Apocalypse - No RemorseCampfires burned low in the gorge on Daizann. Around them, Chaos Space Marines sat, their armoured heads turning from left to right and back again, sweeping the surrounding area for any sign of weakness in their fellows. Here and there Bezerkers engaged in bloody duels or cut down those deemed unworthy of the honour of joining the Black Crusade or those whose loyalty to their daemonic master seemed insufficient. The campfires burned low because some had already been abandoned, their warpfire no longer fuelled by the surroundings but smouldering with the rage of the other Chaos forces. There was a consensus of movement in the gorge – long lines of troops wound steadily up the rocky slopes between the camps toward the cathedral that dominated the scene. A great brass monstrosity that towers over its worshippers, who are slowly being sucked into its maw and regurgitated into space onto the waiting transports, the cathedral is home to one of the most malign entities in the galaxy - Khastarax, the chosen one of Khorne and leader of the Black Crusade, daemon prince and slayer of many mortals, immortal and everlasting. One of those trains of troops was clambering along the side of the gorge when one of its many lesser champions beheld the four warriors scrambling down the side. He waved his own followers to a halt and strode forward, chainaxe already charging up. He bellowed a challenge to the apparent leader of the group, a burly Marine in battered, torn and filthy black armour. “You there!” the champion snarled. “Deserting the Crusade is punishable by death!” “We are not deserting,” said the Marine, who, now that he was closer, the champion could see had only one eye – the other, flinty grey, stared into his helmeted face. “We seek to join this train.” The champion’s eyes passed along the small group - one renegade Marine, a Bezerker and two hooded figures in carapace armour, most likely pirates. He struggled to find something to complain about and then he saw the force axe at the belt of one of the hooded men. “Khorne spits on sorcerers!” he snapped. “I will have no magi in my warband. Find yourself another train, scum.” “You leave me with no choice, wretch.” The Marine stepped forward and slammed his hitherto concealed powerfist right into the Champion’s face. Gideon re-concealed the weapon and motioned the others into the train. The Khorne warband halted for a moment and then marched on toward the fortress. As they passed the gigantic defence laser emplacement, they noticed that the weapon was tracking across the sky towards some distant silver lines that darted through the distorted view of space. Wind whistled across the Thunderhawk’s metal flanks as it descended into the clouds of crackling energy about Daizann. Two others accompanied it in the squadron, and many more flew to either side, each carrying a small group of Black Templars Space Marines. The Imperium’s righteous wrath had made it to Daizann despite the odds and now they were gathering to strike. This Thunderhawk had been modified to be Marshal Crassus’ link to the orbiting fleet, and carried his retinue, the Terminator Assault Squad Navarrus. Now encased in his formidable Terminator armour, Crassus stood a good two metres tall and clutched weapons that a normal man would have struggled to lift – a master-crafted power sword in his left hand and a huge storm bolter in his right. The sword in particular was at least a metre long and as heavy as the average human, and it was only thanks to his armour’s servos that he was capable of lifting it at all. Crassus knelt in the ‘hawk’s tiny shrine, his massive hands resting on the hilt of his sword, his impassive face bowed towards the Imperial Eagle as he intoned the Litany Against Fear he had learned as a Neophyte all those years ago. “Potens Terribilatas, adjuva me in extremis…” His brother Terminators knelt around him, intoning their own litanies before the Shrine, but he caught the words of the Litany Against Fear among them from the others: “Domina, salve nos…” The Thunderhawk juddered as it passed out of Daizann’s eternal warp storm and began the long, slow descent. The two Black Templars Initiates in the cockpit raised their hands, forming the Eagle, shielding themselves from the horrors beneath. “Dorn’s blood, look at this place!” “Aye, brother. This is a world born of hell itself.” A scant few kilometres from the fortress, more Thunderhawks were landing, most black, some green, and Templar and Angel alike were disembarking, fanning out to cover the landing of the Guard infantry. Already a vague battle-line was forming as the Dark Angels took the high ground around a rocky crag – the same crag that Darius had scouted from so long ago – while the Black Templars formed a patrol in front of the flat landing ground where the transports would be disgorging Imperial Guard, Sisters of Battle, even a small company from the Adeptus Mechanicus and, most heartening of all, two Warhound Titans from the Legio Metallica. Warhounds – small though they were next to the mighty Warlords and Warmongers, they still towered high above infantry and tanks, and they were faster than the larger Titans, and still heavily armed enough to shatter a small infantry detachment. Black Templars Devastators sat in foxholes, their heavy bolters and lascannons tracking along the plain, staring at Auspex scanners or through gunsights for any sign of a Chaos force deploying. This was when the Imperium was at its most vulnerable, during landing, before the massed tanks and artillery were ready. Little did they know that their presence was already noticed. “THEY HAVE COME!” Khastarax roared in triumph, his immense face lit up with a crazed grin when he saw the image of the Imperial forces landing, “THEY HAVE COME, AS YOU PROMISED THEY WOULD!” His voice had grown far more powerful with the promise of bloodletting, his wings unfurled to their greatest extent. “DIABOLUS, YOU HAVE SERVED ME WELL INDEED.” “As you can see, master, the Changing Lord’s power serves your purpose well.” The Fallen Angel’s hands moved, adjusting the target of the scrying. “But I cannot find our lesser enemies, the Inquisitor and his allies. Some psychic presence protects them from me. I swear, master, when I find them I shall take that accursed spirit stone and rend it apart and scatter the soul within to every corner of the Eye!” Diabolus’ voice betrayed his emotion, despite the enclosing helmet he wore that hid his expression. “That Eldar witch has angered me now. Master, I beg of you, the young one who carries the stone – let me destroy him.” “SO, MY FRIEND, YOU DO HAVE SOME SPIRIT IN YOU!” Khastarax smiled. “VERY WELL, THE YOUNG FOOL IS YOURS.” The daemon prince’s immense wings flapped as he bore himself up out of the throne room to marshal his troops. Diabolus, left alone, cursed himself. He had allowed his anger to show through his mask of servitude. In truth the thing that angered him most was being forced to bend his knee to this Khornate brute and to bend his great power to annihilating a pair of Black Templars and their allies. Beneath his dignity really – without him Khastarax would never have been able to secure his secret weapon that lurked in orbit above and would never have commanded the Crusade. The Fallen looked around him stealthily and stalked forward. He sat in Khastarax’s throne, his hands playing about the pommel of his sword as he stared into the darkness and imagined the glory he would build of this place when the Khornate fool was deposed. A sacred world of Tzeentch – a planet-wide temple to the Changing Lord, the home for his service and his study. Diabolus cradled the image in his mind and saw that it was good. The landing was well under way. Already three transports had been and gone, depositing two regiments of Imperial Guard – mechanised troops from Kreig and infantry from Valhalla. Crassus shrank back into his armour as the downwash of heat from the fourth washed over him. This transport was carrying the heavy support for the Kreig regiment, Leman Russ tanks of every class. As the armoured vehicles disembarked, Crassus’ upward-gazing eyes saw five ship-to-surface transports, each of which was, he knew, carrying a super-heavy tank deployed from Kreig to lead the Imperial Guard to war. Reluctantly he left the spectacle and strode down the spreading trench line to meet with the man in dress uniform who was coming the other way. “General Veers?” asked Crassus, expecting the usual terrified response from a Guard officer who had never seen a Space Marine before. “Marshal Crassus?” the general replied, saluting. “I am indeed General Veers of the Kreig Nineteenth Armoured Corps.” Crassus studied his second-in-command. Veers was tall for a human but still a good foot and a half shorter than the Terminator-armoured Crassus. His dress uniform was bedecked with valour, honour and gallantry decorations and a pair of magnoculars hung about his neck. Atop his head was set the cap of a General, together with the epaulettes on his shoulders. His eyes, hazel brown, shone in the twilight of the hellish planet they stood on. “I take it you are aware of the battle plan, general?” Crassus intoned, stepping along his path into the trench line. “I am,” stated the Kreig officer. “My troops are almost at full strength, though we lost around a hundred in the space engagement.” ‘A hundred!’ Crassus thought. The general’s definition of minor casualties was a testament both to the scale of Operation Doomsday and the command he was trusted with. Crassus commanded seven hundred Black Templars in his own Crusade Company – Veers led five thousand Imperial Guardsmen. The human was trusted far more than Crassus ever would be. The Black Templar found himself wondering how many engagements Veers had fought in, how much dedication he must have displayed to be entrusted with so much in his short life. Crassus knew why that was, and he knew that his foes in this battle were the reason. Ever since the dark days of the Horus Heresy when fully half the Space Marines had turned against the Emperor, almost tearing apart the Imperium in the bloodiest war ever seen, before or since, no Space Marine had ever been trusted with the power Horus and his fellow Primarchs had had. The Black Templars defied this ruling wherever possible, covertly maintaining a force six times larger than the Codex Astartes stated, but even they were still strictly forbidden from massing more than a thousand Marines in any one place at any one time. The Imperium feared a second Heresy more than anything, and they kept large formations like the Imperial Guard only because no normal human would live long enough to corrupt as much of his command as Horus had. “I have contacted the Adeptus Mechanicus leaders, Marshal, and they inform me that the Titans will be landing within the hour.” “Hm? Ah, yes, the Legio Metallica. Give my thanks to the Princeps, general.” “It seems to me, Marshal, that you are somewhat perturbed.” General Veers halted and gazed into his superior’s eyes. “Aye, general, that I am. It is this planet, this enemy we are to face, this hell I find myself in. It is written that we should know no fear and yet I know fear, general, and I am not proud of it.” “You should be,” Veers replied. “It is the mark of a warrior that he knows his fears. Only a coward lets fear master him, only a madman lets it pass by. Know your fears but face them down, Marshal, and then you shall win through.” ‘Such insight for a human…’ Crassus thought. In truth he had been testing Veers for the depth of control and savvy that would be needed for the coming battle – the general had passed with flying colours. “My thanks, general.” Crassus waved him on. “Shall we continue?” The train of warriors had been marching for hours now, but finally the Emperor’s only followers amidst the foul Chaos troops had reached the entrance to the bastion. As the column wound its way in, several units detached and moved off into the dark passages that led off the main hall Gideon and the others found themselves in. They took the opportunity at a crossroads to pull off down the left hand way and council themselves. “Well, we’re in,” Mariana rasped, her voice camouflaged by the polymorphine disguise. “Now what? We could search this place for aeons and not find Khastarax.” “What need have we for guile?” Gideon muttered. “Stealth has served us this far – I say let strength serve us the rest of the way.” “Strength?” Carravar spluttered inside his rebreather mask. “You propose that we confront that army of foulness single-handed? You are insane, Gideon, that or lying.” “I think master Gideon may be on to something.” Darius nodded thoughtfully, scratching his sideburns. “Did any of you see those lights outside?” Gideon and Mariana nodded. “I think they might have been ships orbiting outside the defence laser range. I’ve got a hunch that the Imperium might be landing troops here.” “On a daemonworld?” Mariana’s artificial head lurched sideways. “Is that possible?” “It might be. It’s been attempted before, I’m almost certain of it.” Carravar’s scepticism was being overcome by curiosity. “So you think there might be hope yet?” “I do, and here is what I propose. We wait for the Imperial forces to land in full – if I’m right, the Chaos scum’s battle lust will prove too great and most of them will move out of the fortress to fight. Meanwhile we search the fortress for Khastarax.” “And what if the daemon has already left?” “Then we go out there and find him.” Darius’ eyes narrowed. “He’s not all, though. I can feel something bad up ahead, don’t ask how or why.” “I sense it too,” Carravar intoned, “and I fear it, Darius. But you’re right about one thing. The time for guile is over.” “The time for guile is over?” Diabolus laughed. “There is always time for guile, my Inquisitorial friend. And there is rarely time for brute strength… indeed, there is never truly enough time for some.” His right hand played about the sword again – his left was cupped to form the scrying spell. He heard the beating of vast leathery wings and quickly leapt out of the throne, banishing the image with a clench of his fist. Khastarax swept down into his accustomed place, folding his pinions behind him and spreading them out again as he sat. “ALL IS PREPARED NOW, DIABOLUS. I AM READY FOR BATTLE AGAIN.” “Am I to assume you still pursue this mad scheme of making the first move, master?” Diabolus feigned concern, but really his mind was begging for the answer to be yes. “MAD?” Khastarax growled. “KHORNE IS DONE WAITING FOR BLOOD, DIABOLUS. I SHALL LEAD OUR FORCES OUT WHEN THEY ARE READY AND NOT LATER. A TZEENTCHIAN CALLING HONOUR IS UNUSUAL TO SAY THE LEAST!” he finished, piercing his aide with a look. “I do not advise honour, lord, only caution. The Imperium should be allowed to deploy fully…” “YOU ARE A STRATEGIST, DIABOLUS, NOT A WARRIOR. YOU HAVE NO CONCEPT OF THE LURE THAT IS KHORNE’S PRAISE. THE ARMY WILL LEAVE ON MY COMMAND.” “Very well, lord.” Diabolus’ hidden eyes blazed triumphantly while his stance showed submission. He wanted Khastarax to move first, knowing that the Khornate troops would almost, but not quite, be able to break the fanatical Space Marines. His grasp of the future was so close… he brought himself back to reality with a mental crunch as Khastarax spoke again. “THE IMPERIALS ARE LANDING TITANS! WARHOUND TITANS – THEY BELIEVE ME SO WEAK I CAN BE CRUSHED SO EASILY?” “I doubt it, lord. It is my belief that the Imperial forces are supported by their super-heavy tanks, the Baneblades and Shadowswords.” Diabolus scowled as he spoke. The ‘progress’ of the Imperium was nothing compared to the eternal change of Chaos. The Imperium was dying and Chaos was going to inherit. Chaos had the strength to wipe out the Orks, the guile to eliminate the Eldar, perhaps even the sheer tenacity to drive away the Tyranids and rule an eternal, changing Dark Imperium, unafraid of challenge by any. Diabolus realised he was thinking aloud. “YOU UNDERSTAND, DIABOLUS. THAT IS WHY I HAVE YOU BY MY SIDE. I NEED YOUR INSIGHT, YOUR PROMETHEAN MASTERY OF THE FUTURE. THAT IS WHY YOU ARE HERE, DIABOLUS, AND DON’T FORGET IT. NOW COME WITH ME.” The daemon got up and began to stride out onto the throne room’s balcony. It looked out over a great hall in which the army of Chaos was being assembled, tanks and munitions being recalled from orbit on vast teleport arrays, technomagi scurrying about, readying suits of Terminator armour for the coming war. “THESE ARE OUR WEAPONS, MY FRIEND,” said Khastarax, “AND YOU ARE THEIR GUIDING LIGHT. IT IS YOUR SIGHT THAT BROUGHT THEM HERE, BUT IT IS I, KHASTARAX, WHO HAVE UNIFIED THEM AND LED THEM OUT OF THE SHADOWS TO THIS PLACE. NEVER FAIL TO RECALL THAT WITHOUT ME THE CRUSADE IS NOTHING. NOTHING!” ‘No fear of that!’ Diabolus laughed mentally. And he carried on laughing. Sapphon looked around him at the Dark Angels Devastator position. His force, drawn from the Fourth Company with reinforcements from the Eighth and Ninth, was composed largely of Devastators and heavy-weapon equipped Tactical squads, with two Dreadnoughts and five Land Raiders providing the armour. Two Deathwing squads completed the force; the final defence should all else fail. Sapphon’s gaze swung out over the gathering Imperial Guard, the red uniforms of the Adeptus Mechanicus electro-priests and the Black Templars in their Crusader Land Raiders and Rhinos and Razorbacks, the spearhead of the attack. And behind them, surrounded by tanks, dwarfing even the three Baneblades and two Shadowswords, were the towering canine-headed Warhound Titans, each one carrying two mighty heavy weapon batteries slung from their shoulders. The two war machines stood, silent, deadly twins that stared unseeingly at that monstrous travesty of sanity across the plain, the Chaos fortress. Strange that it was so quiet… Sapphon pressed the comm.-link buzzer in his wrist, still rooting his gaze on the Titans. “Brother-Librarian Althus?” he asked. “Brother-Librarian Althus?” +Althus here+ replied the voice of the psyker. +How can I assist, revered?+ “Do you sense anything that might indicate some, some sneak attack by the enemy?” Sapphon asked hoarsely. +Nothing+ Althus replied. +Their intent is becoming clearer to me with each passing moment – they intend to launch the attack at night, when they believe we will be unprepared+ “Have you informed the Marshal?” +That fanatic? He distrusts the ways of the warp, revered. I doubt he would listen even if I could reach him+ “Nevertheless I believe he should be told. I shall indicate this to him myself. Sapphon out!” +Semper Fideles!+ came the Librarian’s response before the comm.-link shut down. Sapphon pressed the stud on his wrist again. “Sapphon to command!” he intoned. +Lieutenant Rosencratz here+ said a voice. “Please inform General Veers and Marshal Crassus that the Dark Angels psykers have detected the Chaos strategy. They mean to attack at nightfall.” +Understood+ replied Rosencratz. Sapphon heard a vague echo of speech, his statement repeated. +Data received, command out!+ “Gloria Victorius!” said Sapphon, twisting the comm.-link off. Fleet Warmaster Jovis was back in his accustomed position aboard the Emperor battlecruiser Righteous Light, having been restored to fleet command. The portly blond man sat in comm.-conference with his Admirals as he had on the Kar Duniash space station a month and a half ago. His divided viewscreen bore the images of the ten subordinate Admirals who were commanding other battleships. One, the Mailed Fist, had been lost during the fleet engagement, Admiral Vorbis with it. Jovis turned to the blank section of screen. The twelfth partition was occupied by the emblem of the Inquisition but no face, merely the huge metallic I. The mechanical voice that grated out of the section told him nothing about the speaker whatsoever. Unnerving, Jovis thought, but wise. The Inquisition relied on secrecy and mystery to preserve its integrity and he was not one to question them. “Warmaster Jovis,” the voice began. “A decision has been made to make you partially aware of the Inquisition’s purpose here.” “Indeed?” asked Jovis. “The Inquisition seek a Chaotic relic that predates the Imperium by several thousand years. You will no doubt encounter it during the foreseen battle. You are to ignore it. If it is damaged you will be held responsible for its loss and executed, is that clear?” “What is this relic?” “You will know soon enough.” The screen section faded
and died, and Jovis shook his head. ‘Damn the Inquisitors and damn their
mystery mission too!’ he found himself thinking. ‘Secrecy is all very
well, but it begins to endanger our own mission.’ Diabolus grinned in the cool darkness of the throne room. His psychic powers had been more than enough to confound the Dark Angels who could have been his brothers – or perhaps, had he remained loyal, more like his children. He banished the thought. Chaos had done more for him than anything, ever. It had granted him foresight and the ability to befuddle and manipulate the minds of lesser beings. It would grant him Daemonhood in time. Until then he was reduced to working alongside Khastarax, for now at least. Jovis’ council had reached a conclusion. The Imperial scans had detected a Chaos fleet hiding in low orbit around Daizann’s equator, always keeping the planet between them and the Imperials. The plan was to attack the fleet before it could reinforce the Chaos defence – no doubt the bloodlust of the Khorne troops would pull them out of hiding. Meanwhile they had to hope that the surface attack would go ahead at nightfall as promised… “We have until nightfall!” Crassus spat. “These psykers tell us we have until nightfall. I will have none of it, general. Order your men to continue disembarking according to original schedules. This warp storm confounds them, I have no doubt.” “I believe you to be correct.” Veers switched on his comm.-link. “Veers to fleet! How many more to disembark?” +One thousand infantry, three armour brigades and a hundred Sisters of Battle+ said a voice at the other end. “Understood. Order, say three hundred infantry to remain aboard the transports as guards, we’ll need to get off this Emperor-forsaken rock. Get the rest down here by twilight. I want the offensive ready for launch at midnight, is that understood?” The answering voice sounded confused. +Aye, sir+ “Veers out.” The general turned back to Crassus. “Twelve hours’ time and we’ll have almost all the troops at ground level.” “It’s too long. I need the attack off at twilight, the rest will have to defend the landing site. Tell them to cover the Dark Angel’s backs.” “With respect, sir, Master Chaplain Sapphon is eager that his Assault troops should be part of the attack on the fortress itself. He claims to have some mission from the Inner Circle of his Chapter that cannot be interfered with or questioned.” “Does everyone on this Crusade have some ulterior motive?” asked the Marshal. “Very well. Tell him he can have his place among us.” “I am glad of this!” shouted Sapphon as his jump pack powered him down to land alongside them. “The Dark Angels have a quest remarkably similar to your own, Marshal.” “I don’t want to know,” said Crassus. “Just make sure you remember why we are here. We are here to destroy that thing, and no secret mission can distract us from it.” “Rest assured, Marshal, we should not fail you. The Dark Angels shall not fail.” Sapphon bowed slightly and turned away. Crassus saluted him and turned himself, his eyes drawn up to the Titans that loomed over him. The others were hunched in a corner waiting for the Chaos forces to move – not Darius. He was gazing out of the cathedral window eagerly at the Chaos forces. They’d found this alcove far off the beaten track and holed up there. Mariana had switched off her disguise to conserve polymorphine and Carravar had been grateful to remove his mask. Darius, meanwhile, was watching the Chaos army amassing in the gorge outside. He’d sat, looking on in horrified fascination, as they had made sacrifices to their foul gods over the course of the day. Now night was slowly falling over Daizann and the daemonic rituals outside were nearing a climax. Darius watched the Khorne followers anoint their war machines with blood and clamber aboard. Now he could hear the huge doors of the cathedral grinding fully open and some gigantic thing moving within. But amidst the grinding and the banging of whatever was coming out of the doors Darius could still hear the wings of Khastarax beating as the daemon prince lifted his vast bulk into the air. He leant further up against the window and caught a glimpse of his mortal enemy flapping slowly higher, his lips mouthing some vile Chaotic words. “BROTHERS IN CHAOS! HEAR ME NOW! WE GATHER ON DAIZANN TO SMITE THE IMPERIUM WHO WOULD SNUFF US OUT NOW! BUT WE SHALL PREVAIL! AKSHO KHARNETH AKHASH! BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” He landed atop the gateway that led onto the surface of Daizann. The reply came from a hundred thousand throats. “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” The gates of the fortress yawned open and the vehicles began to move, leading the advance. “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” The infantry surged through among them; the sound of buzzing chain weapons filled the sky. “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD
GOD!” Chaos stretched its limbs out onto the plain, gathering strength for the conflict about to begin. “BLOOD
FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” And Darius saw it all and he felt the fear rising in his heart as he saw what had exited the gates. Gideon strode along to stand beside him and he heard his master gasp. “Domina, salve nos…” “Emperor protect us!” Mariana leaned between them. “If only we could warn them!” “We cannot.” Gideon said flatly. “We must do what has to be done.” Darius realised he had fainted and that he was dreaming very quickly. Once again he stood within the crystal beauty that he knew to be the Eldar spirit stone that rested above his heart, drawing upon his strength to keep it alive. The voice of Kryssia was weaker this time, her image more translucent. The Howling Banshee stretched out her arms towards him, imploring, whispering. “We’re dying… you have to help us…” “Why? How?” Darius tried to grasp her outstretched hands but his passed straight through hers. “Chaos… too strong… the battle at the mirror weakened us… we can’t go on…” “Kryssia! Wait! I’m…” But it was too late. The light around him flared and died and the crystal dream shattered around him. His eyes flickered open again and he instantly drew out the spirit stone from its place above his heart. It was cracked and dull, its inner fire paled and dying out. Gideon reached out a hand and tried to touch it but Darius pulled it away. “I would rather she died than live forever in Khastarax’s maw!” the Neophyte said, and holding out his hand he crushed the stone in it. “No remorse, Darius?” said Gideon. “And no pity.” Darius replied. “Let’s go and finish this.” The Imperial forces had just begun to move when they sighted what was spilling over the plain towards them. Dust trails spun up from a thousand Rhinos and Land Raiders, dozens of Brass Scorpions and Doomblasters, all the foulness of Khorne made material and spilled out onto his world. Against them was ranged the strength of the Imperium – the two great Warlord Titans, Veers’ super heavy tanks and Steel Legion troops, Crassus at the head of his Black Templars and Sapphon’s Dark Angels holding the flank. But opposite them was the beast himself, grown vast on the warlust of his worshippers. Khastarax towered over them all, his great pinions creaking as he soared over them, a vile monstrosity that led an army of monsters, the abominations’ abomination, the chosen of Chaos. One of the greatest battles since the Horus Heresy was about to be joined. Destiny itself was tied to this place now. The war to end all wars had begun. The Chaos army sped forward, unimaginably vast and lethal, dozens of Land Raider tanks carrying Terminators, Rhinos with Bezerkers, Lords of Battle carrying whole warbands. Already the heavier war engines were spitting death over the land towards the Imperial lines. Within the tanks chanting and roaring Bezerkers promised their god great tithes of blood and souls, each one praying for Daemonhood as the ultimate reward. The Imperium returned fire with battle cannon and Earthshaker and mortar, huge artillery weapons tearing up the ground before the tanks. The Warhounds braced their legs and fired, vast guns pulverising three of the seven Lords of Battle as the siege machines ground forward. The Black Templars hung grimly to the weapon racks in their transports, waiting for the enemy to close. Closer, and now the heavy weapons of the Chaos tanks began to fire as the vehicles slowed, lascannons, heavy bolters, Doomblasters, all laying out a common bellow of rage and chaotic anger. The Dark Angels and Imperial Guard returned fire, their own multimeltas and missile launchers blowing Rhinos apart, forcing their traitor cargoes to continue advancing on foot. The Crusaders and Razorbacks of the Black Templars revved their engines in readiness for the off, already some sliding forward, then back into place in the lines. The Chaos cultists and beastmen on foot were swarming around the tanks, heading for the gaps blown by the Brass Scorpions and Doomblasters on the way in. Chaos Dreadnoughts strode out from amidst the press of chanting cultists, their autocannons and plasma cannons tearing holes in the Imperial infantry at the forefront of the defence. The assault had begun, the battle was joined. Now the cunning of the Imperial commanders began to show itself. As the cultists and mutants began their assault, the Black Templars vehicles opened their hatches, allowing the fanatical Space Marines to close for counterattack. Crusaders drove over whole covens of heretics, their huge armoured doors yawning open to allow the egress of the assault squads therein. Over a dozen Chaplains led their brethren in the rites of war, crozia hissing and crackling, smiting the Chaos troops apart. The Land Raiders were the last to attack, lascannons firing point-blank into the enemy Dreadnoughts as the berserk machines pushed forward, then disgorged Terminators in their black armour to force back the few Chaos troops that were breaking through. The Warlord Titans adjusted their aim, now firing at the Chaos artillery ranged on the hills before the fortress, a single stride carrying the gargantuan war machines over the melee below. General Veers squatted back into his reinforced chair in the Baneblade and squinted at his chronometer. His time was up – it was the moment to move. The Chaos assault was blunted but not broken, and now it was they who were cutting down Templars, the dozens of Dreadnoughts from the fortress reinforcing the damned legion’s attack. Their foe never broke from melee, fighting on until the last or until there was a clear enough moment to consolidate back into their transports. Gradually it became apparent to the Chaos Champions that the Black Templars were turning their Crusaders into strongpoints, mowing down cultists with assault cannon and Hurricane bolter fire while the Land Raiders shot down Dreadnoughts. It wasn’t all going the loyalists’ way, though – Chaos Land Raiders were closing in and combining fire, three of them attacking one Crusader and blowing it apart. Crassus’ power sword sang as he decapitated a Chaos Space Marine, his backswing eviscerating another. For a moment his blade stuck and then he pulled it free, the Land Raider behind him driving up, allowing him to retreat for a moment into the tank’s interior. Now he was praying for Veers to remember his orders. The general had. Baneblade tanks moved within range, halted and then opened up with their side arms, each tank carrying the equivalent armament of an entire platoon of Guard infantry. The Chaos troops began to fall back as their dead mounted up, the Shadowswords pulverising more of the Lords of Battle. The broad, tall mini-Titans were keeling over one by one as the volcano cannons hit and tore them into shreds. For once the vast transports were proving ineffective, the assault units they carried trapped in burning wreckage as the Baneblades shifted targets. Now Leman Russ tanks of every description were joining in the slaughter, bulldozer blades pushing the mounds of Chaos dead back into their lines, forcing them to give ground. The Khorne Bezerkers committed themselves to the fray, hacking through the corpses of their followers to attack the battle tanks with krak grenades and daemonic weapons. Limbs of dead cultists littered the fronts of the war engines, causing many of the high explosives to bounce off and explode harmlessly on the floor or kill their originators, but still they found their mark and when the Champions closed the results were terrible, possessed weapons biting deep into ceramite and plasteel, lancing in at crewmen. Frenzied Bezerkers swept over and around Chimera transports, slaughtering the troops inside. The Imperium countered with Hellhounds, the dreaded inferno cannon scouring the fearless Khornates back, while Sentinels shot the survivors down with lascannons or multilasers. Sapphon stood at the centre of his troops, the Devastators around him blasting into the fray, driving back any unengaged Chaos troops, buying time for the human forces to regroup. He chanted the ancient words of the Martio Tertius, the Hymnal of War, as he ordered the Deathwing forward. The Emperor’s Finest were cutting deep across the bogged down Chaos force now. As they waded through the piles of dead, they were blasted down by storm bolters and assault cannon or pulverised by chainfists. Sapphon’s holding back of his elite Terminators was proving wise as they slaughtered their way along the Chaos attack line, bolters jammed but still fighting on, five of them armed with lightning claws leading the strike. The Black Templars renewed their counterattack, power-armoured assault troops swarming back out of the transports to join their bone-coloured brothers. The two Chapter battlecries mixed in with the shouts of Imperial Guard troopers, a discord of a harmonious force. Then a Guardsman struck up the only cry that could unify the Imperium, the one thing that had yet to be uttered. “For the Emperor!” Others joined the lone voice as Guard infantry fired out of their tanks or the defended positions around the landing site, lasgun shots scouring into tainted armour. The Space Marines took up the cry together as they fought back to back along the line. “FOR THE EMPEROR!” Crassus roared, his massive sword slashing into Bezerker after Bezerker. “For the Emperor!” cried Trooper Gorn, alive against the odds, as his bayonet impaled a beastman who had scrambled down the hill of his companions’ bodies. “For the Emperor!” Veers shouted triumphantly as his Baneblade broke the lines, immolating the last of the Lords of Battle. “For the Emperor!” Darius cried, dashing along the steps that led into one of the many Khornate fighting shrines here in the stronghold, Gideon at his back. The two Black Templars hacked down hordes of the unarmed cultists who manned the steps, chanting the mantras of Khorne. Carravar’s psychic powers cut them down in droves, arcs of lightning scraping flesh from bone. Mariana’s ancient and deadly weapons scythed at their very minds, tearing their souls apart in madness. Gideon drew himself up from his leap off the shrine’s bordering steps. “There!” he cried. “Some kind of hall!” “We’re with you, brother!” Darius yelled, swinging himself down next to his master. “It ends here and now, Darius. It ends here and now.” Gideon strode up to the doors, his mind alive with the promise of freedom from Aryani’s vision. Strangely as soon as he’d passed the gates it had disappeared from his dreams, now just a lurking presence at the back of his mind. Perhaps it knew that now there was no going back. He stopped at the vast brazen doors, over three metres tall and two broad. “How do we get through?” Darius asked him. “Really, brother…” Gideon began. “Sometimes…” – he drew back his power fist – “we have to be – “ he leaned back onto his opposite foot and pushed forward – “we have to trust the Emperor!” The ancient weapon tore the hall entrance in two, shards of brass falling around Gideon as the instruments of the Emperor’s vengeance strode forward into the very foulness of hell itself. In the darkness of the void Jovis’ battleships and the rest of the fleet rounded Daizann’s southernmost mountains and beheld that which hung over the southern pole, exactly opposite the fortress. It was vast. It was black. It shone in the gleam, an eight-pointed star of evil. One word raced through Jovis’ mind and died as it spat a stream of warp energy at his ship, a stream that would tear it to atoms in minutes. Blackstone!’ A Blackstone fortress! Arcane weapon of evil, reawakened by Abaddon himself during the Gothic War. It had been thought that all six had been destroyed at the end of that conflict – thought in error, Jovis realised as his ship died around him. The last words he heard were the spoken transmission from the Inquisition ship. “You will know.” Three Inquisitors sat in conference around their holodata screen. One said, “Blackstone Seven. The evil thought impossible, the greatest artefact left over from the C’tan empire.” One said, “And our objective, my friends. We are in agreement?” One said. “We are.” The Inquisition ship closed in towards its target, powering up forbidden weapons, as the fleet followed, intending to end the heretical target’s life and blast it out of existence. Diabolus’ battlegroup set off their trap. The Blackstone was fully operational and, as the greatest of its kind, possessed weapons only dreamed of by the Imperium. Four ships blew apart as its warp cannons spat out their deadly energies, seven more Imperial vessels were blown away by the hidden defences, twelve by the guns of Diabolus’ private fleet, the black, blue and gold ships of Tzeentch. The Inquisitors were not among them. One said, “Pull out! We can’t stand up to that kind of weaponry!” One said, “We must – if we do not three hundred years of waiting will be lost. We may never get another chance!” One, the leader, said, “We shall fall back and order the fleet with us. We cannot hope to damage the Blackstone yet, but we shall prevent it escaping the system.” Two said, “Agreed.” Khastarax soared over the fighting, watching the Imperium slowly drive his less dedicated followers back. Those on foot were even now pouring, slow and steady, over the Chaos plain towards them, but they needed proof of their lord’s strength. As the second wave of Chaos troops impacted with the advancing Imperials, Khastarax descended from the sky like a bullet fired from some daemonic weapon by Khorne himself. The Black Templars raised their guns skyward as the daemon descended, his vast wings beating, his claws outstretched, balefires flaring from his maw and his cloven hooves. He landed atop a Leman Russ and tore its turret in half, the explosion playing over his daemon flesh. He raised his talons to the sky and cried a terrible cry. “ABOMINATUS!” Veers shied back as his scanners detected what strode out of the gates of Khastarax’s fortress now. Darius had seen it earlier half-landed, but now it bore its full panoply of war. It was the only one of its kind, the Anti-Emperor Titan, the Imperator Diabolic, Abominatus, the Despoiler of Worlds, often lost but always returning, the great testament to the ways of Chaos. In shape it was like an Imperial Titan, tall and broad, its wide feet carrying a detachment of troops, its squat legs heaving under the weight of the cathedral-like weapon batteries on its shoulders. Its arms were two great plasma cannons, its mouth a volcano cannon. But it was Chaotic, baroque images of daemon heads adorned its guns, a long skull-tipped tail lashed between its legs and its monstrous head spat death into the Imperial Guard. The lascannon shots of Land Raiders burst pinprick holes in its armoured greaves. Only one thing could stop it – the Warhounds. They turned from their stride towards the artillery and levelled their guns at Abominatus, bracing their legs – the plasma arrays gouted energy and blew one of them to shreds. The other was hit by shots from the cathedral-like spires on its back as it stomped over the field towards the battered Warhound with its back torn by the great weapons of the Imperator Diabolic. The Warhound fired in return, scraping away the power feeds to one plasma array, damaging but not disabling it. The Abomination Extremis responded by lashing out with its tail, knocking the Warhound over onto its ruined back. All this took ten full minutes to play out before Veers’ horrified gaze. A downed Titan was, he knew, as good as dead. Abominatus raised one armoured foot before Veers bellowed the order. “Shadowswords! Open fire as soon as its foot reached maximum height! Target the other leg!” They heard him and obeyed him, volcano cannons bursting into Abominatus’ knee, spinning it back away from the damaged Warhound. The Baneblades joined in, their battle cannons knocking out the greave of the other leg and spilling burning Chaos Marines over the ground. They had been firing bolters into the downed Imperial Titan, doing combined damage to many systems. And yet still the Warhound was staggering upright, its guns serving to remount it, legs scrabbling for purchase. The tail of Abominatus lashed out again, biting deep into the Warhound’s face. Two cannon shots blasted the skull-head apart, the Warhound’s own jaws replying, tearing the daemonbound weapon into pieces. That had bought enough time for the Land Raiders to close. Black Templars Crusaders and Land Raiders had broken the lines of the second wave and now closed on Abominatus, firing off their multimeltas and lascannons into its joints. The Chaos Titan toppled over and landed back first, the cathedral spires bursting open in a rattle of explosions. As it tore itself apart warp energy flared about it, pulling it away before it could be lost, as always happened. Khastarax pulled away from the assault as his Bezerkers broke and fled before the Kreig attack, tanks mowing them down as they ran. His wings pushed him higher and higher, circling him towards the fortress. Abominatus had fallen, both his waves of attack had failed. He was doomed. Crassus switched on his comm.-link to the entire army and boomed jubilantly into it. “We have them now, brother Templars, Dark Angels, Guardsmen! Pursue them into that place of foulness! Warhound and Mechanicus troops into the artillery, Sisters with them! Drive them back into the hills! Chaplain Sapphon, you are free to perform your mission! General Veers, with us! Let man and Templar together scour Daizann! For the Emperor!” His Land Raider sped forward towards the open gates, guns blazing at the fleeing Chaos troops. He knew the Guard were close behind him, he knew his brother Templars were around him. He could not fail now. He reopened the channel. “Are you with me, Black Templars?” “NO PITY! NO REMORSE! NO FEAR!” replied the five hundred surviving Marines. Sapphon’s Assault squads flew high over the battlefield, towards the mountains, praying they weren’t too late. Renegades swarmed over the gantries towards the four warriors. Bleeding from a dozen small wounds, each one of them reaped down the enemies like the scum they were. But no man can continue fighting forever against such odds. The charge slowed to a crawl as more and more cultists and tech-priests hurled themselves forward. The battle turned when the Fallen Angels joined the fray. From out of the throne-room entrance they came, guns blazing indiscriminately. Unbeknownst to Gideon and Darius, Diabolus was making his bid for escape, ordering his followers to cut down Imperials and Khornates alike. Mariana was the first to fall, her disguise fading, her slender form dragged down by the Chaos cultists. The Callidus Assassin’s muscles heaved as she tried to force her way out of the press, but there were too many of them and she died silently, her weapons falling to the floor, her body crushed to a bloody smear. The other three pushed on wordlessly, but Gideon vowed to make the Chaos fiends pay for each Imperial death. They made it to the stairs when Carravar died, the retreating Fallen Angels’ last shot catching him in the back as he climbed, his force axe flying forward into the cold darkness of the throne chamber. Gideon and Darius were alone in the very heart of Chaos now. “No pity?” asked Gideon as they panted their way to the open doorway. “No remorse?” Darius responded. “No fear.” Gideon finished. The two Templars stepped in to meet their destiny. Khastarax landed on the throne’s dais just as they entered at the far end, his face trembling, his vast limbs twitching. Diabolus sat on the throne, sword drawn. A golden sword. “SO, AT THE LAST, YOUR PROPHECIES FAIL ME.” Khastarax was beyond rage now, in that calm brooding state where death comes swiftly to one’s enemies. “Fail you?” Diabolus asked. “’Lord’, they were never yours to command!” “YOU DISHONOUR ME, DIABOLUS. YOU WOULD SEEK TO UNDERMINE THE KHORNATE SENSE OF BATTLE-BROTHERHOOD? YOU WOULD SEEK TO MISUSE HIS BENEFICIENCE?” “Your insane god is as doomed as you are, Khastarax.” Diabolus stood and levelled the sword at his erstwhile master. “I am your master now, daemon.” “I THINK NOT!” Khastarax waved his right arm at the two Templars. “THEY HAVE COME. I KNEW FROM THE START THAT THEY WOULD BE MY UNDOING. WELL, MY DISLOYAL AIDE, YOU SHALL FIGHT THIS LAST BATTLE ALONGSIDE ME. YES, DIABOLUS, YOU SHALL STAND BY ME AND DIE FOR ME AND IF THEY DO NOT KILL YOU, I WILL.” “So be it!” Diabolus snarled. Gideon and Darius’ dash stopped as they reached the foot of the throne. This was it. Khastarax was there, fully armoured, twin axes in his hands for his battle. A Fallen with a golden sword stood next to him, cloak thrown back to reveal the Tzeentch emblem on his breastplate. The four stood frozen, their gazes locked. Diabolus broke the silence. “You, Darius. You still carry the spirit stone?” “It is destroyed,” the Neophyte whispered. “I would rather consign Kryssia to death than have your vile gods take her.” “You disappoint me!” Diabolus laughed. “Khastarax, honour our agreement. The old one is yours, but this snivelling apprentice is mine.” The Fallen Dark Angel stepped coolly down from the dais, sword raised to salute. Gideon’s last vision fell into place. He recognised this scene from his dream of three nights hence, before the battles had begun outside. This was the end. He rose calmly from his panting crouch to face Khastarax, powerfist ready. “ARE YOU READY FOR ME, MORTAL?” the daemon hissed. “I am always ready for battle.” Gideon answered. “And now I shall be your end. You know me, Khastarax. I am the Emperor’s Champion, your deadliest foe, your slayer.” “BRAVE WORDS!” Khastarax roared. “I’VE
HEARD THEM MANY A TIME FROM YOUR ‘BROTHERS’. THEY DIED, AND SO WILL YOU.” He spread his wings wide and raised his axes. Darius drew his chainsword and lashed out wildly at Diabolus, unsurprisingly parried by the gleaming golden blade. The Fallen replied with a well-judged swing of his own blade, blocked by Darius. They spoke no words as yet, there was nothing that needed saying. Diabolus simply smiled inside his helmet and lunged forward. Darius dodged the blow and returned with one of his own, scraping at the shoulder-pad of his enemy. Biting back a curse, Diabolus unleashed his sorcerous powers for the first time, a flare of warpfire lashing over Darius’ chest. The Neophyte beat out the flames, circling around, waiting for the next strike, and finally spoke. “Do me at least one courtesy, heretic,” he said. “Don’t waste your vile sorcery on me.” “Pious fool!” Diabolus swung his sword back and slashed out for Darius’ head, met by the chainsword. Slash-parry. Slash-parry. “You speak of vileness in my art – you know not of what you speak!” “I know enough to know your sin!” Darius brought the sword down, but was blocked. Diabolus’ other hand shot forward and punched him off his feet, striding forward, breaking the deadlock. Darius scrambled back to the wall, catching a glimpse of his master… Gideon charged, fist held low, ready to scythe up and tear out Khastarax’s dark heart. The daemon’s wings flapped, lifting him up and wasting the Black Templar’s momentum. In response his axes fell and splintered the power generator in Gideon’s backpack. Suddenly he felt like his arms were made of lead as energy drained from his limbs. He staggered, but righted himself, hauling his suddenly heavy powerfist up to grasp Khastarax’s leg… As the Land Raiders rounded the gate and began to storm up the gorge towards the monstrous cathedral, Sapphon flew high over the advancing tanks, towards the window of the throne-room. Behind the rippling energy field he could see fighting in the chamber – he hefted his crozius and turned up the field, nodding to the Librarian next to him. Darius rolled along the wall as the sword whirred down, hacking a chunk out of the flagstone next to his head. Diabolus towered over him; one armoured boot rose and lashed out, kicking the Neophyte in the teeth and pushing him back towards the door. He stormed forward, raising the sword, hissing unintelligible Dark Tongue as Darius scrambled back towards the door. Gideon grabbed the daemon’s feet and hauled, desperately trying to pull him down. Khastarax batted at him with the axes, but they glanced off the crackling powerfist as the daemon was hauled back onto the ground. Suddenly he felt Gideon’s weight shift as the Templar pulled himself onto Khastarax’s back and pushed his fist into the daemon’s spine, snapping the roots of his wings. The great leather organs hung uselessly at his sides, impotent and broken and torn. Khastarax bucked, throwing the Space Marine into a corner, then turned and stood over him, weapons ready for the kill… Sapphon’s crozius smashed into the red Chaos shield, its holy power driving the warp energy away. The black-armoured Chaplain landed square on the floor, taking in the scene of carnage. Khastarax, his back turned, wings drooped about him, stomping towards one of the far corners. A Black Templar lying at his feet. Another standing in the doorway, desperately fending off the blows of Diabolus! The Fallen One was within his grasp! Sapphon strode forward past the daemon, his brother Angels fanning out around the room and cried out in anger. “Turn, heretic! Turn and face me!” Diabolus turned and saw his feeble descendant charging toward him. His hand made a brief twist and unleashed the psychic energy of Assailment on Darius, knocking the Neophyte back out of the doorway. Nodding curtly to Sapphon, his sword raised in mocking salute, he turned and ran for the teleport array. Sapphon stopped in the doorway and raised his plasma pistol, firing as he knelt. Diabolus reached the pad and used his telekinetic abilities to activate it. The plasma ball passed through the spot where he had been standing and impacted harmlessly into the wall. Sapphon turned and grabbed Darius by the arm, taking off and turning as he did. The comatose Neophyte did not see his master kneeling in defeat before Khastarax, or the axes rising, as the Chaplain bore him through the great window. Sapphon transmitted a sharp signal to the command Land Raider and the new fleet commander, Fleet Master Carvos of the Black Templars. +Khastarax is distracted! Pull out of the fortress and order the Exterminatus!+ +So be it+ Crassus replied, turning his Land Raider to lead the few that had entered back around. The Black Templars convoy turned away and drove at top speed out of the fortress, the signal spreading along the whole comm.-link. Most of the surviving Guardsmen and Angels were already re-embarking, their part in the battle done. Adeptus Mechanicus and Ecclesiarchy casualties had been total, although the Chaos artillery was silent. For their part, the Templars could simply drive onto one of the landed light transports and leave. Gideon rolled and scrabbled toward the door, his mind and body battered and dull but still somehow willed to survive, borne on by the need to buy time. Perhaps he sensed the coming Exterminatus, perhaps it was mere instinct. Khastarax bounded after him, axes glowing with rage. “WHY BOTHER, GIDEON! YOU’RE ONLY PROLONGING YOUR
DEATH BY FLEEING!” His hand tightened around something. It was Carravar’s force axe. In an instant he whipped it up in his free hand and stood to face his nemesis. The visions blazed through his mind and he heard the voice of Aryani. “You stand alone… you have my power now. Avenge
me.” Gideon’s faith burned brighter than ever before, his heart aflame with righteous wrath, granting him more power than any psyker. The axe blazed white in the darkness, casting Khastarax’s advancing shadow into sharp relief. Gideon looked upon him and knew no fear. Unbeknownst to either, the transports were slowly arcing back up into space as the Space Marine fleet gathered and loaded its bombardment cannon and vortex torpedoes. Khastarax felt the weapons bludgeon and pierce him as Gideon leapt forward suddenly, a tiny black figure, highlighted white in the glow of his weapons, a dagger of light amidst the crimson hell of Khastarax’s armour. The daemon prince dropped his weapons and reached out, his flesh bleeding ichor onto the flagstones. Gideon felt the agony of the daemon’s clawed hands biting through his armour, lifting, tearing, and dropping. His left side was bleeding freely, his old scar had torn open under the pressure from his mind, but he was strong in faith. As Khastarax loomed over him, he saw the shining torpedoes descending in the background. “ANY LAST WORDS?” Gideon’s lips moved agonisingly as he croaked his dying words, the daemon’s feet crushing his ribs, the vast claws gouging into his chest. He had despoiled his armour, lost his mind to psychic corruption, and now he was being slain by this monster. But he would not die alone. “In… extremis… Exterminatus…” he began. “Domina, salve… nos…” “WHAT?” Khastarax withdrew the pressure and turned to the window. He saw the ammunition blazing down at him. “THIS CANNOT BE!” “For they shall know no fear.” Gideon snarled, his voice granted new strength. “For I know no pity, no remorse, and NO FEAR!” His dying body suddenly lurched up, driven by faith and hate and righteous anger. He took up the powerfist and it smashed into Khastarax, his death-spasm carrying him into his enemy with impossible strength. The vortex bombs struck home and the world tore open around him as Gideon’s soul was cast into the Emperor’s Light, the light that dissolved Khastarax into nothing. Slain within a warp-storm, the daemon was not banished but truly dead. The vortex torpedoes blasted the northern pole of Daizann out of existence, spreading ripples through the planet’s over-active volcanic network. Daizann blew itself apart as Darius watched in impotent rage. Taking out his combat knife, he carved a long line through his palm and whispered to himself. “I swear, Gideon, you shall not go unremembered.” +++TRANSMISSIONBEGINS+++ Author: Marshal Crassus. Brother-Chaplain Sapphon ordered the Exterminatus after he
claimed to have witnessed the distraction of Khastarax by one Black Templar who
has, as yet, proved unidentifiable. Testament indicates he may be Brother
Gideon, formerly of the Moldion Crusade but lost in the wreck of the Absolution.
Evidently the currents of the warp carried him and his companion to Daizann,
where they proceeded to cripple Khastarax and almost capture the mysterious
‘Fallen Angel’ (c.f. report by Chaplain Sapphon, Inq. File 00701)
single-handedly. Chaos casualties were almost total, much of the fleet
being destroyed in the blast from Daizann’s destruction. For our part, the
Black Templars lost three hundred, the Dark Angels fifty-four, the Sisters of
Battle all two hundred of their complement and the Adeptus Mechanicus
forty-seven of sixty electro-priests and technomagi, not to mention the crew and
hardware of the Warhound Titan Imperatus Lux. The second Titan was also
damaged in the battle. Blackstone Seven appears to have escaped via the warp-realspace
overlap briefly created by the vortex torpedoes used in the Exterminatus.
Recommend re-evaluation of Exterminatus procedure in light of these events.
Khastarax was confirmed destroyed by the Inquisition. The only survivor of Lord Carravar’s party appears to be
Brother-Neophyte Darius, Gideon’s pupil, who I have recommended for immediate
implant completion and promotion to Senior Initiate. The horrors he was witness
to have served as the equivalent of years of experience, and I am sure you will
sanction my decision, High Marshal. As for Gideon, his posthumous elevation to Honoured
Ancestor would seem appropriate. Im Morte Veritas. +++TRANSMISSIONENDS+++ Requests approved. Senior Initiate Darius to be transferred to Chapter Keep on Diem II for recuperation and hence to the Babel Crusade.
FOR EVERY BATTLE HONOUR, A THOUSAND HEROES DIE ALONE, UNSUNG AND UNREMEMBERED.
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