WH40k: Betrayed.
Posted: 2006-06-09 12:13am
Yes, I know I should be writing one of my existing multi-parters. I've got writers block and my recent revival of a character for a RP on another board made this scream in my head. I present what will become the dawn of the Duskguard chapter. Also, the events take place in the Heresy; all fluff mistakes are, in fact, completely accurate retellings and the fools of the 40th mileenium simply got it wrong. 
Betrayed: A Tale Of Iron Warriors.
It had been several years since Perturbo, Primarch of the Iron Warriors, had last set foot on this world. It was an unusual delight from most recaptured in the Crusade, having remained relatively stable since being cutoff. Brother-Major Rendavius had been given command of a full Company to oversee the local worlds, as well as a handful of small interstellar ships. The order to oversee defense of recaptured worlds had been tackled with Perturbo's expertise, and in this case, it made sense to concentrate a heavy force on the most advanced world in the area, and dispatch them to reinforce smaller teams on less-developed worlds.
Rendavius was overseeing a training exercise between the Marines under his command and the local Imperial Army. The man beside him was merely human, a General by the name of Alexus. He scratched his chin as he watched. It was half-live fire exercise; the Army was allowed their lasguns as they sought to hold the Marines back from their steady march forward.
"I'm glad you're on my side." Alexus said as, for the third time, the unarmed Marines made it to the Army line in enough numbers to have slaughtered them had it been real. "Even with Executioners and Sentinels, that would have been bloody."
"Your men are not expected to defeat Marines, General. But to learn how to defeat the worst, most unrelenting enemy is to know how to defeat all foes." The Brother-Major said, watching intently. He spoke softly into his vox to his own Brothers, correcting their own mistakes in the advance.
"Still, you have to understand my guys.. You lot are scary bastards, the idea that even one of you might turn against them in the field.." The General's thought was interrupted by a Serf wearing the Iron Warrior's colours, out of breath and running up to the Major.
"My lord! The Astropath was receiving a message from the outposts near the edge of the sector! Perturbo is coming!" He wheezed, clearly trying to catch his breath to say the rest.
"Steady.. Steady." The Major said softly. "Our Primarch is coming, this is good. What has you in such a state?" The General raised a brow, watching the interaction.
"My lord, Perturbo has turned against us! He is coming for the Constructor!" The Serf blurted out the most horrible concept imaginable. Not merely one Marine turning traitor. Not one squad. Not even a Company.
A full Legion, following their traitorous founder, back here. The Brother-Major and the General exchanged glances for a mere fraction of a second, and then were both speaking into their Vox. The exercise broke off as troops ran for their full gear. Patrols across the world began to redeploy.
As the two senior officers of the world's defenses ran to get themselves equipped, General Alexus glanced at his superhuman counterpart. "Somehow.. I told you so.. Doesn't quite cut it." He uttered as he tugged on the Powerfist, hoisting his Hellpistol.
As twin Boltguns were hoisted by their pistol-grips, the Brother-Major shook his head. "Should we live, I will be in your debt for such a foolhardy comment. But first, we have our duty."
Alexus nodded, as they moved to join their retinues, the General in a Salamander Observer, the Astartes in a Land Raider. The enemy would be on them in mere hours.
--------
It had been three weeks since invasion. Perturbo hadn't changed at all, save his treachery. The defensive line would be reinforced until inpenetrable, then the harassment barrages would turn into an overwhelming storm of firepower, allowing his men to sweep forward.
The defensive casualties were appalling. The numbers of dead Army and Marines skyrocketted with each advance, and Perturbo was gaining ground towards the inevitable objective: The Standard Template Constructor, a device that could replicate an item to a standard not seen since the Golden Age.
The two commanding officers had been working together as best they could, putting as much artillery as possible in the path of the likely next assault. Under camoflage, Basilisks, Vindicators, Whirlwinds, and Thunderers all sat, ready to try and repel the enemy through sheer weight of fire.
One by one, the enemy guns went quiet. Within the hour, like a well-made chronometer, the assault would begin. The Army and Loyalist Marines huddled down, checked their ammunition, and waited. Scouts were recalled. The colossal barrage didn't come. Slowly, however, a soft tremble in the dirt became obvious.
"No..." Whispered Rendavius. "No, it can't be..."
Stepping over the barricades came the ultimate embodiment of the Golden Age Of Technology: A Titan. The Marine didn't recignize the model, but it was immense, loaded with enough weaponry to conquer a continent by itself. Worse, still, was the emblem it wore.
The eight-pointed-star.
It's were the guns that opened up, raking the artillery that had been thought hidden. As the Iron Warriors began their march at it's literal heels, the defensive line had no choice, falling back to conserve strength as they forced the enemy to expend ammunition and effort to take their fortifications while they retained numbers.
----------
"A Titan! A Void-Damned Titan!" General Alexus roared in anger. His officers winced, and even the Marines present were surprised by the rage. Only Brother-Major Rendavius failed to react. "How did our scouts not see this thing? How? And when did the Machine Cult turn?"
An Astartes Captain spoke up. "We've interrogated the local Tech-Priests. They claim no knowledge of it, and have surrendered the Constructor to us. For what it matters."
"Damn, damn, damn!" The General smashed his fist into the table. He was still wearing the powerfist, and thus the table simply shattered under the blow. "Tell me there's good news. Some kind of good news." He implored the officers present.
A Comissar nodded slowly. "Indeed. The Third, Seventh, and Nineth Armoured Companies, along with the aid of the loyal Marine Scouts still present, have been able to successfully disrupt the enemy supply lines and destroy a number of shipments. If we could but force them into a prolonged assault, they would exhaust their supplies and be easy prey."
"Yes, it's just making a prolonged assault that we live through." The General sighed. He grunted as he watched the Major, and gave him a backhand across the face with his non-powerfisted hand. "Wake up, damn you! Snap out of it! We need you!"
The Marine's face showed no signs of slumber, but much of anguish. It was clear why: The enemy out there were his own flesh and blood. Their leader, his father of sorts. He grunted after a moment.
"We'll get you your prolonged battle. Just use it well." The Marine said simply, and strode out, followed by his brothers.
--------
Four days later, the Titan's progress brought it to the last line of defense outside of the Capital, which had risen at the feet of the Constructor. Every gun the Army could produce was there, from the smallest Laspistol to the heavy guns of the Executioner Plasma Tanks and Baneblade Tank that stood ready to command the armoured companies moving into position to flank the attackers. The soldiers shivered as a cold rain fell on the soil.
The puddle produced ripples. The enemy was coming. Already, the dull, monotone chant was echoing from hundreds of voices.
"Steady..." General Alexus gave the order as the Titan crested into view.
"Steady..." It came again as the dozens upon dozens of Marines began coming into view, reinforced with their own armour.
From a hill to the south surged the loyalist Marines. They had abandoned their own Legion colours, and now wore complete black on their armour. They screamed out in rage and grief and betrayal. As soon as it was feasible, their Boltguns opened up into the enemy flank.
"Armour, go!" General Alexus roared into his Vox. "Infantry, make ready! Retreat not one step! All that is behind us is people!"
With a roar that didn't drown out the battle cries now reverberating through the Army, dozens of Executioner Plasma Tanks surged forward, their Plasma Annihilators powering up. They were supposed to be used in brief, controlled bursts to obliterate armoured targets. The users cast aside the safeties, and instead opened the valves up fully. Flashes became lances of destructive energy, carving into the legs of the Titan as the armoured colemn moved in to pinch the assault. The Baneblade's thirteen guns roared a symphony of destruction.
The General counted his heartbeats as the Titan paused in it's march, turning ponderously towards the source of the attacks that made it's Void Shields flare to life. He nearly bit his tongue as he realized it had taken the bait, and had exposed it's vunerable sides.
"Artillery! Thunderhawks! Marauders! Go, go, go!" He yelled. The sky became so loud he could barely hear his own voice as artillery and aircraft hit the Titan's side. Basilisks and Whirlwinds poured fire into it, and the aerospace fighters roared their fury.
It was alot of firepower. But the Titan was bigger. It's opening volley obliterated a dozen Executioners, and it's attention then came fully to the Baneblade. But the Iron Warriors weren't content to wait for it. Figuring the Titan could hold it's own, they kept marching. They split into two; a small detachment to deal with the Loyalists, and the rest accelerated towards the defensive line. Even with the armoured core of their force bogged down in the defender's tanks, the force of several hundred Marines would crush the puny humans.
"Hold the line!" The cry was heard across the Army line. The Marines had entered weapons range, and every soldier was firing. A lethal storm now existed between the advancing Marines and defending soldiers; Made of Lasgun and Hellgun beams, rockets from both sides, Bolter rounds, and jacketed plasma shots. Dozens of humans died in the opening seconds; perhaps a trio of Marines fell. Their brothers simply stepped over them.
In the core of the advancing forces marched Perturbo, with an honour guard clad in Tactical Dreadnought armour. He was glad to be back. This world would be a fine trophy before continuing on to Terra. The Constructor would make the conquest that much easier.
--------
The Loyalists hit the traitors and barely slowed down. They weren't interested in this distraction, spraying fire into their former brothers and remaining at full charge. Any of the Traitors stupid enough to try and engage Rendavius found their heads bisected from their bodies by his Lightning Claws. What was meant to stop the Loyalists in their tracks and slaughter them became a mere speedbump. Dozens died, but the bulk kept running, and the traitors that survived had to regroup and run after them.
Rendavius' personal Apothecary was keeping pace, somehow. "Well, that went well." He muttered. "Only lost thirty men completely, the rest are fighting to buy us time. You have a plan?"
"Father's going to pay for this." Came the monotone reply.
"Might I suggest one that's not suicidal?" The medic asked, before they found themselves hitting the main Traitor formation and plowing into it in a storm of Bolter rounds, melee attacks, and plasma fire.
Perturbo's force was in a horrible position. It was now sandwiched between two forces, cut off from it's armour. The Titan remained locked in combat, and the tanks at it's ankles were raging at each other, not the defensive barricades. He had one option left: Plow into the Army lines and carve them up in melee.
The slaughter began heartbeats later, as soldiers, unprepared for such a brutal foe to be this close, desperately sought to find weakpoints with bayonets. A Comissar held his ground, expertly cleaving through the Ceramite armour with his powersabre. A dozen feet away, four Stormtroopers suicidally tackled a Terminator. Moments later, they were shredded by the Chainfist. The Marine inside had just enough time to mutter a slur against their weakness and humanity before the Melta charges they had spent their lives planting on his armour went, blowing him to peices.
It was melee now. Chaotic, lethal, brutal. Each Marine was easily worth a dozen soldiers, but that dozen crowded in, ready to die for the inch of ground they represented. Grenades and plasma weapons represented the majority of attacks now; no soldier tried to use his lasgun or bayonet against such vastly superior opponents.
Perturbo raged in his armour. They weren't supposed to fight back so fearlessly! They should scatter before him, the unstoppable might that he represented! He was alerted to an attack on his flank; was that stupid Major trying to resist? Even him? Even him?!
"Carve him to peices. Fire." The Primarch spat. No mere shadow of himself was going to shame him by actually harming him. Dozens of Combi-Bolters opened up, their deadly hail carving into the charging mass that was plowing into his men. Loyalists fell in great number, but the Major was propelled on. He sported wounds in a dozen places, but didn't slow. Both Boltguns were screaming their holy litany of destruction as he hurled himself, oblivious to personal danger, at his Primarch.
Perturbo's personal guard fell back, some from wounds, some from terror at this unrelenting demon of a man who wouldn't slow down. Scowling, the founder of the Iron Warriors Legion strode one step forward and grabbed the Loyalist by his throat, lifting him into the air. "You thought you could challenge me? Me?! You're nothing but an ungrateful son, and I will smash you to peices as you deserve!"
"Hey asshole." Came a voice. "Peekaboo." It was Alexus. Before Perturbo could drop the Loyalist scum, he felt a blinding pain as his armour shattered under a blow from a Powerfist ramped all the way up. A second blow shattered more armour and broke bone before the Primarch, a son of the God-Emperor, could overcome the shock of a mere human daring to close into melee.
His wayward son discarded with a toss, he swung around to crush the insolent human. As he did, he was hammered by a storm of fire from a squad of Stormtroopers, their Meltaguns ramped up to try and melt through the armour. He stumbled backwards, and briefly glanced back to the Titan, his ace in the hole...
.....As it tumbled to the ground, smashed, carved, and destroyed by sheer weight of numbers. As his force here had been. Impossibly, this world had stood up and, in one voice, screamed NO!
He had to escape. Horus needed him at Earth. He would be back with his full Legion. And more Titans. This world would burn! His armour's teleport beacon flashed, and he was gone.
Brother-Major Rendavius and General Alexus stared at each other. Both men were sorely wounded; the Brother's left arm hung limp and useless; the General hobbled and sported horrific burns. But the Iron Warriors who could not teleport away were in full retreat.
"He'll be back."
"I know. But we can do this again."
"It cost alot of men."
"Then we'll rebuild our numbers as well as our cities."
"How can you be so confident?" The Brother-Major asked, bewildered. "He was only defeated because we were both stupid and rash!"
"Because we spent the Emperor's Currency well."
Both looked over the battlefield. Corpses were everywhere. The stench of death was filling both their senses.
"We've got alot of work ahead of us. I wonder if we'll get reinforcements, or if we're considered traitors too.."
"That, my friend, is tomorrow's concern." Both men went to the grim work of surveying the battlefield and gathering their survivors.
Betrayed: A Tale Of Iron Warriors.
It had been several years since Perturbo, Primarch of the Iron Warriors, had last set foot on this world. It was an unusual delight from most recaptured in the Crusade, having remained relatively stable since being cutoff. Brother-Major Rendavius had been given command of a full Company to oversee the local worlds, as well as a handful of small interstellar ships. The order to oversee defense of recaptured worlds had been tackled with Perturbo's expertise, and in this case, it made sense to concentrate a heavy force on the most advanced world in the area, and dispatch them to reinforce smaller teams on less-developed worlds.
Rendavius was overseeing a training exercise between the Marines under his command and the local Imperial Army. The man beside him was merely human, a General by the name of Alexus. He scratched his chin as he watched. It was half-live fire exercise; the Army was allowed their lasguns as they sought to hold the Marines back from their steady march forward.
"I'm glad you're on my side." Alexus said as, for the third time, the unarmed Marines made it to the Army line in enough numbers to have slaughtered them had it been real. "Even with Executioners and Sentinels, that would have been bloody."
"Your men are not expected to defeat Marines, General. But to learn how to defeat the worst, most unrelenting enemy is to know how to defeat all foes." The Brother-Major said, watching intently. He spoke softly into his vox to his own Brothers, correcting their own mistakes in the advance.
"Still, you have to understand my guys.. You lot are scary bastards, the idea that even one of you might turn against them in the field.." The General's thought was interrupted by a Serf wearing the Iron Warrior's colours, out of breath and running up to the Major.
"My lord! The Astropath was receiving a message from the outposts near the edge of the sector! Perturbo is coming!" He wheezed, clearly trying to catch his breath to say the rest.
"Steady.. Steady." The Major said softly. "Our Primarch is coming, this is good. What has you in such a state?" The General raised a brow, watching the interaction.
"My lord, Perturbo has turned against us! He is coming for the Constructor!" The Serf blurted out the most horrible concept imaginable. Not merely one Marine turning traitor. Not one squad. Not even a Company.
A full Legion, following their traitorous founder, back here. The Brother-Major and the General exchanged glances for a mere fraction of a second, and then were both speaking into their Vox. The exercise broke off as troops ran for their full gear. Patrols across the world began to redeploy.
As the two senior officers of the world's defenses ran to get themselves equipped, General Alexus glanced at his superhuman counterpart. "Somehow.. I told you so.. Doesn't quite cut it." He uttered as he tugged on the Powerfist, hoisting his Hellpistol.
As twin Boltguns were hoisted by their pistol-grips, the Brother-Major shook his head. "Should we live, I will be in your debt for such a foolhardy comment. But first, we have our duty."
Alexus nodded, as they moved to join their retinues, the General in a Salamander Observer, the Astartes in a Land Raider. The enemy would be on them in mere hours.
--------
It had been three weeks since invasion. Perturbo hadn't changed at all, save his treachery. The defensive line would be reinforced until inpenetrable, then the harassment barrages would turn into an overwhelming storm of firepower, allowing his men to sweep forward.
The defensive casualties were appalling. The numbers of dead Army and Marines skyrocketted with each advance, and Perturbo was gaining ground towards the inevitable objective: The Standard Template Constructor, a device that could replicate an item to a standard not seen since the Golden Age.
The two commanding officers had been working together as best they could, putting as much artillery as possible in the path of the likely next assault. Under camoflage, Basilisks, Vindicators, Whirlwinds, and Thunderers all sat, ready to try and repel the enemy through sheer weight of fire.
One by one, the enemy guns went quiet. Within the hour, like a well-made chronometer, the assault would begin. The Army and Loyalist Marines huddled down, checked their ammunition, and waited. Scouts were recalled. The colossal barrage didn't come. Slowly, however, a soft tremble in the dirt became obvious.
"No..." Whispered Rendavius. "No, it can't be..."
Stepping over the barricades came the ultimate embodiment of the Golden Age Of Technology: A Titan. The Marine didn't recignize the model, but it was immense, loaded with enough weaponry to conquer a continent by itself. Worse, still, was the emblem it wore.
The eight-pointed-star.
It's were the guns that opened up, raking the artillery that had been thought hidden. As the Iron Warriors began their march at it's literal heels, the defensive line had no choice, falling back to conserve strength as they forced the enemy to expend ammunition and effort to take their fortifications while they retained numbers.
----------
"A Titan! A Void-Damned Titan!" General Alexus roared in anger. His officers winced, and even the Marines present were surprised by the rage. Only Brother-Major Rendavius failed to react. "How did our scouts not see this thing? How? And when did the Machine Cult turn?"
An Astartes Captain spoke up. "We've interrogated the local Tech-Priests. They claim no knowledge of it, and have surrendered the Constructor to us. For what it matters."
"Damn, damn, damn!" The General smashed his fist into the table. He was still wearing the powerfist, and thus the table simply shattered under the blow. "Tell me there's good news. Some kind of good news." He implored the officers present.
A Comissar nodded slowly. "Indeed. The Third, Seventh, and Nineth Armoured Companies, along with the aid of the loyal Marine Scouts still present, have been able to successfully disrupt the enemy supply lines and destroy a number of shipments. If we could but force them into a prolonged assault, they would exhaust their supplies and be easy prey."
"Yes, it's just making a prolonged assault that we live through." The General sighed. He grunted as he watched the Major, and gave him a backhand across the face with his non-powerfisted hand. "Wake up, damn you! Snap out of it! We need you!"
The Marine's face showed no signs of slumber, but much of anguish. It was clear why: The enemy out there were his own flesh and blood. Their leader, his father of sorts. He grunted after a moment.
"We'll get you your prolonged battle. Just use it well." The Marine said simply, and strode out, followed by his brothers.
--------
Four days later, the Titan's progress brought it to the last line of defense outside of the Capital, which had risen at the feet of the Constructor. Every gun the Army could produce was there, from the smallest Laspistol to the heavy guns of the Executioner Plasma Tanks and Baneblade Tank that stood ready to command the armoured companies moving into position to flank the attackers. The soldiers shivered as a cold rain fell on the soil.
The puddle produced ripples. The enemy was coming. Already, the dull, monotone chant was echoing from hundreds of voices.
"Steady..." General Alexus gave the order as the Titan crested into view.
"Steady..." It came again as the dozens upon dozens of Marines began coming into view, reinforced with their own armour.
From a hill to the south surged the loyalist Marines. They had abandoned their own Legion colours, and now wore complete black on their armour. They screamed out in rage and grief and betrayal. As soon as it was feasible, their Boltguns opened up into the enemy flank.
"Armour, go!" General Alexus roared into his Vox. "Infantry, make ready! Retreat not one step! All that is behind us is people!"
With a roar that didn't drown out the battle cries now reverberating through the Army, dozens of Executioner Plasma Tanks surged forward, their Plasma Annihilators powering up. They were supposed to be used in brief, controlled bursts to obliterate armoured targets. The users cast aside the safeties, and instead opened the valves up fully. Flashes became lances of destructive energy, carving into the legs of the Titan as the armoured colemn moved in to pinch the assault. The Baneblade's thirteen guns roared a symphony of destruction.
The General counted his heartbeats as the Titan paused in it's march, turning ponderously towards the source of the attacks that made it's Void Shields flare to life. He nearly bit his tongue as he realized it had taken the bait, and had exposed it's vunerable sides.
"Artillery! Thunderhawks! Marauders! Go, go, go!" He yelled. The sky became so loud he could barely hear his own voice as artillery and aircraft hit the Titan's side. Basilisks and Whirlwinds poured fire into it, and the aerospace fighters roared their fury.
It was alot of firepower. But the Titan was bigger. It's opening volley obliterated a dozen Executioners, and it's attention then came fully to the Baneblade. But the Iron Warriors weren't content to wait for it. Figuring the Titan could hold it's own, they kept marching. They split into two; a small detachment to deal with the Loyalists, and the rest accelerated towards the defensive line. Even with the armoured core of their force bogged down in the defender's tanks, the force of several hundred Marines would crush the puny humans.
"Hold the line!" The cry was heard across the Army line. The Marines had entered weapons range, and every soldier was firing. A lethal storm now existed between the advancing Marines and defending soldiers; Made of Lasgun and Hellgun beams, rockets from both sides, Bolter rounds, and jacketed plasma shots. Dozens of humans died in the opening seconds; perhaps a trio of Marines fell. Their brothers simply stepped over them.
In the core of the advancing forces marched Perturbo, with an honour guard clad in Tactical Dreadnought armour. He was glad to be back. This world would be a fine trophy before continuing on to Terra. The Constructor would make the conquest that much easier.
--------
The Loyalists hit the traitors and barely slowed down. They weren't interested in this distraction, spraying fire into their former brothers and remaining at full charge. Any of the Traitors stupid enough to try and engage Rendavius found their heads bisected from their bodies by his Lightning Claws. What was meant to stop the Loyalists in their tracks and slaughter them became a mere speedbump. Dozens died, but the bulk kept running, and the traitors that survived had to regroup and run after them.
Rendavius' personal Apothecary was keeping pace, somehow. "Well, that went well." He muttered. "Only lost thirty men completely, the rest are fighting to buy us time. You have a plan?"
"Father's going to pay for this." Came the monotone reply.
"Might I suggest one that's not suicidal?" The medic asked, before they found themselves hitting the main Traitor formation and plowing into it in a storm of Bolter rounds, melee attacks, and plasma fire.
Perturbo's force was in a horrible position. It was now sandwiched between two forces, cut off from it's armour. The Titan remained locked in combat, and the tanks at it's ankles were raging at each other, not the defensive barricades. He had one option left: Plow into the Army lines and carve them up in melee.
The slaughter began heartbeats later, as soldiers, unprepared for such a brutal foe to be this close, desperately sought to find weakpoints with bayonets. A Comissar held his ground, expertly cleaving through the Ceramite armour with his powersabre. A dozen feet away, four Stormtroopers suicidally tackled a Terminator. Moments later, they were shredded by the Chainfist. The Marine inside had just enough time to mutter a slur against their weakness and humanity before the Melta charges they had spent their lives planting on his armour went, blowing him to peices.
It was melee now. Chaotic, lethal, brutal. Each Marine was easily worth a dozen soldiers, but that dozen crowded in, ready to die for the inch of ground they represented. Grenades and plasma weapons represented the majority of attacks now; no soldier tried to use his lasgun or bayonet against such vastly superior opponents.
Perturbo raged in his armour. They weren't supposed to fight back so fearlessly! They should scatter before him, the unstoppable might that he represented! He was alerted to an attack on his flank; was that stupid Major trying to resist? Even him? Even him?!
"Carve him to peices. Fire." The Primarch spat. No mere shadow of himself was going to shame him by actually harming him. Dozens of Combi-Bolters opened up, their deadly hail carving into the charging mass that was plowing into his men. Loyalists fell in great number, but the Major was propelled on. He sported wounds in a dozen places, but didn't slow. Both Boltguns were screaming their holy litany of destruction as he hurled himself, oblivious to personal danger, at his Primarch.
Perturbo's personal guard fell back, some from wounds, some from terror at this unrelenting demon of a man who wouldn't slow down. Scowling, the founder of the Iron Warriors Legion strode one step forward and grabbed the Loyalist by his throat, lifting him into the air. "You thought you could challenge me? Me?! You're nothing but an ungrateful son, and I will smash you to peices as you deserve!"
"Hey asshole." Came a voice. "Peekaboo." It was Alexus. Before Perturbo could drop the Loyalist scum, he felt a blinding pain as his armour shattered under a blow from a Powerfist ramped all the way up. A second blow shattered more armour and broke bone before the Primarch, a son of the God-Emperor, could overcome the shock of a mere human daring to close into melee.
His wayward son discarded with a toss, he swung around to crush the insolent human. As he did, he was hammered by a storm of fire from a squad of Stormtroopers, their Meltaguns ramped up to try and melt through the armour. He stumbled backwards, and briefly glanced back to the Titan, his ace in the hole...
.....As it tumbled to the ground, smashed, carved, and destroyed by sheer weight of numbers. As his force here had been. Impossibly, this world had stood up and, in one voice, screamed NO!
He had to escape. Horus needed him at Earth. He would be back with his full Legion. And more Titans. This world would burn! His armour's teleport beacon flashed, and he was gone.
Brother-Major Rendavius and General Alexus stared at each other. Both men were sorely wounded; the Brother's left arm hung limp and useless; the General hobbled and sported horrific burns. But the Iron Warriors who could not teleport away were in full retreat.
"He'll be back."
"I know. But we can do this again."
"It cost alot of men."
"Then we'll rebuild our numbers as well as our cities."
"How can you be so confident?" The Brother-Major asked, bewildered. "He was only defeated because we were both stupid and rash!"
"Because we spent the Emperor's Currency well."
Both looked over the battlefield. Corpses were everywhere. The stench of death was filling both their senses.
"We've got alot of work ahead of us. I wonder if we'll get reinforcements, or if we're considered traitors too.."
"That, my friend, is tomorrow's concern." Both men went to the grim work of surveying the battlefield and gathering their survivors.