Alarms—shrill, deafening klaxons—blared throughout Kasr Tyrok and the surrounding plains and rift valleys. The largest bastions on Cadia were broadcasting a singular message to all defenders: the war was far from over, and the true enemy was finally at the gates.
On the plains, Marshal Amalrich of the Black Templars used his power sword to cleave through the reinforced hull of a Rhino troop carrier. He gripped the jagged opening, and with a surge of transhuman strength, ripped the vehicle half-open. The traitors huddled inside were dead before they could bring their bolters to bear. Amalrich remained silent, methodically crushing the skulls of the heretics one by one.
He paused in his grim work. Around him, his Black Templar brothers were relentlessly slaughtering the fleeing remnants of the traitor forces. Piercing screams echoed across the blood-soaked earth until the high-pitched alert frequency overrode the din of battle.
"Marshal, I fear we must withdraw." A figure approached Amalrich ; it was Mordred, the Marshal's equerry. "The Lord Castellan has warned that our recent victory was merely the prelude."
Amalrich did not respond verbally; a black warning icon—the signal for the highest level of strategic alert—flashed across his helmet's retinal display.
"The tactical data is being decrypted now, Master," Mordred continued. "The High Command advises a retreat to Kasr Kraf; the Despoiler's shadow looms over us."
Amalrich kicked over the smoldering wreck of the Rhino. "These were mere scum. I desire an enemy worthy of our steel." He twirled his power sword in a lethal arc before turning to depart.
"Gentlemen, we must summarize the reality of our current situation." In the command sanctum, Ursarkar E. Creed sat at the head of the table, his voice projecting iron authority to the gathered assembly.
"Our Astropathic Choir has been obliterated, overwhelmed by the emotional torrent of the Warp; none survived," the Magos Errant of the Adeptus Mechanicus, Crane, hummed through his vox-grille. This meant they were blind and deaf; no calls for aid could be sent. The forces currently on Cadia were all that stood between the Imperium and the abyss.
"According to our latest intelligence, Abaddon the Despoiler has likely already seized the Sola Mariatus system," Commissar Jago Sevaran said, tapping the hololith table. "The Black Fleet is projected to translate into Cadia's orbit within twenty-four hours."
"Admiral d'Armas and Admiral Quarren's attempts to intercept them have failed. The remnants of our naval pickets are retreating toward Cadia. Our current orbital strength is insufficient to repel the Despoiler's vanguard," Creed stated, looking at the grim-faced leaders. "We must prepare to endure a full-scale orbital bombardment."
The room fell into a tense silence. "Does this mean those damned traitors don't even need to set foot on Cadia to scour us from existence?" A booming voice rang out. Sven Bloodhowl, Wolf Lord of the Firehowlers, spat on the floor; the acidic phlegm sizzled against the metal plating.
"They possess a fully operational Blackstone Fortress," Canoness Eleanor of the Order of the Martyred Lady replied. "Abaddon will use its Warp-cannons to uproot our strongholds one by one."
"Our faith shall be our shield," Marshal Amalrich of the Black Templars countered calmly.
"Faith and physics," Magos Crane corrected. "The void-shield generators within Kasr Kraf can encompass the entire fortress and the adjacent staging grounds. They are capable of absorbing localized orbital fire."
"Then we shall make our stand at the walls of Kasr Kraf," Creed said, rising to his feet. "Gentlemen, I need every soul working in unison to hold the line..."
"No," Canoness Eleanor interrupted the Lord Castellan. "We cannot abandon the Sanctum of Saint Marun; it is our sacred duty to protect the relics."
"Very well..." Creed's gaze shifted to Captain Korahael of the Dark Angels.
The Company Master met the Castellan's eyes with cold detachment. "I regret to inform you, Lord, that my priority is the defense of our damaged strike cruiser in the repair docks."
"Then perhaps the serfs or auxiliary forces not currently engaged can—"
"Spare time? We must give everything, Lord Creed. The sons of the Lion are not resources for you to squander," the Dark Angel sneered.
Creed fell silent. After a long moment, he spoke again, his voice strained. "I did not mean to offend, but the ramparts of Kraf require reinforcements."
"We will answer the call," said a pale Astartes clad in dark, terracotta-colored plate. It was Captain Ashar, commander of a composite force of survivors and the wounded from a dozen shattered Chapters.
"We are grateful," Creed breathed a sigh of relief, his focus turning to Sven Bloodhowl.
The Wolf Lord grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes. "I know that look, Creed." He leaned back, his massive frame creaking in the chair. "But wolves were never bred for static defense."
"Meaning?"
"The Firemane Fang is the only flagship in the Cadian sector capable of withstanding a direct engagement with the enemy vanguard," the Wolf Lord's smile widened. "We will board the Firemane Fang, punch through the traitor fleet, and bring us within boarding range of the Blackstone Fortress. I will lead the pack onto the Will of Eternity itself. I will take Abaddon's head and use his skull to whet my frost-axe."
The conference room descended into a profound, eerie silence.
"...That is a suicide mission. A desperate gamble," Creed finally said.
"Then I shall require more warriors who do not fear the reaper." The Wolf Lord looked toward Captain Ashar.
"I will put the choice to my brothers," Ashar replied immediately.
"If the Astartes lead the charge, I shall dispatch a contingent of Skitarii to bolster the boarding party," Magos Crane added.
"Excellent. And what of the Cadians?" Sven Bloodhowl challenged Creed.
The Lord Castellan sighed. "The 11th Kasrkin Assault Regiment will accompany you. May the Emperor protect your souls."
Hundreds of warships of the Black Fleet hung silently in high orbit above Sola Mariatus. The planet had been utterly subjugated; the servants of the Corpse-Emperor had been put to the sword. It was now the ultimate staging ground for the final assault on Cadia.
Abaddon the Despoiler sat motionless upon his throne within the Blackstone Fortress. His gaze pierced the void, fixed upon the gate that had frustrated his ambitions for ten thousand years: Cadia.
Finally, the day had arrived. This would be the first step in dismantling a hollow empire and punishing the rotting husk upon the Golden Throne.
He rose slowly, his four Chosen standing at the base of the dais. His most trusted mortal lieutenant, Devram Korda, stood silently to his side. Everyone awaited the word. In the crushing silence, Abaddon raised the Talon of Horus and the daemon-blade Drach'nyen. The countless faces trapped in the steel wailed in exquisite agony.
"Go! Shatter the hope of the Imperium! Shatter Cadia!"