The Ultramarines and Black Templar’s had answered the call, but there seemed so very few of the dower, battle-weary Warriors to hold Zalthar’s vast Horizons of forests’ and rolling Ice Grass plains, never mind the festering Hives and sprawling Mine Workings that threaded their way vein like beneath the Planets skin, as they had done for 1,000‘s of Cycles.Only now they had company ! They were eclipsed by mile upon mile of Trenches, dug fast and dug deep, not to save, nor protect, for a mere hole in the ground was no more than “home” to the minions of the Ruinous Powers. No, they were dug for faith, for hope that they could do more than delay the inevitable. But most of all, they were dug because that’s what you did, what Zalthar did, what its people did, for generations that’s what you do, for not to dig was the way of surrender, madness and Death !
Within the trenches were the Hives, diminished in the failing light, locked up tight against the chill of evening, against what was to come. For days now, no-one had come to Zalthar, no-one had left. The light from the heavens at twilight became red and visceral, the nights sky grew hateful, for there were too many Stars, and every night their numbers grew !
It should have been a time of plenty, of feasting and song, as on the plains, Morac should have been calving. But something was wrong, many seemingly healthy animals of breeding age were barren, and of those few calves that did arrive, many were hideously twisted by the Warp. Most died during birth and fires were lit by the Herders, who muttered prayers to the Emperor cleanse the Herd, offering the mutated bodies to the flames .
Whilst by night, fear had the cities of Zalthar to itself, the days belonged to industry, the labours of war, for there were shells to be made, bunkers to be built and fresh minefields to be sown, and it was an endeavour in which all had a place. And so each house became a fort and each Hive a castle, riddled with embrasures and hung with barbed wire.
Out on the plains and amongst the woods, soldiers roamed and Marines trained and drilled around the clock. Leman Russ squadrons rolled by, Rhino’s raced into clearings, their passengers bursting forth into action, re-mounting and doing it all again. Super-Heavy-Tanks were dug in on the reverse slopes of hills overlooking road junctions as convoys of militia thundered past in huge Ore Trucks, now make do Personnel Carriers. The wait was on, for that the axe would fall was never in doubt, but the where and when, well ……….
Day collapsed into night that bled into day, and just as on the 4th Quarter of the 18th Cycle, the final Tyranid had fallen !
On the evening of the19th Cycle, Hell came to Zalthar !
The Berserkers’ of the Blood God, their Crimson Armour mirroring the red sky poured from the twilight mists as the huge forms of Deep Striking Chaos Terminators materialized amidst the loyalists, Lightning Claws crackling, the air heavy with exhaust fumes from countless roaring chain weapons as they rose and fell biting into Black, Blue and Purple Ceramite alike. For the Gods of Ruin saw oh so clearly the fealty in the Dragon Kin, could smell their devotion to their own Azus Drakeson and to the Corpse-Emperor.
And so it was that Battle was joined as the two Armies smashed together in carnage and confusion at the outer defences of Astromus, Capital of Zalthar and its largest Hive City by far, home to some 87 Million, some 9 times that of the old Terran Nu York before the long-night. Here the fate of this world would be decided.
North of the City, Red ploughed into Blue and Black and as the bright Pastel Hues met the same to the South, the entire Eastern reaches of Astromus were surrounded, with more Storm Ravens, Rams and Dread-Claws making Planetfall from Mortarion and Angron’s Fleets every Cycle. There was no order within the Chaos of the massed landings, fresh Troops, Marines, the Obliterator Cult and Chosen, struggling for position with Terminators and Tau Mercenaries’ & Allies !
Its 9 meters of height, almost 30 foot form allowing it to dominating the loyalist ranks was Lux Aeterna, a Knight Paladin that was closing down its long, measured strides, before coming to an abrupt stop. Rotating at its articulated waist, gyro-stabilisers screamed as they fought to contain the recoil of its massive Rapid Fire Battle Cannon. The shots vaporised and entire section of Chaos Marines, fragments of helmets, packs and bodies sent spiralling upward and out, before gravity once again took hold, sending them raining macabrely back amongst their brethren. The vibrant hue of armour fragments, scattering the devotion to Slaanesh to the four winds, it would be Khorne that drank deep of their souls this day.
Such feats of arms however, quickly bought Lux Aeterna the unwelcome attention of others. Staccato flashes of Lascannons, swift in seeking a target and Krak Missiles that wobbled up on white contrails from the massed Infantry below, only to burst prematurely in the disruption of his Ion Shields or shatter harmlessly upon the thick Ceramite slabs of his Carapace. More work for his Sacristan, should he survive the Battle.
Further to the North-East, the Legions of Khorne and their Tau Allies remain locked in combat with the Ultramarines and the Templar’s, Brother hacking against Brother in some of the most vicious close combat yet seen. Here and there pockets of Dragon Kin are similarly engaged in a vast sea of Ceramite that ebbs and flows with a push of Boarding Shield or the collapse of a localised defence, neither side able to seize the initiative.
Suddenly, where the fighting was thickest, the slaughter at its greatest, the very fabric of space itself was wrenched apart, and from a constantly falling curtain of brazen chains, stepped An’ggrath, trusted of Khorne and mightiest of the Bloodthirster’s. Such was his presence that the dead sought to rise to serve him, men held themselves together, scooping back in their guts to walk by his side, carrying severed or wrecked limbs and even heads they formed up in Ranks behind him. Even those who‘s only loyalty lay with the Emperor of Mankind, could bring themselves to do no more than stand open-mouthed and stare!
“Our Lord and Master Kharneth has need of us this day my Brethren !”
“Come“.
And with that, he held aloft his mighty Obsidian Axe, and with a single swear and the beat of a heart, He and all his followers were gone !
The Battle had held its breath, for then as on, it exhaled and reality came crashing back in. Lines were re-formed, spent formations stood down and battle re-joined in earnest, for many factions remained and surprises retained.
In the shadows’ of some crumbling Ore-Processing Sheds however, lurked a deadly Baneblade lent to the Dragon Kin, one of the enormous Imperial (STC) Main Battle Tanks of the 41st Millennium. Sporting the a massive Battle Cannon, bristling with secondary weapons systems, this truly was a force to be reckoned with ! At the time of the Great Crusade, there used to be entire Battalions of Baneblade’s, forming the "mainstay" of the Imperial Army. Now Regiments of more than 3 are almost unheard of, most Forces considering themselves most Blessed of the Emperor to have just one of these mighty Machines at hand.
Capable of challenging even the mighty Titan’s for the field, these are indeed potent “Lords of War” and a force to be reckoned with ! One that would require even a mighty Knight Paladin, such as Lux Aeterna himself to take heed !
To the South, a Daemon Prince steadied itself long enough to separate from the Hedonistic Rapture of the kill to purr fresh commands, with which the line straightened before falling forward loping strides in search of fresh pleasures, tat was until Loyalist Drop-Pods fell in their Path, and strange-insubstantial Black Armoured figures began to materialise.
Even further East, Loyalist Bikers attacked and several anointed of Slaanesh fell, but their Flesh-metal Daemon Kindred of the Obliterator Cult manifested Huge Lascannons from the very substance of their bodies, spitting beams of green light that severed limbs, ruptured fuel-tanks and sliced through Ceramite Helms.
The first Loyalist Salvo’s having little effect, those Marines that had first visited the “Eye” snarled and frothed as fresh spines erupted from their flesh. Screaming praises to the Pantheon, they charged as one unholy mass, wreathed in Sparks of witch - fire, shrugging off Bolts and Flame, ignoring wounds and casualties, carving their way deep into the ranks of the Legion of the Dammed, butchering them to a man !
The Obliterator Cult then warped huge flamers, paying out gouts of flame across the Drop-Pod Troops, until nothing stood.
With the Khornate Host gone, it became increasingly apparent to Malidus Storm Crow, Dark Apostle of the Literati Cohort of the Word Bearers, seizing Zalthar was not achievable, and whilst the slaughter was glorious, The Dark Council would not look favourably on such profligate waste of resources.
With that In mind, he ordered the general regrouping. Angron and Mortarion too were ready to leave, after a fierce fight with the Chapter Master of the Dragon Kin, that had left piles of shattered Bikes and Bikers and a few notable scars. They could not readily take what they had come for, and with uncharacteristic calm, Angron allowed himself to be reasoned with. Something in Mortarions corpse rattle voice still held the timbre of a Primarch, a skilled orator and leader of men, and an older Brothers gentle advice. No lecture as their Father would have seen fit, not scorn of a wayward son or the shame he had poured upon Lorgar. A mistake that was to lay low his chosen and waste to his Empire. So, reason prevailed and both were content to have sown the seeds of Chaos deep within the core of a valuable Imperial World. Seeds that when ripe could send word, and then they would return for the harvest, Blood for the Blood God, the decaying remains to Nurgle, the Father of Time itself, for in time, all will decay.
The Ultramarines too had suffered after cycle upon cycle of ceaseless fighting, After pushing back a sizeable force of Chaos Marines, Marneus Calgar found himself cut off from his retinue, low on ammo and facing a Daemon Prince of Slaanesh in a damp woodland clearing !
Calgar breathed slowly, clearing his mind as the foul apparition began to circle, Treading as lightly as his heavy Terminator Armour would allow, he sought to remain at 45 degrees to his quarry, who began to feint and posture, seeking to goad him to a rash response. The Air in the damp hollow was still and moist, his suit reading 100% humidity, there was a smell of wet moss and fungus, the ground soft beneath his……………..crashing and splintering filled his senses, darkness, light, darkness, then crump, he hit bottom, an old Mine working having given way beneath him.
Ozone from sparking circuits stung his nostrils and a limpness down his right hand side, coupled with a feeling of too much dead-weight, suggested a catastrophic failure to part of his Indomitus Pattern Tactical Dreadnought Armour. From above the sounds of screams and curses eventually gave way to the throaty cough of Bolters, the thump of Grenades and the eventual comforting swoosh of Thunderhawk engines. Helbrecht had arrived in timely fashion with the Cavalry. Pinned by more than 1.000 tonnes of spoil, Calgar could not gain purchase to move, but he was alive. He just knew he had not heard the last of this, as with cables attached, two bemused Techmarines and a strangely smiling Helbrecht, begun the onerous task of winching him out. It was also not until he cleared the workings, that a quick scan by his suits systems revealed a shattered knee joint, that would take some time to re-grow, for it was well beyond conventional repair even with his advanced physiology.
And so the War Hosts of Chaos departed before the PDF could rejoin the fray. The withdrawal was skilled, disciplined taking place during the cycles of Darkness. They slipped away behind a Cadre of Chosen all of whom understood this would be their final combat and each grateful to give their life for the Pantheon. Not until this force fell, did the duplicity of the plan appear to the Loyalists, and by then too many craft were prepped for Planetary Assault to make pursuit and a further Void War tenable. Holds were packed with Troops and Vehicles ready for the Drop, all of whom would have to be dispersed across the Fleet in readiness for boarding actions, or to repel the same. To expose fully prepared Assault Ships to a Void War was tantamount to genocide, for if one hold or assembly area was breached, the hundreds within would perish in the cold airlessness of the Void. The PDF too, had seen they would still have much to do on Zalthar, for the taint of Chaos was strong, and there was still the matter of these Dragon Kin to be resolved, Friend or foe, the Inquisition should know.
And as for Carolynn, a Veteran of two extinction events ? Survivor of a Tyranid Swarm and a Chaos Incursion, led by two of the most feared and powerful Primarchs in the known Universe ? A simple Morac Herder with latent Psychic Abilities, sharing mind-space with these “Gods of Men” ? That they would let such a mortal remain ?But the network of Great Lorelei Crystals on Zalthar is older still than even these two mighty beings, and attuned to the Psyche in ways more mysterious than something as relatively young and frail as a Primarchs Mind could imagine. For these great and mighty “Stones” have seen the beginning of the Universe, seen the Great Old Ones rise and decay, the birthing pangs of Chaos Gods, the tricking and the long sleep of the Necrons and the bright star that was the heyday of the Eldar, as well as their fall. They have seen the birth of man and the growth and death of his Empires, his Emperors, and they were not want to give up one of their own.
For Carolynn was a true child of Zalthar, a planet of which we still have much to learn… .. . . . .
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