The ground shook as both met.
The Ork slammed forward like a living avalanche, his klaw sweeping out in a killing arc meant to shear Atharion in two. But Atharion met it head-on, thunder hammer raised. Lightning roared as ceramite met brute steel, the impact cracking the stone beneath their feet and sending shockwaves rippling through the chamber.
Atharion's cloak snapped in the storm of force, his plasma pistol barking once into the beast's torso. The shot burned a hole clean through the Warlord's armor-plate, but the monster only roared louder, its sheer bulk shrugging aside what would have ended a lesser Ork instantly.
"YER WEAK, HUMIE!" The Warlord snarled, his chain-choppa screaming down toward Atharion's helm. Sparks flew as the teeth of the crude weapon scraped across the head of the thunder hammer, Atharion twisting the haft to lock it aside. With his other hand, he channeled raw psychic fury, silver fire bursting from his palm to sear the Ork's face. The Warlord reeled back, skin blistering and smoking—then laughed, maddened, and swung harder.
The Silent Wardens formed a shield wall around the duel, storm shields braced against the tide of Boyz that sought to interfere. Behind them, the Librarians raised their force weapons high, psychic wards glowing to contain the maelstrom of energy building between Atharion and Warlord.
Atharion pressed forward, thunder hammer crackling with lightning as it came down in blow after blow. Each strike could have pulped a battle tank, yet every swing met the crude but unyielding strength of the Warlord's power klaw. The two weapons crashed together in thunderclaps, arcs of lightning sparking across the chamber as ceramite and scrap-iron ground against each other.
The Ork retaliated with savage swings of his chain-choppa, the weapon's jagged teeth screaming as they tore gouges into the stone floor. One brutal sweep came in low, aimed to gut the Primarch. Atharion met it not with his hammer, but with his left fist—shimmering with a psychic barrier of silver fire. The blade-teeth screeched against the immaterial ward, sparks flying as Atharion shoved the weapon aside with contemptuous strength.
The Warlord's laughter boomed, guttural and wild, even as blood still smoked from the scorched ruin of his face.
"GOOD! DIS WOT I WANTED! A REAL FIGHT!"
Atharion's golden eyes narrowed, his voice cold as the void.
"You'll find only death here, beast."
He surged forward, smashing his shoulder into the Ork's chestplate, driving the monster back two steps. The thunder hammer followed in a brutal uppercut swing, striking the Warlord square in the jaw. Lightning erupted on impact, shattering tusks and sending a spray of gore and shattered teeth across the hall. The Warlord staggered but roared in exultation, bringing his klaw down in a hammering blow that dented the floor where Atharion had stood a heartbeat earlier.
As the fighting dragged, a fresh thunder of bolter fire echoed through the chamber. The Red Talons had arrived. Their Terminator squads were the first to force their way through the shattered breach, storm bolters roaring in disciplined bursts, assault cannons spitting streams of explosive rounds that shredded the Ork mobs from behind. Greenskins fell by the dozens, caught between the Silent Wardens' shield wall and the merciless advance of the Talons.
Behind them, more of the Red Talons poured into the hall—squads advancing with cold, merciless precision. They moved like a machine of war given flesh, bolters firing in exact, measured bursts. Every shot struck true, tearing down Boyz and Nobz alike as their vox-net crackled with curt reports and fire discipline.
Now caught between hammer and anvil, the greenskins found themselves pressed on all sides. The Silent Wardens' shield wall held firm, unyielding as bedrock, while the Red Talons carved a path of bloody efficiency. Trapped in the killing field between them, the Orks fell in droves, their bellows of rage and defiance cut short by disciplined storm-bolter volleys and the brutal rhythm of Astartes blades.
Their numbers thinned rapidly, faster than before, the tide of greenskins breaking apart under the twin advance of steel and fury.
Suddenly, a deafening crack split the air, drowning out bolter-fire and Ork howls alike. Warp-charged lightning and stolen powerfields collided in a storm of raw energy at the center of the hall, where Atharion and the Warlord clashed with all the fury of gods of war.
The thunder hammer met the roaring chain-choppa, sparks and arcs of lightning erupting in a blinding cascade. With his free hand raised, Atharion became a conduit of the Warp itself. A lance of silver-gold lightning burst forth from his palm, slamming into the Warlord with the force of a storm unleashed.
The greenskin staggered back, bellowing in pain as the psychic storm crawled across his armor, scorching glyphs into blackened slag and splitting the crude plating that bound his hulking form. Smoke hissed from his hide, the stink of charred flesh rising as he dug his boots into the stone floor and forced himself upright again.
The Warlord growled, forcing his massive frame to obey. His chain-choppa trembled as he hefted it, staring at Atharion with blood bubbling from his tusked maw.
"It's time to end this. This has gone on for too long." Atharion's voice was cold, final. He raised his thunder hammer high, the weapon wreathed in a storm of crackling lightning—its power field fused with the raw psychic energy burning in his veins.
The earlier lightning had not merely scorched the Warlord's flesh. Atharion had aimed deeper, guiding the storm to rip through muscle and bone, searing the Ork's crude organs from within. The beast's strength was failing; every breath was a wet, ragged snarl, every movement forced through agony.
Still, the Warlord bellowed, defiant even in ruin, raising his klaw for one last strike.
Atharion surged forward, his form wreathed in lightning, the thunder hammer raised high above his head.
The Warlord roared one last time, spittle and blood flying from his tusked mouth as he swung the massive klaw in a desperate backhand swing. But Atharion was faster.
The hammer came down with the weight of judgment.
It struck the Ork square in the chest, the impact detonating in a blinding flash of silver-gold light. Lightning ripped outward in a storm, vaporizing the glyphs scrawled across the fortress walls, shattering crude armor, and blowing a crater into the floor beneath them.
The Warlord's klaw froze mid-swing. His chain-choppa fell silent, its teeth grinding to a halt as the monstrous body convulsed. For a heartbeat, his red eyes locked with Atharion's golden ones—then they dimmed. The Ork was lifted off his feet, hurled backward like a broken doll, crashing into a jagged scrap-metal pillar that collapsed atop him.
When the smoke cleared, the Warlord's body lay broken and unmoving, half-buried in his scraps. His aura of psychic rage guttered out like a dying flame.
For a moment, silence reigned. Then came the sound—thousands of Orks howling in dismay, their gestalt fury unraveling. Without their master, the storm of their war-madness broke.
The Argent Wardens tightened their shield wall, storm bolters roaring as they cut down the faltering greenskins. The Red Talons advanced without pause, their Terminators and squads scything through the panicked mobs.
Atharion lowered his hammer, the crackling energy fading, smoke curling from its head. His golden eyes swept across the hall.
"It is done." He said quietly, though his voice carried across the vox to every warrior in the fortress. "The Warlord is dead. This war ends today."
The Ork horde broke.
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310.M36
Camelot - Camelarion
With the Warlord slain, the Crusade was over. Peace, at last, came to the realm of Camelarion.
From the ashes of war, new life began. Colonists settled the ruined worlds, building homes, farms, and cities where battlefields once lay. Temples and markets rose, and trade routes opened once more.
Some planets were not given to settlers alone. Imperial Guard regiments stayed behind, ordered to protect the new worlds. They built fortress-cities and strongholds, making sure no enemy could rise again so easily.
Camelot, the capital of these worlds, stood higher than the rest. Its bastions and spires grew taller with each passing year, a symbol of the realm's growth and prosperity, with its spaceport being the largest and highest upon the world. This was the heart of Camelarion.
Among its wonders, none were greater than the fortress-monastery of the Dark Knights. Built upon the highest mountain of Camelot and ringed by the capital city itself, it stood as both bastion and seat of rule. From here, the Chapter watched over their realm, guiding its defense and governance with unshakable vigilance.
Named Avalon, the fortress covered the entire mountain. It bristled with orbital defense batteries strong enough to shatter voidcraft, its towers shielded by immense void generators. Airfields, barracks, and hangars for the Auxilia sprawled across its terraces, while deep within its heart lay the sacred halls of the Chapter.
According to Atharion's plan, Camelarion will be separated into five region, center region which are the worlds that sperate from the rest because of the Warp rift, the northern region that have the largest amount of worlds that can be populated, western region that have a Warp route to Gryphonne IV, eastern region that border Orpheus Sector and southern region that have the largest amount of Fortress Worlds.
Many of the worlds within Camelarion would be remade into Hive Worlds, ensuring a vast and steady population to draw upon for war. From these hives came soldiers for the Auxilia, pilots for the aircrafts, crews for the voidcrafts and recruits for the Chapter.
To keep the realm functioning, ten Agri-Worlds were established, their endless fields and mechanized harvests feeding the growing masses. Beyond them, several systems were declared industrial regions. Every world within those borders was shaped for production, Industrial or Mining World populated this systems as the rich mineral within or around the systems have enable such establishment.
The five Cardinal Worlds that Atharion promised to Thor and the Confederation of the Light, which have been absorb into Adeptus Ministorum have also been form. Each of them not only serve as the center of religious for the five region of Camelarion, but also serve as the main bastions for the Adepta Sororitas, mainly for Order of Sacred Rose and Order of Bloody Rose, with small elements from Argent Shroud and Ebon Chalice also present across the realms.
And under the permission from Terra, three Knight Worlds have also been raised. Stormhold under the three brothers, which have now rename themselves as House Taranis-Storm, or House Storm for short, situated at the southern region. The second, Ironvale, a mountainous world in the eastern region, was given to House Veyron, a lineage founded by a Freeblade who proved his valor during the war. The third, Dawnhaven, a realm of rolling plains in the western region, became home to House Dawn, its dynasty likewise born from a Freeblade whose deeds earned the Emperor's favor.
Though neither Freeblade chose to reveal the Houses they once hailed from, Atharion believed that their silence was not out of shame, but of loyalty—for their oaths had been remade, binding them to Camelarion alone. In them, he saw the seed of new dynasties, untethered from the rivalries of the past and loyal only to the Imperium and the realm he had forged.
As for the Fire Hawks and the Angels of Wrath, Atharion kept his word. Both Chapters were granted the right to claim homeworlds of their own, and interestingly, both chose to remain within Camelarion. Each selected from among the few Feudal Worlds that had survived untouched by hive-building or industrialization. The Fire Hawks established their fortress-monastery upon a world in the northern region, while the Angels of Wrath claimed a harsh realm in the eastern region.
Thus, in the wake of war, a realm was forged—its bastions rising, its banners unfurled, and its people united beneath the watchful gaze of the Dark Knights.
Camelarion stood ready, a beacon of strength in a galaxy of endless night.