[@PrinceAlexus][@Bluetommy][@Apollosarcher][@Ollumhammersong]


Algirae Quintus was a Hive World that had never missed their tithe before – Algiraen regiments of the Militarum fighting across the galaxy on many fronts – had never said one word against the Imperial Creed, and would never have thought of betraying the wider Imperium at large...until they did. 

When the sickly and brewing tear of the Cicatrix Maledictum had made its way through the Algirae Sub-sector, destroying Algirae Secundus and Tertius in a process of utter vaporisation, sucking the planets into the Warp, it had taken only a matter of years before the remaining planets of any importance had slipped into heresy and the worship of entities not of this realm of space, the citizens of the numerous Hives following their false and perfidious Governors into worship of the ruinous powers.

This would not have mattered so much under normal circumstances, for the High Lords would have simply sent a fleet and additional Guard units to retake the Sub-sector, but circumstances being what they were this was simply not possible. The [i]true[/i] reason it mattered so much was that the Sub-sector provided a tactical lynchpin to the wider sector as a whole and, should it fall and its chaotic sepsis seep into the wider region of space, then there was no telling how far or fast the fire would spread.

For better of for worse the Indomitus Crusade had been making headway in order to secure the borders of the fractured Imperium, the Unnumbered Sons – those Primaris Marines who had not yet been assigned to a Chapter or formed their own - used as both an attacking and holding force when and where they were required.

Hurtling toward this Seb-sector was sent Captain Diniarchus, a Primaris commander with orders from the Lord Protector himself to take and hold the remaining planets, first occupying them and then keeping them within the Imperial fold until reinforcements could be sent. He was given a Company of Primaris Marines, some one-hundred Greyshields and a small armoured vehicle pool, as well as two companies of Astartes plucked from the Nemesis Chapter and Marines Errant respectively.

Two-hundred Astartes, one-hundred Primaris, and three whole regiments of Militarum (drawn from the Kandorian Light Infantry, Shehunid Raiders and 253rd Death Korps Siege Regiment), would have seemed like a fine and suitable force and indeed may have been, had the defenders of Algirae not been forewarned by supernatural means and received aid from the forces of Chaos.


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Valerian Caelius, scion of noble Sanguinius and veteran of the Heresy, looked over the edges of the earthworks for the fifth time in as many seconds and grimaced yet again. Around him moved the masked figures of Death Korps soldiers, some as much as a quarter of his height, his Intercessor brothers equally immobile as the 'big guns' from the emplacements within the Hive City continued to bombard the trench network for the eighth time that day.

Phaedromus Aquae - named after an Imperial saint it was said - was the capital city of Algirae Quintus, a packed and bustling metropolis of thousands of souls, now damned by their leaders to suffer for eternity in the Warp upon their miserable deaths, it had also been turned into a most formidable stronghold by veterans of the Long War and had held firm against all assaults for over a week now.

[i]Why does Guilliman want this city intact?[/i] Mused the Blood Angel as he watched the HE rounds fire from the fastness, his blue eyes peering out of the optics of his snouted helmet, every inch of his body wishing for some action – all this inactivity bored him.

He could imagine that his brother Cholon, grown from the seed of the Khan it was said, must have felt much the same. Von Palus and Karkos, well, they bore the yellow of the Fists, and everyone knew how the Fists felt about sieges...they loved it. Their beloved Sergeant Raziel, a son of the Lion and at least two-centuries younger than Caelius from what he knew, was someone who kept his own counsel; apparently the general broodiness of the Dark Angels had rubbed off even onto someone who had never met them.

Unlike his compatriots, Caelius had lived and fought during the Heresy, growing up and surviving on Baal before being inducted into the Ninth Legion. He held within him the shame of having not fought on Terra during the Siege, taken by Belisarius Cawl before that particular event, frozen even as his Primarch was killed by the Arch-heretic and awakening to a galaxy that he no longer knew. As for what he thought about being a mere Battle-Brother, well, he simply served the Emperor (now the [i]God[/i]-Emperor!) Whatever his rank.

“A hot fight, yes?” He voxed to his comrades through his helm-mic, the newest pattern of Bolt Rifle held loosely but ready in his hands, “let us prepare for their arrival.”

The enemy were nothing if not predictable, and after every bombardment came the expected attack, everyone from Primaris to Guardsmen realising it once the guns fell silent; all knew that their Iron Warrior masters cared nothing for human life, that had not changed since their fall to Chaos, and once every barrage finished a horde of frothing and fanatical citizens were driven from the city gates bearing Imperial-issued las-weapons and flak-armour to use against their erstwhile overlords.

Out they would pour, a mass in their thousands, any moment now.