The infinite blackness of space, punctuated only by the cold glimmer of distant stars bore mute witness to the approach of the ship. A black, near-frictionless hull that absorbed all light slipped silently through the Solar system. Ahead, bathed in the light of a class III Sun lay the pearlescent sphere of Maerzen Prime.

Inside the ship a chronometer blinked on, bathing the cockpit in crimson light. The silence inside was broken by the deep rumble of the craft as it entered the planets thermosphere. Jarred by the turbulence, lumen-strips flickered above the six bodies hunched in descent cradling. Eight minutes, activation runes lit up across six bio-feeds. Stimulant-filled tubes drained as their ice-blue contents coursed into the veins of the marines. Five minutes, thirty-two seconds. The marines awoke with a jolt as neurostimulants de-activated their Sus-an implants. Four minutes, inertia-fluid started pumping into the chamber. One minute, inertia cycle completed, descent cradling mag-locks bolted. Twenty-three seconds, retro-boosters ignited. Five seconds, four, three, two, one…

The ship crashed into the ocean, throwing up a cloud of super-heated steam as it disappeared below the waves. Protected by the inertia fluid the marines waited for their descent to slow. The hull groaned under the increasing pressure of the water outside, pneumatics hissed and cradles disengaged. The six marines remained seated as their internal helmet feeds finished broadcasting their mission objective.

Activate the Ark

Golden sunlight poured through the tranquil glade, illuminating the verdant overgrowth swallowing the ruined temple courtyard. A hunched figure sat in the shadow of a gnarled whipvine, impassively watching the native creatures as they scurried about the complex.


“Dat’s it boss, right ova dere’’


The figure looked back in the direction of the voice. Twelve Kommandos lurked in the gloom, waiting patiently for something, anything to happen. A squig-hound squealed impatiently and chomped at its leash, begging to be set loose upon the furries populating the grounds. Gruul yanked harshly, choking it into submission

“Shuddup ya whinin’ gak”. Two yellow eyes glowered back at Gruul. “So, ‘ow does dis blue stuff work Raggot? Looks like bleedin’ elf blood and I ain’t touchin’ it”

Raggot snarled back “Afraid are ya? You’re like a fuggin’ umie you are!”


The hunched figure turned round and aimed a long, vicious blade towards the squig. The beast cowered before realising what the gesture meant. Gruul unleashed the squig, who, sensing freedom, bared its teeth and hissed at Gruul before running off into the clearing. Within seconds there was gnashing and squealing as the squig sent the furry things scattering into the undergrowth. It followed, tearing up plants and kicking up stones in its pursuit. There was a splash and all went silent.


Gruuk swore and jumped out into the clearing. “Frakkin’ useless squig, cost me five teef and do naff all! Come ‘ere ya bleedin’ waste ov…” There was a thump and shook the ground, followed by another thump, and another that picked up in pace. Gruuk started to turn to run back when the trees parted, smashed aside by a titanic red beast with lurid yellow eyes. It skidded to a stop, reared up above Gruuk and roared, flailing its useless, miniature forearms before chomping down on the fleeing Ork. Gruuk was torn in half and blood splattered the glade.


Beneath the whipvine, the hunched figure allowed itself a tooth-filled grin.

They welcomed them with open arms. The battered Imperial 103rd fleet limped towards the orbital docking stations high above the glittering jewel of the planet below. The fleet had suffered serious damage both in it's break from geo-stationary orbit above the forgeworld of Caen and in its flight across the void to the relative safety of the agriworld Pegasus.

Lord General Militant Denne watched from his command throne as the rag-tag assortment of ships made preparations to dock and repair. A grievously battered hulk that listed starboard already had fire-fighting craft from the Pegasus shipyards swarming around it, spraying a fine mist of coolants into the raw wounds of the vessel.

How had it happened? The battle had seemed to be going in their favour, the cultists pushed back towards the walls and crushed as the Imperial war machine rolled forward. Men, good men, heroes of the Imperium trod over the charred corpses of the filth - a titanic blue Reaver had fallen as the super-heated metal of its leg buckled from a plasma cannon. A cheer had gone up from the men, sensing that they were close to breaching the walls. The sky turned a sickly yellow and static charged the air. A warm wind that reeked of burning metal picked up and blew towards the citadel as if the fortress were inhaling like some gargantuan beast.

and then it stopped.

All was silence. The heretics stood watching, waiting. With the tortured scream of a million voices rapidly growing to a crescendo a blinding white light speared the heavens. Storm clouds rolled away revealing the stars above in time to reveal a glittering explosion. The ground lurched and the General felt sick as the concussive wave reached downwards towards the figures on the plain.

Hands reached out to steady him as he swayed, lips moved, a look of concern from the vox operator. Disorientated the General tried to focus.

''... They.... Its the Monarch..... They're gone Sir!''

Just like that, The Monarch, a Dictator class fist of metal was gone.

'Lord General' Dennes eyes focussed and he released the grip upon the throne. 'Lord General, the Planetary Governor welcomes you and requests a meeting at your earliest convenience, they have something you may like to see'

Pariah. Far too many metal-tipped feet clacked across the marbled floor. Deviant. Blood-red robes dragged ragged behind the hunch-backed figure. Aberrant. A silvery mechanical arm threaded with sinew reached and turned a dial affixed to the wall. Abomination. The last one made him smile, a cruel grimace wreathed in shadow. The hand pushed, the dial disappeaed into a recess.


Far below in the pit a dull boom sounded, followed by a hiss. Another boom and another hiss. Another, as the pistons of the forgeworld ground into motion. The gears of war ground as the manufactorum awoke from its slumber. Anathema. No, anathema was new. Anathema was one he had chosen.


Ro'han, bane of Wissensturm. Anathema of the Machine God and corruptor. Yes... yes the corruptor. Soon to corrupt more. The fires shall burn hotter with the souls of the damned and the Dark Mechanicum shall rise from the pits of Caen. All was coming to fruition, the forgeworld will march to the drumbeat of a new master and the laughter of cruel Gods.