The Grand Battalion and the 76th Expeditionary Fleet received orders to assist the Ninth Legion in dealing with yet another xenos race that had exploited the Long Night to expand and seize a human enclave.
I knew little about the Ninth Legion beyond rumors that it was a sort of reformatory dumping ground. They took in candidates with not just mental but physical defects, then forged them into killing tools with minimal regard for morality.
Though when I'd seen them during the Astartes' founding, they looked more like noble paragons than a band of cutthroats. Chiseled features, elegance, and breeding instead of scarred, burned faces and eyes full of malice.
How fucking wrong I was.
The first warning sign was the Auxilia and support forces we encountered upon landing on one of the contested planets.
These men were utterly terrified. Even the officers avoided eye contact, lowering their gazes like slaves, trembling as if expecting punishment. It was bizarre, especially for forces that had worked alongside Astartes long enough to stop flinching at the sight of giants in power armor.
The second warning was the Auxilia's casualties. They weren't just high—they were strange. Heavy losses during assaults were expected, but these occurred not just during attacks or defenses, but in between. Worse, they were logged as "friendly fire" or simply "operational losses," with no details.
And the final warning—no, the death knell—was the disappearance of Auxilia troops from the 76th Expeditionary Fleet, specifically those attached to my Grand Battalion. When we reached the frontlines, the Ninth Legion's forces were positioned adjacent to ours. We had already divided operational zones and were preparing for the offensive when, the next day, several Auxilia soldiers vanished.
Following the trail, we found only a few corpses, practically desiccated, and a couple more torn to pieces.
My first thought was enemy saboteurs or some bioweapon—mutants let off the leash. But something felt off. And there were faint tracks leading toward the Ninth Legion's positions.
I immediately contacted their commanders, only to be told to "forget such trifles and focus on the offensive." As Centurion Ael put it: "They're just meat. Expendable. No point worrying over those who'll die sooner or later anyway."
I didn't like that. Commanders like that eventually start seeing everything as expendable—and who knows when your turn comes to become just another number in the casualty reports. With allies like these, you hardly need enemies.
—
"What I'm about to say doesn't leave this room. That goes for Astartes and Auxilia alike." My words put the entire command staff of the 76th Expeditionary Fleet on edge. They had been summoned a day before the planned offensive.
"Should I activate the dampening systems?" asked Tribune Voltos, his eyes beneath the red hood gleaming like a predator's in the dark.
"Wouldn't hurt. Now listen. You've all seen the assault plans. But recent events have made me question the wisdom of relying on our 'allies' from the Ninth Legion."
"You think they'd turn their guns on us or feed us to the xenos?" Rork grasped my meaning immediately.
"I don't know. Not enough data. But reason says we should be wary. Something foul lingers around them. So here are my orders: Stay alert, especially if you see Ninth Legion Astartes. Maintain comms and visual contact at all times. If you see, hear, or even feel something off about our 'allies,' report directly to command—me, Rork, or Voltos. Questions?"
"What's the reason for these precautions?" Voltos asked, echoed by nods from a couple of Auxilia officers.
"I don't know. Instinct says our allies come with hidden surprises. And after Dolian, I've learned to trust my instincts."
"Instinct. Illogical," Voltos replied.
"Instinct is a survival mechanism when intel or time is lacking. Consider it auspex in the fog of war." My answer silenced him before he finally nodded.
"Further questions?"
"What if the allies do cause problems?" Rork voiced the question on everyone's mind.
"Warning shots. Then, your discretion. Disable if possible; lethal force if necessary. This applies to all of us—Auxilia, Mechanicus, Astartes. Brief your subordinates, but stress absolute secrecy." My answer eased some tension but also made it clear: radical action might be needed.
"Questions? No? Dismissed. Except you, Rork." Once the room cleared, I pointed at the holomap.
"Prepare a hidden backup squad. One Rhino, one Whirlwind. All troops armed with volkite—light and heavy. They're to shadow our flank, ready to intervene if needed."
"Buri, this feels excessive. I get you don't like our allies, but it shouldn't come to that. Remember how we worked with the Eighth?" Rork frowned, clearly thinking I'd lost my mind.
"Rork, just trust me. At worst, my paranoia gives us extra reserves. At best…" I had to pull rank. He sighed and nodded, humoring his suddenly unhinged superior.
Ah, Rork. If only you knew my distrust wasn't baseless. In my past life, I'd seen every kind of "ally"—some fled, others turned their guns on us the moment they got a better offer.
The next day, the offensive began.
—
The xenos called themselves the Haaru. Humanoid, with pallid, bluish skin, huge dark eyes, and elongated ears—traits suggesting their homeworld had been starved of sunlight. But during their expansion, they realized evolution had played a cruel joke: most planets were unsuitable for them. Bright light blinded them; their skin burned. Even their hearing, tuned to different frequencies, became a liability.
By all logic, the Haaru were unfit for expansion—doomed to their dim corner of the galaxy. But overpopulation and brutal resource scarcity dictated otherwise. They sought solutions, settling on two paths:
The slow path of engineered evolution—centuries of genetic reshaping to shed their flaws.
The brutal shortcut of mass augmentation. Crude, disposable implants for volunteers, then convicts sent to mine resources on every captured world, fueling further expansion.
They chose the second.
It was bloody. Their tech allowed cheap, mass-produced implants letting Haaru colonize new worlds—but the side effects were horrific. Pain and psychosis plagued millions, billions. Desperate colonists became bloodthirsty psychopaths, clawing for better implants and painkillers.
Perhaps, given time, they might have overcome this—refined their tech, abandoned the crude implants. But fate laughed again.
During another expansion wave, they encountered humanity—already spread across the stars. First contact ended badly. For the Haaru.
Aggression had become their creed. They answered diplomacy with gunfire, destroying a human scout ship, mistaking restraint for weakness.
They were wrong. Gravely wrong.
Humanity retaliated swiftly. Within years, they burned through Haaru territories. Millions of soldiers died; civilian casualties were worse. The Haaru were hurled back centuries, left with only their homeworld and a handful of systems—caged, left to rot.
Then came the Long Night.
Humanity declined. Borders frayed. And the Haaru, nursing vengeance, seized their chance.
Over centuries, they conquered nearby human worlds, slaughtering or enslaving survivors. Expansion slowed—their warp tech was primitive, and digesting their plunder took time. Like a gluttonous swine, they gorged until they could barely move.
Had they been faster, the Imperium would face a far deadlier foe.
As it stood, the Haaru were still formidable. Their armies—Haaru and human slaves—matched Imperial Guard numbers. Their weapons, scavenged from past victories, were on par. Their only disadvantage?
Us. The Astartes.
Now, we steamrolled their defenses. Slave-manned trenches and fortifications fell to artillery and orbital strikes. Air and void support hammered Haaru strongholds.
—
"Polaris, this is Five-One. Over."
"Five-One, Polaris reads. Over."
"Polaris, Five-One. Request strike on grid 32-01. Lances, three salvos."
"Five-One, Polaris. Confirmed. T-minus three minutes."
"Polaris, Five-One. Understood. Out."
I stepped out of the Rhino, barking orders to prepare for the assault while cursing the Haaru's jamming. Without forward spotters, I had to call fire support directly from the command vehicle.
Three minutes later, lances from orbit turned an enemy bunker into slag. Then, in the distance, anti-orbital missiles flared—too late to stop Polaris.
No need to warn my flagship; its auspex and gunnery crews would handle such pitiful counterfire. Polaris was a battering ram, shrugging off point-defense fire while hammering the enemy. The rest of the fleet either supported other fronts or hunted Haaru voidcraft.
Our advance was swift, losses minimal. My armored fist—Astartes and tanks—rolled over softened targets. Auxilia rode behind in trucks and APCs, mopping up survivors. Those on foot formed the third echelon, securing cleared zones against counterattacks.
I'd have preferred air-dropping troops behind enemy lines, but the Haaru's AA saturation made that suicide.
—
"Five-One! Lieutenant Mirua, G4K Division! We're broken! Enemy counterattack! Request immediate support!"
I cursed.
"G4K, Five-One. Report."
"Save us! Missile strike took out command! All officers above lieutenants and captains are dead! Astartes—they died or left after the first assault!" The young officer's voice trembled with panic.
"Calm. You're an officer. Send coordinates. Transferring you to my second—detail your remaining strength and enemy numbers." I patched him to Rork and pulled up the holomap.
The G4K Division was attached to the Ninth, positioned at the boundary between our forces. According to the map, they'd hit a fortified complex, already taking heavy losses. Strangely, they hadn't called artillery or orbital support—odd, with Polaris overhead.
But the real question: Where were the Ninth Legion Astartes?
"Rork, status?" I turned as he updated the map, still on vox with the lieutenant.
"Shit. The Astartes just left mid-assault, dumped command on the Auxilia. Hours later, the Haaru hit the weakened infantry—hard. Thousands of slaves and soldiers, backed by tanks and artillery, overran the forward positions, then…" He trailed off. The rest was obvious.
Deep strikes. Flanking maneuvers. Encirclement. Annihilation.
"Commit the Astartes reserve. Slow them down; buy time to regroup and counter." I marked attack vectors on the map—primary and secondary thrusts to relieve the G4K.
Thirty minutes later, our reserve engaged one Haaru spearhead. Volkite fire was an ugly surprise—especially in Astartes hands. Whirlwind salvos hammered the final nails into the enemy's coffin.
Reinforcements—Predators, more Whirlwinds, Rhinos—arrived, though pulling them slowed our main advance. But a collapsed flank was worse.
The reinforced reserve shattered the remaining Haaru armored thrusts, stabilizing the line. The enemy halted but wasn't broken. Time for air support and Polaris.
Staying outside AA range, our aircraft rained death. Heavier targets? Polaris's duty.
The overextended Haaru, caught off-guard, were hurled back by day's end. But we didn't stop. The grand encirclement couldn't fail. So, under a star-strewn sky, we pushed into a night assault.
I left Rork in command, taking the flank myself. I trusted my men—but not the "allies." After the Ninth's Astartes abandoned the Auxilia to die, I'd take no chances.
Two companies of my Astartes, backed by Auxilia, breached Haaru lines, driving them until we hit rocky subterranean defenses. Battle scars marked the area—and finally, traces of the missing Ninth Legionnaires.
Bolter casings. Scorched ceramite. A helmet.
They'd broken through earlier, only to be surrounded and slaughtered.
"What were they thinking? Secure the breach, then push. Idiocy." I spat, eyeing the signs of brutal close-quarters fighting the Haaru hadn't yet cleared.
"Grand-Captain. Lucas here. Heavy resistance in a tunnel complex. Need flamers and meltas."
"Moving to you. Two Tactical squads, one Heavy Support." I signaled my men.
We fought through narrow corridors, Haaru using the cramped space to stall us. A brute-force push failed, bogging down into a stalemate.
"I'll play turret. Shield-bearers, on me. Grenade saturation, then smoke. Advance slow. Lucas, take Tacticals and Heavies—flank through smoke, close to melee."
The tunnels became a hell of explosions and gunfire. My shield-bearers advanced like ancient legionaries, shields ringing under fire. Mostly small arms—until a rocket struck, shearing through a shield and taking an Astartes' arm. Another went down, a mass-round punching through his helm, vitals spiking red.
But we pushed. I became a living turret, auspex highlighting targets, my heavy bolter roaring. The barrel glowed; ammo dwindled. The Haaru finally focused fire on me.
Then Lucas struck.
Chainswords revved. Grenades boomed. The Haaru shrieked—a nails-on-chalkboard screech mixed with white noise. Even through my helm, it set my teeth on edge, nerves burning.
And in the confined space, the effect amplified, enraging my warriors. The slaughter grew louder. I had to rein some in.
"Lucas, keep momentum. Scouts and pursuit squads?"
"Already sent. Sappers too—Haaru might mine the tunnels or collapse them on us."
Good. He was learning.
Then the scouts' vox crackled:
"Enemy fortified in a—AAAAAGH! MY HEAD! PAIN—"
"Krez! Respond! KR—" Lucas's calls went unanswered.
"Vanguard, forward! Rest, resupply and follow!" The shield-wall surged toward the tunnels.
We were too late. The gunfire ahead died.
When we burst into the cavernous hall, pillars lined the walls, pockmarked with firing ports. Haaru fired from cover—then the sound-weapons hit.
It wasn't just amplified shrieking. The acoustics turned it into an inescapable storm of agony.
My teeth ground; enamel cracked. Lightning pain seared my nerves. Muscles locked; bones vibrated. Blood and torment clouded my vision.
One shield-bearer broke, charging bare-handed. He didn't make it halfway before gunfire shredded him. Others clawed at their helms, trying to tear them off. I struck them down—without protection, the sonic assault would kill them faster.
But more faltered. I had to act.
I maxed my vox and roared a modified oath:
"I SWEAR TO SERVE THE EMPEROR OF MANKIND, TO DEFEND HIS IMPERIUM, AND TO UPHOLD HIS WILL!"
The words thundered through the chamber.
"I VOW TO SPARE NO STRENGTH NOR LIFE IN DEFENSE OF THE IMPERIUM AGAINST ALL FOES, WITHIN AND WITHOUT!"
I stepped forward. My Astartes rose, joining the chant.
"I PLEDGE TO ENDURE ALL HARDSHIPS IN HIS NAME, TO STAND WITH MY BROTHERS, TO NEVER FALTER BEFORE THE ENEMY, AND TO FIGHT UNTIL MY LAST BREATH!"
More voices rose. We advanced.
"I SERVE THE EMPEROR, THE IMPERIUM, AND MANKIND! I FIGHT WITH HONOR, STRENGTH, AND FAITH! MAY THE LIGHT OF HOLY TERRA GUIDE ME! MAY HUMANITY UNITE UNDER HIS RULE! AND MAY WE CLAIM OUR RIGHTFUL PLACE AMONG THE STARS!"
The Haaru recoiled.
"SHOULD I FAIL THIS OATH OR WEAKEN BEFORE THE ENEMY, LET HIS JUDGMENT STRIKE ME DOWN! I AM HIS WILL! I AM HIS WRATH! AND I SHALL CARRY HIS WORD INTO THE HEARTS OF HIS FOES, UNTIL THE IMPERIUM'S FINAL VICTORY!"
The distance closed.
"I SWEAR IT!" I vaulted the barricade.
"WE SWEAR IT!" A deafening chorus answered.
The Astartes became what they were meant to be.
Angels of Death.
The Haaru broke. What followed wasn't battle—it was slaughter.
"FOR THE EMPEROR! FOR THE IMPERIUM! FOR TERRA! FOR OUR HOME!"
The vox roared. Chainswords sang. Haaru died.
When the last foes fell, I turned my fire on the pillars—the source of the sonic horror.
Silence followed.
A ringing, hollow silence.
My Astartes stood panting, helmets bowed.
"VICTORY! URAAAA!" I roared, fist raised.
"URAAAAA!" The hall shook—not with pain, but triumph.
—
Later, I exhaled, staring at the flag-draped corpses of my fallen. Not just the scouts—more had died in the cavern.
The field apothecarion was busy, but the fighting was over. I prayed no more eyes would close today.
"Grand-Captain. We found the Ninth's Legionnaires. What's left of them." Lucas approached with a dataslate.
"What happened?"
"Techmarines and apothecaries say they were hit by the sonic weapons—twice. Records show they…" - He hesitated.
"Speak, Lieutenant." I gripped his shoulder.
"They…lost their minds. Went berserk. Not just killing—ripping, eating."
"What?"
"During the first assault, they took Auxilia squads with them. After the sonic attack, they turned on everyone. Some bit throats, drank blood. Others feasted on the dead."
My mind raced.
Did the Haaru have a weapon that could reduce Astartes to rabid beasts?
Was there a defense?
Why hadn't they used it on us?
Was this Warpcraft?
"Any other weapons used? Techmarine and apothecary opinions?"
"No. Just the sonic weapons. No chem or bio traces."
Psykers confirmed: no Warp taint.
"Then what happened here?"
Lucas had no answer.
—
"Buri, respond." Rork's voice cut through my thoughts.
"Go ahead."
"A Ninth Legion Centurion's inbound. Wants the bodies and a debrief."
"Learn anything else?"
"No. But he threatened to cut my tongue out if I 'interfered.'"
"Time to put him in his place. On my way."
As I moved to the Rhino, Bharmon, my chief Techmarine, intercepted me.
"Grand-Captain. The helmet data-crystal from one of the Ninth's dead. Proof, as you requested."
I slotted it into my helm's port, reviewing the footage as the Rhino rolled.
What I saw sickened me.
The most recent logs showed the assault. The Ninth's Legionnaires shed their humanity with every step, becoming rabid monsters.
One tore off his helm, sinking fangs into an Auxilia trooper's neck—then moved to a Haaru corpse.
Another showed his brothers descending on screaming humans like jackals, eating them alive.
The final moments were worse.
Then I checked earlier records.
And wished I hadn't.
The truth was far worse than I'd imagined.
The beasts of the Ninth hadn't become monsters.
They always were.
Older logs showed them slaughtering and drinking from humans—Auxilia, civilians, prisoners. None were safe. Blood ran in rivers; corpses piled by the thousands.
By the time the Rhino stopped, I was seething.
—
"I am Centurion Alaric. I demand the immediate return of the Astartes remains, transfer of Auxilia command, and operational authority over all 76th Expedition assets in this sector." The golden-haired Centurion's voice dripped arrogance, his face sculpted like an angel's.
"A mask. Hiding your rot. I've seen everything. I won't let you butcher more of my men. Get out, you filth. Or I'll kill you where you stand."
"Grand-Captain! This is insubordination—"
"I said GET OUT!" I loomed over him.
He snarled—literally snarled, fangs bared—and lunged for his sword.
I caught his wrist, flipped him, and drove my thumbs into his eyes.
"AAAAAGH!"
He thrashed, but I wrenched harder.
"Attack the Centurion! Forwa—" A burst from the Rhino's heavy bolter cut the protest short.
Alaric's skull burst like overripe fruit in my grip.
I turned to the remaining Ninth Legionnaires.
"The 76th Expedition assumes command. All Ninth Legion forces will leave. Auxilia are under my control. Resist, and Polaris burns you from the sky. Now GET OUT."
They backed away, loading into their transports.
"Rork. Change of plans. We take the Haaru capital in a week."
—
The Fifth Legion's banner flew over the conquered Haaru homeworld within seven days, breaking their spirit and securing the planet.
The Ninth Legion left the next morning. I'd threatened to blast their ships from the void.
With Polaris and the fleet, it wasn't an empty threat.
That decision earned me enemies—and a summons to Proxima for a tribunal over the Centurion's death.
The Eighteenth Legion's expedition would replace us, finishing the Haaru's annihilation.
"So. A court-martial. Well. At least I made history. Did some good."
I set the scroll down, gazing at the starry sky.
"Come what may."