V3 Chapter 61: But My Lord, It Seems Terra Has Forgotten Us
Khorne's most devoted servants charged, roaring, at the city before them.
Daemon engines crushed rubble beneath them, black smoke and blood-red flame venting from the gaps in their armour. The shrieks they let out pressed through the air and into the minds of mortals, driving many defenders to their knees behind their positions, clutching their ears and crying out in pain.
Ork greenskins pressed in from the other side as well.
They advanced on the city bellowing "WAAAGH!", firing on the Lamenters' line even as they hacked their way through any Khorne traitors blocking their path. There was no coordination between them, yet both treated the city as their final prize.
This city was the last corridor to the star port.
If it fell, the civilians still trapped on the surface would lose all hope of evacuation. The transport ships were still shuttling between orbit and the star port, but every launch had to run the gauntlet of Ork bombardment and the intercepting remnants of the Chaos fleet.
Malakim Phoros would never let the enemy have their way.
The Lamenters' Chapter Master stood at the very front of the main defence line, the chainsword in his hand already caked in filth and blood. His golden power armour was covered in gouges, though the weeping red heart on his shoulder plate remained clearly visible.
These sons of the Blood Angels fought with everything they had to protect what they held dear.
They fought back against the World Eaters' great axes, and shielded mortals from Ork bombardment. They held their own bodies at the very front of the line, drawing the weeping, trembling mortals step by step back behind them.
Phoros listened to the sounds of battle around him, knowing every one of his battle-brothers was paying a price. Several Lamenters had already fallen at his side, and more still fought on wounded.
The mortal line came close to breaking more than once.
The daemon engines' shrieking, the Ork bombardment, the World Eaters' roars, again and again the local defenders' will buckled under the weight of it. Lamenters Chaplains and sergeants moved constantly between the positions, dragging anyone still capable of firing back to their posts.
Amid the grinding resistance, Phoros watched the Ork convoys and Khorne banners bearing down on the city from outside, and knew in his heart that they would not be able to hold this line much longer.
Just then, a new roar came from the sky.
The sound was at first like distant thunder, then swelled rapidly. Phoros looked up and saw fire tearing through the clouds in orbit.
The wreckage of an Ork warship broke apart high above.
It had clearly been destroyed by orbital fire, its main hull deflected off-course by the crusade fleet's bombardment, falling toward an enemy staging area dozens of kilometres beyond the city. A great mass of burning hull fragments trailed long tails of fire down, crashing into the areas where Orks and World Eaters were locked in the fiercest fighting.
The shockwave from the explosions swept across the wasteland outside the city.
Immediately after, light heralding destruction fell from the sky. The orbital strikes never touched the city or the star port, but set the enemy's rear-area gun batteries, daemon engines, and Ork armoured columns ablaze, one after another.
Phoros heard the fleet's report come through over the comm channel.
"Reinforcements! It's the Imperial fleet! The main Ork fleet is breaking apart!"
In the next instant, countless screaming sounds descended from above.
Thunderbolts and Lightnings tore through the clouds, diving toward the enemy beyond the city. Valkyrie transports and Stormravens swept over the city, while drop pods slammed into their designated zones like meteors of steel.
Phoros finally let out a breath.
He looked back at the trembling mortals behind him, and slowly removed his helm.
His face carried the exhaustion of battle, but his voice still carried clearly across the nearby line through his vox-amplifier.
"Praise the Emperor!"
Phoros raised the chainsword in his hand high.
"Reinforcements have arrived! You are safe!"
Long-suppressed weeping and cheering broke out from the refugee camp and the ground behind the line. Those mortals were not truly out of danger yet, but they knew, at last, that this city was no longer defended by the Lamenters alone.
The orbital strikes and the air fighter formations had torn the battlefield open.
The crusade's ground forces arrived next.
Astra Militarum combat groups deployed rapidly from the landing zone, armoured forces advancing along both sides of the city. The Ultramar Auxilia took over restoring order at the star port, while Salamanders companies and the Black Shields detachment cleared out the Chaos Astartes still resisting.
Under Duvette's command and the influence of his abilities, the crusade force's advance moved at an astonishing pace.
Mortal infantry held steady through the gunfire, and the armoured columns' fire-control systems kept correcting their targets. Soldiers watched red outlines surface through the smoke and dust, the Khorne traitors turning into clear-cut prey before their eyes.
The World Eaters still charged forward, roaring.
They were harder to bring down than an ordinary enemy, and far more feral. But under the combined assault of orbital, aerial, armoured, and Astartes strike forces, they lost any chance of widening the battlefield further.
Duvette himself stepped onto the last stretch of rubble still holding out.
A World Eater burst out from behind a burning wreck of armour, the chain-axe in his hand still roaring. The Chaos Astartes was covered in wounds all over, yet still charged at Duvette with the frenzy of a Khorne devotee.
Markus started forward, but Duvette raised a hand to stop him.
The power sword's field lit up.
The World Eater swung his axe down, and Duvette sidestepped it with an agility that had no business belonging to a mortal, driving his blade into a crack in the traitor's chestplate. The Chaos Astartes roared and grabbed at him, and Duvette stepped in and swept his power sword across.
The last World Eater's head flew from his shoulders.
The body sank to its knees, then crashed heavily into the dust.
Duvette shook the filth and blood from his blade, powered down the disruption field, and sheathed it.
His gaze finally turned toward the Lamenters keeping order in the distance.
Malakim Phoros stood at the entrance to the star port corridor, directing his battle-brothers to help civilians reach the safe zone. His power armour still bore the marks of battle, and the Lamenters beside him were wounded as well.
Duvette walked toward them, Markus and the Shadow Wolves of Luna at his back.
What Phoros noticed first was not Duvette.
He saw the white power armour.
What those Astartes carried marked them out as relics of a bygone era, and the heraldry on their shoulder plates made him stop short for a moment. As a son of the Blood Angels himself, he understood at once exactly what it meant.
That heraldry should not, by rights, be appearing on an Imperial battlefield at this point in time.
Duvette saw the look on Phoros's face, and knew at once what he was thinking.
He offered little explanation. He simply stepped forward and saluted the Lamenters' Chapter Master.
"Imperial Marshal-Commissar, Duvette Erdmann. Acting under the order of the Imperial Primarch, Lord Roboute Guilliman, come to support the Lamenters."
Phoros's gaze shifted from Markus back to Duvette.
"Are they..."
"They fight for the Imperial Primarch now," Duvette said.
Phoros was silent for a moment, and ultimately did not press further.
Duvette continued. "Lord Guilliman is waiting to meet with you aboard the Macragge's Honour. The mortals here no longer need to continue evacuating. I will bring the Astra Militarum in and clear this world of every last traitor and xenos."
Phoros looked at the mortal General before him with a complicated expression.
This mortal had come with a band of Astartes who had no business existing here, and had just, with his own hands, taken a World Eater's head. More importantly, he had come as Guilliman's representative.
"The Lamenters are willing to follow Lord Guilliman's will," Phoros said.
Duvette gave a nod.
Then, rather than rushing Phoros away at once, he began issuing orders right there in front of him.
"Third Astra Militarum Combat Group, take over the city's outer defence line. Ultramar Auxilia, handle civilian registration, prioritising the wounded, children, and star port technical personnel for placement."
"Medical teams into the refugee camp, and put Lamenters wounded in the priority treatment queue as well. Engineering units, repair the star port and water systems. Provosts, maintain order, and forbid looting or forced requisitioning of any kind."
"The fleet has already confirmed it will maintain the orbital blockade, and will not let any remaining Ork or Chaos vessel leave the system. Pass my order: every ground clearance unit is to complete the first wave of its advance within three hours."
Order after order went out.
Phoros listened to these arrangements, and his taut expression finally eased somewhat.
The thing he had feared most had not come to pass.
These mortals would not be abandoned simply because the Primarch had summoned him away. Once the crusade force took over, everything the Lamenters had fought to protect throughout this ordeal would go on being protected.
"Now, Chapter Master Phoros." Duvette looked at him. "Lord Guilliman is waiting."
Phoros took one last look toward the refugee camp.
Then he gave a nod.
"I'll go with you."
Malakim Phoros walked alone alongside Duvette through the corridors of the Macragge's Honour.
His power armour still carried the marks of the fighting just past, dried blood between the plates, the weeping red heart on his shoulder half-obscured by soot.
"Lord Guilliman won't mind any of that," Duvette said.
Phoros glanced at him, and did not answer.
What surprised him was that the Imperial Primarch did not receive him on the command deck.
Duvette led him through several security hatches, finally arriving before a private chamber. When the door opened, Phoros saw Guilliman already waiting inside.
The Lord of Ultramar stood before his desk, hands clasped behind his back.
The armour of fate covered his towering frame, and though his eyes rested calmly upon Phoros, the Lamenters' Chapter Master still felt an overwhelming pressure from them.
Phoros stepped forward and dropped to one knee, head bowed.
"Malakim Phoros, Chapter Master of the Lamenters. I salute you, Lord of Ultramar."
He paused.
"Please forgive me for failing to come and greet you earlier."
Guilliman looked at him.
"Stand, Chapter Master Phoros."
Phoros raised his head.
"You need not ask forgiveness for this. Choosing to remain at the side of those who needed you was no discourtesy."
Phoros was silent for a moment, then rose to his feet.
Guilliman regarded him for a moment, then began asking about the state of the Maelstrom, about the front lines the Lamenters had shouldered over the years, about the Astral Claws, the Mantis Warriors, and Lufgt Huron.
Duvette stood off to one side, listening quietly.
At times, when Phoros answered too cautiously, Duvette would speak up to put him at ease.
"Chapter Master Phoros, Lord Guilliman only wants to hear the true state of the Maelstrom from you. The civilians you just protected have already made the Lamenters' position clear enough."
Phoros glanced at Duvette, then continued answering.
Eventually, Guilliman came to the most critical question.
"Are you aware that the Astral Claws have been withholding their gene-seed tithe, and that the Badab sector has, for a long time, been delaying resources the Imperium requires?"
The room fell quiet.
Phoros was silent for a long while.
"I know something of it, my lord."
Guilliman did not press him.
Phoros spoke slowly. "Chapter Master Huron once explained it to us. The High Lords' Council on Terra is corrupt and distant. The Administratum does not understand the pressures of the Maelstrom front. The Mechanicus and the Inquisition only ever look upon the Wardens with suspicion, and rarely send the supplies we genuinely need."
His voice was steady, but Duvette could already hear the resentment beneath it.
Phoros continued. "A century ago, we launched a clearance campaign against several strongholds deep within the Maelstrom. At a critical moment in that crusade, the High Lords' Council on Terra pulled the Charnel Guard out of it directly."
Under Guilliman's watchful gaze, the Lamenters' Chapter Master continued. "The crusade fell into stalemate because of it, and we paid a heavy price for it. Many strongholds were destroyed, but far more of the enemy escaped back into the depths of the storm. Afterward, we never received sufficient supply or reinforcement either."
The words trailed off, unfinished.
But Duvette understood what Phoros truly meant to say.
They believed Terra had neglected them.
They believed the Wardens were expected to shoulder the war, without ever receiving support to match their burden.
Duvette exchanged a look with Guilliman without changing his expression.
Then he looked to Phoros.
"The Primarch has already seen with his own eyes what you protected."
Phoros turned to look at him.
Duvette continued. "No one will be able to erase this battle from the record now."
Phoros did not answer right away.
He looked first at Duvette, then at Guilliman.
Guilliman spoke. "The Lamenters will receive the treatment they are owed. Supply support, repairs, formal recognition of your service, and official confirmation of your long years fighting to hold the Maelstrom defence zone, I will see to all of it."
Phoros bowed his head.
"Thank you, my lord."
"But on the condition that you give me the truth," Guilliman said. "About Huron. About the Astral Claws. About Badab. About the Wardens of the Maelstrom. Whatever you know, you report it, all of it."
Phoros's fingers tightened slightly. This might mean breaking the earlier pact he had made among the Wardens of the Maelstrom.
But Guilliman's voice remained calm.
"From this moment on, the Lamenters will fall directly under my crusade command chain. If Huron's word ever conflicts with my orders, you need only obey mine."
The air in the room grew heavy.
Phoros dropped to one knee once more.
"The Lamenters will honour your will, Lord Guilliman."
Duvette let out a quiet, private breath of relief beside them.
Of the three Chapters, pulling just one of them free was enough, for now.