Colonel Vaylon Thern
The eastern gate of Kasr Kraf erupted like a second sunrise.
Colonel Vaylon Thern watched the fire rise above the wall. Burning stone, shattered armour, and the bodies of men and daemons scattered across the courtyard.
The shock wave reached the defensive line seconds later.
Soldiers were knocked from their feet. Sandbags burst. A heavy-bolter emplacement shifted halfway around before its crew managed to stop it.
Vaylon remained standing.
He lowered his magnoculars and watched the gatehouse collapse into the breach.
"Report," he ordered.
Lieutenant Arven Rusk, the senior of his remaining adjutants, pressed one hand against his headset.
"Nothing from the gatehouse companies."
"Keep trying."
Rusk listened for several seconds before lowering his hand.
"Their vox is dead, sir."
Vaylon already knew that.
He could see the soldiers who had not escaped. Pieces of purple cloth burned among the rubble. A lasgun lay near the courtyard entrance, its sling still wrapped around an arm that no longer had a body attached to it.
The last transmission from the gate had been short.
"The inner line needs more time."
Whoever caused the explosion had given them exactly that.
Vaylon looked across the courtyard.
Barely a thousand Cadian soldiers now held the approach to Kasr Kraf's inner district.
At the beginning of the siege, Vaylon's eastern command had numbered nearly ten thousand soldiers. A little more than a thousand had garrisoned the gatehouse itself, while the rest defended the surrounding walls, artillery batteries, streets, and approach roads. Now the survivors of every shattered position had been gathered into one final defensive line.
At the height of their strength, they had been supported by entire armoured squadrons, artillery batteries, and enough ammunition to withstand weeks of conventional warfare.
There had been nothing conventional about what followed.
Enemy artillery had reduced whole platoons to names on casualty reports. Black Legion assaults had broken against the walls again and again, each one carrying away more Cadian lives. Daemons had appeared inside positions thought secure, and cultists had thrown themselves upon the guns in such numbers that their bodies formed ramps over the barricades.
The Cadians had fought for every metre.
Nearly ten thousand had become eight thousand. Eight thousand had become six thousand, then four thousand, and finally fewer than two thousand.
The final three days of ceaseless bombardment had cut that number down again.
Now, with the gate destroyed, barely a thousand remained.
They had been reorganised into seven understrength companies, assembled from the remnants of formations that no longer existed. Tank crews without tanks stood beside half-trained Whiteshields. Wounded veterans tied fresh bandages around their limbs while engineers placed the last of their mines across the avenue.
Behind them, thousands of civilians sheltered inside the basilicas, manufactorums, and underground bunkers of the inner citadel.
The most recent message from central command had confirmed that Lord Castellan Creed still directed Cadia's wider defence from elsewhere. Every surviving regiment was ordered to hold its assigned ground for as long as possible.
No evacuation route remained.
No reinforcements had been promised.
The order was simply to hold.
Vaylon understood.
"First rank behind the stone barricades," he commanded. "Heavy weapons in the second. Place the remaining armour along the central avenue."
"We have ten operational tanks," Rusk said.
"Then place all ten."
"And our fallback position?"
Vaylon pointed toward the steps of the inner citadel.
"There."
Rusk followed his hand.
"That is less than two hundred metres behind us."
"Then we will not need to run far."
The lieutenant gave a tired smile.
"I was hoping you would say that."
He turned and hurried away.
Orders passed down the line.
Soldiers dragged the wounded into firing positions. The ten remaining Leman Russ battle tanks rolled forward, two of them trailing smoke from damaged engines. Autocannons were mounted behind the wreckage of an Imperial shrine. Mortar crews opened their last ammunition cases and divided the shells among them.
Vaylon walked among the defenders.
He paused beside a Whiteshield struggling to lock a fresh charge pack into trembling hands.
Vaylon took the pack, fitted it into the lasgun, and returned the weapon.
"First battle?" he asked.
The young soldier swallowed.
"First real one, sir."
Vaylon looked toward the ruins of the gate.
"There are no unreal ones."
The Whiteshield tightened his grip on the lasgun.
"Yes, sir."
Vaylon continued down the line.
He saw the fear the soldiers were trying to hide.
He did not blame them for it. Only fools and daemons felt no fear.
Courage was standing despite it.
Something moved beneath the ruins of the gatehouse.
A horned hand emerged from the rubble.
Then another.
Bloodletters dragged themselves free. Cultists followed, digging through the collapsed stone with bleeding hands. A Black Legionnaire climbed onto the ruins and planted a banner marked with the Eye of Horus.
The explosion had killed hundreds.
It had not closed the breach.
The enemy beyond the wall stretched farther than Vaylon could see. Cultists filled the roads leading toward Kasr Kraf, packed so tightly that the ground appeared to move beneath them. Black Legionaries marched among the horde like dark towers.
Behind them came daemons.
There were thousands in sight and countless more hidden by the smoke. Every time one vanished into the Warp, another forced its way into reality. They climbed across their own dead without hesitation, eager to reach the defenders beyond the broken gate.
The horde had no visible end.
"Make ready!" Vaylon shouted.
Lasguns rose across the barricades.
The cultists rushed through the breach first. They wore stolen uniforms, mining suits, noble robes, and the remains of civilian clothing. Some carried autoguns. Others had only knives and pieces of sharpened metal.
Bloodletters ran among them.
Black Legionaries advanced behind both, firing bolters into the defensive line.
Vaylon raised his power sword.
"Wait."
The horde crossed the remains of the gatehouse.
An artillery shell struck among them and threw bodies into the air, but the gap closed immediately.
"Wait."
The first cultists reached the avenue.
Vaylon lowered his sword.
"Fire!"
Kasr Kraf answered.
Hundreds of lasguns discharged together.
Heavy bolters roared from behind the barricades. Autocannon shells cut through the centre of the enemy formation while mortar rounds descended among those still climbing across the rubble.
The front ranks of the horde disappeared.
The survivors continued forward.
Cultists fell by the dozens. Bloodletters burst into ash beneath concentrated volleys. Even the Traitor Astartes were forced to seek cover as battle-cannon shells exploded around them.
For several minutes, the line held.
The defenders fired until the barrels of their weapons glowed. Loaders burned their hands replacing overheated power cells. Officers walked behind the line, shifting soldiers wherever the barricades began to weaken.
The enemy kept coming.
Soon the dead were piled so high that the cultists no longer needed to climb the barricades. They simply walked across the bodies.
Then the first Black Legionnaire reached the Cadians.
He crashed into them like a living tank. His chainaxe tore through men, sandbags, and stone with each swing. Las-fire struck him from every direction, but his armour endured.
A Whiteshield no older than sixteen climbed onto the barricade and pressed a grenade against the traitor's damaged gorget.
The explosion killed them both.
More enemies took their place.
The battle became too close for orders.
Cadians locked bayonets and met the cultists at the barricades. Bloodletters vaulted over the fighting, only to be caught by heavy-weapons crews waiting behind the first line.
Vaylon shot one daemon through the eye with his plasma pistol. He turned and drove his power sword into the chest of a cultist wearing the remains of a commissar's coat.
The cultist collapsed.
A Bloodletter leapt toward him.
Vaylon ducked beneath its blade and cut through one of its knees. The creature fell, and Lieutenant Rusk finished it with three las-bolts through the skull.
"You are supposed to be directing the reserves," Vaylon said.
"We no longer have reserves."
Vaylon glanced behind them.
Rusk was right.
Every soldier still capable of holding a weapon had joined the line.
All around them, the Cadians shouted the words that had carried their people through ten thousand years of war.
"Cadia stands!"
The line bent.
"Cadia stands!"
The left barricade collapsed beneath a Black Legion assault.
"Cadia stands!"
The damaged Leman Russ fired its main cannon into the breach. A traitor marine disappeared in the explosion, but a missile struck the tank an instant later.
Its turret tore free and crushed soldiers on both sides of the line.
The ground began to shake.
At first, Vaylon thought the enemy artillery had resumed.
Then a shadow passed across the courtyard.
Something enormous descended through the smoke.
The creature landed in the centre of the avenue.
The impact cracked the stone for twenty metres in every direction. Soldiers and cultists were thrown from their feet. The nearest barricade collapsed completely.
The creature rose from the crater.
It had once been an Astartes. Some remnant of power armour still clung to its immense body, fused permanently with crimson flesh. Two vast wings unfolded from its back. A crown of black horns surrounded a face stretched into a permanent expression of rage.
A burning sword rested within one clawed hand.
The daemon prince surveyed the defenders.
Its laughter rolled across Kasr Kraf.
Men dropped their weapons and clutched their heads. Some screamed. Others stared blankly into visions only they could see.
Images pressed against Vaylon's mind.
Cadia cracked apart beneath his feet. Its cities vanished into fire. Its people were dragged screaming into the Eye while the Despoiler stood upon the ruins.
Vaylon bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.
The pain helped him focus.
"Look at me!" he shouted.
The soldiers nearest him struggled to turn.
"Not the daemon. Look at me!"
Their eyes found their commander.
Vaylon pointed his sword toward the ground beneath them.
"Cadia is still beneath our boots."
The daemon prince started walking toward him.
"The enemy is still in front of us."
The Cadians tightened their grips around their weapons.
"That means Cadia still stands."
One soldier raised his lasgun.
Then another.
The line opened fire.
Heavy-bolter rounds burst against the daemon prince's chest. Plasma scorched its wings. The nine surviving Leman Russ tanks fired in a staggered volley, their battle-cannon shells striking the creature's shoulder and chest one after another.
The creature disappeared inside the explosion.
For one hopeful moment, Vaylon thought the combined fire had killed it.
Then the daemon prince emerged from the smoke.
Half its armour was missing.
The flesh beneath had already begun to close.
It swept its sword across the barricade.
Twenty Cadians died.
The remaining soldiers fired without breaking. Their shots burned into the daemon's wounds, forcing it to shield its face beneath one arm.
It continued advancing.
Vaylon looked toward the inner citadel.
The civilians were still being moved into the lower shelters. Priests and medicae workers crowded the steps. Children disappeared into the darkness beneath the basilicas while wounded soldiers waited outside to make room for them.
They needed more time.
His soldiers had needed more time when the eastern gate fell.
Someone had given it to them.
Now it was his turn.
Vaylon removed the final melta charge from his belt.
He armed it.
Rusk saw what he intended.
"Sir…"
"Take command of the line."
"You cannot kill that thing."
"I do not need to kill it."
Vaylon looked at the daemon prince.
"I only need to slow it down."
"Colonel, there must be another way."
"There usually is."
Vaylon handed Rusk his plasma pistol.
"But we do not have time to find it."
Rusk stared at the weapon.
Vaylon placed one hand on his shoulder.
"Hold this avenue."
Before Rusk could answer, Vaylon climbed over the shattered barricade.
The daemon prince noticed him.
Its burning gaze settled upon the blinking charge in his hand, and its mouth opened in a smile.
"Another offering," it said.
Vaylon raised his power sword.
"Come and collect me."
The daemon prince attacked.
Its burning blade descended toward him.
Vaylon threw himself aside. The sword struck the avenue and split the stone beneath it. He rolled through the heat, rose to one knee, and drove his power sword into the daemon's wounded ankle.
The creature roared.
Vaylon tore the sword free and ran beneath its guard.
For several impossible seconds, he was close enough to smell the creature. It carried the stench of scorched iron, old blood, and meat left to rot beneath the sun.
He pressed the armed melta charge against the broken armour covering its abdomen.
The magnetic lock engaged.
The daemon prince looked down.
Vaylon smiled.
"For Cadia."
The creature struck him.
Its claws tore through the armour along his left side and lifted him from the ground. Vaylon felt his ribs break before the daemon hurled him across the avenue.
He struck the remains of the barricade.
Something inside him ruptured.
The melta charge detonated.
White fire swallowed the daemon prince.
Its roar drowned out every weapon in the courtyard. The explosion tore open its breastplate, burned away half its abdomen, and reduced much of the armour fused to its torso to molten slag.
But it did not fall.
The daemon prince staggered from the flames.
Black blood poured from its body. One wing hung uselessly behind it, and a section of its jaw had been burned away.
Still it lived.
Vaylon tried to stand.
His legs refused to move.
He looked down and saw the damage beneath his torn armour. Blood spread across his uniform and flowed between the stones beneath him. Each breath came shorter than the last.
He had seen enough battlefield wounds to recognise his own.
He was dying.
The daemon prince saw it too.
It limped toward him, dragging its burning sword across the avenue. Fury had replaced the amusement on its ruined face.
Vaylon searched for his power sword.
It lay several metres away.
Too far.
The daemon stopped above him.
"Your world will burn," it said.
Vaylon forced himself to look into its eyes.
"You talk too much."
The daemon raised its sword to finish him.
Before the blade could fall, the clouds above Kasr Kraf split apart.
Golden light poured through the wound in the sky. It did not descend gently. It struck the battlefield like the wrath of a god.
The darkness surrounding the daemon prince vanished. Warp-fire guttered and died. Bloodletters throughout the courtyard screamed as golden flames burst from within their bodies.
A pair of white wings opened within the radiance.
For one suspended instant, a woman hung above the battlefield, framed by the burning heavens. Golden armour covered her body, untouched by the ash and blood below. A halo of living fire surrounded her head, and the sword in her hands shone brighter than the bombardment consuming Kasr Kraf.
Then she fell.
Saint Celestine descended like a blade cast from the Emperor's hand.
The daemon prince brought its sword down toward Vaylon.
The Ardent Blade met it.
The collision shook the courtyard.
Golden fire exploded across the avenue, hurling the daemon prince away from Vaylon. It crashed through the remains of an Imperial shrine and disappeared beneath falling stone.
Celestine landed between Vaylon and the creature.
Her wings spread wide enough to shield him. Feathers of white light drifted across the battlefield, and wherever they touched the lesser daemons, unholy flesh turned to ash.
For several heartbeats, every surviving Cadian stared at her.
Then someone shouted her name.
The cry spread through the line.
"The Living Saint!"
"Saint Celestine!"
"The Emperor protects!"
Soldiers who had been falling back stopped. Wounded men forced themselves upright. Lasguns rose once more above the broken barricades.
Celestine turned her head slightly toward Vaylon.
Her eyes found the wound in his side.
They both understood.
"You held," she said.
Vaylon managed a weak smile.
"Of course."
Stone shifted beneath the ruined shrine.
The daemon prince began pulling itself free.
Celestine faced it and raised the Ardent Blade.
"You have taken enough from Cadia."
The creature climbed from the rubble.
Its hatred pressed against her golden light.
Celestine did not move.
Behind her, boots struck the stone.
Lieutenant Rusk dropped beside Vaylon. He still carried the plasma pistol Vaylon had given him.
"Medicae!" Rusk shouted. "I need a medicae!"
Vaylon caught his sleeve.
"No."
"Sir, hold still."
"Rusk."
The lieutenant looked at him.
Vaylon could see the truth settling across his face.
"The line," Vaylon whispered.
"The saint is holding the prince. We have time."
"Then use it."
Rusk shook his head.
"I cannot leave you."
"That was not a request."
Vaylon's hand trembled as he reached for the power sword lying beside the barricade. Rusk retrieved it and tried to place it back into his commander's hand.
Vaylon closed Rusk's fingers around the hilt instead.
"The line is yours now."
"Sir—"
"By my authority," Vaylon said, each word costing him, "you are Acting Colonel Arven Rusk. The eastern defence is yours."
Rusk stared at him.
"I am not ready."
"Neither was I when command first found me."
The sounds of battle returned around them. Celestine met the daemon prince in a collision of golden and crimson fire. The surviving Cadians fired upon the cultists and Bloodletters still forcing their way through the gate.
Vaylon tightened his hand around Rusk's wrist.
"Keep the civilians moving. Reform the heavy weapons behind the second barricade. When the saint gives you an opening, put every gun we have into that creature."
Rusk nodded, tears cutting narrow paths through the ash on his face.
"Yes, sir."
"Say it properly."
The lieutenant drew himself upright.
"I have command, Colonel."
Vaylon released a slow breath.
"Then hold it."
Rusk placed one fist against his chest in salute.
"Cadia stands."
Vaylon looked past him.
The remaining defenders were still fighting. Barely a thousand had formed the line less than an hour ago. Far fewer remained now, but none were running.
Above them, Saint Celestine drove the daemon prince backward beneath a storm of golden fire.
Vaylon could hear his soldiers chanting.
"Cadia stands!"
Their voices grew distant.
"Cadia stands!"
He looked once more upon Cadia's violet sky.
Then Colonel Vaylon Thern closed his eyes.
His hand slipped from Rusk's wrist.
He did not draw another breath.
For one moment, Rusk remained beside him.
Then Kasr Kraf's new acting colonel rose.
He lifted Vaylon's power sword above his head and turned toward the defenders.
"All units, reform the line!" he shouted. "Heavy weapons on the central avenue! Give Saint Celestine everything we have!"
The Cadians obeyed.
Arven Rusk looked toward the daemon prince.
"Cadia stands!"
KIA: Colonel Vaylon Thern - Age: 47 years, 107 days