The desert.
A landing craft slowly settled onto the ground. Mechanical corridors linked to it, forming a mid-sized mobile armaments base.
This was a mobile armory base independently developed by the Savior's Armaments Research Institute.
It could be deployed to a battlefield at any time to provide the Adeptus Astartes with the newest, fiercest weapons and munitions.
So that when they fought, they had no concerns at their backs.
Besides the mobile armory base, the Savior's domain had also developed mobile field hospitals and more, with rapid rescue as the core theme.
Once the Fallen Angels were adjudged loyal and sworn to follow the Savior, they were immediately rushed to the field hospital to receive comprehensive treatment from the Hospitaller Sisters.
Ordinarily, when an Astartes suffered severe wounds, recovery would take at least a week. But with panaceas, advanced medicae gear, and psychic aid, that timeline could be cut down to hours.
Those too gravely injured would remain within the medicae pods to recuperate until they were fully healed.
Such expensive medical facilities were not something every warrior could enjoy.
But these Fallen Angels—wronged for ten thousand years yet still loyal veterans—were worth such treatment, even if it meant sparing no cost to heal them.
The Imperium's foundations were indeed built upon sacrifice, but the Savior did not wish for the loyal to bleed and weep both.
Just like those Fallen Angels.
Thus he strove to grant his warriors all they were due, so their hearts would not grow cold.
"We… can finally fight for the Imperium again?"
Former Knight-Officer and now Fallen Angels Chapter Master Afka still looked as if waking from a dream.
Like the other Fallen, he had been treated and changed into a brand-new black muscle-mesh body-suit that gleamed with a metallic sheen.
He exchanged a glance with Kaydon and Horok, the two Knight-Captains, both a little uneasy.
It had all happened too fast, like a dream.
The Savior—the Imperial Emperor—had arrived without warning and changed everything.
They had obtained the freedom and release they had yearned for day and night through millennia, and once more became loyal Angels of the Emperor.
"We should be free, Knight-Officer… no, our Chapter Master." Horok used a teasing tone to break the heavy mood. "Truth is, I still can't get used to calling you that, Afka, but I'll work on it."
Kaydon rubbed the scar on his face and chuckled. "I'm curious what kind of world His Majesty the Savior will grant us. Do we have to learn how to establish a monastery-fortress and govern an entire planet?"
These Astartes had long wandered and been cast out. They yearned for their own monastery-fortress, a home of their own.
Horok showed a flicker of anticipation, full of fighting spirit. "That's no problem. When the time comes, we can call back more wandering brothers to rebuild our homeworld together."
At that moment, a Hospitaller Sister in a white nurse's uniform came over.
She watched Kaydon gently, with concern. "Warrior, are you still feeling unwell anywhere?"
She had noticed her patient kept touching the scar on his face, so she came to ask.
"No, I'm fine!" Kaydon's voice went a little loud with nerves, his hands unsure what to do.
He had grown used to being treated with hostility for so long that such sudden care left him at a loss, unsure how to respond.
"If you feel unwell, you can contact the field hospital at any time. This is our comms sequence." The Hospitaller gave him another look, then turned to tend other patients.
Only after she left did Kaydon give two dry laughs. "The medicae here is incredible. Much better than those Apothecaries. They even tidied up the scar on my face. Feels… unusual."
In truth, he was very satisfied with the treatment and felt particularly at ease.
For Astartes, scars were medals of honor.
But in the end, the Imperium's medicae resources were too scarce. Keeping you alive was already good fortune. How could there be the luxury of removing scars?
Thus, although the Savior's field hospitals were saturated with resources, they kept this tradition.
They would not proactively erase scars.
The medicae personnel merely groomed and refined them a little, making them look more imposing and fearsome.
They would even offer sacred tattoos.
After receiving treatment, the Fallen Angels' overall bearing became more intimidating.
After all, in this galaxy whose keynote was war, outward intimidation was part of one's combat power, and it was something warriors sought as well.
Afka interrupted his two Knight-Captains. "Don't forget we still have a war to face. The Fallen Angels must not betray our promise to Avalons."
A trace of worry glinted in his eyes.
The Warp rift there roiled and would not settle. Darkness could descend at any time, and the Fallen would have to fight under the Savior's banner.
From the Savior's reaction, it might be a particularly grueling war.
Afka himself had sensed it… that unsettling, abyss-deep darkness.
After that, he led the Fallen Angels to the armory vault to select suitable equipment to outfit the entire Chapter.
The mobile armory vault.
The hatch slowly opened. Afka and the others entered under the reception of the Vault Attendants, following a long corridor inward.
Attendants along the way bowed slightly to the Fallen in respect.
The Fallen were excited, and more than a little expectant.
At last they had the chance to replace their battered weapons and armor and obtain the new gear they had dreamed of.
Nothing draws a warrior like powerful equipment.
Especially these Fallen, who had wandered for centuries and could never obtain proper resupply. If it were Chaos Astartes, they would even risk their lives for a single piece of equipment.
At the end of the corridor was a chapel. Its walls were bas-reliefs of the Holy Sun and many angelic saints.
There they received the incense rite and prayed to the Golden Sun and the Savior, declaring their will to fight and their loyalty.
A few minutes of prayer later—rumble—
The armory vault's great gate rose. Gentle golden light spread out to welcome the warriors.
"By the Emperor, what… is this?"
Afka and the Fallen Angels stared, dumbstruck.
They could no longer maintain their stern bearing. Eyes widened, bodies trembling slightly, they even fell briefly speechless.
The vault before them bathed in a faint sacred radiance. Within lay suit after suit of master-crafted and artificer-grade armor, weapons, and vehicles.
A dazzling array.
This was one of the Savior's high-tier armory vaults.
Every item was bathed constantly in the Holy Sun's sanctified light, receiving unending benediction—beyond comparison to any other equipment.
It was a true treasure-house.
Were these Fallen not millennia-seasoned veterans and specially vouched for, such favor from the Savior would have been hard to obtain.
Afka and his brothers walked through the vault a little dazed, like sump-dwellers straying into the spires.
They felt like they were floating.
This treasure-house was fully stocked.
From every pattern of standard power armor and Terminator plate to super-heavy suits and rune-worked armor, to all kinds of reinforcement modules—everything one could want.
Beyond that, there were unimaginable stores of bolt weapons, energy weapons, and power swords, and more.
It was enough to make one's eyes swim!
"By the Emperor—that's… Centurion warsuits?" Horok stared at the five-to-six-meter-tall, adamantine behemoths deeper in the vault—Centurion armor bristling with menace—then swallowed. "Throne take me, those are artificer-grade Centurions. Are we allowed to select such heavy war-plate platforms too?"
In all his long life as a ten-millennia veteran, he had never seen artificer-grade large war-plate platforms, especially not those requiring particularly rare materials for Astartes use.
Put simply, this was extravagance. Outrageous extravagance!
If they could pilot such suits, wouldn't they be able to crash through battlelines and smash those daemon engines with ease?
"Yes. The Fallen Angels Chapter may select up to five artificer-grade Centurions and twenty standard Centurion warsuits," the Vault Attendant said with deference.
This was a bottom-of-the-chest "breaching" allocation granted by the Savior to the Fallen—enough to handle a medium-scale siege operation.
It was a starter-tier support loadout.
If they wanted more artificer-grade platforms in the future, they would have to exchange them for battle honors.
But even this starter-tier support exceeded many Chapters. It was a luxury bundle.
Plenty of pauper Chapters scraped for cycles and still couldn't field a handful of Centurions—never mind artificer-grade ones. Only the Savior's forge could turn them out.
"War… warriors, go and choose your gear." Afka drew a deep breath, head a little light.
The Savior's largesse had outstripped his imagination.
Who could have imagined that penniless Fallen would suddenly enter a treasure vault and freely select what once dared not even be dreamed of?
Even the First Legion during the Great Crusade wasn't this flush!
"Perhaps the Imperium really is wealthy now…" Afka thought, then strode toward the master-crafted section, his back straightening.
He was permitted to select a full set of master-crafted gear—head to toe—with reinforcement modules!
Who would dare imagine it? What boundless favor!
Afka was still being conservative. Those truly favored as the Savior's confidants started at master-crafted and went right up to relics with no cap.
And all of it would receive constant benediction and maintenance.
Soon, the Fallen selected the gear that suited them, arming themselves from head to heel.
Besides the Chapter Master, the two Knight-Captains each received a piece of master-crafted gear, while the others donned full artificer-grade wargear sets.
They then proceeded to the reliquary and livery bays and completed their final fittings.
When the Fallen Angels stepped back out of the armory vault—
Once-rag-clad wanderers had transformed into one of the galaxy's most lavishly equipped elite Astartes cadres.
They wore artificer-grade armor across the board. Their dark green livery gleamed with a metallic sheen, sparkling.
Their plate was hung with sacred rune talismans and skulls. From their pauldrons and backs, streamers and cloaks trailed and fluttered as they marched.
They exuded crushing presence.
"Fallen Angels, we must win honor in the campaign ahead, so as not to disgrace the Savior's gift of arms!" Afka turned to face his warriors, solemn.
The master-crafted panoply on him shed a soft glow, especially the Iron Halo behind his head, which formed a pale yellow nimbus.
Like a laurel.
This was a special-effects halo bundled with the Savior's high-tier panoply, meant for battlefield use and able to be switched off.
But the Chapter Master had deliberately set all effects to maximum. Newly equipped warriors often did. They could not help showing off to their brothers.
"That being who delivered the Fallen, who gave us new honor—we must also offer… loyalty." Afka added one more line.
Before, the Fallen had only declared they would follow. Now, they chose loyalty. They had to be loyal.
There was no helping it. His Majesty the Savior had given them a bit… too much.
To the point the Fallen felt that if they did not fight a few apocalypse-grade wars for the Savior, they would be letting down this luxurious panoply!
Even their own gene-sire had not treated them so well.
The Savior had personally rescued them, helped them wash away their shame, then provided medicae and equipment. Even their Primarch could not have done so thoroughly.
What was worse, the Lion—their gene-sire—not only failed to protect them, but had ordered orbital bombardments that sent them into millennia of exile.
The contrast was too stark. The Fallen could choose even with their eyes closed.
Once they formed up—
Afka led the Fallen to the defensive lines. Buttressed by soaring morale and artificer-grade plate, they radiated menace.
These wandering warriors had shed their guilt and remade themselves. No longer haggard and spent, they were alight with fighting spirit.
"By the Emperor! What… what kind of largesse have these trai— these fellows received?!"
When the Dark Angels saw the Fallen Angels advancing at a measured pace and took in their panoply—
Their icy demeanor broke. Disbelief glinted in their eyes.
Were these still the Fallen who once skulked and hid like gutter rats? Why did they look even more imposing than the Dark Angels?
A uniform spread of artificer-grade gear crushed even the Dark Angels' own elites.
"The Savior's warriors are all equipped this strongly?!" some Dark Angels thought.
"Strongly" did not even cover it. The Fallen's gear reeked of benediction, the scent of holy light nearly wafting to the Dark Angels' line.
This panoply alone looked more sacred and more loyal than anything on the Dark Angels' side—clearly more favored by the Emperor's grace.
How strong would such sanctified gear be on the battlefield?!
Gazing at it all, Dark Angels felt a prickle of envy.
Anyone would, seeing pauper "traitors" once hunted by you suddenly living better than you. The chest could not help but go a little sour.
A ripple passed through their hearts, along with an odd notion.
That Savior was the Emperor's chosen heir, the Imperial Emperor. To follow him into battle—might that not be an honor as well?
Fortunately, these Inner Circle brothers were resolute.
They quickly smothered such improper thoughts—the kind that longed for an extra father.
Deathwing Grand Master Belial watched the Fallen, his face placid, yet his body had gone unconsciously taut.
He did have feelings.
Especially upon seeing Afka's full master-crafted panoply shedding sacred radiance.
Belial, for all the Lionlike excellence he embodied, wore a mix of artificer-grade and master-crafted himself—and his overall quality might not even match those two Knight-Captains of the Fallen.
And those five towering artificer-grade Centurions, with an entire Centurion array behind them, truly shocked him.
Belial understood.
If his Deathwing Inner Circle Brethren crossed the Fallen now, they would have no way to cope.
A single charge by that armored cluster, plus the edge in armor and weapons, would be enough to throw his side into a brutal fight and even deal them grievous harm.
He could not envision a path to victory.
In so short a time, under the Savior's favor, the Fallen had become stronger than his painstakingly trained Deathwing.
The Grand Master felt a deep sense of defeat.
Gradually, the Savior began his pre-battle dispositions, and the Astra Militarum troopers in the desert withdrew to safe zones.
This war was no longer one in which mere mortals could participate.
Because they did not know what the enemy beyond the Warp rift was, and because that terrifying unknown could strike at any moment—
The Savior could only pile on as much force as possible to respond.
"Good thing I brought enough this time. Otherwise, this would be awkward…" Eden glanced over the Departmento Munitorum's defensive scheme and could not help an exclamation.
He felt a bit grateful for his own caution. It was only with sufficient firepower in hand that one felt steady.
Afterward, landing craft and troop transports descended one after another, off-loading massed Imperial Knights and super-heavy tanks.
They would operate with the Legio Redemption, forming a colossal armored cluster.
At present there were roughly thirteen major Titans and twenty-six lesser Titans, around eight hundred Imperial Knights, and nearly two thousand super-heavy tanks.
They formed an encirclement around the Warp rift.
If need be, large-scale orbital bombardment could support them. But those strikes were likely to be affected by sorceries of Chaos.
Then came the steady arrival of high-tier warriors, the Redemption Legion, Astartes Chapters, and more.
Some fifty thousand Astartes in all.
"This much force should be enough to handle that thing, right?" Eden thought.
A major Titan armored cluster, one Primarch, a dozen-plus legendary champions, one thousand Custodians, the entire Grey Knights Brotherhood, and more Astartes.
When had he ever fought such a wealthy war? And all of it concentrated on a single world—nearly using Astartes like Guardsmen.
"Brother, welcome aboard. I'll take you out to enjoy yourself later!" Dante, that loafer and Eden's boon companion in moments of leisure, came striding over, voice raised.
With great enthusiasm he embraced Afka, and while he was at it slipped into his hand a Garden-World Spa Paradise bathhouse annual-pass wristband.
"Lord Dante, my thanks for your kindness…" The legendary Blood Angels commander's warmth left Afka a little helpless. What proper legend put a wristband into your hand at first meeting?
The newly joined Fallen Chapter Master then embraced, one by one, the commanders of the Angels of War, the Carcharodons, the White Templars, the Angels of Absolution, the Blood Ravens, and the Grand Master of the Grey Knights' 7th Brotherhood.
A faint sense of belonging rose unbidden in his heart.
After that, Afka followed the others into the war council.
Not far off, Deathwing Grand Master Belial and the Dark Angels watched the lively discussion here with longing eyes. It made their hearts ache.
These warriors were left to one side. They faintly felt excluded.
The Dark Angels had not been assigned any combat role, which hurt much like being left out when all your brothers jumped into a brawl.
"Belial, will you be joining the fight?"
Suddenly, Eden seemed to notice something.
He turned his head and called over, his voice carried by the aid of the warp.
"As you wish. The Dark Angels are willing to join the battle." The Deathwing Grand Master's calm face stretched into a slight smile. He altered his posture to a knightly one and strode over.
His steps were a little quick, as if afraid of missing out.
He had already been, without noticing it, neatly handled—accepting the Savior's orders and dispositions.
On the mech-platform, the war council continued.
Afka's heart suddenly clenched. His sight filled with the phenomena of the soul-sight.
It was a kind of prophecy.
He saw a figure of flame and destruction. In a sundered world, a towering daemonic shadow looked down on the land—
Its presence radiated an unimaginably dreadful might.
And within the whispers of the warp came a half-heard title—Dark Daemon, the Planet-Destroyer!
(End of Chapter)
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