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Good call Magnus, if someone could set one up that'd be super, I would but I'm on my tablet and it's really hard to type

OOC: Created a thread, further discussion can be moved to that thread!

Kal'urek stopped for a moment, listening for a moment to Cato's words, his mind thinking of the possabilities of what could happen while moving about the battlefield, being as large as he was, Kal'urek was sure to draw fire. While he didn't mind drawing fire, he preferred to do it from this now entrenched position. I believe that could be a good plan, but from my position now, I have a clear field of view and an entrenched position. What vehicle will hold these humans that would stand up to las, plasma, or missile, munitions we're sure to face? I would not be opposed to such a plan, but I only have but a single fist with which to rip into armour. My assault cannon can really only penetrate the lightest of the loyalist's armor. The plan didn't sound too bad, but it really all depends on what was sent first. If the Imperial Guard were to be the first to cross that line with their tanks, being on the move wouldn't be too much of an issue, if it was fellow Astartes, then an entrenched position wouldn't hurt either.

Gray, who had been half-listening to the conversation between the two titans before him, gave his best attempt at a salute.
"Sirs, It's possible... I've fixed up a weapon, not much more than a slingshot really..."
"Speak." commanded the dreadnought.
"Well, it's based on a ballista, a large catapult, but it could fire a round a second if you fully overcharged it..."
"And how exactly is that meant to take out a tank?"
"Well, sir, we've got it fixed up so that it will fire three melta-bombs at a time, though of course we could add more. Although the more melta-bombs per shot and the more shots we fire... well, we lost twenty to an extremely small miscalculation when we were testing it, not even using melta-bombs. And what with the lava below the surface..."
"I see. Well, it is at least a last resort, if nothing more. But I have a feeling the other marines may want us to use it."

Admiral Julius Gius Scipian sat on his command chair, his ship, the Furious Penitent rumbling around him. Naval adepts walked around the huge bridge, others sitting at consoles. They read the streams of data that were running across their cogitator screens. His second, Lieutenant Miranda Loss was reading a report to him, about the world they had been relegated in the mighty crusade against the chaos warband calling itself 'The brotherhood of Thorns'.
"The world of Aplora, my lord admiral. We and two grand cruisers are to escort troops from the Vostroyan 15th, the Cadian 223nd Mech, the Catachan 39th and the Morindian 3rd armoured. The mechanicus has also sent to us a force of Skitarii and armoured units." She paused, reading for a moment.
"This fight looks to be easy, last we checked, the planet was poorly defended. Chaos marines, a smattering and several thousand cultists. We assume they're massing within the main hive"
The admiral spoke, his vocie rasping from the vox grille that had replaced his mouth many years before. "Very good, yes. Tell me, how many troopships are we escorting?"
"The heavy transports Vispasian, Mercurial, Temperal Wroth and Indaosia are equipped with enough landers to take everything that has been sent with us onto the world. They also carry all of our troops" She stumbled slightly as she continued to look over the slate detailing the fleet composition "The mechanicus cruiser E-E-V-10291038729439028, 'Eve', is carrying the mechanicus contingent."

Standing, the Admiral smiled. On the inside obviously, he didn't have a mouth anymore.

"Prepare for real space translation" The tannoy system announced.

With a sharp jolt that could be felt in the very soul, the attack fleet dropped out of warp. Aplora, the red eye that it was, hung in space before them. The Mars Class Battleship, its two smaller grand cruiser escorts and the four troop ships following it formed into a flying wedge, the hard tip of Green and gold that was The Penitent. The Rust red dart of the Mechanicus cruiser darting along by the side of the three larger imperial ships moved quickly ahead.

"Three vessels detected on Augury, My Lord!" Came the yell from a rating on the bridge of the Penitent.

"So it begins" Muttered the three hundred year old warrior that was leading this war in space. "All ahead full! Lance batteries powered up, torpedos in the tube, Macro cannons at the ready! Lets give these heretic bastards hell! For the Emperor!"

"Aye aye, all ahead, ready weapons!"

_______________________________________________________________



The ten thousand and a bit years he had lived, Cato had been involved in many seiges. He'd usually been attacking, but the rare times he didn't, he knew what a bitch Orbital bombardment was. He was in the centre of his command nexus, the augury screen before him showing him the signatures of the eight imperial ships that had just entered the space near the planet. It was daunting to think that even half of the large Aquilia signatures contained only soldiers and tanks. Daunting, but also exhilerating. He'd not had such a fight in years.

"Battle brothers" He voxed, his voice sounding through the ear peices and vox grilles of every cultist who carried a vox pack, and the marines who's helmets had beads implanted in the ears. "The Imperial dogs have arrived. Our defenses are as powerful as they can be, you have your duties. Good luck, my brothers. May you fight well. For glory!"

Hung in space with its engines powered down, hiding from the approaching flotilla in the electro-interference of the local star, rank upon rank of hiding weapon batteries aimed at the leading warship. The "Emperors Wrath" was perpetually unchanged for the past century, its battle scars earned in the name of rebellion remained unrepaired. On the bridge thirty souls stood at their stations, most of the humans and sub-humans felt a rush of sensation from the coming battle. One figure towered above the others. Bronsk stood, unmoving in front of the command throne, his eyes fixed on the enemy warships. He wiped the beginning of a nose bleed with the back of his gauntlet.

"Warning. Unexpected contact.
Imperial fleet designation - Unknown - entering real space.
Path detail: Combat speed to Aplora
Origin date: -Unknown-
Origin Location: Sub 98168
Received: Sub 98172 - 4582" droned a nearby gun servitors comm unit.

"Jacobson, fleet strength" said Captain Ilussis firmly, more of a statement than a question.

"Readouts identify the flagship "Furious Penitent" along with 2 grand cruisers and several heavy drop-ships, Ma'am." replied Jacobson

"We should engage now, while they are unaware." snarled Bronsk

Behind him Captain Ilussis cleared her throat.

"Ugh, you have something to say, girl?"

"My Lord, we should wait until they have began planet fall, that is when they will be most vulnerable." she replied firmly.

A tremor found its way across his left hand, a suppressed need to reach for her fragile neck.

"And why not?" he growled.

"-Ahem- If we engage now, at best we will be crippled before we reach boarding range. At best, we will, well..."

He flexed his fingers, resting his hand on his holstered bolt pistol.

He smiled as he spoke "We were born to bleed girl. My blood is burning for combat. You will bring me to battle, now!"

"-sigh- Very well, Lord. Engage the engines, make full speed for Aplora. They might not know of this ships capture, and may think us their saviours."

"Brothers, I have a plan."

Kain activated his Vox-Com, tuning into the brother Chaos marines channels as he spoke;

"The Imperial Guard will have no fortifications or fall back zone once they have arrived upon the planet, and with the lander's being spread thinly across the planet, we can thin their forces. If we are able to cripple or even destroy one or two of the lander's we have a massive advantage against the Guard. We then launch hit and run attacks, rarely staying for long while we target commanders, supply lines and sabotaging their vehicles and craft. If we must be on the defensive, then we must force the guard through hell, create distractions and false targets. Once under-maned and without their commanders, the guard will fall upon each other or attempt some form of martyr-like action against us."

Gray considered this. He wasn't the best at tactics and didn't know all that was going on, but he knew it had been too long waiting for the fight. Next to him, the dreadnought voxed a message saying it sounded fine by him.

The imperial ships were moving closer, their auspex net picking out the strike cruiser that the Night Lord sorceror had brought to the world, lurking behind the solid mass of Aplora. The rouge trader hanging above the north pole fired its engines and began to flee, the orders of the space marine that it had brought to the world being followed to a T.

With a flare of its engines, one of the Imperial grand cruisers broke off from the rest of the fleet, making its way towards the strike cruiser, the rest moving into high orbit over the world. The mechanicus cruiser was the first to deploy its lighters, the specks of silver and rust red flashing through space, glowing cherry red as they entered the atmosphere. The huge forms of the bigger guard ships moved down, closer to the edge of the world's little pocked of air and gravity. The shapes of Imperial troop carriers, fighter craft and heavy lifter shuttles flowed down onto the surface, the bigger ships remaining in orbit, they would land once a defensible zone had been set up, to disgorge the superheavy tanks and the less mobile forces onto the volcanic rock of Aplora. The shapes of their two remaning protectors hung above them as they spread out.

The only force that landed near enough to the central hive to be an immediate threat. Skitarii, gun servitors and light tanks rolled from their landers, the city lighting them up with hundreds of shells in moments. A lander exploded here, a gun servitor thrashed and spasmed there.

The machine warriors began their march towards the city that had been claimed by chaos.

Kain marched to the city gates, having seen the Imperial landing craft, he knew he had have some idea of what was coming. He increased his vision length, which revealed the grainy forms of several Mechanicus robots and machines, striding towards the hive city. He quickly pulled back, hefting his Auto-cannon while he activated his vox-com;

"Brothers, the Mechanicus have arrived! We must be ready!"

The Emperors Wrath engines burned on full power, closing on the Imperial fleet at terrifying speed. One of the cruisers pulled away from the flotilla, pursuing the Echo of Damnation away from the planet. The remaining cruiser struggled to turn, peeling away from formation and presenting its broadside to the new, rapidly approaching threat.

"The Imperial fleet is attempting communication, Ma'am." said Helm Officer Jacobson.

"Block communications, divert all available power to the engines, we need to close on them before they have a chance to bring their guns to bare."

"Affirmative" droned a servitor


The captain was distracted, hammering commands into servitor controls on her thrones keypads. The Deck sirens wailed as they closed on the Imperial fleet.

"We're been targeted, 15 seconds until we're at maximum range."

"Charge the forward batteries, target the Cruiser, we have no chance of even scratching the Battleship."


"Shields at maximum" droned a nearby servitor.


Bronsk stood looking at the hololithic image of the Imperial fleet, struggling to hold back his anger, the anticipation of battle causing his muscles to twitch uncontrollably.

"5 seconds"

The complete blackness of the void image suddenly lit up with what looked like the birth of a new star. The cruisers broadside lances and cannons fired a full volley directly at The Emperors Wrath projected course.

"Hard to port, full power" she said, her eyes fixed on the Imperial fleet.

"Affirmative"

A moment later the oily interior of the Bridge station was lit up by the sharp light of the passing lance fire. Even with most of the blinding effects of such powerful munitions being filtered out, Captain Illusus still had to raise her hand to shield her eyes.

"Auspex has locked on the Crusier's hanger bays, waiting for command to fire."

"Fire"

A sharp beam of light fired from the Strike cruisers forward batteries, disappearing into the blackness. A moment later, the Cruisers void shields lit up, dissipating the beams power across its layered protection.

"30 Seconds till boarding torpedo range" said Jacobson

At that, Bronsk turned and left the bridge, followed closely by his guard.

"Burn their shields down, we will do the rest." he growled.

"Yes, Lord." replied Illusus as she stood, saluting crisply in time with the rest of the deck Officers present. They didn't return to their duties until the
heavy Iron door closed after him.


"All stations, status report." she said, turning back to the hololith

"Weapons primed, full power. 5 seconds until optimum range"

"Gunnery, fix primary target on the Cruiser, charge starboard Batteries. Deck Officer, ready the Torpedo's." she said, as she hammered commands into her throne console.

"Ma'am" replied the officers in unison.

"Void shields to full layer protection, brace for impact." she said, closing the bronzed holding for her keypad.

Suddenly, the darkness was lit up again by another full broadside volley from the Cruiser.

"Hard bank to starboard, full power to shields."

A split second later, the lance and cannon fire hit. Illusus rocked in her command throne, grunting as she smacked her head against its back. Warning runes lit up around the bridge, the sirens wailing increased in intensity.

"Shields at 40%, they missed with most of it" said Jacobson, as he pulled himself up to his station.

"Fire the broadside, turn, and fire with the front batteries, bring those shields down" she said.

Within a moment, the shields around the cruiser were set alight, a split second later, the second volley cut straight through it.

"Fire the boarding torpedo's, and bring us around, stay on the far side of the cruiser. The Battleship will have to move around if it wants to fire"

Hive Primaris - the original seat of high government before the planet fell to Chaos. It was similar to most Hives of course, however it differed in that its size was exponentially larger than that of the average Hive City. A fact that made it a valuable target and the key to controlling Aplora; its vast armouries, fields of manufactorums and huge population all valuable assets in the Great War. Situated upon one of only a few tectonically stable regions across the globe, the expansive forest of metal towers reaches up towards the murky sky. Belching out great plumes of chemical waste, these ugly talons hooking into the dark clouds can be seen for kilometres across the charred, volcanic landscape. On the day that the city was first taken by the Ruinous Powers of Chaos, the screams could be heard for miles - and they had continued for days. Now, those citizens who remain in the city fear for their lives, most used as slave labour or recruited as cannon fodder. Each night, some are taken and their screams of fear and terror echo those of the insane who claw at their eyes in a vain effort to remove the horrors they have witnessed.

Hastus Zuriel had once been a simple labourer, working for twenty-five years toiling to his physical limits to provide for his wife and children. When Chaos had come upon the world, falling unto the city mercilessly, he had thought himself blessed to survive the initial onslaught. However, he and his family scraped a meek life for a long time, suffering indignity, disease and starvation as well as occasional brutality. Yet still they prevailed against all the odds, hiding and scavenging. In fact, little did Hastus know, but portents long before his birth had predicted such a situation would arise and that a man much like himself would rise up from the ashes of ruination and overcome the terrible oppression. In one glorious uprising, he would have managed to retake the city through weeks, perhaps months of guerilla warfare - disrupting the Great Enemy from within whilst the Imperial Guard assaulted from without. In the last final battle of the City it was predicted he would fall in combat against a dark foe - he would die a martyr whom inspired the entire planet to liberation. The time when that would come to pass was very quickly approaching.

Unfortunately for Hastus Zuriel, his family and the entire blasted planet, the winds of time and fate conspired to lead him down another path. Hastus was a tall, broad man with defined cheek bones and rugged black hair. His clothes were dirtied rags, torn in some places and malnourishment was blatant. Despite this, muscle was still prevalent across his form. His face was contorted into a primordial snarl and he wrestled furiously against his binds - for he was chained quite securely to a chair, which in turn was bound to the floor. His form was soaked in blood - not his own, but that of his family, all of whom now lay butchered around him. Their faces were twisted visages of fright and agony. Yet there was a sickening tranquillity about them. Finally they could rest and would no longer suffer the waking nightmare they had faced living in the city. Unfortunately their souls would not be saved; a far darker purpose awaited them.

As opposed to Hastus' struggling and snarling, the other living figure in the room was quite still and calm. Inquisitor Solistilius stood over him, watching with mild amusement at the man's efforts to free himself and avenge his beloved family. Hot blood dripped from the top of the man's head and over his face. The sacrificial blade in Solistilius' left hand was a short, jagged tool made of a dull metal. Taking hold of Hastus by the throat and holding him still with strength unbecoming of the foot shorter man, the Inquisitor began carving symbols into the former Manufactorum worker's flesh whilst muttering incomprehensible words of dark power; words which made Hastus' head spin and caused his skin to crawl. As the fifth symbol was still being jaggedly sliced into his abdomen, Hastus shivered with a deep and primordial fear - the fear of what was unnatural and could not be understood by his mortal mind. Yet he did not look away from the Inquisitor's deep, unblinking black eyes - a feat not yet achieved by any other who had ever been in his position. Indeed, Hastus Zuriel was a strong soul. This is what made him an ideal candidate for the ritual.

The room was small and cramped, littered with the markings of a previous life. Clothes, books, pictures and all manner of homely devices were cast aside or piled up. In one corner, the rotting carcass of a long-dead person seemed to watch on with resignation as the ritual continued. In one skeletal hand it clutched an old service pistol and in the other a small book of the Ministorum's Decree. The skull was pierced by a single bullet hole. Long dried brain and tissue splatters coated the wall behind the corpse. The candles which provided the only illumination in the room flickered as ethereal winds flustered their yellow flames. Hastus gritted his teeth in an admirable effort to contain his moans of anguish as Solistilius cut again and again into his flesh with practised skill. What clothes the man had been wearing had been reduced to scraps barely clinging to his frame. Blood pooled around his grubby, bare feet and the Inquisitor's dark military boots. It was hot and sticky, both from Hastus and his family, all mixing together, joining the scent of the rotting body to create a powerful reek of death. Hastus choked and coughed up vomit, spittle and blood into his own lap which slopped onto the floor in a slimy, regurgitated soup. Solistilius finally cut into the middle of his victims' chest which had remained, until that point, unblemished. With the utmost care he carved the Rune of Voiding - it was a large, complex symbol which was cut deep. The sacrificial blade scraped against Hastus' ribcage on more than one occasion, eliciting an agonising wail as the man's willpower slowly began to be overwhelmed by sheer pain and emotional devastation. After he finished creating the Rune of Voiding, Solistilius stood back for a moment, seeming to admire his work as would an intrepid artist having finished his latest masterpiece. Hastus glared up at him, eyes full desire for murder and vengeance. Pure hate. Perfect.

Hastus Zuriel's head quivered and fell limp as the last vestige of the would-be hero was drained from his mind and body. However the hate remained. The bloodlust prevailed. The insatiable desire to kill and destroy lingered like an afterthought. Blood dripped ominously from his nose onto the pool in the floor, like a trail of lost comrades rejoining their brothers. Drip. Drip. Drip. Solistilius calmly affixed various chains to the empty shell, entirely focused on the task at hand. The suicide victim in the corner stared onwards without so much as stirring, the empty pits where its eyes once resided unable to turn away - for even in death, some never find respite from the horrors of the living world. Some of the chains were simply strapped to Hastus' body, whereas others pierced his flesh and connected some of the symbols. The Inquisitor opened a small pouch on his belt and removed something. It was a holy parchment. A purity seal. This one was deeply corrupted however; its once venerated words of honour and faith long since twisted away by runes of darkness and death. Solistilius heated the wax seal under a candle until it burnt his fingertips and then seared it into a circular wound on the body's right arm. The skin bubbled and steamed for a second and then the seal stuck, held by something a little more than mere wax and heat. It clung to the flesh like a parasite. Solistilius raised his and arms continued to apply various dark iconography and similar warding devices such as one padlock which he pierced through the throat. As he did so he intoned the incantations of binding, washing the empty shell and himself in further blood. Then the Litany of Servitus was spoken as the Inquisitor paced around the chair, almost singing the words like a poem. Finally, he recited the Wards of Entrapment. For indeed, an echo of Hastus Zuriel awoke once more in the body which began to twitch and spasm. However, Hastus was but a shadow whilst something else took control. Wails shrieked from the warp - the dead Zuriel family's souls being ripped from their salvation and poured into the growing power within the Demon Host, sacrificed a second time to appease the entity being bound into the body. Solistilius approached the end of the Wards, his chanting seeming to take on second, third and a million other voices all speaking at the same time yet remaining individual. The skeletal onlooker in the corner slumped over, bone face downwards, as if not daring to witniss the result of this dark deed.
"In servitutem abduco, I bind thee fast forever into this host," Inquisitor Solistilius decreed, "Awaken, Xadosesonon - Reaper of a million souls. I rebirth you into this realm bathed in hate and blood. You are called upon to return from your millennia long slumber and reap a tally for the Dark Gods once more. "

The geometric patterns daubed across the iron walls of the Daemons Cage, glowed dully, the only light chamber baring the pins of light from the incense burners. It was their make shift protection from the warp-ghosts, enabling boarding actions even within the eye of terror.

His personnel guard surrounded him, each a renegade of their chapters, and each with their own inherent customs, that they seemed unwilling to abandon. Temúr of the white scars, stood taller than the others, spent bolter casings, ears, teeth and baubles were made into a necklace, trophies from past glories. The witch-blooded Pyriel of the Salamanders stood behind him, pentagrammic wards criss-crossed his armour, interlacing like bars of a cage. He was muttering under his breath. The smell of sorcery hung heavily in the musky air. Rauth of the Iron hands stood at the fore, his storm shield raise in anticipation of the coming battle.

With a thunderous crash and scream of twisting metal, the marines on board lurched forwards, before quickly erecting themselves. A moment later the reinforced door crashed open. There was an exhalation of pressurized air, as Bronsk instinctively knelt and fired, his first shot punching a guardsman chest open, his second shot dismembered another leg at the knee. Rauth advanced slowly, absorbing a huge amount of fire on his shield. The rest advanced after, lasgun fire hammering against their armour.

Their auspex sweepers struggled to pierce the thick smoke covering their advance, shadows flickered with static could barely be made out a few yards ahead. Bronsk charged, heedless of the danger. His chain axe reving in his grip. He cut through the first two, cleaving one's torso in half, and slicing into the temple of another with one sweep. Pyriel followed, flames flicking from his opened palms, charing the connecting corridor with a swirling maelstrom of flame. Temúr cut his way into another dimly lit corridor, his glaive sweeping in front of him, cutting limbs and bodies with ease. They made short work of the intercepting party sent at them.

As he strangled the remaining warrior, he did so with a smile on the slit of his lips. He kicked out, struggling against the one hand wrapped around his neck. With a tightening of his grip, he snapped his neck with a wet crack of bone. He looked up as the limp body slumped to the floor.

"Where are my men." he said, as he snorted another nose bleed back.

"Vaas's men are below us, on the lower levels of the hanger bays. Vollmer is a few levels above us, and Thoic is a few levels above him, Jung and his coven have been lost" replied Temúr, glancing at his auspex as he cut a finger from the squads sergeant with a serrated combat blade.

"Vaas will clear the hangers. We shall make for the bridge, along with Vollmer and Thoic" he replied, in a rare moment of tactical clarity.

Kain marched to the city gates, his rag tag group of renegade guard following in his wake, armed with a mix of ranged weaponry. Taking up position, the rouge guard set up behind several improvised barricades and sandbags as they took up aim on the advancing Mechanicus. Kain brought up his Auto-cannon, his helms multiple scopes targeting key members of the advancing enemy forces. He flipped the safety off and shouted to the leading sergeant, who raised his missile launcher. His helms motion tracker began to "beep" as the Mechanicus moved closer and closer towards the hive, the sound of their plasma and artillery blasts causing the hive to shudder. He fired, his fragmentation shell slamming into the chest of a Thallex Cohort leader, who exploded in a mess of limbs and wires, while the other hulking robots returned fire. Several of his guard allies where blown to bloody chunks, while Kain himself struggled to hold his ground as their shots created craters in his armoured form. He gritted his teach and fired off more shots, blasting apart Skitiri and several other machine servants, but the tide of metal did not seem to end. He saw some of the guard moving back, but a shot from the sergeants bolt pistol quickly quelled any sense of fear.

As the massive batteries thundered, Achiaros hissed in anger.

"They left an Astartes where he would be useless, Why couldn't they have stuck one of the damned Iron Warriors here."

Achiaros was not fulfilled by this sort of battle. He voxed in to the marine that had given him the order.

"Am I going to see combat during this battle, or are you going to leave me sitting here?"

Achiaros walked to the command tent, covering the ground quickly with swift, heavy strides. Taking a pair of binoculars, he began walking towards the tallest visible building, he would do whatever work he could. As he ascended the stairway of the tower, he thought back to the meeting, the crust of the moon was thinner that of this planet, but could not the same thing be accomplished here? Reaching the top, he zoomed the distance to the front of the city, probably just over a mile or two away, and down a two levels in the hive. This higher elevation was a good advantage, giving the Earthshakers greater range. Even with the range, however, the battery could not hit the lander position, which was a solid two or three miles farther out. Spotting an area which had already taken heavy damage, Achiaros voxed this position to the crews of the guns, he intended to strike at those coordinates and burst the skin or the massive beast that was this planet.

"Let's see how they deal with the blood" he chuckled to himself.

The ground shook with the next salvo of the artillery.

Lord Atlas opened his eyes as the red haze dissipated, he and his blood-brothers, stood in a summoning circle looking at a small civilian who quickly bowed down shaking madly with fear and repeating;

'Lord Khorne accept my offering.'

'Shut the feth up mortal' said Lorrik before putting a bolter round into the cultists head, spraying it's brains across the wall in a pretty design.

The berzerkers of Gladiator group 666 spread out through the abandoned manufactorum kicking over carts, their heavy tread crushing rocks into finite dust. Each step shook the building which was partially collapsed in one part and and dim lit. The thick atmosphere seemed to gnaw at the berzerkers as if from beyond the immaterium, daemons battled for possesion of their bodies. Lord Atlas still knelt where he had been summoned breathing heavily, like a predatory beast before the hunt. He reached out to place a hand on something to stand, missing his grip Atlas stumbled and cracked the thick plating of the floor beneath him. The berzerkers knew better than to look at their Lord in his eyes, they went about scavenging.

Lorrik looked at his Brother though, and slowly tread over to help him stand, the two gigantic terminators locked arms and their ancient armour groaned as Lorrik pulled up Lord Atlas. Locking eyes dead straight with Lorrik, Atlas spoke through his Vox-grille.

'If you ever show me as weak again, I will claim your skull as a trophy, dear brother.' -spat the Monstrous Terminator to his brother.

'I mean no offense brother' - replied a loud resonant voice that seemed to speak with clarity and pride.

'Where are we..' - commanded Atlas to his blood-brothers.

'This manufactorum sjgn says Aplora working district. Imperial designation.' - answered a berzerker who was in the far corner near an exit of the manufactorum.

pausing for a moment the berzerkers of Gladiator group 666 thought before a unanimous shout rang through several blocks of the working district.

'DEATH TO THE FALSE EMPEROR'

Grabbing Skullcleaver and hoisting the double headed chain axe over his shoulder pad, they charged out of the manufactorum, baying like hounds let loose.

Kain knelt down on his knee, breathing heavily after being stuck by the barrage of bolt shells. He looked down at his chest, watching through his helms HUD as his twin heart beat became a wild flurry as he struggled to rise, blood gushing from the hole in his stomach. He brought up his auto-cannon, his targeting system creating out-lines around the advancing Thallex and Skitari, and the remaining guard who fought at his side. He pressed down on the trigger, blowing apart several of the Skitari, but a counter flurry of bolt and auto cannon shells forced him back. He looked over his position, realising the futile nature of his position, he barked a quick order to the remanning guard before activating his Vox-com;

“This is Kain, the Mechanicus are almost at the cities main gates. I'm pulling back to the shield generator. Close the gates and send in what heavy units we have after a bombardment, we must hold the gates, at all costs."

"Confirmed, this is Gladiator group 666, I demand to know the location of the main gate, we are in the manufactorums on the far west of the city."

Atlas looked at his HUD display, all systems were functional which was good. For a suit of armour 10,000 years old he expected it to not work as well, he'd need a new suit soon. He voiced his vox channel a few more times trying to reach any friendly's in the city with varying degrees of success. Gladiator group 666 walked through the ruined district searching for things of value, nothing really peaked interest when suddenly, a firefight broke out a half mile away, making all the berzerkers peer off, focusing on something that looked fleshy, something human. Brother Xathros, the point, requested a private link with Atlas. Upon recieving the request, Xathros, face appeared in Atlas' HUD.

'My Lord..' he began but was cut short when Atlas, bored of listening, interrupted him.

'What do you see up ahead blood-brother?' spoke Atlas in a queried tone.

'Imperial forward scouts? Civilians maybe?' replied the drawling berzerker in a whiny voice, the red haze was claiming him as he spoke.

'DO NOT ENGAGE BLOOD-BROTHER!' shouted Lord Atlas, trying to shake his bererker from the haze. Ultimately it was unsuccessful, when Xathros bellowed 'DEATH TO THE FALSE EMPEROR'S LAPDOGS' and charged, which in turn caused the rest to charge after Xathros, chain axe's whirring and firing off bolt pistols.

Lorrik and Atlas pounded after them, the hunt was underway.

The arrival of the enemy stirred the blood lust in his men, the slight shifting could be felt across the groubd and hardly went without Rygars notice. They had clear sight of the main gate and the Resistance Kain was giving the mechanized fodder. Burst of activity seemed to be awakening across the urban landscape that surrounded them.
"Jorgan do you see what's taking place toward the Main gate?"
 "sir, orders?" Jorgan replied, his near boiling impatience held in reserve but laid bare before Rygar "suppressive fire" 


All that needed to be said was said and the Thunderhawk's interior buzzed with life as servitor and human alike took to their individual responsibilities making sure that the craft performed as best it could. It's battle scars marked it as a warrior tested and machine spirit Akin that of a bird of prey who's only true purpose was that of mayhem and precision. It took off swinging around the nearby buildings that housed the cultist that laid in wait for the coming battle until soaring into the air, it's shadow casted over the ground underneath like that of the shadow of death.. Forewarning what it touched of it's inevitable death.
Jorgan licked his lips and narrowed his eyes at his intended targets "Repugnant" Jorgan fell into silence until the Enemies were within range and barked at his crew, his otherwise honorable disposition melted away as his hands motioned threw the controls of the Thunderhawk with familiarity and purpose. The Thunderhawk took a sharp dive then pulled up as it roared Bolter fire. All four twin link heavy bolters tore over Kains position right into the enemy as the Thunderhawk banks to the left dodging retaliatory fire.
The enemy shredded by the hail of bolter shells bringing pause to their push as the Thunderhawk moved behind building cover reading for another swing around. 

The Demon Host slowly rose to full height - the simple bindings that had held Hastus Zuriel to the chair no obstacle for this creature. It towered over the Inquisitor and looked down at him impassively, its very presence radiating malevolence.
"Xadosesonon," Solistilius addressed it. It looked around for the first time, taking in its surroundings, before returning its gaze to the one who had summoned it.
"I know you, human. You are Solistilius," it stated, "One-thousand fifty-three Terran years prior to this our paths crossed on the field of battle. My own Demonic minions banished by the Grey Warriors of the corpse God as you and your own master Hycleus unleashed magicks which saw his name cursed and physical form incinerated. Yet you endured the persecutions of your quivering peers."
"That is correct," the Inquisitor concurred, "Now I serve the same powers which you do. And now you shall serve me, in all things."
"It has been long since I crossed into this realm. An intriguing development." Its voice was far changed from that of Hastus. It was now greatly deepened and each word seemed to contain a thousand whispers just beyond mortal comprehension. "I am bound to this vessel and your command. At our first encounter you had little understanding of the greater scheme which was unfolding. Now I see you as a much altered mind. Curious how it is not the path that lays behind which has shaped you; rather what is yet to come will determine your present. I shall do your bidding," Xadosesonon decided. Despite its power, it had no choice in the matter, but that it seemed to desire this for the moment was fascinating in itself. Of course, its opinion mattered not for the ways of Daemons are not for men to be so arrogant as to assume they understand. Not even one as vaunted as an Inquisitor. Perhaps it enjoyed the irony of one who assisted in its banishment was now undoing that action.
"Your words are veiled, Xadosesonon. You speak in riddles and I am not so foolishly tricked into enacting the designs of your kind. When I desire your unique insight I will demand it," Solistilius snapped. "Come now. There is much to be done."

--------------------

The Inquisitor trekked through the narrow, winding streets that connected the lower Hive. The sounds of battle were omnipresent and explosions coloured the murky sky as artillery shells impacted again and again upon the void shield protecting the city. Powerful technology from times long since forgotten by all but a scarce few, unmatched by much else surrounding them. However, it would fail in time. Solistilius knew this to be a certainty. Whether the renegades, cultists and magicians who had banded together in a loose force would successfully defend this place was uncertain and overall inconsequential. All that mattered is that they did so long enough for greater plans to be fulfilled. After all, Inquisitor Solistilius had not arrived by coincidence. The whispers of ethereal creatures and the hastily scribbled words of a madman in an ancient book had seen that his purpose here may lead to consequences far grander than he could yet appreciate. Behind him strode the Demon Host Xadosesonon. It walked like a man, looked like a man and yet there was undoubtedly something terribly inhuman about him. Even a mewling half-wit child could sense that should they encounter the pair.

However those they had encountered were few and far between. The scarce living they'd seen had made best not to draw the attention of these two beings. However, not all inhabitants of the city were entirely spineless. Solistilius stopped in his tracks, hand resting on hilt of power sword. Xadosesonon halted in sync with its master, standing a step behind the Inquisitor. From several buildings around them, hooded figures crouched tentatively measuring up the two men they had surrounded. Slowly they revealed themselves from all directions, until the group encompassed them in a rugged circle. Crude rifles and blunt weapons were raised in anticipation, none sure of how to proceed. Their crimson robes and mix of metal plate and flak armour spoke of men and women from several walks of life. Workers, soldiers, doctors and secretaries, errand boys and paupers alike all stood here. Yet now they were more than that. They were united in a cause and belonged to something that they did not merely blindly worship; rather, they now belonged to a cause that they could see and become a part of. Yet they were not formidable. Most were unworthy of serving the darker powers.

One of their number stepped forward, approaching the undaunted pair. "I am Karavok, leader of the Cult of the Harbinger. In the name of the Dark Gods, surrender yourselves or suffer execution." The Inquisitor regarded this man. He was slightly taller than himself and had most of his face obscured under a dull metal mask. He carried a Lasgun.
"You would presume to command me, Karavok? You are leader of nothing and unfit to speak of the Dark Gods. You know nothing of the universe beyond this city and I, Inquisitor Solistilius look upon you and find you lacking."
Karavok was momentarily taken aback, glancing at a few of his followers in a silent plea for help yet none was forthcoming. No sooner had he returned his gaze to the imposing man he had planned to make his prisoner or perhaps even sacrifice, Solistilius had drawn his blade and in one fell movement sliced open Karavok's belly. His mouth fell agape and he dropped to his knees as his guts spilled onto the floor in front of him. He raised his Lasgun, hands shaking. Solistilius removed it from him with ease and discarded the simple weapon.

Another member of the cult hurried forward and knelt before the Inquisitor. "My lord, forgive us for our sins. The legends of your kind are true... we must repent in the face of our saviour that our eternal souls may live on and join the beloved Emperor," he pleaded. "In death we shall be absolved."
Solistilius decapitated the man without a second thought and the body slumped to the side. "The Emperor is a rotting corpse with no power over the living. Is there not a single one of you so-called cultists; worshippers of the Dark Gods, worthy of a place amongst the renegades and heretics that at this very moment are fighting on the ramparts so that this city may remain liberated from the mewling tyrany of the corpse-God's servants?"
There was silence for a moment as the cultists wondered in bewilderment what the wisest course of action was. Then one of them stepped forth. "If I am to die then I will do so on my feet," he sneered as he hefted a large, two-handed blade. "I was raised as a soldier and in life the Imperium gave me nothing. In death I expect no more," he admitted as he approached the Inquisitor.

Solistilius smiled even as Xadosesonon stared on disinterestedly. The cultists with their autoguns and their simple hatchets and blades watched with contained panic, and perhaps a degree of hope, as the tallest and the strongest of their company squared off against the Inquisitor - a man whose stature was the stuff of stories. The man swung his large sword without breaking a sweat although Solistilius deflected it with ease. His opponent circled and came at him with another series of blows and Solistilius deflected them all still. There was a pause and then the large cultist adjusted his stance and the way he held his weapon. Then he attacked again. This time it was planned rather than simply gauging the skill of his opponent. He even forced the Inquisitor back a step with a surprisingly skilful move before the experienced swordsman disarmed him and swept his feet from under him. The tip of the Inquisitor's cutlass pressed against the fallen man's throat ever so gently.
"I will not beg for my life," the man spat. "Do what you must."
Solistilius looked upon him for a moment and then sheathed his sword. "You have proven yourself over the rest of this rabble. For that you will have the privilege of serving me. Xadosesonon - kill the rest," he instructed the Demon Host without taking his pure black eyes off of the one who had dared to fight him as he clambered to his feet. Xadosesonon did not wait to exact his command and he raised his arms. Several of the cultists brought their weapons to bare as the Host rose into the air. Fire burned from his eyes and he roared in tongues not of the material plane of existence even as dozens of bullets dissolved against his own ethereal protection. One by one the cultists screamed as warp flame engulfed them. One ran in terror, yet there was no escape from the reaper of a million souls. Within seconds twenty three men were reduced to heaps of blackened bones and even those then crumbled into ash and then the ash into nothingness. Their souls; their very life energy poured into the Demon and it took their life force as its own. One stray bullet that had managed to cause damage to the meat prison Xadosesonon inhabited disappeared as the stolen life force rejuvenated the physical form.
The surviving cultist warrior stood in awe of the display of power, now believing he understood why he had survived the initial invasion and why he had been driven to turn traitor from the uniform he swore to serve. All so that he may bare witness to real, tangible power at work and that he may be a part of something far greater than he could have ever hoped for in his previous life.
"What is your name, warrior?" Solistilius asked.
"Titus," he answered, hastily adding, "My Lord." Although he stood well above average height, he was not taller than the threatening Demon Host and nor did he feel greater in presence than the Inquisitor who stood head and shoulders below him.
"Then come, Titus. Serve me well and perhaps you will live to see tomorrow."

Kain watched as the Thunderhawk dive bombed the Mechanicus assault troops, smiling as the machines where shredded by bolter fire allowing him to safely fall back with his remaining men. He hurried to the gate controls, climbing the ladder to the tower, he quickly entered the codes and watched as the great bulk head sealed shut with a pair of ancient and battered Leman Russ tanks rolling forward and arming their guns. He quickly slid down the ladder and motioned for his men to move back to the shield generators, preparing for a further defense .

Trooper six-two-nine-zero marched forwards, his sargent off to his left. The thundering boom of a Thunderfire cannon back behind him on the rise that they had landed on sent screaching shells into the void shield of the city, the dark envelope glowing as the explosions smashed into it. A bunch of chaos marines were firing autocannons into the midst of the approaching Skitarii and Thallax soldiers. A rhino thundered by, when a shell landed. The ground crakced and fell away, the APC falling into the bubbling magma that gushed up from beneath the now split crust. A skitarii clambered from the top hatch, screaming in pain as he flapped madly at the flames springing up on his armour and clothing.

The intense pain ovverode even the extensive sleep indoctrination Skitarii underwent. Six-two-nine-zero didn't care. His orders were to assault the main gates with his comrades and to take them at all costs. His sargent was punched back by an autocannon shell, the squad still jogging forwards. He saw one of the chaos marines take a shot, firing his own lasgun. The heavy gun bucked in his hands as a scarlet beam lanced through the air towards the heretic soldiers. The Skitarii in his squad began to sprint. They were torn apart in a strom of bolter fire, blood splattering the ground around them and slowly boiling away.

Through this carnage, strode a man who looked more machine than that. He watched as the heavy gates clanged shut, the gun servitors in their alcoves above them opening fire with twin linked heavy bolters, cutting down more Mechanicum infantry. Arcs of electricty crackled up and down his metal arms, up over his smooth metal face. A swarm of mechandrites writhed behind him, sprouting from his back. With a click of his fingers, he sent a bolt of energy at the servitors that were stitching the ground around him with bolts. Turning to the huge plasteel gates once more, he seemed to gesture to the battery of thunderfire cannons behind him. With a mighty concussive stacatto, they fired, the concentrated explosive power turning the heavy thing to slag in moments. Through this, the tech-magos strode, his mechandrites sprouting blades and Las-cutters, electrical discharge frying the ground beneath him.

_______________________________


Beneath the ground, assault drills rumbled. The mechnaicum had used their augury systems to find strains of stable rock within the planets crust. These were wide enough for a drill or two to dig through, then into the huge slab of bedrock that Hive Primaris sat upon. In one of these drills, Magos Lucidia Othellon danced her mechanical fingers over the controls, ancient mechanical keyboards being tapped upon at such a rate that it rivalled a guard drum tatoo. Her Acolytes mulled around her, even as the ranks of Skitarii behind them began to cry out in machine tounge, their words a prayer to the Ohmnissiah to make the coming battle a great and glorious feat of His design.

The tech adepts joined in, their own renditions much smoother than that of the Tech-guard, their mouths altered to speak in Binary. They chattered along, the grinding of the drill and the huge geothermal heat assaulting ears and skin. A Skitarii fell to his knees.

"Defective"

It said quietly, raising its gun to its head and putting a bolt through its own head. Another stopped and stripped the corpse of useful equipment even as the drill broke the surface, the light of the surface pouring in as the huge assault drill broke from the firey cocoon under the ground.

Warlord Atlas was slightly surprised by the outrush of red clad forms, firing lasguns at him and his soldiers.

A simmilar sight was being seen all across the city, six drills in total allowing Skitarii troops access to city. Some attacked shield generators, others armouries, even more attacked the artillery positions. Achairos and the other defenders inside the city had a hard fight ahead of them.

_______________________-


In space, the battle was going badly. The Furious Penitent Had brought itself avbove hte boarded Grand Cruiser, training its weapons on the Emperors Wroth . Sheets of lance and macro cannon fire filled the space around the strike cruiser, its void shields flaring as impacts smashed across it.

The bridge shook as the much smaller cruiser tried to get away from the huge battleship, the imperial vessel launching a swarm of torpedos. They sped towards the space marine vessel, the point defense cannons studded across its surface blowing some apart. But it was not enough. The torpedos impacted with the ships engines and primary generator, effectivley disabling it. The Penitent moved in to finish it, lances training on the bridge when a voice yelled across the vox on all frequencies.

"Dragon requests fox! A planets tears!"

Aboard the bridge of the imperial flagship, adpets scrambled to and fro.

"Incoming anti-ship torpedos, from the surface! Evasive manouvers, evasive manouvers!"

It gave the Wroth's crew time to get to their escape pods.

Bronsk rounded another corner, the air had changed, the threat was palable, like a storm waiting to break. He advanced another 20 strides down the corridor, his stride breaking moments before the corridor ahead exploded in a blinding light. He was thrown backwards, crashing into Temúr, knocking them both to the ground.

Bronsk pulled himself up slowly, las bolts blurred past his head, he smiled as combat stimms flooded his system. Everything suddenly sharpened. He could feel the individual movement of each muscle, he felt totally alive. The rage crashed over him like an avalanche, he charged forward. He ripped guardsmen apart in his wake. Grabbing another wrist and pulling him close, he twisted it around as the man squealed in pain, he swung his chain axe, decapitating him. Killing and maiming, tearing throats out with blood slick hands, he tore threw them, heedless of the warning sigils flashing across his visor. Bronsk swung back around, burying his other hand into another mans throat. He lashed his arm back, ripping his spine out, letting the rest of his body slump to the ground.
Hearing the clatter of grenades against metal, he glanced down at the gore slick floor, lurching forwards as he saw the fragmentation explosives roll past his feet. He crashed into another knot of defenders, crushing ones arm under his tremendous weight. He stood quickly, smashing his fists into the men under him, splintering bone and rupturing organs. Rauth shouldered past him, protecting Bronsk from an incoming salvo of shotgun blasts and plasma shots with his storm shield. Bronsk and his warriors were outnumbered twenty times over, bottled into a dead end, engulfed by a wall of white gloss carapace that seeped forwards. There was no hope of victory, not in these corridors at any rate.

"Prepare for void combat" he grunted into the vox.

Flicking a switch beside his trigger, he leveled his combi weapon at the wall beside him, firing a searing blast of super heated air at the reinforced iron wall. The decompression of air swept the world from beneath him like a tidal wave, gore and bone smeared his visor as he scrambled for some support. Pyriel crashed past him, grabbing onto the rapidly cooling wall, barely managing to keep himself being lost to the abyss. Bodies, both broken and healthy where sucked out, floating out away from the cruiser.

This! This is life! thought Bronsk, as he was slowly dragged out, his armour screeching against the paneled metal floor.

So when will you fire this weapon of yours? demanded the dreadnaught.
"Well sir, if we miss then it's very bad news," Gray shouted over the roar of the dread's weaponry that was busy hammering the tanks.
Well hurry up. If you don't hit the one approaching our position soon, we're not going to have time to see what it can do.

Gray gave a nod to the cultist at the rear of the thing, who nervously pulled a large lever. The thing gave a large twang! as three melta-bombs flew rather ungracefully through the air towards the drill. One landed to the side and exploded, lava erupting where it had been but having little effect. Another glanced from the top armour of the drill but apparently hadn't been set correctly, only exploding when too far behind the drill. However, the last one exploded a short distance in front of the drill.
The drill tried to stop as the lava spurted upwards in front of it, but it had been going at a reasonable speed and was simply too large to stop at all easily. It skidded, the front end of it slowly leaning down the crater while the crew tried to clamber out of the back, hoping to get it toed out before it touched the red-hot molten rock.

Well, that should do the trick. The dreadnaught looked round at the bow, which had been shattered by the force of the shot.
"At least it didn't malfunction in a worse way," Gray commented. "It did its job, although it's a shame it couldn't bring down any more."

Kain reloaded his auto-cannon and marched forward, spreading his fire of acidic shells that dissolved the forms of those Skittari who where caught in the blasts. He smiled as he fired of more and more rounds into the crowd of advancing augmented humans, watching as metal limbs and bundles of flesh went flying in all directions as he poured more fire into the crowd. He looked down at his ammo counter and watched as it reached a flashing crimson zero, causing him to fling the Auto-cannon over his should and retreat while making precise shots with his Bolt pistol, which would have to do until he could find more ammunition. The Skittari's fire increased, breaking through his armour and searing his flesh, but Kain refused to give in.

Lord Atlas was last to commit into the fight, nearly two squads of drop-troopers had appeared from the ruins and opened a hellacious amount of fire, three melta guns opened fire and a hidden heavy stubber shot across the crossway of the street, the berzerkers fought like mad dogs hacking apart men left and right, Lord Atlas who saw a open lane bolted across the street as all weapons available attempted to target the Gargantuan beast, with one massive arcing sweep a drop-troooper's head was sliced through like wet paper, his head skittering down the rubble and blood spattering on his former comrades. In one effective thought Lord Atlas activated Hellscream, his plasma weapon built into his helm. A massive burst of plasma burnt through the remaining two drop-troopers in the rubble.

A loud percussive Krak went off near Atlas, as shrapnel tore into his chest plate and blood started pouring out in copious amounts blasting him off his feet and back onto the rubble pile right outside the hidden stubber nest. His vision was fading, seeing Xathros run over too pick his Lord up, but stopping short and falling next to Atlas as a gigantic hole in his chest melted away from a melta gun.

Without warning or knowledge a swathe of hard rounds and las fire streaked across the street, as nearly 130 cultists charged the imperial forces with Lorrik and the remaining berzerkers. Making short work the blood ran strong through the street, as imperial and chaos forces tore into each other like wild animals. in the after math Atlas had managed to finally stand, his blood clotted and most of his balance regained.

These humans, were fierce though Lord Atlas. 'Cultists' and a huge cell at that, nearly a hundred with scrapped weapons, auto-guns, lasguns, pistols and the works stood looking at him as a God. One a tall, thick set man with a huge workmans axe looked at him and began speaking.

'My Lord please accept us into your service and we will give our lives and deaths to Khorne.'

'It....is done..' the words seems to be choked as they fought to get out of the Berzerkers blood drenched chest, looking down at the sanguine ally where a squad of 30 drop-troopers and nearly 20 dead cultists. The greatest loss however was dear blood-brother Xathros and Lochtos, murdered by a melta blast and felled by a lucky stubber shot.


'K...hain....' Panting heavily, as his blood boiled and temper flared.

'This is Kain, report your status.' -replied a scrapped voice through the vox.

'Xathros......Dead.. Imperials Dead....' - the Berzerker Lords voice was choppy as Kain could hear the mind behind it trying to piece together what he was trying to say. Pondering for a moment Kain thought of his best way to use Berzerker and his forces.

'Skulls for the skull throne blood brother. We require you at the generator as soon as possible there are skulls to be taken.'

Silence took the Vox-channel for a moment, Kain prayed to the dark Gods he had chosen correctly his words.

'DEATH TO THE FALSE EMPEROR!' shouted the war god. Kain sighed a relief after cutting the channel, perhaps he could use this ploy if he did it carefully.

Lord Atlas and Gladiator group 666 stormed off too the shield generator where there would be skulls to be claimed and blood to be spilt.

The scene unfolding at the gate in the distance was overshadowed by the howls  of cultists and barking of Autopistols and heavy stubber fire. 
The sight of robbed Skitarii Soldiers and their servitor fodder had suddenly filled the sights of the nightlord's helm. He could hear their flawlessly maintained mechanics lowly hum and grind into the nearby cultists who gasped and clutched their weapons in a torrent of blood and rounds, few even lashing out with their mechadendrites viciously ripping and tearing into branded cultist flesh.  curses and shouts of both fear and hatred sounded off in rapid succession along with their weapons, The unorganized rabble falling back from the sudden emergence of the enemy. 
"auto-cannons" Rygar called lowly over Vox.
Tolbac and Rygars seasoned battle-brother took position at opposite sides of the building overlooking the incoming force and began their offensive, rounds began raining down atop the Skitarii, servitor and cultist unlucky enough to still be alive within their immediate area. 
Rygar took to the stairwell as he barked commands to his men threw private Vox-channel. The nightlord's carrying missile launchers and heavy bolters took chase, those with missile launchers stopping one floor below their previous position as the heavy bolters followed Rygar.
Rygar got more than mid way down before he leapt from the stairwell, the loud pounding of his charging feet shook the floor as shells and discarded edged weapons rattled and bounced with each step. He leapt from the 'window' a giant hole in the wall, his massive form slamming into the street knocking back the cultist as if they were caught within the radius of a blast. 
His voice bellowed "Stand your ground filth or I'll kill you myself!" Rygar pointed the gaping maw of his heavy bolter toward the tech-guard enemy and bellowed out heavy bolter rounds tearing into the Skitarii who had reduced a small number of cultist to melted slag with the use of a plasma cannon. His bolts tore into the mechanical form with heated fury watching limbs blow off his foes.

"regroup and attack their left and right flank now!"
The humans scurried away, their moral arguably higher if not moved by the beaten in fear of the Horned marine before them. They parted practically falling over one another trampling newly blown off limbs as they took for cover. Heavy stubbers and las pistols causing a static of weapon fire assaulting what stood left of the indomitable Skitarii. Suddenly Mortars fired taking the ground out from under the machine warriors of the empire of man. 

Rygar was mildly surprised.. He did not think the unorganized lot that lingered around his position seemingly lost as to their cause and place in the defense or offense of the hive would be this well armed. Mortars? He laugh to himself as the sound of Autocannon fire stopped. Obviously ammo was to be conserved at any chance possible even with their reserves on the Thunderhawk. Rygars helmet assaulted him with warning runes before the cries of humans and continuing weapon fire could be heard.
A lumbering Skitarii charged into the sea of cultist ripping, tearing and gauging at them with bladed appendages. Rygar swung around his heavy bolter and fired but to no effect. The Skitarii stared in his direction as the realization sunk into Rygar as Tolbac voxed the obvious to him "the thing has a personal Void shield"

A cultist takes up a shotgun letting loose a close range blast that ripped into it's side taking it's attention for the moment It took to kill the vindictive former guardsmen. Rygar takes the moment to drop his treasured heavy bolter and swing free both his chainsword and bolt pistol and charge. The humans continued to fight what servitors were left to fight as Rygar swung his chainsword clashing with the Hulking Skitarii's melee weapons, clamps with teeth and Lethal blades. Tools Rygar though more suites to other uses until they sung across his armor with the sound of metals clashing. 
A yell of anger later and Rygar had avoided a power thrust of the enemies weaponry and succeeded in a strike of his own severing it's ranged arm. The Skitarii swung around griping Rygars wrist that held his chainblade with the clamp arm it used to squeeze and dismember the cultist. In response the nightlord pressed his bolt pistol into the spine of his mostly mechanical foe letting loose three shots punching holes into it's upper chest. It's grip loosened and Rygar tore the mechanical arm off and away as his chainsword revved and swung into it's neck, the sickening sound of the chain blade ripping threw it's fused flesh and machinery brought a burning pleasure from deep with Rygar to the surface. 
The Skitarii fell to the ground lifeless before taking another bolt to the head, for good measure. "take this.. Inside" he spoke to the cultist nearby.


The Thunderhawk swung back around firing it's twin link heavy bolters in another volley tearing into the enemies that threatened to push atop of Kains current location before darting off. Superficial damage had struck the sides of the Thunderhawk but the real threat, the plasma bolts fired upon them were avoided if only narrowly. "on return" Jorgan  Voxed to his commander.  

Kal'urek looked back at the catapault, a weapon that hadn't been in modern military use for centuries, but the technology was simple and an improvisation should they need it.

He voxed to the Cultist, As I think about it, we can set up a nice barrier. Before the fighting becomes too much of an issue, set up this catapault and fire 2 bombs at those two roads, fire a few rounds, but you should break through with a single volley. I want to funnel any Imperial advances right down that road.

Kal'urek knew that in a pinch they would have the tunnels to use and escape should they need to.

Kain reloaded his bolt pistol, peering over the rubble as he searched the street leading towards the gate for more targets, watching as all around him, Cultists and Skittari battled for dominance. He received the message from Atlas, quickly relaying back his location to the Khornate War-lord as he activated his com;

"I need support here Atlas, this is where we make the stand. If we can keep them from advancing further, then we can win this."

The Iron Warrior quickly rose from the rubble again, and spotted, among the crowd of advancing Mechanicus their leader. The thing was hulking, and bore little resemblance to anything remotely human. It marched forward, towering over it's minions as it moved towards Kain. The Iron Warrior fired off several shots, and watched as they slammed into the massive thing and tore into his form, but the Magos simply continued it's advance. Kain quickly reached for his remaining frag grenades and lobbed the belt towards the machine man. They exploded around the Magos, but it continued to advance, it's form battered, but not destroyed. He realised he need more support, and fast;

"This is Kain, I require support at the cities gate, the enemy forces have breached it and are gaining ground quickly. We must push them back!"

Receiving the message of Kain, Gladiator group 666 charged off, the explosion of several frag grenades rang like a bell atop a tower resounding on a vast plain. Through the city built of brimstone and fire, Gladiator group 666 moved about in such a rapacious manner, butchering every unit of enemies they came across without themselves shedding a drop of blood. foot by foot they carved their way through the hive to Kain. Lord Atlas would get there and he would claim this magos' mechanical skull as a trophy. He would slay everything even the Gods if it meant he'd claim this skull, for there were no more 'worthy' opponents then such as this.

Bounding over downturned statues and blasted ruins Lord Atlas led his war band forward. Over fire and death they advanced, eviscerating every dog who swore allegiance to the rotted imperium of man. Pounding his massive tread onto and overturned column. looking at the sight below him, in a vast courtyard with ramshhackled defenses with gun emplacements and barbed wire, Kain stood surrounded by Imperium forces as the Magos stalked forward, it's poweraxe gleaming like silver in the sun. Surrounded by uncounted foes, Gladiator group 666 spilled forth from a side street with their Berzerker Masters leading the charge.

'BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!!!' roared the titanic warlord, as he charged down the column, skullcleaver whirring as he brought it down in barbaric arcs. A lone guardsman turned to face this war-lord firing off his lasgun on rapid bursts only to see his attempt to stop the Space Marine had been futile, his last thought must of been fear as skullcleaver did it's name justice and carved hollow the thick humans skull, the razored teeth dug deeper and deeper until it finally lodged itself in the low abdomen. With one firm kick, the mangled corpse was tossed like a paperweight off the way of Atlas.

'Brother..... we..... have arrived...' voxed Atlas to Kain.