Standard Terran Year 976.M30, Day 318, 16:20.
Bridge of the Red Tear.
Azkaellon didn't even visit the Apothecarion to treat his wounds.
He marched straight onto the bridge, his crippled power armor leaving scorched, blackened footprints on the deck plates with every step.
"Commander! Your injuries!"
"Shut up," Azkaellon cut off the Apothecary's shocked gasp and strode to the tactical hololith. "Full fleet situation report. Now."
The bridge officers exchanged glances, but none dared defy the Commander of the Sanguinary Guard—especially not with the Primarch absent.
"Report, Commander! Ground combat situation in the City of the Holy Anthem is as follows," the tactical officer pulled up the data slates. "First wave deployment of five thousand Astartes: three hundred and twenty confirmed KIA or MIA. Two hundred and seventy critically wounded and combat-ineffective. Remaining combat-capable Astartes strength: approximately four thousand four hundred and ten. Solar Auxilia deployment of five hundred thousand: confirmed casualties... exceed twenty thousand. The remaining forces are engaged in heavy combat across all hive sectors, purging warp elements. Enemy status: Contamination zone continues to expand. Number of Warp rifts has increased to six hundred and thirty-seven. High-level psychic signatures have increased to five hundred and fifty-one."
Having heard the report, Azkaellon immediately formed a plan.
"Transmit orders. All deployable mobile reserves within the fleet are to launch for the City of the Holy Anthem immediately."
He pulled up the deployment map. "The two thousand two hundred reserve Astartes are to drop-pod in immediately. They will reinforce the sectors suffering the heaviest casualties and ammo depletion. The remaining one hundred and twenty thousand Solar Auxilia reserves are to deploy to the ground to relieve pressure on the Blood Angels. All stockpiled munitions, power cells, and weapon components are to be dropped immediately, prioritized by frontline necessity."
"Tell Chief Apothecary Nikaeus to gather every single one of his apprentices and all available medical equipment, and drop with the reserves. I need him down there to ensure the mortality rate of our frontline warriors is reduced to the absolute minimum."
A rapid-fire series of orders was issued.
The bridge officers froze for a second before scrambling to execute the commands.
They had never seen Azkaellon so... desperate.
The Commander of the Sanguinary Guard was renowned for his icy, unflappable calm; he was a man who wouldn't bat an eye even if an Ork Warlord was decapitated right in front of him.
But right now, his bleeding, injured eye seemed to be burning with literal fire.
"But Commander, Master Nikaeus is the Chief Apothecary of the Legion! If something happens to him down there..."
"Then he will die like a Blood Angel," Azkaellon turned around, his crippled armor casting a twisted shadow under the bridge's blood-red illumination. "Everything we do right now is to buy time for the Primarch. Tell him this is an order from the Primarch of the Ninth Legion. Father authorized me to mobilize all resources."
"Yes, sir!"
Azkaellon's orders were relayed.
Ten minutes later, the hangar bay doors of the Red Tear and the escort fleet opened once more, unleashing another wave of drop pods that plummeted toward the planet like blood-red meteors.
Simultaneously, transport craft began dropping supply containers.
Each container was painted a glaring red, packed to the brim with mass-reactive bolts, power cells, medi-packs, and even entire crates of replacement chainsword teeth and servo-components.
While the Blood Angels weren't as adept at turning their warships into mobile manufactorums like the Iron Hands, their basic combat resupply capabilities still met standard Legion requirements.
The tactical officer approached Azkaellon once more.
"In addition..." The officer paused. "...the garrison force at the Aru Industrial Zone reports abnormal Warp contamination readings emanating from the rift in the plummeted Seventh Administrative Zone. The signature... is completely different from the contamination in the City of the Holy Anthem."
Azkaellon's brow furrowed, his expression turning grim.
As a veteran commander of the Sanguinary Guard who had fought in hundreds of campaigns, his instincts screamed at him that a secondary Warp contamination appearing right now was absolutely not a coincidence!
"Put it on screen."
The hololith shifted to an aerial view of the Aru Industrial Zone.
Deep within the multi-kilometer-wide crater, the Warp rift that the Mechanicus had been temporarily patching was now spewing a thick, viscous green mist.
Vague, writhing shapes could be seen shifting within the fog.
"A different warp signature..." Azkaellon murmured.
He understood now.
The blue-purple Warp heresy in the City of the Holy Anthem was the bait. It was designed to draw the main force of the Blood Angels and their Primarch father.
The true killing blow... was here.
"Open a vox-link to the Aru garrison. Put me through to Seranaphy Nori, Company Champion of the Fifth."
A few seconds later, the connection was established.
The screen displayed a Blood Angel clad in artificer armor, the heraldry of the Fifth Company and his personal honor badges etched onto his pauldrons.
"Commander," Seranaphy's voice filtered through his faceplate. Even though he was inside a fortification, Azkaellon could hear a faint, continuous rumbling in the background.
It was the sound of the very fabric of reality tearing apart at the bottom of the crater.
"Report your situation."
"Yes, sir. Over an hour ago, the rift began emitting green Warp energy. The Mechanicus repair teams have been fully evacuated. The rift's diameter has currently expanded to thirty meters and is continuing to grow."
Seranaphy spoke rapidly. "Energy readings indicate the other side of the rift connects to... a domain overflowing with life and putrefaction. My preliminary assessment is that this is a different category of Warp contamination."
"What is your troop strength?"
"All eight hundred warriors of the Fifth Company garrison are present. Zero casualties. Munitions depleted by 3%. Zero depletion of melta and plasma reserves."
Seranaphy paused.
"Commander, I need reinforcements. If this rift opens completely, the Warp contamination levels here will skyrocket. I cannot guarantee..."
"Seranaphy. I am sorry, but there are no reinforcements." Azkaellon cut him off, his voice icy and resolute. "The main battlefield at the City of the Holy Anthem is currently deadlocked in brutal combat. Father is trapped within the city. Every single deployable asset in the fleet has already been committed."
"Seranaphy, your mission is to hold that rift. You cannot allow the contamination to spread to the Aru Hive. Otherwise, we will have a second City of the Holy Anthem on our hands. Therefore, I need you to hold that line at all costs."
Seranaphy fell silent for a second on the other end of the vox.
When he spoke again, his voice was perfectly calm. "How long must we hold?"
"Seventy-two standard hours. Three days."
Azkaellon replied, "I will prioritize fleet macro-cannon strikes for your sector. Munitions and equipment will be air-dropped directly onto your fortifications. I will also attempt to conscript any other combat-capable forces remaining on this planet... but do not hold out much hope. The defensive capabilities of this world... were essentially wiped out during the initial Warp incursion."
Seranaphy remained silent for a moment, then a faint smile appeared beneath his helmet.
As a Champion of the Blood Angels Legion, he possessed the pride inherent to his title.
He spoke plainly, "Understood, Commander Azkaellon."
"Eight hundred Blood Angels holding a Warp rift approaching Mu-class contamination for seventy-two hours?"
His voice grew firmer, every word radiating immense power.
"Seranaphy, Champion of the Blood Angels Legion, promises Commander Azkaellon: The Fifth Company guarantees mission success."
Seranaphy delivered the Blood Angels salute and recited the oath: "For the Imperium. For the Emperor. For Sanguinius."
Azkaellon returned the salute. "All glory to you, Champion."
The connection severed.
Azkaellon turned around and looked at the Chief Astropath standing behind him.
He was a withered old man wearing the robes of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, a jewel-encrusted eyepatch covering his third eye.
"Transmit an encrypted short-burst astropathic pulse to the Departmento Munitorum," he spoke rapidly. "Contents: Blood Angels Expeditionary Fleet, Coryphene Sector, Xikets Sub-sector, Aurelian System, fourth planet, has encountered a massive Warp incursion. Contamination type: Confirmed as a joint operation by two distinct Warp factions. Primarch Sanguinius of the Ninth Legion, the Blood Angels, is... temporarily trapped."
He took a deep breath. "Request: Legion-level reinforcements. Transmit three times."
The Chief Astropath bowed. "Message length and specifications verified. Distress signal, coordinates, contamination level, and reinforcement tier. The Departmento Munitorum will know what to do. Understood."
The Chief turned and walked toward the Astropathic Choir chamber. Five apprentices followed closely behind.
--
Standard Terran Year 976.M30, Day 318, 17:05.
Aru Industrial Zone, edge of the rift, atop the defensive fortifications the Blood Angels had taken over from the Iron Hands.
Seranaphy Nori lit up a cigarette.
After smoking this cigarette for the first time, he had immediately destroyed his entire stash of Martian-exclusive Lho-sticks.
This particular brand of cigarette was very long, a full thirty centimeters, and the packaging was stamped with High Gothic text reading 'Extended Special Edition Cigarette'.
It was said to be a gift from Ferrus Manus, Primarch of the Iron Hands, to Sanguinius, manufactured by some interesting little organization on this very planet.
Sanguinius had shared a few with his sons.
Seranaphy was one of the few Company Champions in the Blood Angels Legion who enjoyed smoking.
After every major battle, he always needed something to numb his nerves and provide a bit of spiritual indulgence.
But this time was an exception; he was smoking before the battle had even begun.
He took a deep drag from the cigarette in his hand and exhaled a ring of blue smoke.
Because the sight before him was simply far too... wrong.
Green mist billowed out as if it were a physical substance, condensing on the ground into a viscous, putrid liquid.
Within the liquid, things were taking shape.
The first to appear were Nurglings—those tiny daemons bounding and skipping as they crawled out of the rift.
Their green skin was covered in pustules, and yellow-green drool dripped from their gaping maws.
They chattered and giggled with child-like laughter.
If a child's laughter was mixed with the wet, hacking cough of a pneumonia patient and the bubbling squelch of a rotting corpse, that is.
Next came something much larger.
A Plague Zombie shambled unsteadily out of the rift at the bottom of the crater.
Its entire body was bloated and rotting, its skin a sickly shade of green. A gaping gash split its abdomen, revealing writhing maggots and undigested... things within.
It roared, the sound like a broken bellows.
"Fire," Seranaphy exhaled a smoke ring and issued the order calmly.
The Blood Angels manning the wall opened fire with their bolters.
Mass-reactive bolts blew the Nurglings to pieces and riddled the Plague Zombie with holes.
But even more Warp entities poured out from the continuously expanding Warp rift at the bottom of the crater.
And deep within the rift, a colossal presence radiating an aura of putrid fecundity...
Seranaphy could feel the sheer terror of that entity.
His combat intuition told him that once that thing fully descended into reality...
Never mind eight hundred Blood Angels; even if the entire Legion were present, they might not be able to stop it.
But he had no path of retreat. He was not only a Company Champion of the Blood Angels Legion...
He was a Legion Champion. A Blood Angel never feared death. In his mind, sacrifice was the greatest form of loyalty to the Imperium.
Moreover, their father, the Great Angel of the Imperium, Sanguinius, was watching them.
"Brothers," Seranaphy flicked his cigarette butt away and crushed it beneath his power boot. "The Commander has ordered us to hold for seventy-two hours. And there will be no reinforcements! Are you afraid?"
Seranaphy laughed as he looked at the horrific scene unfolding before him. He raised his bolter, his smile brimming with the devotion and fanatical battle-lust of a Blood Angel.
The eight hundred Blood Angels gathered on the wall roared in unison, their voices dispersing the encroaching green mist: "The Blood Angels fear no heretic! For the Emperor! For Sanguinius!!!"
"Good," Seranaphy smiled, racking the charging handle of his bolter. "Glory to the Imperium, glory to Sanguinius, glory to the Blood Angels Legion!"
"Glory! Glory! Glory!"
Amidst the battle cries, every warrior entered a state of absolute combat readiness, locking down their defensive positions.
Seranaphy spoke flatly. "Let the battle begin!"
Within the crater, from the very depths of the Warp rift, a colossal hand covered in thick, rotting flesh... slowly reached out.
The pus dripping from its fingertips sizzled as it burned deep craters into the ground.
--
Standard Terran Year 976.M30, Day 319, 18:47.
The defense line along the Seventh Arterial of the Upper Hive in the City of the Holy Anthem was no longer the fragile position it had been twenty-four hours ago, seemingly ready to be swallowed by the blue-purple tide at any moment.
Tobias stood behind a barricade constructed from the wrecked hulls of three Leman Russ battle tanks.
Seven deep claw marks had been freshly gouged into the pauldron of his master-crafted Mark IV power armor.
They were the parting gift of an elite Warp entity's death throes three hours ago.
"Ammunition distribution report." His voice filtered through his faceplate, raspy from over twenty hours of continuous combat, but it remained steady.
"The Second Company currently numbers two thousand nine hundred and eighty-seven combat-capable effectives," a sergeant next to him rapidly reported. "The remnants of the 14th Armored Regiment of the Solar Auxilia have provided temporary fire support with twenty-two heavy bolter emplacements, but their munition stockpiles will only sustain three standard hours of saturating fire."
Tobias nodded.
One day.
In exactly twenty-four standard hours, the Second Company of the Blood Angels had utilized brutally efficient tactics to carve a relatively clean perimeter out of this Warp-corrupted Upper Hive.
The cost was eight hundred and thirteen confirmed Astartes KIA, and over three hundred critically wounded and combat-ineffective. As for the mortal Auxilia casualties... no one was keeping count.
Because there were simply too many to count.
"Perimeter construction progress?"
"Seventy-four percent complete," the sergeant replied, pulling up a holographic topographical map. A red zone extending 3.2 kilometers east to west along the Seventh Arterial, with a depth of four hundred meters, was highlighted. "The eastern flank relies on the thirteen reinforced alloy warehouses of the former Conmo Dynasty storage district, forming a three-layered crossfire grid. The western flank utilizes the collapsed orbital transit hub overpass structure to establish sniper nests. The core issue, however, is underground."
On the map, a dense swarm of blue-purple blips clustered beneath the defense line.
"The corrupted are excavating tunnels upward from the Mid-Hive. We have repelled seven subterranean breach attempts in the past six hours. The engineering detachments lack heavy demolition equipment and cannot fully seal all the tunnels."
Tobias fell silent for a moment, pondering a solution.
Ultimately, he made a choice.
"Abandon the subterranean defenses."
"What?" The sergeant froze.
"Concentrate all our limited manpower entirely on the surface perimeter," Tobias said, pointing at the three most critical fire-support nodes on the map. "Deploy melta-charges at these three locations and set the detonation parameters. The moment the line is breached from below and the defenders fall back to the secondary trench, detonate them immediately. The explosion will collapse the entire subterranean structure of the sector, burying whatever crawls up from down there... straight back into the earth. Along with any casualties and equipment we might not have time to evacuate."
The sergeant's breath hitched over the vox-channel for a fraction of a second.
But only for a fraction of a second.
"Understood, Captain."
This was war.
In the Warhammer universe, in the face of Warp contamination, mercy was a luxury. The optimal solution often meant having to carve off a piece of your own flesh with your own hands.
"Additionally, request a second round of orbital fire support from the fleet," Tobias looked up. Through the shattered artificial dome of the Upper Hive, he could see the flickering thrusters of the warships in high orbit. "Coordinates: a fan-shaped zone extending eight hundred to one thousand five hundred meters ahead of our perimeter. Requesting saturation macro-cannon bombardment. I want every single heretic that can still move in that zone, along with the very foundations of the buildings, ground down to a molecular state. Our warriors need room to breathe."
"Understood, Captain."
The orders were issued.
Thirty minutes later, the main batteries of three strike cruisers were recalibrated.
This time, it was not a precision surgical strike, but a true, devastating saturation bombardment.
Sixteen macro-cannon shells plummeted toward the City of the Holy Anthem at five-second intervals.
Viewed from orbit, it looked as if the burning fingers of a titan were pressing down upon the surface of the hive, one after another.
When the first shell struck, Tobias felt the earth tremble beneath his feet.
The second shell, the third...
The shockwaves rippled all the way to their perimeter 3.2 kilometers away, shaking dust loose from their barricades.
But the Blood Angels did not duck, nor did they seek cover.
They stood behind their barricades, looking through the viewing slits at the mushroom clouds rising in the distance.
They watched city blocks be swallowed by plasma fireballs, and hive spires topple like children's blocks under the fury of the macro-cannons.
"For the Emperor."
It was unclear who murmured it first.
But then, across the entire perimeter, over a thousand Astartes warriors repeated it in unison, their voices piercing through the deafening roar of the explosions: "For the Emperor! By the Blood of Sanguinius!"
--
Big chapter with almost 3k words so chapter today.
Goal = 500 Powerstones
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