Generously written by [@MarshalSolgriev] [hider=Section 1] Section I: Prelude Sarghall. The name of the planet in which his father, the Primarch Usriel, had deemed Excommunicate Traitoris. Once again, the mortals had deigned to rebel against the one that had given them an inkling of order. No amount of meditation, training, or solitude in communion with the Machine Spirit could assist him in fathoming the function of these mortals. It was not his place to think about it. It was his duty to right the wrongs of mortal men and their wayward thinking. It was the only thing that Neophyte Sol could think of whilst a constant stream of data expanded across his retina on crimson lenses. There would be no grand ceremony on the eve of the battle like the other Legions would partake. It would be rage incarnate on the surface. Despite his musings, the neophyte turned his attention to the 7th Company Lieutenant, Radogan, through the sea of his hooded brothers. One of the true brethren gifted with the tactical muse to become centurions to the Legion. Even he could tell that the data was streaming across the lenses of his Mark II plumed helmet. Sol’s eyes scanned the rest of his brothers in the first and second squads. All, except for three Astartes, were neophytes like him. Most had even passed the trials recently, like him. Noddra, Penyl, Lokus, Menurv, Dorrev, Iori, Andrith, Jolken. Every single one of them shared a Mentor, Konrad, as they had when they were novitiates. Sarghall was their proving ground. The jostling of the thunderhawk brought the neophyte to reality as his few augmentations kickstarted his adrenaline. His steel gauntleted hands ran across the surface of the most holy plasma rifle in meditative comfort. Engineered to perfection, it protected their lives just as they protected it. Every warrior aboard the craft was laden with plasmic weaponry, thrice-blessed by the adepts of Mars. Sol could only imagine the day he would journey to the origin of technology. The dataflow across the company was finalized with a single steady rune on the right side of his display. An altitude level appeared on an available spot, estimating an approximate landing time. Konrad, the mentor of the first squad, put a ceramite hand on the shoulder of the neophyte. “The more you stare, moderate, and wipe your weapon, the more likely you’ll upset the Machine Spirit after its ritual maintenance. Calm yourself, neophyte. Watch the counter and be prepared.” He spoke through a private vox shared between himself and the neophyte. Sol blinked an affirmative and received an acknowledgement back from the mentor. The gauntlet left his shoulder to rest upon the hilt of his power sword, a symbol of his office and proof of his tactical ability. He was well beyond ready to prove himself to Konrad, to the Imperium, and to his progenitor. Every warrior rocked as the landing gears of the thunderhawk settled on the blasted plascrete of the outer citadel area. Beams of artificial light eradicated the dark interior of the transport as the bay doors opened to Sarghall’s eternal night. Without vocal commands, the first retinue of the Seventh Company maneuvered into the floodlights. The three Astartes that acted as the leadership of their cohort took point with the neophytes fanning out in a controlled pattern. Luckily, their site had already been secured by the First Chapter. There were no Eldest, however, to greet their landing zone as the assault on Sarghall’s citadel was currently underway. It was a miracle that their steel guidance had allowed them through the aerial battle above. Only brief bursts of crashes, missiles, and engine kills lit the umbral sky. +’Seventh Company Lieutenant Radogan, begin the eastward march through the trenchwork of the First Chapter. The secondary battlements require capture and reinforcement. Reconfirm and link with Seventh Company Captain Straisar. Additional assets have been reassigned from Ninth Company for rapid egress. Standy by for confirmation… CONFIRMED. Heavy support designation: Anvil of Unbreakable Steel and First Incinerator Squad rerouted. Glory to the Omnissiah.’+ The automated tactical data logis, one of countless others, filtered orders through a vast funnel of vox-channels. As automatically as the coordinating logis, the Lieutenant had relayed the relevant information throughout the Legiones cohort. The words printed across Sol’s lenses as voice-to-text binary that was rapidly processed by a combination of his hypnotraining and augmentations. +INITIALIZING… TACTICAL AUGOR UPDATED+ A plethora of onscreen data appeared similar to a cogitator, the vast majority of irrelevant data was suppressed by the data logis coordinator. Tactical views of nearby data packets displayed as a ring of hyper fixated geographical structures. An objective marker visually circled around a length of structure to their east. Several kilometers of distance were described with a carefully measured line between their current location and their destination. His squad followed after the rest of Lieutenant Radogan’s cohort: a mixture of a similar Sentinel squad and another heavily laden with the infamous plasma flamethrowers of the Incinerator troops. A dark shape descended from the sky with its belly bloated with a large, square-shaped passenger. The cohort had watched as it ducked and weaved through the valley in which Sarghall’s citadel had been located. Its passenger was swiftly unloaded onto its tracks, released to harness the deadly sponson-mounted twin-lascannons. The plascrete crackled beneath the almighty treads of the Anvil of Unbreakable Steel - the land raider reinforcing their cohort, its name engraved in High Gothic across its prow armor. The frontal ramp dropped to allow the retinue within the interior of the warmachine. Many of the cohort were neophytes, such as he was, thus allowing him and his brother squad to squeeze inside. Sol secured the honor of standing beside the Lieutenant behind Mentor Konrad, though he could tell the two spoke over private vox by way of head tilt. The external clank of metal confirmed that the Incinerators had mounted their own vehicle, perhaps another Land Raider or their own personalized transport? It would seem he would found out soon enough as the Anvil of Unbreakable Steel lurched forward on malevolent tread. He could feel the pull of the Machine Spirit being ushered to destroy the foes of the Steel Sentinels, the enemies of his father. It was an experience Sol had felt many times, but he had always wondered if his brothers felt the pull quite as he did. The discharge of the twin-lascannons shook him from the thought, but the clap of plasma gouts focused his senses. A glance to the internal auspex confirmed that the land raider had driven through minimal resistance on route to their destination. Sol drew a breath of excitement to be able to live up to his destined potential. The call of battle sunk into his veins as he hoisted the holy plasma gun in preparation. The movement was noticed by the Mentor, who always held a patient eye on his neophytes. “Neophyte Sol, prepare yourself with the Canticles of Vion. It will calm your demeanor. We are Steel Sentinels. We are unbreakable. Show the mortal enemy that we do not stoop to their emotional inconsistencies.” The private-vox between himself and the Mentor had been forcibly connected, followed by the lecture. His leader, however, was correct. The early injection of the adrenaline cocktail mixed with his first taste of glory pushed him into a mental frenzy. He audibally breathed once more to force out the frenzied emotions. How could he possibly be seen as worthy when he was still so human? “Aye, Mentor.” He replied before whispering the divine canticles beneath his breath. He silently repeated the mechanical motions of the Motive Force, the will of the Omnissiah, and the glory of the Machine God. It was enough to force his resolve as the canticles metaphorically fortified his veins. As the Canticle finished, the interior rolled to a stop some distance from their objective - or what was supposed to be as the auspex flickered across his lenses. Konrad turned his attention to the Lieutenant, who appeared preoccupied with something more vital in his helmet. “Communications jammed, auspex scrambled. Cohort Radogan, we operate aloud from this point forward. Our designation was originally within a click of this area, prepare for rapid assault and eliminate the insurrectionists with extreme prejudice. No mercy.” The Lieutenant spoke through his helmet as the forward ramp dropped before them. Wordlessly, the mass of neophytes surged forward with the most holy weapons of the Steel Sentinels raised at the ready. Sol, himself, sprinted next to Mentor Konrad with his plasma gun aching for mortal death. The darkness of the Sarghall’s environment was disrupted by the crackling shimmer of a nearby void shield, while massive outbreaks of fire gushed from crumbling fortifications further along the avenue. Mortals armored in the twisted mockery of the Legion’s auxilia mixed with their own iconography hunkered down in semi-fortified positions. Their dark uniforms and umbral armor could do little to save them from the fate that all mortals that defied the Steel Sentinels deserved. The forms of these rebels were outlined in bleeding red across the neophyte’s lenses, while tactical data readily pointed to numerous firing vectors nearby. These, however, were ignored as Lieutenant Radogan’s combi-plasma gun barked their initial greeting with Sarghallian rebels. Plasma bloomed across the street in a tidal wave of bright blue death. The first rank of neophytes kneeled to allow the second rank to fire simultaneously in a brazen assault of concentrated fire. To the left of Sol, the Astartes of the Incinerator squad rushed forward out of sight before igniting a brutal inferno of blue flame elsewhere. His brother squad, Mentor Nephitel’s, emulated the same movements as Sol’s own. The traitors shielding a damaged voidshield generator evaporated in the opening seconds of combat. The Anvil of Unbreakable Steel had willed itself forward through the wide avenue, releasing destruction from every barreled orifice on it. While the idea had felt glorious on arrival, Neophyte Sol had instead felt an aura of cold calmness in the wake of this unrelenting death. The scenery moved him as the squad maneuvered forward with Lieutenant Radogan. Mentor Konrad had been correct in his suggestions to recite the Canticles, but perhaps there was more to it than just that? Is this how the Eldest felt? The thoughts were strewn from his cranium as he witnessed the sergeant of the Incinerator squad, Brother Sophras, ignite the inside of a building with a stream of plasmic fire. He had lingered only a second longer before turning his attention across the street to the squad that Sol was attached to. Vox communication was scrambled but battle sign was an inherent communicator in the midst of combat. The neophyte recognized the signs for ‘objective secured’ and ‘jammer’ across the tan digits of Sophras’ gauntlet. A scheme worked itself into the neophyte’s consciousness - he could reroute the jammer to effectively hamper the mortal’s vox-channels. Mentor Konrad, rapidly firing into the nearest cluster of mortals, turned his attention to the neophyte as he began to swiftly battle sign to the leader of their squad. Although distressed that his neophytes could be used otherwise, the Mentor understood the vital tool that restored communication could bring regardless of their adaptability against it. The Astartes rushed forward to Lieutenant Radogan, who operated the machinery of the voidshield generator formerly under mortal control. The neophyte couldn’t understand the words passed between the two; however, the commander of their cohort simply nodded before firing a burst of plasmic spray off the right flank of the generator. No communication was required for the neophytes to burst from their cover in a mad dash across the street. The Anvil of Unbreakable Steel had maneuvered far forward from their conglomerate of legionnaires, unleashing death on a pair of rebel battle tanks that sought tactical supremacy. Similarly, Sophras’ Incinerator squad had already pushed the boundaries of the left flank with mortar launched plasma globs arching into newly arrived enemy reinforcements. The sounds of agonizing death could be heard over the burst of flak cannons in the distance. It was a macabre musical of burning glory. The interior of the jamming station was a charnel house of melted mortal and heat-twisted machinery. A pair of neophytes remained outside while Konrad and Sol began the joint effort to will the Machine Spirit to their side. The smaller of the two rerouted power from beneath the mess of cogitators, while the other operated the only system with working runekeys. A blinking sigil flickered across the screen of the massive terminal, reactivating the auspex and twisting the allied individuals as hostile to the Machine Spirit within. “Well done, Squad Konrad, vox-communication is restored and the mortals are in disarray. The Anvil of Unbreakable Spirit is reporting hull-damage, begin supporting the left flank. Friendly mortal auxilia have been reported. Watch your vectors but hold nothing back for these traitors.” The vox burst to life with the crackle of the ongoing battle. Lieutenant Radogan had broken the silence with an order and a compliment - one that, Sol felt, was rewarded directly to him. Konrad assisted the neophyte back to his feet from under the cogitator before heading back into Sarghall’s nighthold. Radogan had spoken the truth as Neophyte Sol’s squad witnessed an enemy’s demolisher cannon explode into action. Luckily for the Anvil, a combined burst of superheated plasma stream rendered it into a puddle of metal and lava. Mentor Konrad burst forth with transhuman strength to support the land raider, followed shortly by the gaggle of neophytes toting plasma guns in their gauntleted hands. The squad managed to catch up to the Anvil, sliding into blasted plascrete before firing off a stream of trained superheated death into an advancing formation of mortals. Unfortunately, their lack of speed and precision allowed a single mortal to suicidally rush the Anvil with a melta-gun. A thermal jet of sub-atomic vapors blasted the treads of the land raider. The mortal threw the weapon to the ground, unsheathing the las-pistol strapped to his leg, and shot into his helmet. The scream of Imperial engines trumpeted victory for the Steel Sentinels as vulcan cannons collapsed nearby tunnels linking the surrounding area to Radogan’s cohort. Some mortals did remain, but those that survived now swiftly egressed in the sole surviving taurox with their rebel commander. The allied auxilia that had survived attempted to assail the fleeing rebels to no avail. They survived, however, and that was the most surprising aspect to the neophyte. Mentor Konrad maneuvered away from their defensive position to reunite with the rest of the Cohort, while the nearby Incinerator squad inspected the Anvil for survivors. The Lieutenant was silent as his company encircled the void shield generator next to him. Neophyte Sol felt that something was wrong as the Lieutenant stared at the ground, listening to some vox communication echoing through his helmet. He relished the thought of being privy to such information that could eternally shape a battlefield. Sol glanced at his Mentor for a moment to confirm his suspicions, but the Astartes didn’t seem to register that one of his neophytes was staring at him. A second sign that something was distracting the leadership of their company. Finally, the Lieutenant broke his silence when the Incinerator squad reunited with the rest of the legionnaires. “Data logis confirmed the arrival of reinforcements from another section of the Seventh. Techmarine Ashral and Incinerator Squad Docles will be supporting our advance. Link auspex on arrival and adjust internal cogitators for IFFR. Neophytes, begin administering the Canticles for the Anvil of Unbreakable Steel. We will be taking the secondary wall, relieving the Eldest of their vigilance…” The Lieutenant trailed off as additional reports began to flood in through the vox. “... The Primarch has been wounded.” The words seemed to leave his lips without a proper filter of Steel Sentinel calmness. True to the XIX Legion’s stoicism, none of the present Astartes allowed the news to perturb them; however, the neophyte could feel a quiet anger arise from the cohort around him. It was a brooding silence, one filled with the unquenching embers of promethium fire. “Lieutenant, we must-” To his surprise, Konrad was the first to start on the recently shared news. It seemed that himself and a few other Astartes had the same thoughts as they began to voice their protest to advance on the secondary wall. Lieutenant Radogan raised a hand as soon as they had begun to speak against their newly administered orders. The neophyte had watched from the beginning as their company’s first lieutenant had been clutching the pommel of his relic blade in contained rage. “No. He is our Father, yes, but he is the Son of the Omnissiah and inheritor of the stars. He is the reason we are unbreakable. We will not fall to the depths of human irrationalism. No, we will pay back the enemy tenfold for the injustice on our Primarch’s life… Let them die upon unbreakable walls!” The Lieutenant raised his voice to the skies above Sarghall, choked with defiance and controlled anger. The Astartes, neophytes included, slammed their fists against their chestplate in resonance with the utterance of their Legion warcry. “Hold until the Eagle’s death!” Neophyte Sol shouted alongside the rest of his brethren of the Seventh Company. The end of their warcry was drowned out by the arrival of the reinforcements to their cohort. He knew from that moment forward that all the experiences leading up to this fight had been justified. His anger, his excitement, and his calmness had been the tenets that made him an Astartes. His lungs ached from screaming aloud the warcry, but it was an ache that was well desired. This was their first victory, one of many to come in the subjugation of Sarghall. [/hider] [hider=Section 2] Section II: Call of the Eldest Lieutenant Radogan, leader of the First Cohort of the Seventh Company, felt the anger ebbing throughout the journey to their next task. He turned his attention to the arrival of their reinforcements, Techmarine Ashral and his Incinerators. Typical of the most fervent of the Omnissiah, Ashral had immediately begun work on the Anvil of Unbreakable Steel. The silence between the two of them was blissful in light of the most recent news from Legion Command. Only a simple nod from the Techmarine was given to him on their passing. +’Lieutenant Radogan, incoming request from Seventh Company Captain Straisar. Reassignment of orders has been issued by Legion protocol Alpha-Zero-Zero-Five. The Eldest of the First Great Company are requesting relief at the Delta Sector Gate. Legion Command has designated this priority reassignment as Level Primus. The remainder of the Seventh Company will converge on Sector Delta. Requesting Confirmation.’+ The logis orated in Lingua Technis. There was only relief in duty fulfilled, Radogan thought. A blink from within his helmet confirmed the orders relayed through the Legion’s lobotomized serfs. +’Confirmation acquired - rerouting tactical interface and adjusting parameters. Conveying confirmation to appropriate levels.’+ The Astartes quickly moved from the void shield generator that operated as their impromptu outpost, gathering his cohort once more through private vox-channels to brother-mentors and sergeants of the incinerators. “We are being reassigned in accordance with Legion Command. Once Ashral finishes patching the Anvil, we shall proceed to these coordinates. Zero internal cogitators to interface with my own updated parameters.” The Lieutenant spoke with no manner of urgency, only monotone stoicism in face of new orders. Runes blinked across his crimson lenses, alerting him to data acquisition throughout the cohort. The remainder of his cohort had integrated with fresh orders from the noosphere. “By the will of the Omnissiah, we shall waste no more time. The Anvil’s machine-spirit was extremely receptive to patchwork on it’s holy hide. Now, it calls for the blood of it’s enemies.” Techmarine Ashral spoke as he closed the distance between the Anvil and the Lieutenant. A trio of rotating lenses covered the right side of the Astartes’ helmet, while a thunderhammer was carefully held in a single gauntlet. A plethora of servo-arms snaked out from his powerpack, tasting the air as bionic serpents attached to Ashral. “No more time shall be wasted on the neophyte’s sub-par maintenance. Call for their embarkment, Lieutenant.” Radogan felt no reason to refute Ashral, blinking a rune across his helmet to transmit cohort-wide. Words were unnecessary in processing simple orders, he thought, as the Sentinels began to clamber aboard the Impetuous Drive and the Anvil of Unbreakable Steel. Unfortunately, he and the Techmarine would have to walk to the Delta Sector gates. Luckily, the First and Second Incinerators would be keeping the duo company throughout their short journey. The cohort’s auspex chimed pleasingly as they began their movement. The Seventh Company rumbled down the shattered rockrete alcoves of the Sarghallians, crumbling scorched carcasses beneath tread and greave. Darkness overtook the vast majority of their journey, but it would matter little due to the steel angels overhead. Storm Eagles, Thunderbolts, and Avengers careened in a winning battle for aerial supremacy, occasionally bursting lengths of armored columns in prismatic blooms. Astartes assigned to different companies, operating on separate orders, crossed paths with the cohort several times on the path to Delta Sector. No resistance was met between their initial battle and their assigned zone. Only death loomed over Sarghall’s sole citadel. Radogan found the peacefully morbid atmosphere pleasant. The insurgents were dying in droves, Astartes were surviving most encounters, and the Seventh Company was successfully securing dozens of thoroughfares for the Legion. With luck, he thought, there would be a chance to move up to captain or commander of the Seventh. Those ambitious thoughts were put to rest as the fourth entrance in the secondary wall was located - Delta Sector. Before their operation began, the Steel Sentinel could hear the sounds of battle as his internal auspex chimed with foe identities. +’Anvil, Impetuous. Secure the length of the gateway, rapid deployment 60 meters into the zone. Ashral, Squad Sophras, Squad Docles, with me!’+ Private, cohort-wide vox was sufficient enough to organize their initial assault. Already, his visor picked apart the insurrectionists' fortified positions with lightning quickness. Three rising levels, bisected by a leviathan stairway, hosted hundreds of the carapace-clad traitors. Two trios of heavy weapons anticipated the arrival of reinforcements atop ramshackle watch towers. A single, fat-bellied tank idled on the second level behind a mess of promethium-fed pipes. “Hold nothing back, Sons of Vion! For the Emperor! For the Primarch!” Radogan spoke loudly through his vox-grill, both rallying his cohort and demoralizing the rebels of Sarghall in a single roar. The land raider’s horns blared with the warcry of the XIX. Their brazen assault garnished the attention of the insurrections immediately, their salvaged weaponry turning on the Seventh Company. First and Second Incinerator squads swiftly torn the Aegis shields from the Anvil, fortifying their position within seconds of their arrival. Their taunting in the form of the Primarch’s warcry paid off. Lasguns, autocannons, and lascannons burst to life with the rage of a thousand mortals. Columns of conscripts abruptly halted their forward advance to the central fortress to combat the newly arrived Sentinels. Orders, despite their lack of formal organization, were relayed on a mass assault for the Seventh Company. Meanwhile, squads of veterans were dealing with a single contingent of armored titans. The melted corpses of their rebel brothers still smoldered as they rushed the terminators. The Eldest, despite fighting for weeks, stood as a solid bulwark against the tide of human scum that screamed death at them. A pair of twin terminators clad in cataphractii plating held enormous storm shields emblazoned with the cog and spear of the Steel Sentinels. Another bore a heavy plasma cannon attached to his left arm, while the other totted a threatening powerfist ready to strike. Another grimly shot his plasma blaster at the nearest cluster of conscripts in defiance. The last held a mastercrafted power sword with a plasma blaster, his plumed helmet assigning targets to his fellow Eldest. +’Honored Eldest Vortigern, planet-wide auspex confirms the arrival of Seventh Company in Delta Sector. Transferring company-encrypted data packets. Patching vox-traffic from the Seventh through.’+ Vortigern listened as his plasma blaster disintegrated a column of rebels in a burst of superheated death. No answer was required for the data logis. His display was updated with nearby data clusters filing with the relevant information pertaining to the Seventh Company. “Then we are to be relieved by the short spears of the Fourth Chapter. Rally, Eldest! Primarch Usriel demands our attention!” Vortigern remarked with a half-smirk before roaring to the rest of the gathered terminators. Their carnage began as a single step, the first of which they had taken in a matter of weeks. The plasma cannon roaring to malevolent life, arcing a globe of searing white death into a pool of conscripts. The screams of the dying drowned the enemy’s vox in a tidal wave of doom. Plasma blaster reigned demise onto smaller, grouped cohorts of trained insurgents, their skeletons disintegrating as soon as plasma enveloped them. Thunderhammers crushed charging mortals under their artificer powerfields. +’Lieutenant Radogan, do not keep your Eldest waiting, lest we kill the rest of the mortals for you. ’+ The Eldest chidded as the mastercrafted powersword pierced through a ring of the suicidal rebels. In truth, these mortals were felled with extreme prejudice compared to their initial arrival. Each death quenched tiny fragments of the thirst for vengeance. Every shot of his holy plasmic weapon was a cry of anger stolen from his throat. From this point forward, he thought, every step is certified doom in the form of the Primarch’s unbreakable wall. An affirmative blink from Radogan acknowledged the Eldest’s command, his combi-plasma waylaying select targets from the immediate insurrectionists. Sergeant Sophras, the leader of the First Incinerator Squad, unleashed a torrent of plasmic fire in a wide barrage next to him. The rest of the Incinerators, with the exception of a single slain Sentinel, melted the heavy weapon’s watchtower. The lieutenant watched as it careened into a formation of conscripts directly behind it. His auspex pinged once more as the Anvil acknowledged an engine kill, while Ashral’s formation desperately fought a lengthy skirmish with a trio of rebel infantry. +’Brother Deizan, will the Anvil to assist Ashral. Brother Kallak, push forward to the Eldest with the Impetuous Drive.’+ Radogan’s voice, hoarse as a carnosaur’s groan, bellowed through the cohort-wide vox. Crimson runes confirmed the orders through non-verbal affirmations. He bore witness to the fruit of his labor as the Anvil’s sponson-mounted twin lascannons pierced through a carved statue of an Astartes. Several red dots on his auspex disappeared in seconds as the land raider carved into ill-prepared insurgents. +’Brother-Lieutenant, in-bound aerial assault!’+ The voice of Ashral burst through the vox. Radogan slammed his form into the Aegis shields, followed by the First Incinerator squad. Local auspex confirmed that their actions were mirrored by the Techmarine and his own Incinerators. A hijacked gunship sped overhead with its vulcan cannons spitting steel doom across the Seventh Company. Unfortunately for the rebels, the Aegis held itself as an unbreakable wall of steel against treachery. Their treason was answered in the form of the Anvil of Unbreakable Steel’s bellicose machine-spirit. In a fit of rage, the bulky warmachine swiveled in an arc to fire every weapon across its holy body. The lieutenant granted himself a short smile as the gunship burst into superheated shrapnel, its broken body tossed into the western districts of Citadel Sarghall. As he ventured forward out of cover, Radogan slung plasma shots into the rebels hiding in the western flank’s Astartes statue. Squad Sophras echoed, streams of white-blue actively melting the sculpted marble in a torrent of heat. Only when the auspex pinged new signals to their flank did the cohort’s commander turn his attention away from the frontline. +’Lieutenant, we have xenos behind our lines. Two of the Incinerators have been laid low, requesting further assistance. They are Eldar.’+ The monotone voice of the Techmarine once again broke through the vox. Hatred built up in his veins at the appearance of Eldar on the battlefield. The relic blade pulsed within his gauntlet as adrenaline cocktails filtered through his veins. His body was puppetted by his emotions at that moment, the MKII power armored legs kicking into overdrive. Radogan felt the presence of Sophras’ squad following him to fight the aliens. Slivers of wraithbone in the form of twirling shurikens stabbed into the back of an Incinerator, pushing the Astartes to a knee under the cover of the Aegis. Radogan watched as Ashral unleashed a bellow of flame, igniting the air between himself and the xenos in a short counteroffensive. Pockets of scorched plasma designated a cluster of containers as the residence of the enemy. Lieutenant Radogan could [b]feel[/b] the presence of the Eldar. “[b]Cowards! Reveal yourself, xenos![/b] Must your decrepit race hide from the superior strength of humanity? Is your entire race as cowardly as the ones that assaulted the innocent worlds of the men and women of the Imperium? [b]I am Lieutenant Radogan, son of the Primarch Usriel, and Sentinel of the XIX Legion! Fight me in the name of my Primarch![/b]” The lieutenant roared, tearing the plumed helmet from his face to stare out into the night air of Sarghall. Nothingness and silence greeted the cohort commander of the Seventh Company. He felt the savage wind of the valley against his exposed temple, the cool touch of his service studs flaring from temperature change. Piercing, blue eyes watched the stack of containers for any sign of movement. As the Lieutenant cursed under his breath, the first of the Aeldari emerged from the shadows before him with a roaring, curved chainblade. Satisfaction filled his beating hearts as the combi-plasma unloaded on the dark-green figure with an automatic, trained reaction. Mag-locking the weapon to his thigh, Radogan swung the relic blade in a two-handed grip against the xenos. Ichor sprayed a violent torrent into Sarghall’s ozone-depleting air. The body slumped to the ground as it’s scorpion-motif helmet splattered against the broken rockrete road. “Disgusting primitive! Abomination of mon’keigh technology! Dannan ana Khaine!” Another of the xenos burst forth, camouflaged by their arcane infiltration devices. Its chainblade roared to life in the moments before clashing with the Astartes. The lieutenant caught the edge of the Asuryani’s weapon, but he failed to parry it. Monofilament teeth drove up the flat of Radogan’s blade, shearing off his weapon’s guard and a pair of ceramite fingers. In retaliation, the legionnaire drove his right fist into the helmet of the Eldar. Rage, hatred, and adrenaline-fueled strength burst the alien’s head into crimson paste. Radogan groaned as he hefted the relic blade, cleaving an area around him in a whirlwind of trained carnage. His efforts were rewarded as two more of the Aeldari fell to the sudden outlash of his relic blade. One xenos’ insides were torn from their chest, while another’s legs were dismembered from their body. Their cries of agonizing pain fueled the Sentinel to continue attacking. Only when his relic blade was caught by a chain weapon of similar size did the Astartes halt his carnage. An ornate warrior with a typhoon of green tassels caught his relic blade with a weapon of his own. He understood with grim certainty that this was their leader. “You know nothing, mon’keigh. We have seen it. We have seen the future of your kind become monstrosities. Your kin will doom the galaxy. I will slay you, Radogan, and I will slay the rest of your allies. Know that it is an Exarch of the Mean Tokath that kills you today.” The voice was spoken with equal levels of eloquence, elegance, and eternal anger. Microbial needles pierced his face as the Aeldari leader screamed in a fit of rage. A firm power armored kick to the chest by Radogan forced the Exarch backwards, it’s strange armor crunched inwards. He felt his face burn in several places as the needles melted into thin rays of energy. No pain would halt his conquest, however, and the lieutenant rushed forward. There would be no further conversation between himself and the powerful xenos as the relic blade slammed into the Exarch’s weaponry with the mighty force of a demigod. The shockwave of the powerfield against the monofilament cage sent the Asuryani flying further backwards. Only as the xenos rolled to their feet did they realize the folly of their assault. Radogan caught up to the alien to crack the helmet of the Exarch with a devastating headbutt. The Eldar’s bare face met Sarghall’s rockrete road, viciously bouncing off it in recoil to the attack. An Astartes’ fist met the recoiling alien with malevolent force, exploding the xenos-warrior’s skull into skeletal fragments. Exhaustion left the Lieutenant’s body in a breath of relieved air. Vengeance had been wrought for the Primarch. Radogan removed himself from the charnel house of eviscerated Aeldari bodies to collect his plumed MKII helmet. Instead, Ashral held out the helmet of the cohort’s commander in his martian red gauntlets. A look of appreciation crossed his face before claiming the helmet and placing it over his scarred head. The environmental seal hissed with acceptance as the tactical interface returned to his crimson lenses. “Well fought, Lieutenant. Your martial prowess is suitable for your role; however, you’ve missed the rest of the conflict. First Squad Konrad has captured the renegade commander and reunited with the Eldest.” Ashral spoke with words woven between High Gothic and Lingua-Technis. Radogan suddenly felt remarkable shame at his battlelust. The lieutenant simply shook his head in disappointment, moving away from the Techmarine to link up with the Eldest. The cohort’s commander led the rest of the Sentinels up the leviathan stairs, mostly flattened by the Anvil’s tread, to the throng of Astartes at the middle. Brother-Mentor Konrad, along with his neophytes, encircled a cowering mortal with several embellishments across their uniform. Opposite of Konrad, the Impetuous Drive horribly idled with an exposed hole in its forward hull. A pair of neophytes, Sol and Dorrev, worked on patching the Rhino with spirits fervent in the Omnissiah. That was, until Ashral pushed them aside to operate on the holy hull with his servo-arms. An entourage of the Eldest caught his attention as they clambered down the steps from Delta Sector’s enormous gate. “You’ve had a good thrashing, short-spear. Straisar spoke the truth about you during the assembly.” The Honored Eldest, Vortigern, spoke aloud as he approached. Ceremony was never the strong suit of the XIX Legion, but respect was given where it was earned. Radogan offered the sign of the cog over his breastplate, to which Vortigern returned in earnest. “What will you do with this milkling, then?” “Legion Command wanted the traitor commander alive, otherwise I’d slay him where he stood.” The lieutenant spoke with finality in his voice, his command was taken as quickly as it was spoken. Brother-Mentor Konrad’s neophytes battened the mortal into unconsciousness before restraining him with equipment from the Impetuous Drive. “Honored Vortigern, give our Father my regards when you return to his sides. I would be grateful if he knew that I slew a celebrated Eldar warrior today in his honor.” It was a selfish request. A request that was granted by a simple nod from the Eldest. “He will know, Radogan, if the Omnissiah wills it. In return, I will be taking the Impetuous Drive for myself. We’ve been tasked with a surgical strike in Zeta Sector and Legion Command refuses redeployment via Storm Eagle.” Vortigern spoke with a level of assurity in his voice. The lieutenant held no qualms for the loss of their rhino, thus he watched the Eldest and Ashral argue over its reassignment. +’Legion Command, this is Lieutenant Radogan of the Seventh Company. The Eldest at Delta Sector have been relieved. Holding position until further reassignment.’+ Radogan voxed to his hierarchy. Several moments passed by as data logis failed to reconfirm his assignment. +’Legion Command, this is-’+ +’Redistributing force organization per Legion Protocol code Alpha-One-One-Alpha. Reassignment processing… [b]FAILED[/b]. Recalibrating force organizational flow per Legion Protocol code Bravo-One-One-Alpha. Vox communication interrupted… patching to [b]Fourth Chapter Commander Atilus.[/b]’+ He felt both of his hearts drop in confusion as the data logis failed to confirm Seventh Company organizational protocol networks. Calmly, Radogan accessed the local noosphere in an attempt to open planet-wide data packets in swift quantities. His investigation was halted prematurely as a private vox channel was opened between one of the Chapter Commanders of Steel Sentinels. +’Radogan. Omnissiah be praised. This will be unceremonious as the Legion is in crisis currently. Seventh Company will hold position at Delta Sector… under your command. Seventh Company Captain Straisar has fallen in battle. Legion protocol dictates that the First Company Lieutenant inherits command of the company mid-campaign. Straisar picked you as the First Lieutenant of the Seventh Company. Bear his legacy until Sarghall is returned to Imperial compliance. Until the Eagle’s death, [b]Captain Radogan[/b].’+ The hard-edged voice of Commander Atilus boomed through the vox, no hint of emotion on his lips. The vox was cut immediately after the appointment. Radogan felt motes of dread building within his hearts at the Chapter Commander’s words. He closed his eyes to muster every ounce of courage into his spirit. He felt the guidance of Straisar’s hand press on his shoulder plate. His rage bubbled under the surface of his demeanor. “Until the Eagle’s death…” [/hider] [hider=Section 3] Section III: Unbreakable Steel Neophyte Sol began his work in earnest as the last traitor was executed by the hands of his mentor, Konrad. His gauntleted hands reassembling the aegis across different points of the citadel’s entrance. He, personally, led the setting of the aegis with valor in his heart. The rest of his squad remained busy helping himself and setting tanglewire in advantageous spots. The mood of the company, however, was grim, as their lieutenant was preemptively promoted to captain. The mentors, sergeants, and consuls had gathered to speak on their newest orders. He was not privy to the conversations being spoken, but he desperately wanted to understand the full grasp of the situation. The clamber of armored footsteps drew the attention of the closest neophyte, their hands busy with attending several additional aegis lines. More Steel Sentinels had arrived, trailed by a small horde of their fellow initiates toting hefty plasma guns. At the vanguard of the arrivals were five warriors decorated in the tapestries of veterans, shouldered cloaks dropped over their shoulders and torn tabards bearing the insignia of the Nineteenth Legion. With the exception of the leading Astartes, each bore the scabbard of a power sword and held aloft an ornate combi-plasma. A plumed MK III helmeted individual openly walked with their power axe and combi-plasma. The newcomers halted before the newly minted Captain of the Seventh Company, never once regarding Neophyte Sol and his squad. “Sergeant Antarr, former squad leader to Straisar’s command squad. I bring with me the remnants of the Seventh Company. Under Legion Protocol, we are at your service as Command Squad Radogan and Sentinel Squad Matorres.” Antarr spoke, his filtered voice belied no hint of emotion in regards to the news. Sol carefully listened as he plopped the last short pieced segment of the aegis at the edge of the top-level stairs. The captain gave a short nod before their voice went silent as they switched to private-vox. A short moment later, the impoverished war council was dismissed. His mentor strided over with an unknowable look beneath his helmet, but Sol understood that something grievous was coming. The neophyte’s crimson lenses were momentarily blinded as a cache of information was dispatched across the squad. New information regarding their current status, their orders, and the priorities of the Seventh Company. He felt his chest beat with excitement. Their orders were to hold the Delta Sector gate, to be a wall of unbreakable steel. “Don’t act too giddy, neophyte, we’ll be here for an impressive amount of time as Sarghall is brought back into total compliance.” Konrad lectured as if he had already anticipated Sol’s emotions. The mentor allowed it, however, as the neophyte had long proven himself in this theater of battle. It was already recorded, after all, that the remaining initiates had proven their worth to become Astartes. A small smile played across his lips at the thought of [i]his[/i] neophytes being recognized for full brotherhood. “We are on the defense, Brother-Mentor, an honorable duty for us!” Sol spoke with no restraint, readying himself for another lecture. It never came as Konrad moved past him towards the middle-level of the stairs. He followed after the mentor with his plasma gun ready for the next task. The rest of his brethren, including his mentor, stood just past the slagged form of an Astartes statue. One of the longer aegis lines stood defensively with it’s refractor-fields aimed outward towards the tertiary walls. The tabard wreathed form of their teacher gathered them around. “My neophytes, my future-brothers, we will now stand vigil over this gate as the Eldest once did. In this duty, you shall be an unbreakable wall of steel against the last vestiges of resistance. Begin your canticles as we wait for the enemy. We will be here until our duty is completed.” The brother-mentor spoke with a hint of reverence in his voice, beginning the canticles in the earnest as Sol and his fellow initiates took up defensive positions. Sol would stand as a silent, malevolent sentinel to forever perform his duties. This, he thought, I swear upon my life. Captain Radogan gazed out at the destruction of Sarghall’s citadel from the top-level of the grounded stairs. The form of the olive-hued Land Raider idled on the middle-level, flanked by both of the Sentinel squads of Konrad and Nephitels. Sophras’ and Docles’ Incinerators overwatched on the towers that the renegades had once used against them. Antarr’s and Matorres’ squads remained on the upper-level with him. The neophytes had previously set up razorwire and aegis lines on his level, prompted by Sol in Konrad’s cohort. The war for the sky had long passed as the eternal night had fully set in with the occasional Thunderhawk or Imperial Army lander passing overhead. Flashes of gunfire - either from lasguns, bolters, or aerial armaments - briefly lit the dark passages of the fortress before returning to penumbra. Every minute that passed saw the decay of resistance in the form of less nose. Every hour saw the departure of other legionnaires from Sarghall. Moment by moment, he felt his time on the dark world come to a close; however, he knew in his hearts that it wasn’t over yet. Radogan had felt that the xenos would show themselves again but he did not know when. “How did he die?” Radogan calmly whispered through a private vox with Antarr. The grim helmet of his newest member turned to address him, remaining silent for only a moment longer as the legionnaire adjusted himself. “Badly. The rebels caught us in a pincer between two armored columns, then divided our already limited forces with a bayonet charge in the middle. We slaughtered them all, eventually, but not before the rest of the company perished with Straisar.” The voice of the sergeant was without emotion, the perfect example of an Astartes. Radogan felt a pang of envy build up inside him. “He didn’t expect to die, but he and many of the captains had prepared contingencies in case they perished.” Antarr finished speaking, cutting the private vox before the captain could further interrogate him. Radogan was left in perturbed silence as he waited for his arch-nemesis to eventually assault Delta Sector. Three days passed in silence as their vigil stood. Three days of idle conversation in the form of status updates, routine maintenance, and Mechanicum canticles took place. The Sentinel squads swapped positions every day to stretch their limbs, perform patrols, and communicate findings. On the third day, the vox burst to life in the helmet of Captain Radogan. +’Legion Command to all field commanders. Be advised - greenskin presence has been observed within the tertiary wall. An eighty-seven percent possibility has been predicted that the secondary wall will encounter the orks. The Fifth Great Company has been designated Primus Purginatus for this scenario. Ave Imperator.’+ The automated tone of the Nineteenth Legions multifaceted logii blurted through the vox. Radogan felt a hint of paranoia at the sudden emergence of the outland greenskins that their neophytes had routinely purged. [i] Why now? There are no coincidences. [/i] He thought to himself as orders began to fly from his lips. On the dawn of the third day, Neophyte Sol watched as the entire company stirred to life with Mentor Konrad especially ready. His weapon of office, the power sword, was already unsheathed with his combi-plasma primed for firing. Information streamed across his lenses as he roused the machine spirit within his plasma gun. A greenskin horde was on a crash course with their cohort. He steeled himself from unnecessary thoughts as his holy weapon peeked through the aegis. The xenos, however, did not batter themselves upon the aegis first. A chimera and a taurox thundered across the boulevard leading through to the tertiary wall. Both vehicles blared their horns as a dust cloud whipped up behind them. A second dust cloud followed them as well. Sol felt his finger hover over the trigger of the plasma gun as the general vox crackled with life. +’Orks! Orks are following us! We formally request permission to enter the citadel. We will pay the penance that is due, we will stand beside you to fight, and we will offer our heads when all is done - but damn it, please let us through!’+ A human voice broke through the tense silence leading up to confrontation. Sol dared not reply, think, or consider the mortals. Only one voice could truly grant them salvation. +’[b]Denied. Stand and fight, mortals, or feel the wrath of the Nineteenth Legion upon your unwashed hides. [/b]’+ The sound of Captain Radogan’s voice was rough as rockrete in regards to the rebels. The vox repeated the sounds of curses, sobs, and cries of refuge. All were ignored by the Steel Sentinels and it was reflected as Sol watched the duo of Imperial vehicles charge forward. Their haste was answered by the rumbling machine next to him. Nearby, he could hear the loud canticles spoken in Lingua-Technis by Techmarine Ashral as the Anvil of Unbreakable Steel awoke. It spat death into the vehicles with a malevolent, stentorian roar of all it’s weapons. Neophyte Sol witnessed twin-linked lascannons, hunter killer missiles, plasma blaster, multi-melta, and the heavy bolter erupt in a cacophony of ballistics from the vehicle. He wasted no time, charging the plasma gun in his hands with the rest of his brethren. The chimera exploded in a gout of great flames, surviving mortals jettisoned backwards out of the vehicle. The taurox slammed into the foot of the stairs as the plasma incinerators tore into the frontal armor of the personnel carrier. Similarly, its inhabitants quickly ejected from the rear compartment as it detonated in an uncontrollable inferno. A stench of seared flesh, vented promethium, and charred rubber wafted through Sarghall’s night air as the mortals composed themselves. It would be too late as the rebels faced the first waves of the greenskin horde. Baleful whines, blaring firearms, and roaring warcries replaced all manners of noise as the feral orks charged onto the battlefield. Their bloated, muscle bound forms shot deadly, inaccurate munitions into the air while waving equally dangerous axes. Pelts of incomprehensible creatures clung to their figures as they rushed at the humans. A monstrous titan of an ork stood in the middle of the throng, while another held aloft a crude replica of a vexilla. Sol carefully counted their numbers and found them to be over a hundred compared to their forty-seven. The neophyte watched in surprise as the mortals coalesced into a single squad, a pair of veterans acting as regimental leaders to deliver orders. Valiantly, they knelt and fought with lasgun and autogun. Their cries of defiance, regardless of who they uttered it against, howled through the citadel. Xenos flesh bashed into their armored forms, crude axes instantly dismembering mortal limbs and ramshackle pistols punching hollow craters in pale tissue. The rebels retaliated with combat knife, rifle butt, and balled hands in a desperate fight for life. Sol felt the defiance of these mortals against alien life, but he kept himself controlled. Each rebel died to the hands of the Orks in various, brutal fashions that more resembled animal attacks than any other torture. The cadavers were treated as morsels to the pack of greenskins, their sinew and meat torn by jagged teeth. It was enough to push the Astartes over the edge for they had defiled the flesh of humanity. Globs of seething hatred scorched across the sky in great quantities, balls of plasma horrifically melting the xenos in dozens. Sol felt relief in alien death by holy plasma, the weapon automatically cooling itself in preparation for another salvo. Even as their flesh melted, the greenskin horde pushed on with grand screams of war. The battle had begun. “It’s begun. Sergeant Antarr, ready your squad for we will let them die upon unbreakable walls.” The Seventh Company Captain spoke with venom creeping into his voice. His crimson lenses streamed with pertinent data as the first volley was unleashed onto the rebels, then the second onto the bestial horde of greenskins. A small part of him felt admiration for the last stand of the Sarghall’s insurrectionists; however, they were ultimately the reason the enemy got as far as they did. A thought opened the vox once more to Legion Command. +’Seventh Company Captain Radogan to Legion Command. Requesting orbital ordinance drop on the tertiary location Delta-Zero-One-One-Alpha.’+ There was a moment of silence as the credentials relevant to an Astartes passed through the Legion’s logis. An affirmation in the form of a sequence of digits plastered to one side of his display, while a blinking red rune began to tick. Several seconds later the rune shifted to a green hue and the numbers zeroed. A hammerblow cracked against the sky as a slug of improbable caliber parted the clouds in its descent. Promethium vaporized behind it as a rocket of retribution hurled towards the largest grouping of greenskins. The ordinance snapped against the cold earth of Sarghall, rupturing the rockrete road and fissuring the citadel in a single blow. An explosion of mass magnitude sucked in the air and bellowed it out in a mushroom cloud of subatomic particles. Alien flesh disintegrated in huge quantities, their abominable bodies torn from reality in a wave of atomic division; however, some still survived this onslaught. Greenskins crawled from the crater with extreme burns, torn limbs, and saturated extremities. Xenos' warcries shook their disgusting companions from their stupor and charged once more into the fray. “Antarr. Remind me to suggest a full systematic purge of the feral orks in this system.” Radogan growled as he freed the relic blade from its ornate sheath. He was prepared to step down to join the slaughter when the air fizzled with electricity. His brain felt a nauseous pull as reality yawned under the yoke of a strange [i] power [/i]. Sudden realization raced in his superhuman mind as a great, green bolt of lightning shot from the front of the battlefield to his area twice over. Immediately before him, cascades of greenskins appeared with war cries on their gnarled lips. A handful of the aliens had teleported into the razorwire, culling their life for their hubris. To the left of him, a towering monstrosity of meat and muscle loomed with a gargantuan axe held at the ready. Captain Radogan acted immediately on instinct, the combi-plasma stretched out and firing without ceremony. The veterans behind him mimicked with their combi-plasmas cascading gouts of plasma against the beast’s hide. Sarghall’s night lit up with the azure corona of a dozen power weapons as they were unsheathed. The agonizing flare of corillian globs splashed nearby in a deadly crescendo. Matorres’ squad of neophytes had begun to engage the greenskins the moment they appeared with canticles on their lips. “Oi, humie! You’z ghot a’ bone to pick with the ‘Reat Bonesmasha!” The barbaric titan spoke in a disgusting replication of Imperial Low Gothic. It only succeeded in a following salvo of bolter rounds exploding harmlessly against its chest. Radogan, with Antarr in tow, slowly began to march forwards with his weapon continuing to vent plasmic death in great quantities. The relic blade hungered for xenos flesh as the Captain stepped closer to the one named Bonesmasha. “[b]You’z approachin’ me, humie? Instead o’ runnin’ away? You’z lookin’ to get riot krumped![/b]” A hideous, toothy grin plastered across the gob of the greenskin leviathan. Despite its kindreds wanton lust for destruction, it slowly began to approach the group of Astartes with a egotistical stride. The bestial greataxe scrapped across the citadel’s foundation, while the ramshackle barrels of its shoota remained silent against the ranged onslaught. “[b]Disgusting, monstrous xenos! I can’t kill you without stepping any closer. Fear me and die on my blade, abomination![/b]” Captain Radogan warned the xenos before lunging into a clash of weapons with the savage boss. The relic blade ignited into an intense alabaster corona as the blade met the axe. The powerfield of the weapon erupted in an explosive shockwave as their weapons met, the warboss staggering backwards with the Steel Sentinel charging forward. Antarr watched the new Captain descend into glorious melee as his squad approached with power swords raised. He directed his power axe to his immediate right, directing the rest of the veterans towards the beleaguered neophytes engaged in melee. No further orders required, the shoulder-cloaked Astartes burst into galloping sprints to assist the future warriors of their legion. Their intervention, however, came surprisingly late as several neophytes had already been slain by the orks. Rage filled every slash of their powered weapons, cutting durable greenskin sinew for every life that was lost. The sergeant rammed his pauldron into a larger greenskin - the nob - and swiped his powered axe across its gullet. A spray of thick, blistering blood cascaded out of the greenskin’s throat as the battle raged. Meanwhile, the savage boss had shouldered an overhead strike from the Seventh Company Captain, swinging his shoota uselessly against the ceramite-clad warrior. In response, Radogan had emptied his combi-plasma’s magazine into the unarmored forearm of the alien, effectively dismembering the gargantuan in a splatter of tempestuous ichor. It howled in agony as the combination of bolt and plasma maimed its hardy body. The greenskin threw its head forward in a powerful headbutt, concaving the helmet of the Astartes in a sickening crunch. Blood filled his lenses as the xenos beat into his skull with its own. Internal klaxons issued an alert of a ruptured head wound. Radogan ignored them as his ceramite boot kicked the savage backwards. Maglocking the bolter to his left leg, the Captain claimed his helmet and tore it off with ruthless speed. The ceramite headpiece was tossed to the side as he leapt into a diving strike, his relic blade aimed downwards with one hand and his other hand ready to clamp onto the beast. Despite the musclebound titan’s best intentions, it wasn’t fully prepared for a lethal counterattack. The relic blade plunged into the xenos’ chest, sundering organs and sinew in a blaze of white corona. The powerfield was deactivated as it reached the depths of the greenskin’s body. The sword tore with insane, mundane strength through the ceramite-thick muscle out the left side of the savage. It screamed in a bestial roar of extraordinary pain and suffering. Bonesmasha’s final words would never come to fruition as an armored fist wailed into their skull in a flurry of rage. As the savage warboss fell limp, Captain Radogan reactivated the relic blade to clean it of alien blood. Ichor sizzled as it was seared off its length; however, gore still clung to his left fist in wet clumps. His attention turned to Antarr’s squad as the combi-plasma was returned to his hand, a fresh magazine loaded to the hungry armament. Small trails of blood seeped from steadily recovering forehead wounds while he began to walk towards the extinguishing melee. The last ork on the top-level died to a flurry of stabs from a neophyte’s combat knife. +’Captain Radogan! We have Eldar sighted on the lower-level!’+ The cohort-wide vox vocalized. Sergeant Sophras’ voice was heard across the vox followed by gouts of plasma echoing in the background. The captain needed no further information to begin sprinting down the steps towards the front of the battlefield. Antarr, along with his squad, struggled to match the gait of their leader as their armored legs lunged forward. Neophyte Sol felt his blood in his skin as the frontline erupted into a volatile frenzy of carnage. To his right, his fellow neophytes led by Brother-Mentor Nephitels were butchered in totality. Techmarine Ashral had weaved into combat, the Omnissian thunderhammer detonating greenskins in flashes of gore. The mentor had wailed in rage and sorrow as the aspirants were slain wholesale. Plasma incinerators streamed intense beams of hot fury at xenos on lopping, enormous beasts akin to squigs. He had watched as one of the riders leapt onto the tower they were firing from before his attention was stolen to the left flank. It was there that the object of hatred, forever built into the Steel Sentinels, were found as they flitted through the scorched ruins of the battlefield. Ethereal wraiths floated on invisible wings with pristine lances of alabaster material. Sol could do nothing as their armaments launched prismatic beams into Sergeant Sophras’ brethren. More forms coalesced from the shadows of Sarghall behind the wraiths with blue-hued armor and plumed helmets. A lithe figure cunningly darted among their numbers, carefully orchestrating their numbers with a brilliant staff topped by a triangle with an eye in the middle. The neophyte wasn’t the only one to notice as Mentor Konrad automatically divvied targets between the greenskins and the arriving Eldar. Orbs of searing azure erupted from holy armaments to cascade against the remaining orks, sundering the last vestiges of their life in agonizing pain. Short bursts of precisely fired plasma ignited from among his own squad against the darting wraiths. Afterimages distracted their numbered projectiles, some hitting while a vast majority failed to sink the xenos. A few of his brethren had died to stray shots from the orks, significantly reducing their firepower but emboldening their determination. A klaxon howled across Sarghall as the Anvil of Unbreakable Steel threatened to go berserk at the arrival of the Eldar. The land raider’s armaments with limited range slew the last of the greenskin’s lesser kin, while the longer reaching weapons sliced through wraith and warrior alike. Adamantine treads brought the bulwark backwards for an appropriate attack vector as a multitude of weapons roared death into the sky. Techmarine Ashral struggled to keep up with the leviathan machine as Nephitels lunged over the Aegis line to chase after the vexilla-bearing xenos. Sol watched as the last ork was shot by Konrad’s combi-plasma before the left flank fully fell to the Eldar. Haunting giants with beautiful, ghastly axes burst forward from the nothingness to murder the last member of Sophras’ squad. The sergeant had died in a close-quarters volley of supercharged plasma, consuming himself and an umbral giant in death. His squad was quick to backpedal, adapting to the carnage with the swiftness of a hunting carnosaur; however, it wouldn’t be his or his fellow neophyte’s weapons that would lay the murderers low. The enormous machine that was the vengeful spirit of the Anvil crushed promethium pipe underneath its tread. Twin-lascannons jettisoned searing oxygen vaporizing beams of las into the huge, ghastly warriors. Under assault from the land raider and his own squad, the bone-like giants died under a furious flurry of deadly energy. The neophyte watched as the tower was claimed by blue-hued xenos as their vanguard melted under Imperial rage. Their weapons spat miniature disks of shrapnel, slicing into the Anvil of Unbreakable Steel’s honored hull. A silent order from Mentor Konrad divided the squad into two segments, one racing forward around the statue and the other reinforcing the land raider. Neophyte Sol was the first to race up beside the venerable machine, his plasma gun aligning with a wraith attempting to flank the Anvil. A short burst of his holy weapon disintegrated the hovering Eldar into a glob of seething energy. The rest of his combat squad discharged snap shots against the alien controlled tower. His eyes momentarily turned to the side as the Seventh Company Captain rushed onto his level of the battlefield. None, however, would expect what came next as the Anvil of Unbreakable Steel tore rockrete beneath it in anticipation. The treads twisted over and over in a single spot before unleashing anxious wrath in a headlong charge. Eldar warriors had no chance to prepare for the charge. Cries from alien throats howled into the night as they desperately tried to kill the machine. Their attempts would fail as the land raider rammed into the plascrete tower, throwing alien bodies from their perch at high velocities. Beams of metallic foundation crumbled onto the furious vehicle, momentarily coating the nearby area in a thin cloud of dust and debris. Neophyte Sol began to move forward with his squad before he was cut off by Captain Radogan, who held a decorated relic blade at the ready. A silent, direct order from the cohort commander held him in place as the events played out. He watched the captain calmly search through the bodies of the xenos with a deliberate gait. Seconds later, Techmarine Ashral appeared from Konrad’s side of the statue with his attention on the land raider. Sol’s attention snapped back to the captain as a feminine, alien cry was heard over the settling debris. “Speak, alien dog, speak for the atrocities that you’ve committed today in your feeble attempt to cull Sarghall and the Primarch.” Radogan’s voice, unfiltered and unmasked, rang across the open area left by the Anvil. A combi-plasma remained maglocked to his left leg as his left gauntlet held aloft an Eldar in his grasp. Olive digits dug into the throat of the xenos as she squirmed in his grapple. It desperately reached for something, [b] anything [/b] , but fell limp at the realization that their forces were dead. “[i]... Idiotic… mon’keigh… you don’t… understand… the consequences… you wrought. [/i]” She blurted out beneath its lithe helmet, wet gasps of pain alerting the listeners that internal organs had been compromised. The captain simply shook his head as if he had heard the words spoken before. The hilt of the relic blade bashed into the Eldar helmet several times over until it shattered. A final, sickening crunch fell upon the unhelmeted xenos. Placid limbs momentarily shook before falling truly limp in the grasp of the Astartes. Sol watched as the Captain handed off the female to Mentor Konrad, realizing that the xenos [i] wasn’t dead [/i]. He felt his body compel him forward to finish the fight, but he eased himself as Radogan walked past his form. The battle for Sarghall was over. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ Epilogue [b] Months later…[/b] The interior of the thunderhawk rumbled with the rousing of its machine spirit. The passengers that had originally clotted its hull were sparse and few in comparison. Nephitel’s neophytes were gone, the lone Astartes left behind on Sarghall to attend the mass gathering of the dead with an apothecary. Sergeant Sophras’ and his incinerator brethren remained in the eternal night, butchered by the Eldar. Several of his comrades were gone in the last firefight. Lokus, Menurv, Dorrev, Iori. All were committed to Sol’s memory as he sat beside Mentor Konrad. Silence passed between them pregnant with the thoughts of fallen neophytes. Their idle conversation, neglecting their victory, spoke of the accolades awarded across the Seventh Company. [i] No pity. [/i] The journey back to the Fortress of Steel was short and filled with the heavy heart of many lost neophytes; however, those that had survived were critically acclaimed by their Mentors. Noddra, Penyl, Andrith, Jolken, and himself had been selected for full brotherhood upon the completion of the campaign. Sol had heard that Captain Radogan was going to earn terminator honors on his proper rise to lead the Seventh Company. The Anvil of Unbreakable Steel was to be enshrined as the personal vehicle of their company, anointed with new armaments by the magistrates of Vion 5. Techmarine Ashral was said to be given a permanent posting and consul status in the Fourth Great Company for their contributions. Sergeant Antarr and his veterans, by recommendation by Captain Radogan, were requested for training into the Eldest at the earliest possible date. [i] No remorse. [/i] In the grand halls of the Legion’s flagship, he had bowed his head before the Father of Steel to recite the many canticles of Mars. Mentor Konrad and Captain Radogan had formally requested his elevation to brotherhood, along with a recommendation from Ashral for a trip to Mars to become one of his own. Consecrated oils had bathed his robed, armored form before his Primarch. His achievements on Sarghall had been repeated to him by an Eldest, known as Vertigern, for which he claimed were truthful under oath. Only when the steel deity had requested it did Sol raise his gaze to the Lord of Vion 5. His eyes held reverence, but a steady hatred for the enemy that had laid them low on Atis. The hatred for the xenos honed into a sharp blade through his eyes. The primarch approved of the look in Sol’s eyes. [i] No fear. [/i] At the foot of an altar to the Omnissiah, he pressed his ceramite gauntlets together in a steeple and bowed his helmeted head towards the Cog. Soon, it had been said by the Primarch, he would travel to Mars to become one of the vaunted techmarines of the Legion. Now, however, he would quietly work in the forge under the tutoring gaze of Ashral. As he left the machine altar, he formed the sign of the cog with his hands and turned his attention to the techmarine behind him. On the surface, he was excited and beyond ready to properly serve the Legion; however, beneath the surface, he held an infinite inferno for the lives lost on Sarghall. The names of the dead enshrined as inscriptions on the gorget of his power armor. He would never forget Sarghall, never forgive the Eldar, and always remember fury he felt. As he walked to join Ashral in the forge, he quietly whispered within his mind. [i] O’ Omnissiah, wrath rejoicing at bloody wars, fierce and untamed… [/i] [/hider]