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A beginning Writer, chronicling the story of the fall of the Rock Lions and rise of the Angels of Wrath.

The Emeregence of Wrath

Chapter One: The Fall

399.m40 Reflection Rain fell down lightly, only slightly disturbing the man as he hunched over the small table. Candlelight flickered fitfully, casting ghostly shadows around the interior of the tent. He could almost feel the spirits of his ancestors watching him as he wrote the next part of his vision for his brothers. To have had the vision at all was a miracle of sorts, given that he had no aptitude for pyskercraft. It had been a long road here. Osis glanced around the tent once more, checking the wind for sounds of intrusion. His ears registered nothing but the sounds of his brothers nearby, resting themselves after the torment of their retreat and the terrible flight through the warp. He glanced up, thinking of the Fury of Pride orbiting the planet. His thoughts slid back without his volition, recalling the events that led them here. Osis breathed deeply, allowing the memory to course through him. He could smell the acidic stink of propellant; hear the explosions and the howls of the dying. Let them come for us, he thought. Let them come and find that their debt has come due. Ending/Beginning Brother Sergeant Osis turned his head at the pinging vox. Again it called his name. “Brother Sergeant?” The voice of the ship’s Captain rang out again. He reached over to the vox by his pallet and pressed the send button. “This is Osis. Report.” “Brother Sergeant, we are coming up on our exit point. Would you please come to the bridge?” Captain Al’Tair had rarely sounded so docile to Osis, usually letting his pride at being given command of the Fury of Pride colour his tone with a smug, almost impertinent air. Osis pressed the vox again, giving a brief “On my way” in answer and roused himself fully. Standing, Osis quickly stretched the fatigue of stillness out of his body, and turned toward the door of his small cell. He glanced left and right to get a feel for the ship, the cold stone walls put in place to honour the chapter to which the vessel was given. He turned to his right and began striding up the companionway for the bridge. Osis noted the stillness of the bridge immediately upon entering. He surveyed the main tactical plot that dominated the vessel’s command section and saw nothing of interest. “Captain? Is there a problem?” Osis asked, glancing around at the almost motionless crew, then at the pale captain. Captain Al’Tair shifted slightly in his command throne before answering. “Of a sort, Brother Sergeant. The sensorium has detected that a massive transition came through the gate just a day before us. I wanted to make sure…” Osis cut him off with a raised eyebrow and said, quietly, “I think that they are reading perhaps the trail of the rest of the Chapter, Captain. Let us rejoin them, yes?” Al’Tair nodded slowly, swallowing at the memory of his encounter with the Sergeant just days before over which of them had mission command. His mandate was the captain of the new Ousiakon, just acquired from Mars and loaded with a company’s worth of new material for the Rock Lion Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes. His position would normally be handled by a Rock Lion who preferred ship combat, but the vessel was new and no Marine captain wanted to miss the Gathering even for something as momentous as a new vessel. The Fury of Pride was beautiful, a master piece of Mechanicus engineering, similar in her lines to the strike cruisers of the Inquisitorial Chapters. Al’Tair only knew of the existence of those chapters because of his relationship with the Rock Lions, and in particular from his mission to retrieve the thirty five battle brothers that were seconded to the Deathwatch ten years ago and Miskalor, the techmarine that had for the last twenty years served with the Mechanicus. As such, Al’Tair knew that he was captain of the ship, but Osis would be admiral until the Marine’s reunion with his Chapter. “Navigation, prepare for translation.” The Captain stated, breathing deeply to dispel the lacewings in his stomach. If there was something wrong, he had almost half a company of Rock Lions on board, and one of the most revered sergeants of the Chapter to lead them. Everything’s fine, he told himself, the brother sergeant is right, it was only the rest of the chapter that… His thought broke as he surveyed the readings on the main screen, seeing the unbelievable, the unthinkable. “Sir?” One of the bridge crew started tentatively. “What is…?” The silence of the bridge was total. Osis stared at the view screen as a statue, not seeming to breathe. In the wide expanse of the system, the Gathering of the Pryde was an event that happened every hundred years, when the Chapter came together as a whole. Each of the company captains would speak of his company’s achievements and tales, updating the whole of the chapter on the company’s actions. New brothers would be selected from the aspirants brought from the training stations, and new armour and equipment divided up. After all organizational matters were finished, the chapter would then break into its individual companies to return to the stations, protecting the sectors of space that they swore to do at the chapter’s inception eight hundred years ago. This was the eighth Gathering.

Osis stared at the destruction. He could make out the different ship designs from autonomic memory engrams placed into his brain two hundred and eleven years ago. His eyes captured the savaged vessels, his composure as stone like at the lion’s head on his shoulder. His registered broken ship and shattered vessel, cataloging the names that he could see. Until his eyes rested on the largest of the wrecks, then he broke. “Throne of Terra preserve me, the Valde Panthera!” Osis hissed, staggering to the main console and leaning. The great battle barge and home Dromon of the Rock Lions lay in a wreckage strewn area, huge pieces missing from her sides. A plasma battery was slowly spinning, loose from the hull where it had been ripped clean. Al’tair noted the extent of the damage to the chapter’s flagship: most of the port batteries destroyed, command spire open to the vacuum, large holes in both port engines. He could see nothing that left him thinking the dromon had power, or even survivors. He glanced at several of the other vessels, the same amount of damage evident. Osis drew in a breath that sounded as if he was drawing in all the air from the bridge. Osis turned slowly to the command throne where Al’Tair sat stunned.

“Captain, prepare shuttles. Several of them. We’re going aboard.” Osis composed himself quickly, shifting his jaw slightly to activate his vox implant “Rock Lions to shuttle bays immediately, briefing in 5. Armed and in fury, Brothers.” Osis heard several surprised acknowledgments before shifting his implant off. He turned to Al’Tair. “Captain, prepare this ship for battle immediately. We do not know if those responsible are still here, and we may need a swift departure.” Al’Tair turned his pale gaze off the screens to the Space Marine. “By your orders, Master, we will give ourselves with fury.” The Captain gave the ritual response to a senior Rock Lion, for the first time showing the utmost respect to the sergeant. “Our Ousiakon will do as you require, Sir.” Osis nodded gravely, noticing the focus of the man and appreciating it. He turned to leave, and said over his shoulder, “With fury, Captain, the Fury of Pride will be our savannah.” The captain nodded slowly, hearing the ritual acceptance of his role as head of the Rock Lions naval force. Osis ran to the shuttle bay, stopping only to grab his boltgun and chainsword from his cell. He checked the loads of the Deathwatch boltgun, gifts to him and his brothers for the service they had done for the last ten years, knowing that they would be called again. He selected the metal storm rounds, knowing that aboard ship they were most effective against lightly armoured raiders. He assumed that…No, I must make no assumptions, he reminded himself, reselecting regular bolter rounds. He thundered his way into the bay, noting that the other thirty five brothers came to attention with a thud of boots on the deck, already organized into demi-squads according to how they had fought for the Deathwatch. Each still had their armour coloured in the black livery of the Deathwatch, their left pauldrons and arms showing the silver Inquisitional insignia of that Chapter of brothers. The rock brown of their parent chapter showed on the right, their boltguns at the ready.The exception was Miskalor, whose deep red armour stood rock still next to the brothers he hadn’t seen in twenty years. “Brothers, we face crisis.”Osis began as soon as he cleared the door. “Our chapter’s vessels lay in ruins with no sign of our Pride answering hails.” Osis could tell by their demenour that the assembled Lions were confused and shocked. Brother Kilar spoke first, tentatively,” Brother, are you certain? Our Pride has so many ships…” Kilar trailed off at the look on the Sergeant’s face. “There is no mistake, Brothers. The Valde Panthera lists in ruins, her decks shattered. We are going aboard to find answers. Who did this? Do any of our brothers survive? Deploy by squads as you are and find our brothers. Bring any survivors here. We will not allow our Chapter to die. The Emperor would not forgive us if we did.” Osis looked around at his assembled squads. “Brother Haldor, bring your squad with me to the Valde Panthera. The rest of you choose a vessel and get there quickly. Report as soon as you can.” Osis nodded once to Haldor and turned to run into one of the prepped shuttles that the Fury had readied. “To the Valde Panthera, Pilot!” He snarled, knowing that Squad Haldor was aboard and ready. Osis had been made a brother of the Rock Lions on his twenty fourth birthday, one of the youngest to be made a full battle brother in the Chapter’s history. He had served his time in Squad Faldon, a tactical squad of the fourth company for seventy years before his promotion to sergeant. He had commanded Squad Osis for forty years before his promotion to the first company and his receipt of tactical dreadnought armour for his actions on Otheto. He had been raised to squad sergeant in the first company twenty years after that. As Sergeant of Squad Osis, he’d commanded his terminators in hundreds of boarding actions, paving the way for his brother Lions of the Fourth to take their positions and mop up any survivors. There had been few of those over the years. Osis’s squad was as efficient as any Captain of the Lions could hope for, killing with the fury of the Emperor. For the last ten years he’d been the senior Lion seconded to the Deathwatch to serve with those brothers against the incusions of foul xenos as the Inquisition saw fit. His power armour had been with him the entirety of his two hundred eleven years, but he found himself missing the bulk of his Terminator armour that he had left with the Chapter’s artificers upon leaving. He idly wondered about it as he watched the Valde Panthera coming closer. The pilot of the shuttle moved slower than Osis wished, but the Sergeant grudgingly held his impatience in check, recognizing the pilot skill of jinking past the debris of some of the many broken ships. “Two minutes, Sir. The automated systems have recognized us and we are landing in port bay three.” The pilot said, not turning to address the Marines, watching for debris instead. “With fury, brothers.” Osis hissed, moving to stand by the door of the shuttle. The shuttle landed softly, belaying the appearance of the flight bay’s damage. Osis lead the Rock Lions out onto the deck, each automatically spreading into an over watch stance once off the shuttle. “Here!” Brother Laetris called, running quickly to the bay’s open hatch. The rest of the squad followed, coming up to the corpse Laetris had found. Osis surveyed the damaged to the dead Lion’s armour critically, noting the fire pattern. “Heavy bolter; He was hit seven times, brother.” Gorthalion, the squad’s heavy gunner, observed aloud. Gorthalion hefted his heavy bolster and began looking around the rest of the bay. “Come brothers. Our answers are on the bridge, I hope.” The Sergeant headed off into the familiar lair of his chapter, seeing the damage done in the blast holes of the walls, watching for any others of his Pride. Ten minutes of moving cautiously had found the squad at the main hold, half way to the bridge from their entry point. The squad stared in horror at the carnage around them, the broken bodies of their brothers mixed with the dead of another chapter. “The Stone Hawks?” Brother Haldor asked, kneeling down to move the arm of a dead Hawk to see his chapter marking clearly. “Brother, some of these men are Stone Hawks. What are they doing here? Their Chapter was last met sixty five years ago. Would we have invited them?” “No, brothers, we did not”, a soft voice answered Laetries from the other side of the hold. Osis looked to the voice and realized that he was beyond horror. His Master, the Master of the Pride, Dor Tahelion, sat slumped against the steps across the room. Blood wept out of the rents of his armour and his normally dark face was pale from his wounds. Osis and squad quickly picked their way across the slaughter to their leader. “Master, may we help? Gorthalion, overwatch. Haldor, help me.” The two marines worked to make the ancient Chapter Master more comfortable. “Bah! Enough of that, lads. My day will be done whether or not I sit erect.” The old Marine spat, aiming for and hitting a dead Stone Hawk. “They came for the Gathering, they said. Uninvited, but they called the Oath and came. We could not see reason for them to bring so many, but they were our brothers, no? So they came and we began to gather, and they slaughtered us. Unsuspecting. Full of faith and trust we were.” The Master of Lions looked out at the carnage and shook his head slowly. He grimaced and then turned to Osis.”We’re done, lad. They hit every Dromon, Ousiakon, and Trimere. If we have a single ship that’s worthy, I’d be surprised.” “We do, Lord. The Fury of Pride stands ready. We can…” “No, no, nothing to fight. They left us here to die and disappear, given that few know our Savannah. I’ve tried all the vox I can, boy, and no one answers. You must get to someone, Osis, you and your cubs. You must spread the word. The Stone Hawks have fallen. They are damned by Chaos.” Osis sat back on his heels, listening to the words of his Master, this dying man whom he had followed for centuries. Dor Tahelion was legend among the Chapters of the southern edge of the Imperium, both for how long he had lived, and for his ruthless, inspiring manner of leadership. Tahelion was the rock of the Chapter, the first Master of the order, and had formed it with his vision. The iconography, the colours of battle, the chapter’s very speech had been on outgrowth of his guidance. “Listen to me, Osis. Take your cubs. Gather as much as you can. Any vessel that you can recover. Take them and find a safe place to recover. Seek the Emperor’s guidance, boy. Rebuild and avenge us.” Dor Tahelion spoke passionately as always, his voice fading in volume as he spoke. “Eventually, their due will be paid. With fury, Brother.” Dor Tahelion reached to his belt, pulling a set of archaic keys and handing them to the sergeant. “These will give you access to the ship’s armoury, and anything else you need. Hurry, boy. There is no telling the time you have left to you. Save what you can. Get to the Inquisition and report the heresy that has taken place here. Go. Now.” Osis accepted the keys and looked around to the squad. “Gorthalion, take Laetris and Morita and get our Lord to the shuttle. Take him to the Fury and then return here and start gathering everything you can and return it to the shuttle. Haldor, you and Yaedier follow me.” The Marines nodded at their assignments. “Dor Thalion, Lord, rest. Soon we will get you back on your feet.” The Chapter’s Master nodded weakly and lay back. Osis gathered Yaedier and Haldor to him and began moving towards the aft of the ship. “Haldor, take Yaedier and get to the bridge, get me a status report as soon as you can. See if the Valde can be moved.” Marines acknowledged and moved off at once, purpose their focus. “All Rock Lions, report.” Osis called over the voxnet, waiting for reports of the others. “Brother Sergeant, this is Kilar. We are aboard the Justificant. We have found 3 brothers alive, thank the Emperor, and the rest of the Sixth company. They are dead, brother. Brother Apothecary Trigiliant is one of the survivors. He’s not terribly wounded, and was knocked unconscious during the battle.” “Have him begin recovery of what gene-seed can be saved, Kilar. Begin stripping intact armour and weapons from our brothers and return whatever you can to the Fury. Make as many runs as you can.” Osis lightened his step for a moment at the news of the apothecary’s survival. At least the future of the chapter was not a forgone conclusion at this point. He walked to the doors of the Armoury, and searched the keys for the correct one. Having never been in possession of these before, he went through several before finding the key. Just as the doors began to open, Osis heard the vox crackle and then brother Hirst’s voice filled the silence. “Brother Sergeant, this is Hirst.” The low, slow voice of the veteran marine conveyed an angry tone. “We have finished our search of the Minotaur.” “Go ahead, Hirst.” “Brother, there are no survivors from the ninth company. None. Even the servitors are dismantled. But, brother, there are bodies here of Stone Hawks, and worse.” “The Stone Hawks have fallen, brother, as our Lord informed us. What could be worse?” “World Eaters, brother. There are bodies of the World Eaters on board.” Osis paused before the mantel of the armoury, breathing slowly to banish the hate that suddenly filled his vision. Traitorius Extermius. The words filled his mind with rage, the age old title of the original Legions to abandon the Emperor. World Eaters, he thought, bringing the specifics to mind. The Rock Lions had the good fortune to not have to had dealings with traitors much. The Second company had a tale of coming across a group of Iron Warriors fifty three years ago. The Seventh had a part in the Gothic War, bringing their mighty Dromon, Hunter of Heresy against some of Abaddon’s traitors some years back. But World Eaters, thought Osis. World Eaters are the worst kind of traitors. Fools that now reveal in the power the Emperor granted them. The Rock Lions took the abilities and gifts given to them as precious things, never to be taken for granted, and never to be misused. The World Eaters and their berzerkers were antithema to the Rock Lions code of honour. That told Osis much about the fall of the Stone Hawks, who had always been a bit brutal for the Rock Lions’ sensibilities. “Acknowledged, brother. Continue as ordered.” Osis said, slowly beginning his trek once more. He looked around the armoury carefully, and found the first of what he sought. His gift, his being, standing in it’s cradle awaiting his return. Osis looked the ancient suit of tactical dreadnought armour over carefully, seeing the places the artificers and techmarines had repaired since last he saw it. At once, he notice the newest battle honor gifted him, knowing that he would have been presented it at the Gathering. The iron cross hanging off the necklace around the gorget of his armour was beautiful, it’s gold metal reflecting the turquoise of the gem setting. Osis bowed his head briefly at the sight, knowing the honour done him. As he raised his head again, his vox blurted to life. “Brother Osis, this is Al’Tair. Our astropath has informed me of an impending arrival in the warp.” Osis raised his head sharply, clenched his jaw tight and responded. “Be on your guard, Captain. We will be conducting salvage operations as quickly as possible.” “As you command, my lord.” Came the reply. Osis made a quick decision, and began tearing off his power armour. As piece by piece clattered down to the floor, he searched the area. His eyes lit upon an ancient set of lightning claws gifted to the chapter by the Mechainus at the chapter’s inception. They were beautiful, relics from the Great Crusade, and borne by a chapter long since extinct. The Mechanicus had recovered them on a world outside the Cadian Gate, restored them, and presented them to the Rock Lions as a symbol of the Mechanicus Support. Ten minutes after making his decision, Osis stood proudly in the armoury clad in his terminator armour, the relic lightning claws slowly clenching with the movment of his hands. Osis then began searching the armoury again, finding the servitors that he needed. With a quick command, the eight of the half human, half machines lurched to life and looked at him. “Gather everything and take it to bay nineteen port. Quickly.” The servitors bowed and began to quickly assemble the remaining suits of armour, weapons, and other trophies of the Chapter. Osis watched one gather his power armour and weapons onto a cart and push it out the gate. He shook his head slightly, then triggered his vox. “Haldor, report.” “Brother, the Dromon is dead. There is nothing we can do to restore even partial drive capacity without a corp of Techmarines. Most of the bridge is in shambles. We have found the Admiral, dead. The rest of the bridge crew is the same, and we have found several bodies of our brothers here, also dead. Yaedier and I have stripped them of all intact wargear, and are moving what we can to the bay.” Osis glanced at the chrono set into the wall.” Very well, Haldor. I’ve set the surviving servitors here to move our treasures to the bay as well. Regroup there.” Osis began moving as quickly as he could, taking the corridors at a run. With minutes he reentered the main hold, stopping once more to look around the carnage of his Chapter, seeing the few bodies of the Stone Hawks that were killed. He began checking each Lion he came to, searching desperately for survivors to bring with him. To his surprise, he found one. Laying amidst the dead, brother Jorgen, a veteran like himself, opened his eyes at the sound of Osis’s footsteps. He didn’t speak, staring at the terminator armoured form balefully. “Rest easy, brother. We will get you healed.” Osis said, a weight of doom lightening from his heart that he hadn’t noticed. Jorgen nodded slowly, a grim smile crossing his lips. “Throne it’s good to see you, Osis. Help me up. One of my legs seems to have gone traitor as well.” Osis remembered Jorgen well from their past battles together. Jorgen was a jokester, and a furious fighter in the First company. His recounting of the slaughter of an Ork invasion on Hedyor in the eight station was a tale that always had the brothers laughing, and was told frequently when brothers gathered for tales. Osis reached down and gripped his brother’s arm, pulling him up to stand on his left leg. Osis looked at Jorgen’s right, damage from a chainsword having almost ripped the limb off. “Yes, the bastard almost got me. Then I bit his arm off” Jorgen said, grinning the same grim smile Osis had seen. The two moved as quickly as they could, Jorgen letting Osis take almost all his weight as they moved towards the shuttle bay. “What ship survived, Osis?” Jorgen asked to cover the faint pain of his leg. Osis knew that Jorgen was in more pain than he would admit, even with the drugs his armour would be pumping into his system. “A new Ousiakon, the Fury of Pride. She was our way here. Her captain is capable, I think, if a little full of himself.” Osis said. Jorgen laughed a bit. “Brother, you think that of everyone that has self respect and isn’t a Lion. My guess is that he’s more than capable, and probably has to maintain his ego to keep from feeling as if you think he’s incompetent!” Osis smiled at the thought, knowing that his approach to anyone outside of the Astartes was called arrogance amonst the Chapter. He was about to reply when his vox woke up again “Brother Osis, we have contacts.” Al’Tair’s voice announced. “Seven of them, and two are very large, possibly Dromons. They are not responding to our hails. I’ve ordered battle stations. How long will you need more?” Osis thought quickly. “Al’Tair, how long before the contacts are in combat range?” there was a pause before Al’Tair responded. “Brother, it depends. They are currently on the other side of the gathering from us. They will be in position to hit any of the wrecks in about half a day.” Osis stopped briefly, resettling Jorgen on his arm. Jorgen looked at Osis closely. “Stay where you are, Al’Tair.” Osis switched channels. “Lions, we must hurry. Unknown contacts approaching. I want all teams back on the Fury in eleven hours. In six hours, I want a survivor count. Acknowledge.” The replies came back as Osis moved down the corridor quicker, half dragging Jorgen in his haste to get back to the shuttle. They entered the hold to discover the shuttle settling on its gear, followed by two of the Fury’s Arvus lighters, small pattern cargo shuttles. Osis thanked the Emperor for the thinking that brought them into play. Too small to carry the more than 3 or 4 of the Lions themselves, the lighters were perfect for the recovery of the Chapter’s equipment. He saw the servitors bringing in another load of the Chapter’s treasures, more suits of terminator armour, and a cartful of storm bolters still in their crates. Jorgen looked around long enough to say “Well, this is nicely done.” before passing out. Osis lowered him to the floor gently, and stood again. Haldor and Yaedier entered the bay behind him, with Yaedier looking Osis up and down.”Wise choice, Brother Sergeant.” Yaedier commented before moving the items in his arms to a pile. Osis looked again, and saw the pile of usable equipment painfully small. The door to the Shuttle opened and Gothalion stepped out. “This is our second run, Brother Sergeant!” He called to Osis. The Servitors immediately started moving the carts toward the shuttle. Gorthalion waved at them. “Not this one. Take those to the lighters!” The servitors immediately changed direction as the ramps in the rear of the smaller craft began to cycle open. Yaedier and Mortia came over to Jorgen and began moving him to the shuttle. “Keep up the efforts, brothers. We have a deadline now” Gorthalion nodded. “We know, Osis. Kilar reports finding more survivors on the Imperialis Lioness. We had found a few here too.” Haldor and Laetris had cleared the pile of equipment off the deck, and came over to stand by the rest of the Lions. “I’m going back to search for more survivors. Gorthalion, you and Laetris continue the salvage operation. Make sure we have ammo for those storm bolters as well. Use the servitors when they are done clearing out the armoury. We must hurry, Brothers. Time is against us.” ******** ********* Al’Tair watched the tactial plot carefully, aware that the unknowns were moving into a combat formation early. He once more checked the threat board, yet their classification still eluded his cognitors. Al’Tair clenched his jaw, pushing down the feeling of helplessness that burned in his chest. He knew the importance of what Osis and his men were doing. Al’tair had stood agast when they had brought the body of the Chapter Master Dor Telion aboard. Apparently, the great leader had dies on his way to the ship. Al’tair had bowed his head in respect and honour as the battle brothers had carried the body past him on their way to the apothacarion. Now, he watched as the various shuttles and lighters danced between the wrecks and the Fury, knowing that time was running out. Knowing that his duty was paramount to the survival of the Chapter that he had served so long. Knowing the God-Emperor was watching over them, and Al’Tair still felt helpless. “Sir, the contacts are breaking into two groups.” Al’Tair looked at the tactical plot again, seeing the same thing as his first officer. Al’Tair stared for a moment more and determined,” They are moving into a containment pattern. We’re going to have to clever to get out of this.” He continued with his pacing, hands locked behind his back. Static pulsed quietly from the active vox speakers, waiting for the voices to cross the void and bring them to life. Al’Tair had done all he could. The gun batteries were manned, armed, and unmasked. Torpedoes were readied. The void shields were on a hair trigger, down now so that the small ships could come and go, yet primed to go up in seconds. The bombardment cannon in the prow was also readied for anyone foolish enough to approach head on. He had a full complement of brand new thunderhawk gunships on board as well, but no pilots for them. Al’tair had been serving the Rock Lions for decades before his appointment to the Fury of Pride. He had commanded the Trimere Vengeance before his promotion, having fought her with skill for twenty years. Al’Tair had served on Ouisakor class ships before, and knew that the name of the ships were different for others. Pentoconter for destroyer, Trimere for frigate, Ousiakon for strike cruiser, and Dromon for battle barge, the names the Rock Lions had given their craft perplexed him, for he had never heard of these names before. Now they were as natural to him as his dark brown uniform, but the look on the face of the Mechanicus liaison when he had called the Fury an Ousiakon had reminded him of the strangeness of it all. “Classification, Sir!” the first officer called out, breaking the captain out of his thoughts. He hurried over to the threat board and watched as one of the large blips became the symbol for a vessel. An enemy vessel, according to the cognitor, and a vessel known to it. Al’Tair felt his blood quicken as the designator of a Retaliator class grand cruiser appeared in place of the dot of light. Al’Tair flinched slightly. The enemy ship outclassed his by an order of magnitude in size, and had the capability to launch fighters. Al’Tair turned. “Sensorium, scan for enemy fighters. Power up the turrets and let the crews know to keep their scopes open.” He barked. He turned back to the threat board in time to see the other largest blip turn into another designator. This time, Al’Tair’s blood ran cold. “Second flagship designated as the Reaper of Souls, Desolator class battleship.” The servitor attached to the board spoke in a monotone as it laid out the Fury’s doom. Al’Tair moved to the vox “Brother Sergeant Osis, this is the Fury, respond please.” Several seconds of static squealed until Al’Tair heard the sergeant’s voice. “Go ahead, Fury.” “Sir, Tactical has identified the two largest ships coming. Suggest you wrap up operations immediately and return to the ship.” Al’Tair tapped his foot as he waited for the response. He knew that the Fury of Pride stood a chance against the Retaliator, but against the Desolator, there was less than a chance. More like, he thought, there is all the chance in the universe that we’re going to meet the Emperor soon. The speakers squealed again “Received, Fury. All craft are ordered to return immediately” Osis’s calm voice did nothing to sooth the feeling of doom that settled on Al’Tair’s heart at realizing the Fury was likely dead. If we can’t get everything back on board in an hour, we have no chance at all. No wonder the fleet had been killed, he thought as he climbed into his chair. If this is just a portion of what they brought, it’s a wonder there’s wreckage left for us to find! “Helm, plot an intercept course for the majority of the shuttles. Prepare the landing bays for hot landings, and then plot us a way to the jump point as quick as you can.” Al’Tair toggled a switch on his chair and spoke again. “Jervik? Double check the guns are set and the turrets active. We have problems coming.” “Aye, Captain”, came the reassuring voice of his Master of Ordinance. “The batteries are hotter than an Ulthanian woman, and the turrets just a degree more.” The Ordinance master had been a discipline problem for most of the ship masters in the Lion fleet until he came on his last chance to Al’Tair aboard the Vengeance. The two had gotten along famously once the captain had realized that the undisciplined way of speaking was the officer’s stress coping device. “Copy that, Jervik. Bridge out.” Al’Tair switched off the intervox and set his shoulders as the Fury began moving toward the wreckage. He could see a large number of tiny blinking lights moving toward them, and knew that his decision to meet them halfway was a good one. He wondered if there had been enough time to get the valuable equipment off the fleet. Twelve hours of checking each vessel had brought only thirty six survivors to the Fury, a tiny fraction of the Chapter he had known. Adding to the Deathwatch brothers, that gave Brother Sergeant Osis less than a company of Rock Lions left alive, and most of the survivors were still in the apothicarion recovering. He knew of at least three that had needed limbs replaced. The last time Al’Tair had seen Osis, the Marine had been in a different set of armour, a pattern that he had seen rarely in his time. He knew it was Osis’s own, but the difference in stature the amour provided the Sergeant had given Al’Tair pause. Osis looked more in command then at anytime during the trip to the Gathering. “Sir, the enemy vessels are encircling.” Al’Tair nodded, “Status of all craft?” The first officer checked the status board again then turned to the cargo master. “Last shuttles coming in now, Sir. Sergeant Osis’ shuttle en-route, ETA 30 seconds.” Al’Tair nodded again, not surprised that Osis was the last. “Exec, prepare to fire retros.” Al’Tair barked. “Gunnery officer, prime all cannon to fire, and angle the bombardment cannon to starboard.” The bridge leapt into a fury of activity as the captain spoke, their voices muted against the vox pickups they spoke into. Slowly, the enemy was finishing their encirclement. Al’Tair had seen the tactic before, and knew what it meant. They were going to try and board her. They thought to slaughter the crew and take his ship and corrupt her to be used against his beloved Emperor. Not while I sit here, Al’Tair thought to himself, his clasped hands under his chin as he leaned forward to watch the proceedings. “Sergeant Osis’s shuttle is aboard, Sir. We are showing engery buildups on both enemy capital ships.” “Very well.”, Al’Tair took a deep breath. “Listen carefully. On my first signal, fire all weapons. Port weapons at the Retaliator, starboard batteries and bombardment cannon at the Desolator. On my second mark, fire retro-engines at full burn.” The helm officer nodded,” What course, sir?”

Al’Tair let out a brief, grim smile. “Straight up, helm. Fire them straight up.” The Reaper of Souls was old. Even by the standards of the traitor fleets, he was an old ship. It’s captain smiled at the lone Imperial Strike Cruiser caught in his web. It was new, he saw. Very new, and most likely with as good a crew as the Emperor’s lap dogs could muster. He hated, oh how the captain of the Reaper hated the Rock Lions. Although the Rock Lions didn’t know him, F’Koorr Thisal had been there when they had destroyed his brother ship Harvester of Pain in what they referred to as a minor skirmish. He had been damaged, his engines stuttering as the Harvester had argued his fate with the Astartes battle barge. As he entered the warp, he witnessed the shot that had killed the Harvester, and he had howled in impotent fury. Now, maneuvering past the debris he had made just a day earlier, locking on to the final vestage of his personal foe, Thisal grinned extravagantly. “Prepare to fire the starboard lances. Signal the Bloodlust to fire on my mark.” Thisal knew the other captain would agree instantly. After all, Hurst the Fell had received the grand cruiser as a gift from Thisal a thousand years ago when the previous captain of that ship had ignored an order from him. The two enormous chaos warships pulled parallel to either side of the strike cruiser, both a hundred thousand K out from it. Thisal slowly counted in his head down from thirty two, looking greedily at the ship. He would make a fine addition to the chaos admiral’s fleet. At one, Thisal screamed “Fire”. Then he began to laugh. Al’Tair waited a moment longer. He knew what he was about to attempt was a long shot at best, but he saw no other way out of the trap they were in. “Energy build on both vessels have stabilized, sir. Is the word given?” Anxiously, his first officer gazed at him, refusing to watch the tactical viewscreen that Al’Tair had locked his own eyes to. The captain shook his head lightly, ignoring the tension in the room, ignoring the sweat on his brow, and decidedly ignoring the enormous form of Sergeant Osis standing just at the edge of his vision. In a low voice, Al’Tair had explained his dilemma and solution to Osis once the marine had come on to the bridge. Osis had simply nodded and taken up a position just to the side of Al’Tair’s throne. He hadn’t said a word the entire time past his initial “Status?” Al’Tair’s count reached thirty and he spoke quietly, his voiced pitched to cut through all of the bridge noise. “Fire.” The Fury shook slightly as every weapon in is arsenal screamed defiance at the Chaos abominations. A second later the sensor tech yelled “Both enemy ships firing!” and Al’Tair spoke again, “Ignite the engines.” Now the Fury really shook. The energies unleashed by the chaos warships into space were beyond the understanding of most creatures. Lance beams crossed the intervening space at almost the speed of light; plasma bursts flowing much more slowly. The fire from the two chaos vessels came at the Fury of Pride, smashing through her shields, ripping apart the decks that had taken Mechanicus craftsmen decades to make. They smashed apart bulkheads, armour, weapons, and bodies; they ignited the oxygen in the hallways and incinerated years of delicate motifs praising the Omnissiah. The damage was catastrophic, ending a vessel that had been earmarked by Mars to be on the forefront of the fight against the alien, the heretic, and the traitor. At least they would have if the Fury had stayed put. Thisal howled with laughter at the thought of all that power coursing toward the enemy. He dimly heard his crew yelling something at him, but his glee at having wiped the Rock Lions out of the universe kept him deaf for long moments. His mirth cut off abruptly as his battleship, once one of the most powerful ships in the universe, suddenly lurched to port. Lurched hard. Thisal gripped his throne armrests and immediately demanded to know what was happening. When the report came from the helm, Thisal whipped out his bolt pistol and shot him. Not only had the warp damned cruiser fired first, it had barely moved out of the way of both the Bloodlust’s and his own fire. Now both ships had hit each other in addition to the weapons fire from the Imperial cruiser. “Starboard shields down, damage to gun decks. We’re on fire from bulkhead eight forward to two aft.” Thisal heard the report with his teeth clenched, seriously thinking of killing the gunnery officer giving him the report too. “Get me the Bloodlust! Find out her damage! NOW! Have the rest of the fleet kill that thrice damned, Emperor worshipping, pig bellied, bastard of a ship!” Thisal was spitting at the end of the tirade, whipping his head back and forth to watch his orders being followed. A pale slave came forward, shaking at both the presence of the captain and the smoking bolt pistol in his hand. “Sir, report from the Bloodlust. According to them, their bridge was hit. No survivors, according to what they told me. Also, they have lost power briefly to their engines.” Thisal shot the slave too. Just because, really. Now he had to hope that he could salvage this. “Move us into position and fire the boarding parties. Do. It. Now.” Al’Tair knew he had to make the best of his brief respite and had ordered full thrust under the debris field of the Rock Lion fleet

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