Chapter 78: War is a Grand Celebration
In the Warp, aboard a massive Ork vessel, Francis surveyed the empty Chaos-tainted void around him. An inexplicable unease settled over his thoughts.
"Francis, you don't even have a Navigator aboard your ship. How do you intend to find Terra?" Guilliman's voice crackled through the vox-device, concern evident in his tone.
"I figured I should be able to find it myself. By Emperror, if I catch sight of the Astronomican's light, it'll be even easier."
Hearing Francis's answer, their hearts sank; this hardly inspired confidence.
The Warp today remained strangely subdued. Aside from the perpetual storm-roar that echoed through the Immaterium, an eerie quiet had settled over the currents.
They translated back into realspace without warning, emerging directly within the Solar System. The appearance of the colossal warship immediately drew the attention of the Adeptus Mechanicus fleet from Mars.
"This is the Adeptus Mechanicus fleet of the Restoration Cult. Unknown warship, identify yourself!" A static-laden mechanical voice accompanied the hail as the Martian vessels opened communications.
"This is the Imperial First, Ninth, Eleventh, and Thirteenth Legion fleet. I am Francis Krick!" Francis's distinctive Ork voice emerged over the vox.
"What is going on? Why are you advancing toward Terra? I'm well acquainted with your Fabricator-General. What exactly is going on?"
When Francis's voice emerged fully, the opposing fleet visibly stirred with agitation. Many among them were adherents of the "Pat-Pat" school, after all.
"Greetings. We advance upon Terra at the Fabricator-General's command. The Throneworld has come under assault by innumerable daemonic entities. We have been ordered to render assistance in their elimination."
"I am Hierophant Hiei Roma, also of the Pat-Pat school."
Amidst the mechanical static, a note of feminine authority emerged.
"Hmm?" Francis was momentarily confused. So the Adeptus Mechanicus wasn't entirely male after all. The realization felt oddly incongruous.
At that moment, however, Guilliman and the others grew more agitated. "Francis, there's no time for pleasantries!" Guilliman's urgent voice cut through. "Make for Terra immediately! The Emperor must be protected!"
They had been elated upon reaching the Solar System, but hearing this news, their concern intensified dramatically.
"Hold on tight! I'm accelerating!" Upon hearing this warning, they quickly grabbed the nearest handrails.
The tail of the colossal warship suddenly blazed with white light. In an instant, the vessel vanished from its position.
"That is Ork technology! It is definitely Ork technology!" voices cried from the Mechanicus fleet.
"Too fast! Far too fast! Hierophant, what are your orders?"
"Pursue them, of course, MOVE!!" Hierophant Hiei Roma commanded.
At her command, the Gothic-style Apocalypse-class battleship surged forward at maximum velocity. Yet compared to Francis's fleet, the Mechanicus vessels were considerably slower, their warships laden with far too much heavy equipment.
Mid-transit, Francis's fleet encountered an Alpha Legion interception. The traitors attempted a boarding action, but the Ork warship's velocity was too great. They were flung away, tumbling through space like figures slipping on ice.
Even so, their objective was achieved. With the utterance of a code phrase, numerous Alpha Legion operatives revealed themselves among the Ultramarines and Dark Angels, beginning sabotage operations in an attempt to prevent the fleet from reaching Terra.
Unfortunately for them, all warships were currently connected directly to the Francis's control systems, so their efforts failed. They caused only minor disruptions, and before long, the fleet arrived in Terra's vicinity.
Then they saw it, the psychic rift spanning the sky above the Throneworld, radiating an unnatural purple luminescence.
Daemonic figures of every description leaped from the rift in continuous waves. Flesh-warriors burning with mindless rage charged forward, wielding massive axes. Seductive yet deadly Daemonettes moved with lethal grace, their barbed whips cracking through the air. The ground trembled beneath their advance, and the atmosphere reeked of sulfur and blood.
The Imperial Fists held the frontlines of the holy precinct. Clad in golden armor, they formed an unbreakable bulwark. The warriors chanted the Emperor's name as a litany, repelling each daemonic tide with disciplined volleys of fire.
Yet the daemon numbers were overwhelming, seemingly endless. For every daemon that fell, more emerged from the rift.
On another section of the defense line, Thousand Sons sorcerers wielded their psychic disciplines, attempting to seal the rift's expansion. A sorcerer in crimson armor stood atop elevated ground, his hands wreathed in brilliant azure psychic fire, incinerating daemons that surged toward the defense line. Each psychic manifestation, however, carried immense peril.
Witnessing this scene, Guilliman and the others flushed with righteous fury, charging forward without hesitation.
Countless drop pods descended like meteors, several crushing daemons upon impact. As the hatches opened, Ultramarines, Blood Angels, and Dark Angels emerged, all roaring in unison:
"For the Emperor!"
The moment the warship landed, its hatches opened, and Francis led four thousand Soul Drinkers, sticking together, to charge forth, fully armed and enhanced; they were a terrifying force gutting through everything like an unstoppable force.
"Everyone, spray acid! Eye cannons ready! Then don control gauntlets!" At Francis's roar, all the Soul Drinkers, wearing bio-gauntlets and wielding Navigator eye cannons, surged forward.
Instantly, acidic rain sprayed across the battlefield, corroding all daemons and every living thing within a hundred-mile radius, transforming the ground into a caustic morass.
The next moment, all Soul Drinkers hoisted their eye cannons single-handed, unleashing beams of raw Chaotic energy.
Boom!
Boom! Boom!
Massive explosions echoed continuously across the battlefield.
With their other hands, they extended control tentacles, forcing daemons to turn upon one another.
Most importantly, Francis led the Soul Drinkers in a flanking maneuver, appearing behind the daemonic forces to form a pincer movement with the other Legions.
Such a tremendous commotion drew even Rogal Dorn's attention. From a distance, the approaching Legion seemed vaguely familiar, yet the obviously heretical weaponry they bore left him utterly perplexed.
"What in the Emperor's name...?" Rogal Dorn looked at Leman Russ nearby in bewilderment. "Whose Legion is this? They fight with such ferocity!"
Leman Russ, gripping the Spear of Russ, observed the distant battlefield with a peculiar expression.
From afar, he had witnessed Francis gorging himself previously; he hadn't expected this brother would extend his appetite even to daemons. His expression carried a hint of embarrassment at what he knew was coming.
"That is Francis, our brother. The Soul Drinkers are his Legion."
"See that figure devouring a Bloodthirster over there? That's Francis." As he spoke, Leman Russ's discomfort deepened.
This brother was... somewhat difficult to explain.
"Let go! Release me! Mortals cannot consume daemons!"
"Stop biting me!"
Ka'Bandha, the mighty Bloodthirster, roared continuously in pain and outrage.
Rip~
Francis tore off the daemon's ear, chewed twice, and swallowed.
"Tch! You're so big, but it's all for show! Can't even get a proper bite!" Francis bellowed in frustration, his hundred eyes blazing with light.
BOOM!
Both combatants were hurled backward by the resulting detonation.
On another section of the battlefield, the Emperor's Custodian Guard, the golden-armored protectors, formed Terra's final defense.
Clad in auramite armor, they wielded Guardian spears with absolute precision, eliminating every daemon that approached their lines. The Custodians' composure and lethality were formidable; not a single strike was wasted, each blow capable of slaying even the mightiest foe.
They embodied the Emperor's will made manifest, unwavering before any threat.
"These abominations cannot withstand our judgment," a Custodian captain declared with cold finality.
He drove his Guardian spear through a greater daemon's chest, the psychic blade instantly atomizing it into Warp-dust.
Francis's ostentatious display had drawn unwanted attention. More and more Slaaneshi daemons converged on his position, all shrieking in unison:
"Seize him! He is the one the Lord of the Labyrinth seeks!"
"Whoever captures him shall receive the Lord of the Labyrinth's personal blessing of supreme pleasure!"
"Charge!"
Hundreds of thousands of Slaaneshi daemons pursued Francis, abandoning their assault on the Palace entirely.
Imperial warriors witnessing this spectacle stood bewildered. 'What in Terra's name is happening?'
Francis looked equally confused, frantically gesturing at the daemon horde. "Are you all insane?!"
"Why are you all coming after me?!"
The battlefield immediately split, Francis fought in chaotic melee against the Slaaneshi host, while all other Legions besieged the Khornate daemons.
Francis's hundred-eyed armor sprouted countless tentacles, enslaving hundreds of daemons to fight on his behalf, while the Soul Drinkers pressed steadily toward his position.
"Primarch! Hold fast! We're coming!"
"Charge! Save the Primarch!"
"Victory or death! Forward!"
The Soul Drinkers continuously sprayed acid, hurling psychically-sealed bone bombs into the daemon tide.
Suddenly, Francis remembered his alchemical concoctions and retrieved a particular potion.
Bang!
Pink gas permeated the battlefield. The Slaaneshi daemons that had been shrieking for blood began exhibiting strange behavior. The daemons' blades clattered to the ground as their hands instinctively reached for nearby entities.
Battle cries gradually gave way to moans of a very different kind, and the grim battlefield became something resembling a depraved celebration.
Because there weren't enough Slaaneshi daemons within reach, their questing hands instinctively grasped for the Khornate daemons instead.
"Release me! The Blood God will not forgive this!"
"No! Damn you all!"
"Skulls for the Skull Throne! Blood for the Blood God!"
For a time, the Khornate daemons found themselves assailed from multiple directions simultaneously.
Meanwhile, Francis, who had been at the center of the Slaaneshi host, transformed his armor into wings and took flight. Thus, he narrowly escaped catastrophe.
All present Primarchs: "..."
All present Astartes and Custodians: "..."
This unprecedented tactical approach left even Lion El'Jonson, who considered himself a master strategist, staring at Francis in stunned silence.
If he could help it, he would never wish to face Francis as an enemy. He had thought his own methods were ruthless, but Francis had proven there were depths yet unexplored.
Absolutely brutal.
Just then, the Adeptus Mechanicus battleships arrived. Even they had never witnessed such a magnificent and incomprehensible spectacle, this exceeded their computational parameters entirely.
"Don't just stand there gawking! Get moving!" Francis flew toward the battleship, leaving the Mechanicus personnel stunned into further silence.
Observing Francis and the Soul Drinkers' hundred-eyed bio-armor, control gauntlets, and eye cannons...
Could biotechnology truly be employed in such a manner?
Did the Imperium actually permit this?
[End of Chapter]