Big Sister (40k/???)

[al103]

Hmm. Squad of Salamander infiltrators accompanied by one of the Ash Maidens. Their training does seem to be taking them in the same general direction as some of the more... subtle, psywar-oriented legions, like the Alpha Legion and the Night Lords. Which are not promising precedents, come to think of it.

Unlike that two they actually care about people in they schemes and give them choice. And don't just liquidate them when they outlive they usefulness.

[Black Admiral]

Hmm. Squad of Salamander infiltrators accompanied by one of the Ash Maidens. Their training does seem to be taking them in the same general direction as some of the more... subtle, psywar-oriented legions, like the Alpha Legion and the Night Lords. Which are not promising precedents, come to think of it.

The better comparison would be the Raven Guard, since I'm assuming that the Salamanders haven't acquired some of either the Night Lords or Alpha Legion's unpleasant habits (like a complete refusal to cooperate with other Imperial forces unless circumstances mean they've no other choice).

[Simon_Jester]

A fair point, a fair point. I overlooked that; you're right.

[CaptainChewbacca]

Hmm. Squad of Salamander infiltrators accompanied by one of the Ash Maidens. Their training does seem to be taking them in the same general direction as some of the more... subtle, psywar-oriented legions, like the Alpha Legion and the Night Lords. Which are not promising precedents, come to think of it.

Except these are fanatical warriors who hate everything that even remotely SEEMS like Chaos.

[Simon_Jester]

Yes, I know.

The danger to my mind is that even fanatical loyalty can be subverted: look what happened to Fulgrim.

I'm not saying this is a BAD sign, just... of the legions that went down this road, some of the precedents are pretty alarming.

[Academia Nut]

For Scout Initiate Io’seah, life had never been particularly easy, but until this moment he had felt that going from being a courier in Lord Vulkan’s army on Nocturne to being an Initiate in his Salamanders Legion had been a step up. However, as his brothers pulled him out of the sewer he had spent the last two hours crawling through, he knew that his lot in life had not improved quite as much as he had hoped it would.

“Are the pipes navigable, Initiate?” Sergeant Drusus asked Io’seah while handing him a hose to wash down with.

Electing to spray himself down a bit before opening his mouth, Io’seah took a moment to blast some of the foul sludge off his head and face before he replied, “The main ducts should accept a full Battle-Brother with only a little difficulty, but only single file. The smaller ones will only just take a scout… trust me on that one.”

Nodding, Drusus said, “About what we expected for a city this size, so that would be considered ‘good news’ I suppose.”

Soaking his head to try and get all the gunk out of his close cropped hair, Io’seah asked, “I take it that means there is ‘bad news’ kicking around?”

Shrugging ambivalently, Drusus said, “Yes and no. The Gae’ri have determined from their interrogations of the prisoners the probable reason for the rebellion, and it is… well, frankly it is a profoundly stupid reason if correct.”

“I… why does that not fill me with encouragement?” Io’seah asked with a pained expression.

“Because while it means that they will fold easily enough, everyone who dies in the upcoming battles will have done so for very poor reasons,” Drusus replied with a grimace.

“What is the reason then, sergeant?” Io’seah asked.

“Well, apparently around two thousand years ago when this world last lost contact with the rest of the galaxy, the reigning noble was named Eksol and he kept the world from descending into anarchy, and as such he is held in quasi-religious reverence and awe. The thing is that he had very distinctive eye colouration, an almost radiant turquoise green colour, and every noble house after has tried to claim legitimate descent from this Eksol by selectively breeding for this colour. Apparently their entire social hierarchy is organized according to this trait, with eye shape and skin colour playing a secondary determinant. And since the Emperor does not possess this trait…” Drusus trailed off at the pained, stunned look on Io’seah’s face.

“You’re shitting me,” Io’seah stated.

“I really, really wish I wasn’t,” Drusus replied. “In a way, I almost wish that they were a bunch of greedy bastards who didn’t want to pay their tithe, but apparently one of the oligarchs died recently and his reactionary son ascended to power and that switched the ruling council over to open rebellion.”

Turning off the hose, Io’seah stared down at the gaping hole that was the entrance to the sewer and then asked, “Please tell me that our mission will be to assassinate those idiots and I get to use the sniper rifle this time.”

“Sadly that is not part of the current mission profile, and you will have to get in line behind everyone else who has heard the story thus far,” Drusus replied.

Hanging his head in defeat, Io’seah replied, “Yes sir. I will go map out my findings for distribution to everyone else.”

“Excellent. Remember, the First Pillar of Battle is Information, and everything else crumbles without it,” Drusus stated encouragingly.

Finding a quiet work bench in the maintenance section of the hab he and his brothers had quietly taken over with the help of the Gae’ri, Io’seah pulled out a few pieces of flimsiplas and began to sketch out a map of the sewers, drawing heavily on the augmented memory his enhancement as a marine had given him. The other scouts in his squad had been on similar missions mapping out the local underworld, determining the best escape routes for after the upcoming battle.

While his hands went through the precise motions of drawing out the structures drawn from his memories, Io’seah silently muttered the Principles of Warfare as handed down to the Legion by their Primarch Vulkan. He had fought with the invincible Vulkan years ago against the monstrous xenos raiders, and thus he knew first hand the experiences that went into shaping his lord’s ideas on war.

“The First Pillar is Information. Knowledge is power, so guard it closely while stealing it from your enemies. A warrior without information is blind, while a warrior with all the information can choose his targets for the maximum impact. Seek to be the latter while making your foes the former,” Io’seah muttered while he sketched out how the underground pipes connected with each other.

“The Second Pillar is Endurance. A healthy body is well trained and fed, so seek to starve your enemies by stealing their food and protecting your own. A properly maintained weapon is well oiled and has a full magazine, so destroy your enemy’s supply lines while keeping yours safe. A strong mind is even more resilient when backed by others, so slay the allies of your enemies while shielding your brothers. When you control Information, your own supply lines are invisible while those of your enemies are ripe for destruction. When your arms, flesh, and spirit are strong, you are unbreakable,” Io’seah repeated from instinct while he detailed out points where fresh water, electricity, and fuel lines could be tapped for resupply.

“The Third Pillar is Mobility. Speed and manoeuvrability let a warrior choose his targets at leisure, and if a battle turns then he can disengage and return when the conditions no longer favour the enemy. There is no cowardice in tactical withdrawal, no more than it is cowardice to correct your stance in a duel if caught wrong-footed. When you control Information and Mobility, you are everywhere and nowhere at once. When you control Information, Endurance, and Mobility, you are a ghost; ephemeral and indestructible,” Io’seah chanted as he labelled the various tubes with their sizes so that his brothers would know what equipment could fit where without getting stuck.

“The Fourth and Final Pillar is Firepower. If you cannot hurt your enemy, then the other pillars are in vain, but this is also the last thing that must be established, for if you cannot find your enemy, cannot catch your enemy, and have no ammunition then the most powerful gun in the universe is useless. If you have Information and Firepower then you can dole out the perfect amount of punishment to cripple and destroy your enemy without being wasteful. If you have Information, Endurance, and Firepower then you can attack forever. If you have Information, Mobility, and Firepower then every one of your shots will count. If you possess all four Pillars then you can do the maximum amount of damage at your leisure while being untouchable and invincible,” Io’seah continued as the last of the information was put to paper.

Caught in a trance of the litany drilled into him, Io’seah finished the First Principles of War, “Atop the Four Pillars is the Crown of Victory: Fear. Whoever controls Fear in battle is already half way to victory. Control of the Crown requires at least one Pillar, but like a tower the stronger the foundation the more stable it is. A force that controls all four Pillars of Battle and the Crown Victory can fail, but remember well that each conflict requires that the Pillars and Crown be seized anew.”

Light clapping broke Io’seah from his reverie, and he looked over to see his fellow scout Ko’ban standing nearby, leaning against a rockrete pillar with a canary eating grin on his face. “A rousing speech brother, you sounded just like our illustrious Primarch. Personally I am more a fan of the later Principles of War as they expand so much more on what is meant in the First Principles.”

“That is why they are called the First brother, because they are where you start,” Io’seah replied before checking to make sure he had not grown distracted while speaking. Once he was satisfied his accuracy and precision were not fouled, he said, “I take it from your presence that Drusus wants to see me.”

“He wants to see everyone. The local broadcast system just caught fire and the void shields just went up over the city. Our lord just showed up in orbit after loitering in deep space for two weeks while we slipped in system, and that put a bug up the arse of the locals. We probably have an hour or two before we need to be in position,” Ko’ban explained.

“Damn it. We don’t have nearly enough information,” Io’seah muttered while looking over the map he had made.

Pulling out his own pieces of plas, Ko’ban replied, “We have a lot more than the enemy has on us, which will not stay that way much longer. There are too many people around us to not notice our presence for much longer. The longer we stay, the greater our chances of detection, and the greater the chances of mission failure before we even begin.”

Io’seah bowed his head for a moment before he said, “Truth brother. The First Principles only tell you what to seek in battle, not how and how you must often juggle priorities.”

Following his brother, Io’seah found his fellow scouts assembled next to Ko’ban by a large cleared area where a tarp had been laid down and the squad’s weapons set down for final inspection and cleaning. Amongst the ten members of the squad, Io’seah hoped for the purity of purpose that was one of the two sniper rifles, but he knew that Drusus would probably assign those to Zel’wu and Varim since they were better shots. The rocket launcher would either go to X’wiid, who was a bit over eager with explosives of all sorts, or would be hefted by the sergeant himself. Io’seah would probably be given a bolter or one of the shotguns.

Once all of his brothers had assembled, all of them born from the fires of Nocturne but tutored under the experienced Terran warrior that was their sergeant, Drusus said, “You’re all back, good. Our brothers are already getting into their positions in preparation as they do not have the luxury of mobility they do, since their weapons must be in place to fire at any moment should the enemy arrive sooner than expected. You are to all share the information you have gathered and copy out the various maps of the local terrain, above and below ground. When finished and you have memorized all the data, you are to run the copies to our brothers already in position.”

Pulling out a map based upon orbital surveys, Drusus laid it out next to the weapons. The four habs the Salamanders had infiltrated were marked off with dots of green, all surrounded by a sea of red, and with a fifth further into the city marked with an X. The only commonality between the designated habs was the huge elevated roadway that wound its way between the massive residential structures.

Point at the centre of the hive, Drusus said, “All intelligence on the military of Telleros is that they are heavily mechanized, which is not surprising considering their wealth in promethium and that the terrain is flat and perfect for long range tank duels. However, their military has also stagnated over the past two millennia, and become a touch ritualized. All historical records indicate that once a city’s defences have been breached the rulers typically capitulate to avoid the horrors of urban combat. This means that if we try and engage them in open combat, we would be fighting them on their terms, something which the void shields we so thoughtfully installed when we thought them allies would allow them to do with ease. Thankfully, they keep the majority of their military forces in bunkers beneath the core of their cities, partly so they can keep them safe from long range bombardment, partly so they can be used in police actions against their own citizens. Despite declaring their rebellion, they have kept their forces in their bunkers, probably fearing bombardment since they have no orbital assets of their own, or wanting to see where our own forces land so that they can deploy in a massive response rather than spreading themselves thin. Well, the Primarch is going to land our forces so that the enemy will walk into our trap.”

Grinning in a macabre sort of way, Drusus traced his finger along the highway and said, “We thus wish to give the people of Telleros their worst nightmare and turn a tank battle into an urban one. While their military isn’t stupid enough to let us rig the highway for demolition and then drive over it, they are unlikely to look beyond surface impressions of the habs, which was one of the reasons preserving the lives of the civilians we invaded the homes of was so important. Those tanks will be moving in tight parade formation when they pass these habs, which is to say they will be a shooting gallery for Devastator Squads Gaius and Marius.”

Now pointing at the hab marked with an X, Drusus said, “Our own mission is to be the rearguard. We are to hold the doors open for our brothers to escape when the battle inevitably turns against us. We will accomplish this by providing covering fire during the withdrawal, intel on enemy movements and assassinating competent officers… incompetent officers can keep doing their jobs of course.” The last bit got a grim chuckle from the scouts.

Raising his hand, Io’seah said, “I can’t help but notice that you called us the rearguard even though we are further into the city…”

“That is because for this mission the line of withdrawal is into the city. If we are caught out in the open we will be run down by massed armour, while if we go into the city not only will our mobility in comparison to their tanks be superior, but we will count for ten of our brothers out in the open. They cannot let us run around, but they do not have the equipment to deal with us so they will have to us numbers instead, draining troops from the front lines out of proportion to the threat we pose. This means that in the rather likely event that you are separated from the group your orders are to go to ground and attack targets of opportunity more to let your presence be known than to cause damage while attempting to link back up. Survival is the most important concern, but don’t let me find you hiding down the deepest darkest hole when everything is over,” Drusus explained.

“What of the Ash Maidens?” Ko’ban asked.

“They have another mission elsewhere. I’m guessing the Gae’ri have some combination of assassination, sabotage or more information gathering in the works,” Drusus replied with a shrug. Looking over his scouts and seeing no more questions, he then said, “I will be breaking the squad into two fire teams. Team Arbalest will consist of Zel’wu, Varim, X’wiid, Hen’ru, and me. Team Bardiche will consist of Ko’ban, P’shen, Mako, and Nolui with Io’seah as team leader,” Drusus stated, with Io’seah looking rather shocked for a moment before he bowed his head in assent at being given such an honour.

Seeing that everyone had their team assignments fixed in their heads, Drusus continued, “Team Arbalest will be long range fire support and information gathering and will be positioned higher up in the hab for optimal firing lanes. Team Bardiche is anti-assault and will be positioned at road level with the goal of keeping enemy troops from entering the hab in overwhelming numbers. Attacking opportunity targets on the road is permitted, but if you get swamped then your deaths and the deaths of any brothers who could not escape because your presence was absent will be on your heads.”

Io’seah felt like Drusus was speaking directly to him, and just nodded that he would not be an idiot and charge blindly into the thick of battle. Scanning the scouts to see if they had any further questions and seeing none, Drusus said, “Good. You all have a lot of work to do, now get to it.”

Three hours later and Io’seah was crouched in the shadow of a loading dock that was connected to the massive highway, watching as the endless rows of tanks rolled past in companies six broad and twelve deep, banners flying with their liveries and battle honours, and he felt very, very small, the bolter gripped in his hands feeling rather inadequate. Ko’ban crouched on the opposite side of the large door, a bolt pistol and inactive chainsword gripped in either hand, a cocky grin on his face hiding the fear Io’seah knew gripped his hearts. P’shen, by far the best shot in the team, had the other bolter and was lying prone in the shadows beneath a cargo van, while Mako and Nolui had bolt pistols in one hand, their other hand on a grenade on the bandoliers they had been given, and their combat knives waiting at their hips. Out of communication with the other squads, Io’seah was just as in the dark as the enemy as to when the attack would come, but he hoped it would be soon as the tanks rolling past seemed to have no end and he did not want to face any more of them than he had to.

Finally, after what felt like an hour of watching the enemy armour roll past unmolested some decision was made and a lance of blue-white hot energy snapped out from a window four floors above the roadway and slammed into the open hatch of a tank in the middle of the road. The commander standing proudly in the open cupola was instantly incinerated by the beam of coherent light, while the remainder of the energy punched into the interior, reducing key components to slag and cooking off ammunition. The tank shuddered as munitions started to detonate and then catastrophically exploded as the entire magazine and fuel tank went up, sending burning bits of shrapnel into the soft flesh of the dozen other tank commanders out of their armoured shells nearby.

Soon the first lascannon beam was joined by a pair of ravenous multi-melta blasts that swept over closer targets, turning solid armour to liquid in an instant, the mighty war machines slumping over before exploding as the raw energy directed at them cooked off their volatiles through brute force what the las beam had achieved via careful aim. Another lascannon fired off from the opposite side of the road, the heavy weapon in Tactical Squad Xerxes adding its weight of fire to the slaughter. The angle was all wrong, but from his vantage point Io’seah could also see the other prong of the ambush reaping its awful toll on the front of the tank formation.

The confusion in the ranks of the enemy was practically a physical thing that could be touched, and Io’seah watched with grim satisfaction as his senior battle brothers went to work. His eyes widened in shock at the audacity of what he saw when Sergeant Xerxes charged half his squad out of the shadows, plasma pistol in one hand and power claw raised over his head as he and his men charged. With one man carrying a melta and the others with krak grenades ready, their intent was clear. They were going to strike the tanks where their guns could not depress, hitting their rear and side armour point blank with the most powerful assault weapons in the Imperium. Some of the tank commanders popped the hatches they had just shut to grab control of their pintle mounted stubbers, but either their shots pinged harmlessly off the plate of the Space Marines or deadly accurate bolter fire from the brothers still positioned in the cover of the habs cut them down.

Io’seah looked over at Ko’ban, and he could see his brother craving to get into the thick of things during such a glorious battle, but Io’seah shook his head. They did not have the equipment to reliably damage the enemy armour, and they would serve their brothers much better in here rather than risking getting blown to pieces by running out into the midst of the insane firefight.

While three score tanks had to have fallen to the wrath of the Salamanders in a score of seconds, hundreds more remained tightly packed in the kill zone and some enterprising tanker decided that the best way to get the Marines to stop firing was to begin shelling the habs. Thunderous dual explosions broke the air as tanks fired their main guns into the residential structures, blowing entire apartments to dust with each shot. Io’seah had no idea how many of his brothers were slain in the shelling, but he knew that hundreds of civilians had to be dying, especially as the tanks were rather indiscriminate in their shots, seeing targets that were not there, and it made with blood boil. The Salamanders had not started this war and had gone out of their way to minimize casualties during their infiltration, yet their enemy was slaughtering their own people wholesale without giving the same consideration Io’seah and his brothers had.

Up above Sergeant Drusus appeared to have come to the same conclusion that Io’seah had and targeted the first tank that had opened fire with the rocket launcher, the krak round hitting the tank’s top armour right at the point where the turret and the hull met, the shaped implosion charge ripping apart the metal and sending a jet of superheated matter deep into the vehicle. The tank coughed with an internal explosion, and almost comically the cupola was blown off with the chunky remains of the commander shoved along for the ride.

“Well, now they know we’re here, brothers,” Io’seah mentioned laconically to his fellow scouts, and received a series of nods in return.

Somewhere in the rear lines someone with their head screwed on right was attempting to salvage the situation, ordering the tanks not trapped in the kill zone to move to the side so that a lane could open up for the further APCs to start bringing infantry into the battle. It was not a quick process, especially not with Team Arbalest lobbing missiles into the tanks to cripple them and hold them in place as sixty ton road blocks. In the time it took for the APCs to get to the battle, the kill zone had become black with the smoke of burning tanks and discharging guns. In that hell, friendly fire was starting to take its toll as panicking tanks fired at anything that moved.

Then the first APC arrived and was promptly shot up by the combined efforts of Io’seah and P’shen, their bolters putting a half dozens rounds each into the exposed flanks of the enemy transport, shredding the wheels that held its treads in place. It’s starboard track thrown, the moving vehicle skidding a halt, its bare wheels grinding on the asphalt of the highway and inflicting more damage on the motive system. Someone inside must have panicked and confused, because the rear hatch of the APC popped open facing the direction the shots had come from.

Io’seah did not even have to tell his brothers what to do, for Mako and Nolui each hurled a frag grenade into the opening hatch. There was a brief moment where terrified screams were heard before the twin coughs of the grenades detonating overwhelmed all other sounds momentarily, the blasts carrying out a pink mist with them.

Rather than let the damaged APC stall the rest of them, one of the tanks stuck in formation swung its main gun around, targeting the crippled transport. Io’seah wanted to cry out at the barbarity of it, to target an allied vehicle when there were surely still survivors within, but before he could speak the tank’s gun spoke and blasted the wounded APC to oblivion, the explosion picking up the main body of the transport and tumbling it out of the way.

Io’seah took a good long look at the enemy tank to burn its image into his memory, so that if both of them survived the battle he would know who to take revenge on. Even if his squad had inflicted the majority of the casualties, one did not fire on an ally like that and deaths of the driver, gunner, and any survivors in the troop compartment were on that tank commander’s head. It felt strange yet right to desire to avenge an enemy.

With the way clear, another APC moved in to fill the gap, this one quickly presenting its glacis armour to the scouts, who knew from their tactical briefing that their bolt weapons could not penetrate. Pulling away from the door as the enemy opened up with a rapid fire autocannon, the massive hard rounds shredding everything in their path, reducing the section of the hab’s motor pool parked by the door to scraps of metal. For a moment Io’seah worried about P’shen, but his brother had already abandoned his exposed position once the enemy tank had cleared away the obstruction of the immobilized transport.

The distance was long, but with their superhuman strength Io’seah judged it short enough and so gestured for Mako and Nolui to hurl another pair of grenades beyond the bulk of the APC, to hopefully land amongst the troops disembarking under the belief that they had several meters of armour between them and the scouts. Mako’s frag grenade landed short, striking the top of the war machine and bouncing once before detonating, but Nolui’s was perfectly lobbed and landed a meter behind the rear of the APC, its detonation kicking up the screams of the wounded as shrapnel shredded human flesh.

In retaliation the autocannon of the APC opened fire again, but this time it started to track up and to the side, rounds uselessly punching into the structure of the hab above them. For a second Io’seah wondered what the gunner was trying to do before he noticed that the scope next to the gun was shattered by shrapnel and the man probably had no idea what he was shooting at. If the stabilizer had also been damaged by Mako’s grenade, then the gunner probably had no idea he was shooting nothing but civilians.

Then something reached out and grabbed Io’seah, throwing him off his feet. His ears ringing but the noise being quickly cut out by his implants, he wiped the blood from his eyes and looked around. The little garage they sheltered in had been turned into a swirling cloud of dust, daylight leaking in through a hole in the wall the size of a man. One of the tanks had fired its main gun at them, punching through the rockrete wall. From the amount of blood particulate in the air, Io’seah knew that at least one of his brothers had ceased to exist.

Picking himself up, Io’seah found that he had not lost his grip on his bolter. Returning to his position of cover, Io’seah scanned about and found that he could find no trace of Nolui, except for the crimson matter floating in the air, and that P’shen, who had been close to Nolui last Io’seah had seen, was bleeding profusely from his eyes and ears and having difficulty getting up. Glancing to his rear where Mako was regaining his feet, he barked, “Mako, get P’shen to fallback point Alpha!”

Shaking the dust out of his head, Mako then nodded and bounded across the open space between him and P’shen. A few hard rounds were fired in at him, but in the dust only two found their mark and both bounced harmlessly off Mako’s carapace armour. Slipping his upper body out of cover, Io’seah returned fire with his bolter, his augmented senses easily picking out the troopers obscured by the thick cloud, each bolt round fired finding the centre of mass and reducing a man to bloody tripe.

Ducking away from the return fire that smacked against the thick rockrete wall, Io’seah then hurled himself away from the wall in a massive leap, rolling with his momentum as what he expected to happen took place. One of the tanks outside fired its main gun on the position where he had been and blowing out the wall with the same cataclysmic force as before, but Io’seah was no longer there. Tumbling with the blast, he came to a rest next to a pillar and he immediately sought cover behind its imposing bulk.

Looking back at the entrance, he saw dozens of troops streaming down the ramp, their own frag grenades hurled into the breach in the hopes of killing or suppressing whatever force was on the other side. Unfortunately for them, Io’seah was too far back from where they were tossing their explosives – and Ko’ban too far forward. Grey with dust, the scout patiently waited in a crouch as men began to stream past until he uncurled like a serpent rising from its coil, his chainsword roaring to life in his hand. His first attack took the head off a man at the neck, the motion flowing through into a second strike that lopped off a leg, and then a third in the same fluid motion that disembowelled a third man. Now in the centre of the squad that he had attacked, Ko’ban stuck the barrel of his bolt pistol in the mouth of the shocked sergeant who had not yet had time to fully register what had invaded his men. The round passed out the back of the man’s head and its detonation killed a second man standing behind him.

With Io’seah and then Mako firing into those who had moved beyond Ko’ban’s position, the morale of those already within the garage shattered like glass trod upon by a Titan. Men began screaming in terror, firing their autoguns blindly, or rushing to get out of the garage the way they came. With the commanding officers no doubt shoving more and more men into the breach with no idea how to conduct an assault in an urban environment, the result was a wonderful little firefight between the men trying to get in and the men trying to get out. Io’seah smiled grimly at how the commanders probably thought there was a platoon down here attempting to counter-attack.

The thought made him realize something, and he cried out, “Ko’ban, FALL BACK!”

Not bothering to question the command, Ko’ban cut a man in half at the waist to get him out of the way and then leapt away from the entrance to the garage. Rolling out of the way, he glanced back at Io’seah, wondering why his brother had ordered him away from the thick of the fighting when the damnable tank cannon spoke again, but this time it was aimed at the centre of the vicious firefight between friendly forces, the impact obliterating two entire squads with a single note. A pink tinted shockwave rolled over him, mixing with the grey dust already upon him to produce a crimson paste. Blinking away the atomized blood, Ko’ban gave Io’seah wide-eyed thanks.

Having been subjected to far greater stresses than its designers ever dared to imagine in their wildest nightmares, the section of wall around the garage entrance began to splinter and crumble. Seeing the danger as huge cracks explosively formed in the pillar he was taking cover behind, Io’seah cried out, “Abandon this position before the whole thing collapses!”

Needing no additional prompting, Ko’ban took off after him as the building began to come down around their heads. Reaching the fallback position Mako and P’shen were stationed at Io’seah let took his bolter in a one handed grip so he could use the other to help Mako carry their wounded brother as quickly as possible. With the floor beneath them trembling like Nocturne during the Time of Trials, they ran with the steadiness of feet only natives of that blasted world could muster. For a time it looked like the collapse would consume the entire building as the damage caused by one section coming down weakened the adjacent areas, but after a few second of cascading failure something refused to give and the structural failure stopped after consuming half the parking garage.

Looking at his brothers, bloody, battered, and anointed like Ash Maidens in dust, Io’seah suggested, “Perhaps we should fall back to the tunnels and attempt to regroup with the rest of our forces.”

Ko’ban and Mako nodded with subtle yet emphatic agreement while P’shen just groaned his pained assent.

[CaptainChewbacca]

His eyes widened in shock at the audacity of what he saw when Sergeant Xerxes charged half his squad out of the shadows, plasma pistol in one hand and power claw raised over his head as he and his men charged. With one man carrying a melta and the others with krak grenades ready, their intent was clear. They were going to strike the tanks where their guns could not depress, hitting their rear and side armour point blank with the most powerful assault weapons in the Imperium.

Only Space Marines would engage an armor column in close quarters combat... and win

[Simon_Jester]

Is very good. Not just the battle scene, but the way the battle is tied into the changes being wrought in the Salamanders.

Only Space Marines would engage an armor column in close quarters combat... and win

Only Space Marines and Ethiopians

Turning off the hose, Io’seah stared down at the gaping hole that was the entrance to the sewer and then asked, “Please tell me that our mission will be to assassinate those idiots and I get to use the sniper rifle this time.”

“Sadly that is not part of the current mission profile, and you will have to get in line behind everyone else who has heard the story thus far,” Drusus replied.

OK, I think I know what the Salamanders are evolving into now: the Reasonable Marines!

[DeRogue]

Is very good. Not just the battle scene, but the way the battle is tied into the changes being wrought in the Salamanders.

Only Space Marines would engage an armor column in close quarters combat... and win

Only Space Marines and Ethiopians

Turning off the hose, Io’seah stared down at the gaping hole that was the entrance to the sewer and then asked, “Please tell me that our mission will be to assassinate those idiots and I get to use the sniper rifle this time.”

“Sadly that is not part of the current mission profile, and you will have to get in line behind everyone else who has heard the story thus far,” Drusus replied.

OK, I think I know what the Salamanders are evolving into now: the Reasonable Marines!

Oh lord, Nothing can stop the Reasonable Marines!

[CaptainChewbacca]

Reasonable Marines- FOR THE EMPEROR AS LONG AS WE'RE HERE!

[jgkitarel]

Why do I have a feeling that they may to set up a private shooting gallery for the leaders of the rebellion. These guys do not seem to have a very high tolerance for stupidity.

Sadly, this is only the beginning of the rebellions they will begin to face.

[Academia Nut]

Vulkan marched at the head of the triumphal procession moving through the ruined streets of Khreht, his grim expression mirroring those of the people lined up on the streets to see their conqueror parade past. The campaign against the city had been quick and brutal, and while each death was a loss to the Imperium, the majority of civilian casualties had been inflicted by the local government rather than his own troops, and the promethium wells and refineries had been captured almost entirely intact.

Best of all, it had been done with but a fraction of the power of the Legion. Vulkan had captured the city with less than two hundred Marines and a scant ten thousand chapter serfs, and with Khreht’s fall in less than a day from the initiation of hostilities other cities on Telleros would soon start to capitulate, especially after Vulkan finished up here. It was unlikely to ever be this easy again, but Vulkan had a reputation to build and spectacular victories early on went a great way to building such things.

At the end of the road down which Vulkan marched the troops already in the city waited for him and the rest of the Legion. This was all important for propaganda, for making the rest of the world tremble at his step. Servo-skulls with holo-recorders were following him and broadcasting out to everyone watching. Ahead of him, the fewer than a hundred Marines, including a squad of scouts, that had actually entered the city proper. Behind him, arrayed in a long line, was remainder of his Legion, spread out in even ranks on the highway meant to support armoured columns, their banners held high and proud. It was a profound statement. A hundred men were greater than the armies of tanks the city had at its disposal, and Vulkan had many thousands of such warriors at his command.

Kneeling in humiliated supplication between the two forces of Salamanders were the defeated leaders of the city, the youngest man in their group split off from the rest and surrounded by young women covered in ashes with their hair dyed red with their weapons all trained upon him. One of the women split off from the group and approached Vulkan, bowing her head in obedience.

“Report,” Vulkan ordered brusquely.

“Your suspicions were correct my lord. The Tellerites were moved into open rebellion for superficial reasons, but the chief instigator had reasons beyond simple, arrogant pride for compelling the other leaders into treason. He is psychically active. His power is minor, but enough to have drawn the Black Ships the next time they stopped by,” the young woman reported.

Vulkan nodded, considered the radiant green eyes staring up at him, and then said, “Kill him.” There was no hesitation, no questioning. One of the Gae’ri, already chosen for the duty well before this moment simply pulled the trigger on her pistol and with a tremendous bang put a bullet in the back of the rogue psychic’s head, his face exploding outward in a massive burst of red gore.

There was wide eyed, shocked silence from the assembled crowds, and Vulkan turned to them all, letting his burning gaze sweep over the thousands staring in mute horror at what had come to bring them back into the fold of humanity. Booming out with all the oratory power he could muster, he announced, “Your world stands accused of the crime of treason, a serious charge that you are all guilty of. There is no innocence here; you all willingly participated in rebellion against my father and the embrace of the rest of humanity. However, there are degrees of willingness, and thus degrees of guilt. I shall not descend upon all with equal fury, and the punishments shall fit the crime.”

Gesturing to the corpse starting to cook on the hot pavement, Vulkan stated, “First to perish is the animal that brought your people to war, whose own cowardice at facing the laws of the Imperium has shamed the name and image of your great leader Eksol, taking his good deeds as all the justification he needed for throwing honour and lives away. The laws on psykers are there for a good reason, and everyone, from highest noble to humblest hive worker will be checked for the presence of such mutation after this.”

Turning to the trembling remaining leaders of the city, Vulkan was handed a data slate in a carefully choreographed bit of impromptu theatre. Looking over it, Vulkan mused, “I have here the records for the votes cast on whether to go to war, for this city and all cities on Telleros. For those who voted against the measure, you still went along with this madness. You are stripped of your ranks and titles, and a quarter of your estate’s wealth shall be seized. For those of you who voted for the measure to rebel but later decided to capitulate, for your cowardice you are stripped of your ranks and titles, half the wealth of your estate shall be seized, and you personally shall be exiled from your home cities, never to step foot in them again under pain of death. Finally, for those who voted to rebel and then chose not to capitulate until forced to by the remainder, you and your families shall be stripped of all titles and ranks, the entirety of your estates seized, your families exiled from your homes, and you personally executed. I have all the evidence of your guilt right here, and so do your executioners. Fire.”

Half a dozen bolters barked as one and the air filled with pink mist as a third of remaining councillors were scythed down in a single instant. Looking over the corpses and blood splatter with casual disinterest, Vulkan then said, “As for the people of this city and Telleros, your punishment is as follows. All refined promethium in the storage silos shall be taken as reparations and since much of the wealth on this world is measured in that substance any wealth seized from the noble houses is to be calculated after the tanks are empty. The armies of your world are to be marched out of their bunkers and carried off to the stars, to join my father’s crusades as penitents, to wash away the shame of this world with faithful service on the battlefield. In the defence and policing of this world, loyal units from the Imperial Army shall take their place. Finally, for the general population… the wealth seized from the noble houses shall be used to pay for reconstruction of damage caused in the fighting and any who aided, willingly or unwillingly, my men shall have the remainder divided up amongst them, regardless of current rank or stature. That is all for my judgement.”

Vulkan turned benevolently to the floating cameras and stated, “This is the punishment scheme that shall be carried out fairly and evenly across this world. I suggest those of you in power consider your next choices carefully, and those of you not in power make your opinions well known to your leaders.”

Vulkan knew what this would mean. Many elder patriarchs and matriarchs would find their scions coming for them with assassin’s blades while there would be rioting in the streets, if only so that the lowliest worker could make the claim that they had aided the Imperium and that they were entitled to a share of the money being seized from the nobles. Equally, rumours of shadowy infiltrators would spread, multiplying and growing, partially out of fear, partially out of greed. It would practically mean civil war in some places as short sighted fear and avarice tore the world apart. Well Vulkan would accept that, would accept the suffering, for two reasons. The first was that it would make his job on Telleros easier. The second was that if the tale of Telleros spread to the greater galaxy and made it so that just one open rebellion turned into a civil war between loyalists and secessionists, it would be would be worth it.

Turning away from the camera, the whole world had a perfect view of the left side of his head releasing a burst of blood as a sniper round collided with his skull. They also had a perfect view of Vulkan tilted his head back into proper orientation, unconcerned by the crater of skin ripped off by the impact of the bullet. He was a Primarch and such things injuries were less than an inconvenience to him. While his troops began putting up a battery of counter-sniper fire, Vulkan walked unconcerned towards those troops that had actually entered the city, waving for them to return to their parade position. Another sniper round sparked off his pauldron, which he also ignored.

Approaching a wide eyed scout, Vulkan asked, “Ah, Io’seah, I see your sergeant is missing. You represent your squad?”

Slightly intimidated by the Primarch approaching him personally and the complete disinterest in being hit in the head by a sniper, Io’seah still managed to rally and present true Promethean grit when he said, “Yes my lord. Sergeant Drusus went missing covering our escape on the second day after the ambush and I was placed in charge of one of the fire-teams during the ambush so by mutual consent I assumed the leadership role until such time as we could either be reunited with our sergeant or a new leader appointed.”

Nodding, Vulkan said, “Good lad, good lad, you’ll get your black carapace soon enough after this, and Drusus is a skilled scout and Marine. I am sure he will show up soon enough.”

Just before he was about to walk away, Io’seah blurted out, “My lord! I uh… if you would still speak with me, I have a concern.”

“What concern is that?” Vulkan asked with a look on his face that indicated that he suspected he did not want to talk about this.

“I… it is probably improper of me, but it is a matter of honour that during the ambush…” Vulkan’s face softened immediately and Io’seah found the strength to go on, “During the ambush there was a tank…”

“My son, that was war, and we must accept that casualties happen…” Vulkan began.

“He fired on his own men,” Io’seah blurted out.

Vulkan’s eyebrows twitched upward and he said, “You wish to avenge the enemy?”

“It is… it was battle, but he fired on one of his own vehicles to clear it out of the way. I do not begrudge him trying to kill us, but to be such a despicable, honourless cur…” Io’seah trailed off.

“You remember the tank that did this?” Vulkan asked, to which Io’seah nodded. Musing, Vulkan said, “I will remember to read your personal AAR carefully then so I can establish an investigation and this animal be found and put down.”

“Thank you my lord,” Io’seah replied before glancing at the servo-skull with the holo-recorder hovering over Vulkan’s shoulder and then at the wound that had already healed over on his head and he added on, “I hope Sergeant Drusus can be found. His loyalty is an example to us all.”

“That it is my son, that it is,” Vulkan replied, his smirk hidden from the cameras. Io’seah would go far in the Legion. Smart, clever, and discreet, he had made the propaganda all the better with his little outburst without ruining what had already been done.

[Zankaru Zelladonii]

Updated right before I left for Basic, awesome timing, thanks AN!

[Academia Nut]

The dust of uncountable millennia stirred beneath Vulkan’s feet as he treads across the stones of Terra. The world had seen so much history, so much happening in its time as the cradle of humanity that everything had been recycled from some earlier civilization, even the paving stones having come from the sacred temples of people’s past. Custodial servitors swept the walks, but the planet itself had accumulated age like a museum, and the dust was everywhere. Only in homes where people still lived could it be escaped, their activities keeping at bay the ash of countless trillions of dead who had come before them.

Vulkan had returned to this grand world of humanity’s birth to see the latest brother to join the fold of the Imperium. The Great Crusade was picking up pace, and with many fronts supervised by the Primarchs found it was easier to find those who had not yet been discovered. The man Vulkan would meet today was not the first Primarch to be found since he had, but the tides of war and the Warp had meant that Vulkan could not make it back to Terra to meet up with his other latest brother, Fulgrim. The tempo of the latest campaign had meant that Vulkan had been able to slip away from the front for the few months it would take to run to Terra and back to meet up with his newest brother, something he had decided to take full advantage of.

Entering into the wing of the Imperial Palace where his brother was staying, he found the guards about his door standing nervously a touch further away from the doors than protocol dictated. Seeing another Primarch approaching, the Marines looked at each other in confusion for a moment before both stepped aside and one knocked on the door, announcing, “My lord, your brother Vulkan of the Salamanders Legion is here to see you.”

“Is this a bad time? I know I came somewhat unannounced, but…” Vulkan began.

“Let him in,” a deep, bass voice from the other side of the door growled.

Vulkan quirked an eyebrow in confusion as the guards hurriedly swung the doors open, revealing a room shrouded in darkness, a single candle burning in the centre. There was something strange about the gloom, making it hard for even his superhuman senses to penetrate the veil of shadows hanging over everything. Still, Vulkan knew no fear as he entered the room, announcing, “Brother, I…”

“You are not supposed to be here. You are supposed to be in the Fetrum system for another two months, and then on to Jacob Septum,” the deep voice accused from the darkness, carrying a hint of fear with it.

“I completed the Fetrum campaign two months before I left and Brother Magnus took command of the Jacobian expedition,” Vulkan stated. This was a matter of fact.

“No, no, no! The purging of Telleros tied up the Salamanders for six months and the damage to fuel supplies across the campaign front stalled the advance into the Yomos Federation. The orks of Maradon take advantage of the fighting to hit Yomos from the rear. Magnus diverts to the west to deal with the situation while you drive into the Jacobians. Magnus is too far to the west to take command of that campaign,” the voice in the darkness explains in a half crazed rant, moving and shifting about, almost afraid that Vulkan would find him.

Keeping his voice level, Vulkan stated, “Brother, the Telleros campaign was done in under a month and the disruption to the fuel supplies on that front was minimal. With support from the armies of Telleros drafted in penance, we made a lightning blitz into the Yomos Federation. The orks attacked, but by that time our position was secure and they were repulsed with minimal damage. This is all a matter of campaign record that should have been available to you weeks ago.”

“NO! NO! I have seen it! I saw the billions die as the hives were bombarded and then looted by the greenskins! I saw the mortals dying like animals as the Yomos pushed back, their tanks abandoned, useless without fuel! I saw you! I saw you and your men, slowly and methodically pushing across Telleros, killing hundreds of thousands, maybe millions in the crossfire! I saw it all! I saw the truth!” The voice practically screamed from the darkness.

“Then you saw wrong,” Vulkan declared.

The light from the doorway was interrupted as a massive body dropped into the way, and the voice bellowed out, “I ONLY SEE THE TRUTH!”

Vulkan whirled about just in time to catch the charge from his brother, the impact incredible as two gods collided and were bowled to the ground. Pale skinned and dark haired, Konrad would have been considered more conventionally attractive and less terrifying than his dark skinned and red eyed brother if not for the crazed, insane look in his eyes, the spittle practically flying from his lips as he tried to claw out Vulkan’s throat.

“YOU ARE A LIE! YOU CANNOT EXIST! I ONLY SEE THE TRUTH!” The young Primarch practically shrieked. He seemed to be saying it more to himself than to Vulkan though.

His muscles straining against his brothers as he kept from letting Konrad get to his throat and their legs equally locked to keep the other from delivering savage knees or kicks, Vulkan thought strategically and used his head. The first head butt caught Konrad off guard and struck him in the nose. The impact could have caved in a Marine’s head, but it just dazed Konrad for a second, so Vulkan continued, in between blows shouting out, “Then! You! Saw! Wrong!”

Despite the vicious hammering, Konrad managed to shake it off and tuck his head in so that the only target he presented was the hardest part of his skull, something not even Vulkan wanted to test his own head against. Hissing like a steam boiler about to explode, Konrad trembled with equal parts fury and terror. While clearly disturbed before, Vulkan could tell that his presence had massively exacerbated the problems his brother had.

“You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. You…” Konrad went on and on, practically chanting the line as some sort of warding mantra.

“Whatever you have seen, the future is not set, it can be changed,” Vulkan stated.

“It CAN’T! If that were true… if that were true…” Konrad muttered before all the tension drained from his muscles, and Vulkan took advantage of that moment to kick his brother off him and regain his feet, ready for the next attack.

The attack that came was not directed at him, as Konrad screamed out in terrible agony, thrashing about on the ground, clutching at his head, the only remotely human sounds being incoherent babbling about death and destruction. Vulkan stared at his brother for a second before fire sprung up about his hands and he bellowed out to nothing in particular, “Daemons! Be gone!”

The light of Vulkan’s flames filled the room with light, not banishing the shadows but forcing them back, to hide from his fury. Vulkan could also now see how the furnishings of the room had been smashed and defaced, especially anything that might suggest the presence of eyes. The only thing that seemed relatively intact was a black crown of adamantium set with rubies and a single diamond that seemed to have a place of prominence next to the bed.

Extinguishing the flames of his right hand, Vulkan rushed over to the crown and gently picked it up before taking it over to his brother, setting it down on the ground next to him before reigniting his hand and holding the flames that burned across the dimensions above his brother’s prone form. Konrad’s seizure started to subside then, his quivering body pulling in on itself even as he seemed to force himself to reach out and grasp the crown placed before him. Pulling it in tight like a babe clutching a stuffed animal, he then whispered, “The fire is so bright…”

Vulkan extinguished his flames, somewhat glad he did not have to support the psychic powers and an almost contented sigh escaped from his brother’s lips. In the darkness only illuminated by the single candle, somewhere along the line the doors had mysteriously closed, the two Primarchs waited. Finally, Konrad whispered, “Why?”

“Which why?” Vulkan counter asked.

“Why… why did you let the darkness return?” Konrad asked.

“Because you are my brother, Konrad, and you asked me to,” Vulkan replied.

“Thank you… but that is not my name,” the broken god on the floor stated.

“What is your name?” Vulkan asked.

“I… I am the Night Haunter,” the wounded Primarch replied.

Vulkan took several seconds to absorb that statement before he said, “No you aren’t.” His brother sucked in breath with insult, but then Vulkan stated, “But neither are you Konrad Curze.”

“Who am I then?” His brother demanded.

“You tell me. I read the report on your world and some of your activities there. Tell me, why does the brutal Night Haunter care so much for his people, for the concept of justice?” Vulkan asked.

“The visions, they showed me… they showed me the path of violence I would walk… they showed me the truth…” the almost child-like figure stated.

“Why spare and protect the innocent? Why not tear it all down into anarchy and cavort amongst the destruction, striking fear and terror into all, regardless of guilt or innocence?” Vulkan asked.

Silence, except for their breathing.

“The visions taunt you, show you nothing but death and destruction, but you sought to change them, to prove them wrong, didn’t you? There is something innately noble and righteous in you, even if you only know how to express yourself through pain and fear, isn’t there?” Vulkan pressed on.

When the silence continued on, Vulkan asked, “Who gave you your crown?”

“My… my people,” the man on the floor stated.

“Why is it important to you? Why does it keep the nightmares at bay?” Vulkan asked.

“Because… because they gave it to me. Because they gave it to me as their king,” his brother stated.

“Why did they make you king?” Vulkan asked.

“Because they feared me,” the Night Haunter stated.

“And?” Vulkan pressed.

“And… and because I was the first ruler who kept peace and order. I was… I was the only threat to them, because I kept all other threats at bay. I… cared for them, I loved them, in my own way,” Konrad Curze explained, his voice lightening up. He then asked, “How come you are the first to ask me these things?”

“Because father is not good with people whose minds he cannot read,” Vulkan stated. “He does not instinctively understand them, even though he assumes he does.”

“You sound like you know this fact rather well,” Konrad stated.

“I can see how he makes assumptions about his sons he really should not, myself included. He gives us too much latitude despite the fact that I know from experience that we do things counter to his policies and objectives...” Vulkan explained.

“And you are telling me this why?” Konrad asked.

Vulkan smiled strangely and said, “Because I now know a secret that I doubt you want father to know, hence why you have your guards close the door when you have a fit, no matter who is in the room with you. I figure it is only fair to reciprocate a little, even if I am not telling you what my secrets are.”

“Thank you… thank you brother,” Konrad said, and it sounded like it was the first time he had used the word sincerely.

“No problem,” Vulkan said before the good feelings were interrupted by Konrad howling like some damned creature hauled from the depths of the lowest hell and hurled into the light. Vulkan sprang back and ignited his flames once again, although this time he had the dread feeling that he would have to actually use them. That sound, it had not been…

“Put them out, put them out!” Konrad muttered as he staggered toward the candle at the centre of the room, tears dripping down his face. Letting the darkness return, Konrad loomed over the single candle as he looked at Vulkan in extreme pain and whispered, “How do you keep going?”

“What did you see?” Vulkan asked suspiciously.

“I wanted to look at your secrets… I wanted to see what the visions would tell me about you that wasn’t false, but they resisted and I saw… I saw so much pain. I would not have been strong enough brother… I would not have been strong enough.” Konrad shuddered for a moment and then looked up, and Vulkan knew that he was looking at the Night Haunter… or perhaps the man who dwelt behind both masks. He said, “There is more pain coming brother, the Eldar head for your world in force, riding out in vengeance.”

“What?” Vulkan demanded, moving up close to his brother.

“I have seen it brother… already they release a plague in an adjacent system that will scour the planet clean of life. The death screams of so many… I can hear them, so many billions consumed by disease so quickly, their guts boiling over as blood weeps from their eyes. The psychic trauma will twist the Warp… cut off reinforcements, scramble communications. It is already happening, no force can get there fast enough,” the Night Haunter explained in morbid detail.

Vulkan felt like he had been punched in the guts, and roared, “No! No! Your visions lie!”

The Night Haunter closed his eyes, and then Konrad spoke, “Yes… yes they do lie. I can see it now… a force can get to them. You are not supposed to be here. Something about you fouls prophecy, makes it go off course. They knew you would be here on Terra from what their eyes and ears tell them, but their visions could not tell them you would talk to me and that my visions would tell you of this. If we leave now, right now, we can arrive soon enough to make a difference. The men you have with will not be enough to make a difference, but my Legion is here for its rechristening.”

“We go now then,” Vulkan replied, storming out of the room.

The man without a name watched his brother go. He had no visions of what would happen because his visions taunted him with the truth, and no matter what happened, what his brother experienced, he would never break, the hammer blows that would shatter a lesser soul simply forging him into something stronger and greater, and that was something one could only draw hope from. The visions of father had not yet changed, but this man, the Night Haunter, and Konrad Curze could all agree that the injustices that would be heaped upon their brother demanded redress in the most horrific manner possible.

The broken Primarch smiled savagely. This was what he was good at, this was what he knew how to do, and he would have a clear conscience doing it too. He was going to enjoy this.

[LadyTevar]

I knew Night Haunter was tormented, but you gave him a horrible pathos to his fits. Bravo.

Now let's see the Night Haunter in battle

[Shinjai]

2 updates in 2 days, this has been a good long weekend

So, Konrad's visions indicate the emperor's fate is unchanged and Konrad now has a brother who he may choose to confide in later who will be receptive when his visions keep coming. This is getting more and more interesting.

A quick question though, canonically, was Nocturne attacked in the manner Konrad describes? My reading of background materials hadn't indicated anything like this had occurred, but I haven't read all that much either.

[Academia Nut]

The space above Nocturne seemed almost serene; the fires from the gutted stations in orbit having long since burnt out and the sleek blue-white lines of the alien warship unperturbed by the frenetic activity of combat. They drifted amongst the sparkling ruins of human craftwork, smug in their own superiority, safe in knowing that the storm they had kicked up would keep anything that could not travel through the Webway from reaching this system until they were long gone. The defenders on the surface below were providing far more stubborn resistance than Mon-keigh should, but…

The only warning the ships in orbit got of what was about to happen was a slight increase in Warp activity at the L1 point of the Nocturne-Prometheus orbital system, but considering the trouble they had gone to in order to disturb the Warp, very little heed was paid to it. That meant that when a trio of cruisers and a battleship appeared at the gravitational null point with weapons hot and shutters already opening, the captains of the alien fleet had approximately three seconds to hear the panicked screams of their sensor officers before the first salvo arrived. With sails struck for a lazy, high orbit and their holo-fields powered down to conserve energy, the sleek ships had none of their defences in place. Without the sturdy armour other species relied on, the impacts were high effective, to say the least. All but one of the escorts was hit and subsequently transformed into expanding vapour, while fully half of the cruisers were damaged.

Hot on the heels of the weapons barrage an equally deadly but different wave was launched. Having achieved total surprise and sewn absolute chaos in the enemy ranks Warhawk assault gunships were launched in an environment almost entirely free of point defence fire, each craft filled with a cargo of furious Night Lords. Breaking off from the tight formation it had with the other ships, the one cruiser bearing different iconography bore down on the planet, not even slowing when an enemy ship got in the path of orbit it was trying to pursue but simply trusting in the strength of its ram prow in comparison to the materials of the enemy ship. The engineering of Mars won out.

Aboard the lead warship, the Muanucat’regean the first clue the autarch got as to what was coming was when the seer in communion with the Infinity Circuit screamed in horror and had his head explode from the psychic backlash of the spirits within panicking. Wiping away some of the gore, the war leader demanded, “What just happened?”

“Something just teleported aboard the ship!” One of the security officers cried out before one of the secondary spirit seers added on, “The warp spiders report a 400% increase in psychic intrusion in the Infinity Circuit. All of our systems are locking out! The Circuit must focus on its own defences right now, it can’t provide for our internal defences!”

“What did the Mon-keigh put on my ship?” The autarch demanded. This was not the easy but vitally important mission the Farseers had demanded of him.

The sound of wraithbone coming apart like paper answered the question for him as something impossibly strong tore its way onto the bridge. Befouling the elegant sculpture of the ship with its mere presence, one of the crude, giant Mon-keigh warriors stepped onto the bridge, his helmet off and wearing a huge grin stained with Eldar blood.

“Heeeeere’s Konrad!” The creature announced maniacally before it began to wade forward into the storm of shuriken rounds that shattered harmlessly against its skin and armour. Cackling like a daemon, he stepped aside from a strike from a warlock with the contemptuous ease of an exarch dodging the swing of a child. Casually reaching out, he grabbed the arm of the warlock just above the wrist and then twisted the limb about like rubber hose, completely disregarding the fact that there were bones and muscles that were supposed to prevent an arm from bending that way. Stabbing the warlock with his own witchblade while laughing, he then announced, “With the new hilt, I suddenly like this sword!”

Cutting down two warriors with the bizarre and gruesome impromptu weapon while the still alive warlock screamed and thrashed about, Konrad then leapt up onto the command deck of the bridge in front of the autarch in a single bound. Looming over the Eldar war leader, he announced, “It’s your lucky day: I think I figured out how your comm. systems work.”

While the situation in orbit deteriorated to a nameless stage several degrees below a rout in a terms of military discipline and cohesion as Eldar morale took a nose dive off an already record low point, the full scope of the unfolding disaster was only just starting to filter down. Also filtering down were the dull green drop pods launched from orbit.

“What? Xomarch, please start making sense. Even if the Mon-keigh were here and had launched at the same time as us, to get through the interference in the Warp would take some sort of navigational genius…” the Farseer listening to the report trailed off as squad was flattened by a drop pod landing directly on their position, the only survivor dying a second later as the hatches explosively blew out and crushed him.

Stepping down the ramp slowly and purposefully, the gigantic warrior within said, “Until we arrived in system, I wanted to believe it some sort of lie, some sort of sick prank my brother was pulling on me, but when I got here, I could feel it my bones. My world was calling out to me, my people wailing for their lord to return and save them from their ancient enemies. I knew you were here, I knew it in my bones. And because you are here, I know why. Your deaths for daring this insult will echo across the galaxy to serve as a warning as to what is in store for the rest of your kind for this.

The Farseer could see the creature burning in the Warp, an abomination of human science and psychic power. With his own eyes, he could see the presence made, the indentation in fate, but it was all off. The precedent actions were all wrong, all outside what they should be, like destiny had been leaned on my some invisible force and now the ripples of the event were spreading outward, magnifying into insanity when applied against such a powerful fulcrum.

The Farseer would have run in terror of the creatures that stood before him if not for the sudden appearance of a familiar presence in his mind, a fire and fury that washed away all doubt and fear. A sneer came his lips and he replied, “Puny Mon-keigh, you cannot comprehend the forces arrayed against you, of how the web of fate conspires against you.”

Behind him, the Avatar of Khaine advanced into view from the Webway portal it had teleported in on, the god’s inner fires making its metal skin boil and heating the hearts of all Eldar within sight of it. Its voice deep and echoing with aeons of power, the Avatar declared, “Go, and secure your future. This mortal shall not trouble me long.”

The Mon-keigh abomination raised a pistol and spat forth a bolt of blue-white energy that spattered harmlessly across the molten hide of the Avatar. Laughing contemptuously, it stated, “Your puny flames cannot harm a body born in the forge of war.”

Just as the Farseer evacuated away on a grav tank brought forward to the impromptu command centre that had been established when the ground campaign had gone sour, he heard the human warlord state calmly, “Well then it is a pity for you I am a master of the forge.”

Speeding away, the Farseer stated to the exarch also loaded in the falcon’s hold, “If nothing else, the death of that… that thing will have made this disaster worth it, but we must find the primary target quickly. Its mind is proof against telepathy and its strength shifts the tides of fate, but I can still locate it when this close.”

The exarch looked like he was about to say something, but the falcon abruptly slammed into the ground as something hit it hard enough in the rear to shatter the engines. Ploughing into the thick vegetation of Nocturne in a rough descent that hurled the passengers of the grav tank about the transport cabin, the Farseer had just enough time to ask, “What just hit us?” before the exarch’s terrified pointing at the rear hatch clued him in.

Protruding from the armoured door of the tank was the cold, severed head of the Avatar, embedded there by the force that had hurled it there. After that, there was just the screaming and gibbering in the face of the inevitable.

Less than a dozen kilometres away, another pair of seers stole away from the scene of their crime on advanced hover bikes. As the skies above burned with their dying kin the younger of the pair asked telepathically, “Was it worth it?”

The elder Eldar replied in the same medium, “The deaths of billions in exchange for the salvation of the rest of our species? I will make that trade any day.”

“Yes, but they were deceived…” the younger seer pointed out.

“Then the layers of this conspiracy will fold in on themselves if we too are deceived,” the elder seer pointed out. He then paused and said, “Also, judging by that psychic shockwave, I do believe he has just discovered the caravan. How long will your afterburner hold out?”

Pulling the information telepathically from instruments of the bike, the younger seer reported, “About thirty seconds.”

“Well, you had better use all of that in getting to the Webway portal,” the older seer replied before kicking in his own afterburner and accelerating to nearly half the speed of sound in a mad dash to get away from the apocalyptic Primarch.

[LadyTevar]

No. Tell me that they did NOT just kill his daughter.

[Shinjai]

I'll take that chapter as a no, it didn't happen in canon. I wonder if we're about to see the annihilation of an entire eldar craftworld or two in retaliation, if that caravan included who Lady Trevar just suggested, but then who is the one immune to telepathy that they hadn't found yet? Or did the two who did get away already do the deed?

[LadyTevar]

I'll take that chapter as a no, it didn't happen in canon. I wonder if we're about to see the annihilation of an entire eldar craftworld or two in retaliation, if that caravan included who Lady Trevar just suggested, but then who is the one immune to telepathy that they hadn't found yet? Or did the two who did get away already do the deed?

I think the whole Eldar fleet was a diversion for those two FarSeers to do their work. Brutal, but that is how the Eldar think -- the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. The lost of a fleet is worth the lives of children who will not be born until long after the Emperor is in his Throne.

[bilateralrope]

No. Tell me that they did NOT just kill his daughter.

I think they were trying to, up until the Avatars head was thrown into their grav tank.

I'm a bit surprised at those two other seers being willing to sacrifice so many Eldar. They must see something really horrible for them.

[drakensis]

I'll take that chapter as a no, it didn't happen in canon. I wonder if we're about to see the annihilation of an entire eldar craftworld or two in retaliation, if that caravan included who Lady Trevar just suggested, but then who is the one immune to telepathy that they hadn't found yet? Or did the two who did get away already do the deed?

I think the whole Eldar fleet was a diversion for those two FarSeers to do their work. Brutal, but that is how the Eldar think -- the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. The lost of a fleet is worth the lives of children who will not be born until long after the Emperor is in his Throne.

And the loss of millions of human lives is an irrelevance compared to saving even a single Eldar life.

...which makes this the single stupidest thing the Eldar have ever done. And I include creating Slaanesh on that list. The Chaos God only wants to eat their souls. Whether Thalia lives or dies, Vulkan will become the absolute nemesis of every breed of Eldar everywhere.

They just condemned their entire species to death which rather suggests that for some as yet unexplained reason they just got hoodwinked by a third party. Provoking a sizeable fraction of the resurgent Mankind into a genocidal jihad against all Eldar is suicidal and the Eldar are not generally prone to that.

[Hawkwings]

These Eldar don't seem to know what a Primarch is, though they can now see what one can do. Perhaps that might explain their foolishness?

Though my money's on the idea that these Eldar are a diversion/distraction for something else going down.

[SAMAS]

I don't think Thalia is dead.

The elder of the last two Farseers said that they did whatever they did to protect their species. Killing Vulkan's daughter could have no other outcome than moving the timetable for Operation Eldar Necropolis up from "Sometime in the future" to "RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!!".

So killing her is most likely out. I don't think AN would've hidden the results if she had been kidnapped, unless he enjoys tormenting his readers (though given that we still don't know what happened to Nanoha, that may not be a stretch), and given what that one Farseer said about power, I don't see leaving her in a vegetative state as being a good idea either.

[Highlord Laan]

I'll take that chapter as a no, it didn't happen in canon. I wonder if we're about to see the annihilation of an entire eldar craftworld or two in retaliation, if that caravan included who Lady Trevar just suggested, but then who is the one immune to telepathy that they hadn't found yet? Or did the two who did get away already do the deed?

My guess in Nanoha. Is there a precedent for a Striker to go into a sort of "stasis" to regenerate or recharge a Linker Core thats been pushed too far, too fast?

If thats the case, and she just woke up to find her world under attack again, then the Eldar just stepped in some really deep shit. Even more so if a girl that bears a strong resemblance to the man she considered her brother is in danger from said attack.

I don't think Thalia's dead. Even if it's a full Eldar strike team, she's under the protection of a team of crack human fighters, and a friggen Salamander Apothecary. And if I remember correctly, Space Marine combat medics put a pretty big emphasis on the combat portion of that title.

Here's hoping.