled fire and fell cold. Through the freezing void came new titans of metal. Fearing no reprisal, the combined fleets of the First and Fifth Legion sailed through the asteroid belt.

Unhurried, the great warships of Man assumed thrones above the Scaran homeworld. Weapons steadily turned towards the surface, both cannon and something more dangerous.

Alexandros watched information scroll past his eyes. Its speed, as it descended across the screens, would have been eye-watering to an individual without his gifts. A single line of information would appear at the top of the scroll and would be gone in the span of a second. Alexandros did not struggle to read or comprehend the vast flow of data. In fact, it was a faster way for him to absorb the situation than to hear it relayed to him.

He leaned back against the walls of his drop pod. Thus far, all had gone as predicted by himself and Icarion. Soon, they would grab the opportunity to cripple the Scaran species in a single stroke. Or die in the attempt. For the first time in quite some time, the Lord of the Fifth honestly did not know what the future would bring to him. The power of the Scarans had defied both him and his brother's attempts to know all.

He relished in this rare moment of ignorance.

Only two others occupied the drop pod with him. Desphande, captain of his bodyguard, was one. Jorg was the other. The maul-wielding former Storm Rider was not a regular member of Alexandros' personal guard. However, both he and Deshpande had insisted on his presence for the upcoming battle. The bald-headed warrior still laid claim to being the legion's most potent champion.

Alexandros' own views about having a bodyguard were slowly shifting. What he had once deemed as an overreaction was changing to something more positive. Seeing that Icarion possessed his own bodyguard had eased his views, despite their blindness. And facing the unknown had been an effective reminder Alexandros, for all of his knowledge and foresight, was not truly immortal.

How will I meet that end? He wondered. Knowing his purpose, he suspected it would be in war. Age would not slay him, poison could not touch him, and disease held no sway. That left only violence to await him. Did he regret that? The loss of a peaceful end, surrounded by his family? He covertly glanced at his companions beneath his helm. To his surprise, he did feel an iota of regret at the loss.

"One minute until we're in position, my lord."

The time has come, he thought to himself. The reports flying past his eyes declared his sons were waiting for the command that would unleash them upon the alien. Brother? Darshan reached out.

A moment later, a reply came. Yes, Alex?

Alexandros smiled to himself. One benefit of their shared divinations was an increased connection between the two of them. It was a slight thing, but it was there. Distance, already a weak concept in regards to telepathy, grew weaker still. How much more could this bond grow? Is the First ready?

Of course, Alex, Icarion assured him. Ready for the unknown?

As ready as we can be.

Then let it be done.

"Commence bombardment," ordered both Primarchs, thought and word melded into one.

Much had been learned in their divination session. For one, the Scarans lived in mounds that mirrored their ships. Or, more accurately, their warships mirrored their homes. No doubt any terrestrial invasion would have to endure merciless close quarters combat through a maze of tunnels. Each mound had been reinforced with metal supports. Between the metal and the compact ground, each mound was worthy of an Imperial bunker. Such a target would be resistant to an orbital strike.

Resistant but not immune.

The second they had learned was the location of their objective. It resided a kilometre beneath the surface. Above and around the chamber in which it lingered would be thousands of Scaran warriors in defense. Combined with the first bit of information, the two Primarchs had prepared accordingly.

Lances of light and heat slammed into the surface of the alien homeworld. Countless xenos were incinerated on the surface. The mound at the center of the bombardment crumbled beneath the onslaught. Earth melted and seared away as the Imperium stripped layer after layer. The swarm awaiting within suffered. Seconds passed after the first wave of firepower before the second one began. The Scarans beneath the surface found their subterranean caves to be less than protective.

The upper caves burned away under the barrage. The lower caves did not escape harm as collapses ripped throughout the mound. Structural points vanished in a heartbeat, breaking entire networks into small and divided pieces.

Darshan saw all of this in his mind and in the digital displays of cannon fire. Thousands of the aliens were now dead. Millions would soon come to defend the most precious resource of their race. For all intents and purposes, the bombardment served as the gunshot to a race.

"Deploy," the brothers commanded.

Desphande and Jorg tensed for a brief second. Astartes felt no fear. Yet, there was a particularly humiliating disgrace to a misfiring drop pod. Denied a chance to see the enemy and dying within one's own ship was a cruel fate for warriors such as they. No matter how rare of an occurrence it might be.

The drop pod shuddered as it was shot out of the Elpis. His companions relaxed. Only two more horizons threatened them. Alexandros did not share their worries, though he did not fault them for it. Future-sight could be quite the handy tool for seeing what dangers would threaten oneself.

Their drop pod was joined by a hundred others across the gathered fleet. All in all, it was a small landing, considering the size of the legions. It was a necessity. Precision was their weapon, not brute numbers. The Primarchs had assembled only the bare minimum necessary for their task to reduce losses in the inevitable withdrawal. To support the landing force, enough gunships and bombers to fill the sky would follow to provide the most intense air support these aliens would ever see.

Pity this battle will not be fought on the surface.

The silence of the void gave way to screams as admantium ripped into atmosphere. The second horizon arrived. The slightest miscalculation would send a drop pod plummeting off course. Guidance thrusters stood ready to fight against this fate, yet it was no sure thing. It was unlikely a drop pod would flip mid-transit to dash its cargo in an explosive crash, but a simple miss of targets would be just as deadly in this case. Too far from the deployment zone would doom any of his sons to a death by attrition as they would be overwhelmed by an endless tide of xeno chitin.

It was not without reason Irvin did not approve of his Primarch riding a drop pod to war.

Darshan studied the fates of all of the drop pods in this wave. His abilities may be more limited in this situation, but he would not allow fate to have her way without his say. He spread his efforts in a spiral around him. The launch had been carefully prepared and diligently executed. None would suffer far from his brothers on this day.

The final horizon arrived. Dozens and dozens of maneuvering thrusters spat fire as the wave of drop pods fell from the skies. Only now did Alexandros stir in his seat. He pushed himself off from the drop pod’s side as he unholstered his weapons. His sons mirrored his actions, using their grav-boots to steady themselves in the heavy turbulence.

The adamantium seeds slowed in the air as the ground shot towards to greet them. “Prepare to deploy,” Alexandros commanded before orienting himself toward the planet’s south pole. The turbulence died away as the thrusters steadied their charges for the last meters of descent.

With a crunch, the drop pod landed. The doors exploded outward. Alexandros raced out. Jorg and Desh were a second behind him. All around him, Alexandros heard similar controlled explosions as the rest of the strike force disgorged from their pods. Alexandros heard mechanical whirring as dreadnoughts thundered onto the surface. Alexandros heard a growing cascade of boots striking the earth as the strike force rushed toward their objectives.

His eyes, though. His emerald eyes locked on the tear in the ground that would guide him and the strike force to victory. “Forward!” He roared as he charged beneath the surface. Into the hives of the Scaran heart.

--

Crassus took four paces into the entrance of the Scaran hive. He stopped and whirled toward the entrance. His eyes scanned over his tactical overview as he listened for his lieutenants to declare their readiness.

He would not be a part of the glorious assault against today’s all-important objective. No, his Primarch had assigned him to the rear guard. As the rear guard commander, it was his duty to ensure the strike force was not caught between two waves of xenos mobs from the front and the back. It would fall upon Crassus’ defenders to stop any Scaran reinforcements from entering the hive’s westward entrances. A mirroring Lightning Bearer commander would do the same for the eastward approaches.

Crassus wondered what fool had earned Icarion’s displeasure to be given such an ignoble assignment. In truth, he should know who his companion officer was, but he had not cared enough to review that information in the debriefing.
For Crassus only had one goal today: spiteful survival.

He would deny the visions of his Primarch. He would not fall today. He would live, healthy and whole, to return to his beloved steed and the Praefectus.

He slid his zweihander from its sheath. Lightning sparked into life as he activated its power. Once, its weight would have felt unusual in his hands. The large sword was not suited for a tank commander. It was Crassus’ habit to take a much smaller weapon with him to battle. In the tight confines of his tank, size worked inversely in effectiveness against boarders.

Hours spent in the practice arena had erased its unfamiliar heft. A bolt pistol added to Crassus' arsenal, but he did not intend to use it unless deprived of his blade. Given his weapon's weight, it would be dangerous to switch from his sword to pistol without adequate time to switch to and fro.

Behind him, large footsteps rumbled through the ground as Hathus moved his ponderous dreadnought chasis into position. Alexandros had ordered quite a few of the legion's dreadnoughts into this mission. The intent was their hardier armor would better hold against the xeno swarms. Volkite energy banks charged as Hathus prepared for the inevitable onslaught.

Crassus' personal bodyguards fell into position behind Hathus. No doubt several of them wished their charge was among their number. Crassus, well aware of his Primarch's prediction, would oblige them in due time. However, as their leader, it was imperative Crassus landed the first blow against the enemy. It was his duty and honor to do so.

The last of his subordinates reported they had dug in. Outside the new cave, the world shook as the bombardment held off the tide of enemy reinforcements. Crassus listened to the deafening orchestra, his helmet's auto-senses protecting his ears. Soon, the orchestra would slacken as various airships would have to return for resupply. It would be then that Crassus and his warriors would have their chance to spill blood.

~~~

Alexandros kicked and then crushed a Scaran skull beneath his heel. Behind him, Deshpande, Jorg, and the other Wardens fought to maintain their Primarch's speed. The Scaran resistance was uncoordinated; the aliens still reeling from the orbital bombardment. But a glance at the skeins of fate showed this was a very temporary situation. Were it viable, Alexandros would have left the entire strike force behind. He and Icarion could move much faster alone.

Not fast enough to avoid a few thousand claws, though.

He counted off in his mind as one eye locked on the tactical readings. A single kilometre stood between him and the central chamber, half of the distance vertical. He augmented the physical sensors with his own telepathic abilities. He winced at the empyric feedback shooting back at him. The entire area was dredged in Warp energy, a side effect of the Scaran's peculiar ways. Only the thinnest of slivers barred the Immaterium from flooding reality. It was for this reason he could not use any of his gifted sons for this mission. He himself had to limit his own capabilities to the softest of efforts. If Alexandros pushed too hard, one of two disasters could occur. First, the Scaran queen could retaliate again with an entire planet's worth of energy at her disposal. Much closer to her physical form, the results would be much more threatening than what had occurred on Thunderchild.

Second, the Warp itself might break into the physical realm. While using Alexandros as the channel. Not only would the area be engulfed into infinite insanity, the odds of Alexandros surviving the event were quite slim. His sons, his brother, and his nephews may very well die for his own foolishness. That was unacceptable to him. Thus, this upcoming battle would have to be fought without using both his and Icarion's most potent weapon.

And Alexandros still did not know if survival lay on the other side. He wondered if Crassus had ever realized that in half of the realities he had died was because the Primarchs had failed in their mission. A rare sense of anticipation and anxiety filled Alexandros as he and his sons continued their descent.