Chapter 89

899.748.M41

Ultima Segmentum

Plaustri Sector

Arkhanso System

Imperial Oberon Class Battleship 'Adamant Might' had been patrolling the outer edges of the Arkahnso system with its small fleet of escorts. It was a toiling work, barely recognized but necessary. Yet, it was slow. Minimal chance of glory to be had.

So thought the Captain Hans Werhmensch VI, who had long desired glory during his younger days. His sires had been great captains, who had led the Adamant Might for 6 generations. It was his father's indiscretion and cowardice that had put this old ship to a patrol duty, away from its original fleet.

To be perfectly honest, Captain Hans Werhmensch V had been a clone, just as the current captain had been a clone. Cloning and eugenics were not unheard of, and this was a project condoned by a line of Magos Biologis to breed perfect officers. The project had started almost seven hundred years ago, according to the records. Of course, the original instigators of the project had perished over four hundred years ago. Now all that is left is the last vat of automated cloning tank, left to Hans for one last chance to clone himself.

That was not happening. Hans had decided not to clone himself but instead had found his love in Lieutenent Kanan Nerras, a great woman and a fantastic officer of Astra Militarum of Ordan's World. She had since retired, settled on Arkhanso Prime, a moderately developed Agri-World. They had six children, two older boys enlisting in the officer program of the Imperial Navy, while the oldest daughter and the third boy went to Ordan to become a Guardsman.

Heinrich, the third son, was a smart one but with great physique too. He became a Tempestus Scion and a junior officer. He had twice visited home, both on a defensive tour on Arhanso Prime against potential Ork threat. Hans was so proud of his boy, and had gifted him with a well-crafted auto-pistol. It was a hefty thing, holding six large armor-piercing bullets.

So, this was why Hans did not mind the boring patrol duties. He had not jumped a long-distance warp jump in almost a decade. The longest warp travel had been from the Arkhanso system to Ordan's World in a round trip once a year or so. Besides, the Emitor's Passage was relatively safe from warp turbulence.

It was still terrifying but Hans kept a good ship. Unlike other ships of the Imperial Navy, Hans kept a neat ship. His teams of 'Cleaners' continuously clean the ship both of grime and of mutants and heretics. His lower decks are well-organized villages of ordered boxed houses, not filthy scum hives that he had witnessed on other vessels. Sure, having almost a hundred thousand non-listed ship-born crew is not easy to manage but Hans and his inherited cadre of Servitors did the job.

After all, the Adamant Might was an important vessel.

It was an Oberon Class Battleship, and though it was now being phased out, it was an old beauty tasked to the defence of Emitor's Passage. The prosperity and productiveness of the region could not be left undefended, as it supplied so many worlds outside it.

So, the Segmentum Command had dispatched Adamant Might and 'Wind of Flame', a Retribution Class Battleship' to defend the region along with many escorts. It was a lopsided fleet composition, two Battleships and many escorts plugging the two ends of a tunnel, as it were.

Arkhanso system was the one of that tunnel, but important in that it was just two systems from the capital of the sector, Ordan's World.

That was why the fleet command was here, on Arkhanso Tertius-Alpha, the 'Fortress of Ark', the rocky moon of the third planet. This was the fortress from which the system was defended. It was covered in over 3200 vertical missile silos, each silo fitted with six long-range space-faring missiles.

These missiles could travel up to 100 million kilometers without guidance, though accuracy would fall in such cases. That is why there were a series of guidance stations around the Arkhanso system, which added another 80 million kilometers to the missile's flight and increased the accuracy.

Patrolling the system's edge had meant that Adamant Might was expected to relieve the long-term station crew of these stations, who would often serve three to five years aboard the station.

Captain Hans mused about the nature of these defence stations as his vessel moved away from Station 21, one of the outer stations. This one was an early warning beacon station, armed with torpedoes and lance batteries.

"Captain!"

His First Officer rushed to the Captain from the communications position.

"What is it, Commander Urlich?"

"There was a sudden warning beacon sent from Station 21, sir. It is an automated beacon of long-range detection of hostile intent."

It had meant that psychic servitors aboard the Station 21 had felt such intentions.

"Raise the alarm! Ready all battle stations! Alert Fortress of Ark of the situation. Where are my augurs?"

Sanctions Psykers rushed to Captain Hans, ready with their tablets and armed guards behind them ready to blow their brains out if they were to show anomalous behavior.

"Speak to me, psykers."

"We have detected a massive mind on the outskirts of the system. A terrifying voice made of so many voices. It seeks something but it is so powerful."

"Lieutenant-Commissar?"

Hans looked at the Lieutenant-Commissar managing over a small garrison of Ordanian Hardies. Mere three thousand Guardsmen but it was enough to put down minor insurrections in the lower decks.

"The men are ready, captain."

"It has been a while since Adamant Might had fought a large-scale battle beyond some Orks and Dark Eldar."

"Men will not lose morale. They will die before they flee."

That was a promise more than a statement of fact.

"Then to your stations, Lieutenant-Commissar."

It was at that moment, something blocked out the meager light of the distant sun.

Every psyker, including the Navigators, began to scream.

"What is that!"

Everyone's eyes bulged as the Enginseers zoomed out on the massive object before them.

The Omega Hive Ship 'Yggdrasil' loomed before the Imperial Battleship and fifteen escorts. It was indeed a colossal monstrosity of living tissue and metal, larger than even the moon of Rhea. Its surface was a mass of pulsating veins and tendrils, constantly shifting and undulating as if the very ship itself were alive.

The ship's sheer size was overwhelming, the vast expanse of its body stretching out before them, seemingly endless in every direction. Its titanic form was adorned with clusters of writhing tentacles, each one tipped with a razor-sharp stinger that glinted menacingly in the dim light of the void.

The Yggdrasil's immense bulk was made all the more terrifying by the way it moved, pulsating and shifting like a living creature. It pulsed with a rhythmic, organic energy, the very essence of life pulsing through its veins. Every inch of its surface was alive, teeming with an army of swarming Zerg creatures that moved in perfect unison, a sea of chitinous bodies that covered the entire ship.

The ship's vast interior was no less awe-inspiring. The corridors were a maze of living flesh and writhing tentacles, the walls alive with a network of veins that pulsed with a vibrant energy. The floors and ceilings were covered in a slick, slimy Creep that oozed and squelched with every step.

The ship's twelve massive hearts were a pulsing choir, throbbing masses of organic tissue, surrounded by a halo of shimmering energy that crackled with an otherworldly power. It was a living, breathing entity, ferrying the very soul of the Zerg race, and it pulsed with a fierce, unrelenting power that could shake the foundations of the universe itself.

The Yggdrasil's weapons were equally terrifying. Its massive maw was lined with row upon row of razor-sharp teeth easily hundreds of meters long and looking more like stalactites and stalagmites than teeth. Each one of these teeth was capable of tearing through the toughest armor plating. Within the maw itself were lined with tentacles with stingers, for smaller prey that fell into the mouth. Its stingers were tipped with a deadly toxin that could kill even the hardest of foes within seconds, and its tentacles could ensnare entire ships and crush them to dust in an instant.

As the small Imperial fleet floated before the Omega Hive Ship, surrounded by the teeming masses of the Zerg swarm, they knew that they were facing an enemy unlike any they had ever encountered before. The Yggdrasil was a living nightmare, a pulsing, writhing mass of pure destruction, and they could only hope to survive its wrath.

Omega Hive Ship 'Yggdrasil' – Zerg Flagship

I gazed at the whole region before me.

Then I turned my gaze to a being not like any other Zerg.

"Zakkanun, you seek a chance to prove yourself. To speak to the strange amalgam of your essence and that of a Space Marine."

"A Chaos Space Marine Lord, my master. We are stronger for it. We have become one and a new creature. We are like none of the others. We are a Hierarch with a tactical acumen of a Chaos Lord who had fought for thousands of years in an endless war."

"Interesting."

This would prove interesting.

Zakkanun was indeed a new thing. Yet, its mind was potent. Although the corruption of Chaos was entirely purified by the Khaydarin Crystals, and now its ethereal powers being fuelled by five large crystalis within its body, the creature was greater than the sum of its parts.

He was wearing what used to be a suit of Terminator Armor. Yet the power of Zerg was such that even that ancient suit of armor was bent to its will and was transformed, perhaps in ways greater than how the corruption of Chaos had twisted it once.

Thick ceramite plating had been reinforced by a growth of Protoss metal and Terran plating technology that shifted in a reactive way to partial damages. Zerg chitin filled the gaps where weak points had been.

"Very well," I relented.

"Thank you, master."

"You shall have a modest force, a single Leviathan and a fleet of flyers. It would be up to you and your tactical acumen to hold off both the Imperial and the Necrons. The point," I growled, "is to let them think we are trying to conquer."

"Then it is a distraction."

"Yes. I have something in the works. Much effort had been put into it. I would rather not let such effort be wasted because of some humans and dead machines."

"I shall not fail you."

I presented Zakkanun with a glowing orb of power.

"This is what you had sought."

Zakkanun's eyes glowed. I smiled.

"Take it. Another life. A chance to not die. A taste of the immortality that you had wished to gain."

I had already stored the link between myself and Zakkanun. All he needed was enough power and focus to send his essence back to me, so that I could revive him. The orb contained such power and essence to fully fuel him for the upcoming conquest.

"Go forth, Lord Zakkanun. You will be gifted with a small Brood of your own to assist the ragtag army that you have assembled."

"A thousand thanks to you, Overmind, for your generosity in giving me this opportunity."

Zakkanun stepped away, and I smiled at the turn of events.

"This should prove interesting. As I cleanse and devour Behemoth's splinter fleets, this should prove a distraction for the Imperium and others. They must not suspect anything of my objective, and certainly not for Judanus and his misguided ambition. The Betrayer thinks he can best me? To think he can betray the pact he has made with me? I think not."

955.748.M41

Ultima Segmentum

Plaustri Sector

Arkhanso System

Arkhanso Prime

Ozzak Valley

The mighty frame of the Oberon class 'Adamant Might' was now a tattered shell, teetering on the verge I'd shattering.

Yet, the ancient vessel held it together long enough for it to land.

Captain Hans Werhmensch IV had been forced to land but not before speak intensely with General Karl Gruenthal, the commander of the Ordanian regiment stationed on Arkhanso Prime.

A tough and rough but sharp man looking like he is in his fifties but actually pushing his late eighties thanks to Rejuvent treatment, Karl has been a good friend to Hans for the past four decades, as they were both stationed here. Together, they had held off three Ork Waaagh! and eleven Drukhari raids as well as a small Chaos incursion.

Now came their greatest challenge.

Karl asked Hans to land and block off the Ozzak valley entrance with the bulk of Adamant Might instead of crashing it into the immense Zerg vessel. The Zerg had hounded the Imperial fleet to the planet, though the massive moon-sized vessel did not move.

Instead, it had sent out a small fleet.

It was led by a Leviathan class command vessel, as identified by the Inquisition during the very recent Ultramar Conflict against the Tyranids and the Zerg. The Zerg Flagship, being a very large Leviathan escorted by a dozen smaller Behemoth carriers, had crushed the Imperial fleet.

Now, the Zerg fleet hovered over the Magnolia Hills, a sparsely populated mining region of the planet. It was lightly defended against orbital or aerial attackers while the Arkhanso Prime's cities were well-established with twenty to sixty anti-orbital plasma cannons and numerous anti-air guns. At first, of course, the Zerg had dispatched a Behemoth carrier down to the capital city of Petra Minima, only to be shot down by the ancient Ultramarine defense grid, established by Roboute Guilliman when he had led his Ultramarine Legion across this sector.

Though the Primarch had only seen the planetary map on a holoscreen and had not even landed here, he had designed and placed strategic fortifications. This plan was carried out by Sergeant Ordan, all the way from the neighboring sector. Thus, Petra Minima was originally a fortress, designed to develop into a fortress city, both protecting and protected by five surrounding fortress cities and numerous towns in the great Buffalo Plains.

Buffalo Plains was a massive basin surrounded by tall mountains, as rocky and difficult to traverse as Alps on Earth. There were valleys, however, that would allow entrance to this fertile and populated region. Holding almost half of the planet's entire population, the Buffalo Plains must not be breached, as all commanders agreed. Therefore, these valleys had fortresses built into them, adding layers of defenses.

Yet, the Ozzak Valley was the widest and most vulnerable. It had led to six walled cities of Magnolia Hills and its hardy miners. Without such resources, factories of Buffalo Plains would stop. Moreover, Magnolia Hills had the port city of Pines Buff, the only seaport on the main continent that could build and dock the massive sea vessels that could survive the turbulent oceans of Arkhanso Prime.

While Adamant Might blocked the Ozzak Valley, General Karl Gruenthal decided to launch a reinforcement mission to Pines Buff, circling around Magnolia Hills to the forested taiga to the south.

The only problem had been a series of strange happenings in the south.

Missing persons reports had been flooding the city constabularies of the four lumbering cities at the edge of the vast cold forest in the last two years. Of course, officials of the town did not report strange markings and scratching on walls. After all, there could not possibly be a Chaos Cult growing within their cities. If it was so, then the Imperial commanders tucked safely in the Buffalo Plains would send down bombers and troops.

No one wanted that. Perhaps even more so than whispers of strange mobs terrorizing streets at night, or masses of children having same nightmares for weeks on end. Trees being marked with blood and eight-pointed stars did not alarm the officials in those cities. No reports of such things left the city. Anyone who snooped around quickly disappeared.

It was at this point that General Karl Gruenthal had dispatched twenty Valkyries full of Ordanian Hardies. This was followed by a column of tanks and armored transports that had been dispatched south to circumvent the Zerg raining down on Magnolia Hills.

Town of Pereskot

"So, this Zerg is some new xeno race that really put some hurt on the Ultramar?" asked Sergeant Kiel to Lieutenant Horst.

"Yes, that is what was explained from yesterday's briefing. Just a year or so ago, in fact. I am not even sure when. You know how it is with these times when traveling between stars," replied Horst as he fondled the trigger of his chainsword.

"Well, I wouldn't know, lieutenant, and neither do you! We have been back and forth from Ordan to here and that's it."

"That is true. What is true is that we need to reinforce and hold Pines Buff. If our enemies take the city, it would severely reduce our ability to receive resources from overseas across the archipelago, and we can't produce more than lasguns and lascannons without those stuff."

"A bloody stupid flaw in the planning if you asked me. I hear that Lord Gilliman's plans were not fully realized here on Arkhanso Prime," whispered Kiel. "Unlike us at Ordan's World where all our cities and towns are set by his glorious design."

Horst shook his head.

"I don't know where you hear all this garbage. Of course, not all worlds touched by the Great Blue Primarch could follow his instructions. Not all of them had been so lucky to be blessed with an Ultramarine teacher like our Great Forefather Ordan," answered the officer. "We are simply luckier than these people. Besides, have you not read the histories? Arkhanso Prime has always been a farm world, not quite a full Agri-World but certainly a productive one."

"Still, they lack so much defense. Look at these fields! No defense turrets or anything on the way to this… What was this town called?" asked Kiel.

"Pereskot."

"Weird name."

"These are lumber people. They go into the deep dark forests for weeks on end before returning to town. It is natural to be a little weird. Be careful with them."

"They are still just farmers."

The walled town of Pereskot was not an impressive sight for those from Ordan's World, and even for one who had lived all their lives in the Buffalo Plains and its large cities. These were old towns that had additional cobbled streets laid down slowly over many generations, with no coherent central design to them.

Yet, the wall has always been there, designed and built almost eight thousand years ago. These walls were of ancient make, still well beyond the actual limit of the town's outermost houses. Had things been always good in these areas, then the towns would have developed and built according to the ancient plans. Yet, there had been invasions, fires, civil wars and whatnot. These towns, called the tree-edge towns, were far from secure.

At least Pereskot had a wall that stumps any modern builders in their ancient construction. Other three towns had walls built around them at different times, none of them older than three thousand years. Western-most town of Imersson had a wall that was barely a thousand years old, and its shoddy construction had meant that the town had to spend a lot of resources each year to maintain it.

"Quiet, we are entering Pereskot. Watch out, these lumber people aren't very friendly to outsiders."

"And we are VERY outsiders."

"Exactly."

Ordanians definitely looked different. Ordan's World was the wealthiest of these sectors, and being well-governed had allowed relatively good distribution of wealth. This was on top of the fact that much of the food from Arkhanso Prime would be bought by Ordanians for the additional military presence. The resulting nutritional surplus for the Ordanians had meant that the Ordanian Hardies were truly hardy as well as taller and larger in frame.

Of course, this did not sit too well with some Arkhansonians. Such was the sentiment in the southern regions, where the cold and harsh winters had made these people's hearts as hard.

Forty Chimeras filled with Guardsmen filed down the main street of Pereskot, followed by four Leman Russ tanks, then the column's rearguard was held by six Chimeras, two Hellhounds and four Hydra Flak Tanks.

Lietenant Horst had stopped his Chimera outside the town's wall, as his forces were to build a camp outside so that new reinforcements could make it their depot. Under Horst's orders, Senior Sergeant Kiel dispatched his troops to secure the parameters.

Commissars barked orders while Sergeants of each squad set up positions facing outward from the town walls.

When their six Leman Tanks and eight Hydra Flak Tanks had set themselves into entrenched positions, Guardsmen ferried sandbags to protect these stationary vehicles to turn them into turrets.

Eighty Chimeras split into two long lines of defensive walls, creating two layers of protection against enemies following down three roads heading toward the town.

Boom!

Horst's head turned instantly toward the explosion.

"It was from the town!" shouted someone.

An alarm rang in Horst's head.

"Troops! Gather the troops and get me a vox operator! Get me Captain Ingolf, NOW!"

Captain Ingolf was the leader of this battalion dispatched south to reinforce the flank of the Buffalo Plains. He was also in one of the Chimeras that went into the town.

Boooom!

One of the entrenched Leman Russ exploded when a rocket was fired from the town wall.

"Ambush! Traitors! Guardsmen! Form defensive lines!" roared Horst.

Hundreds of lasgun beams fired from the walls followed by artillery shells raining down on the Guardsmen as their backs were still turned.

"Sir, traitors are surrounding us!"

From nearby forests appeared vehicles, all debased and defiled with strange markings and flayed human skins. These were originally stationed Guardsmen and their vehicles. Well, it would appear that the poor Guardsmen all died and their armor was given to these traitors, whose smaller stature had made them wearing Ordanian armor rather ill-fitted.

Lasgun fire rained upon the Ordanian Hardies, as they found shelter and cover behind their Chimeras.

With overwhelming fire from the walls and the forested ambush, the Ordanians were caught in a deadly pincer. Explosions echoed across the field as more Chimeras and tanks were destroyed, their flames casting shadows that danced like vengeful spirits.

"Push them back!" Sergeant Kiel shouted, charging a heavy bolter team to repel the onslaught from the trees.

The weapon's deafening roar momentarily quelled the enemy's advance, but it was clear the situation was deteriorating rapidly. Enemies were everywhere. It was so that Arkhanso Prime had been at the edge of the region, and therefore held a significant Planetary Defence Force on hand. Although not as well equipped or trained as the Ordanian Hardies, these were competent enough forces.

Yet, now these PDF forces turned traitor and were methodically taking out Guard's vehicles, with such precision and such well-planned pincer move.

Lieutenant Horst, blood smeared across his face from a minor shrapnel wound, called out to his remaining squads. "Form a perimeter! We'll hold the traitors off as long as we can. Vox operator! Signal for aerial extraction!"

"Sir! The vox is being disrupted!"

That was bad news.

Without being able to contact the central command, they were cut off. Moreover, the central command would be sending more troops here, on their way toward Petra Minima. Such relief columns would be ambushed also, and the slow vehicles full of weapons and munitions would be looted by the traitors.

The situation became even more desperate when a monstrous sight emerged from the town's gates. The traitors had released an ancient tank that had laid dormant in the underground bunkers of the town, long forgotten but now revived.

Brrrrrr

Lieutenant Horst's eyes widened as the town gates creaked open, revealing a monstrous machine unlike any he'd encountered before. It loomed large, its outline both intimidating and sleek, and it emanated an aura of dread that sent a shiver down Horst's spine.

The tank's hull was broad and low, giving it a predatory stance, like a beast ready to pounce. Twin-linked accelerator autocannons dominated its turret, with the barrels showing signs of recent use. They looked deadly, capable of tearing apart anything in their path. Additional sponsons mounted with heavy bolters on either side suggested even more firepower.

Its armor was a maze of angular plates and reinforced ceramite, all of which seemed to shimmer with a muted, metallic sheen. The vehicle's color was difficult to discern due to the thick layers of dust and soot that clung to it. Beneath the grime, faint hints of a silver and gunmetal livery could be seen. There were diagonal lines of yellow and black, seen between cracks in the thick dust and soot that covered the whole thing. But these traces were obfuscated, and Horst could not associate it with any known faction he was familiar with.

Compounding the eerie sight were a series of hatchways and portholes, all tightly sealed, but hinting at the crew within - no doubt battle-hardened warriors of an unknown origin. The vehicle moved with a surprising grace for its size, its tracks effortlessly crushing the debris underfoot, producing a low, rumbling growl that resonated through the ground and into Horst's very bones.

A sense of dread washed over Horst as the behemoth continued its advance. He couldn't place its design, but one thing was clear: this was a formidable enemy, one that posed a significant threat to him and his men.

"Emperor preserve us," Kiel whispered, the first time Horst had seen him shaken.

The Sicaran Battle Tank advanced menacingly, its twin-linked accelerator autocannons beginning to whirr with deadly intent. As if on cue, townspeople—previously thought to be allies—emerged from the surrounding buildings, brandishing makeshift weapons and shouting heretical chants. Their eyes glinted with a fervor that Horst had only seen in the most devout cultists.

"Form up! Lasguns ready!" shouted Horst, trying to rally his men.

The first shots rang out. The Sicaran fired its autocannons, sending a hail of projectiles tearing through the air. Two Chimeras to Horst's left were obliterated in the onslaught, their once formidable armor shredded like parchment. The screams of the Guardsmen inside were drowned out by the echoing booms.

Kiel led a squad, taking cover behind a nearby structure. "Heavy bolters, focus fire on that tank! Aim for its tracks!" He knew the Sicaran's armor was nearly impervious, but its mobility could be compromised.

Lasgun beams crisscrossed the battlefield as the Hardies responded, focusing on the traitorous townspeople who charged, their zealotry outweighing their training. The initial volley cut down many, but they were relentless, and for every one that fell, another two seemed to surge forth.

Close combat ensued as the distance closed. The Hardies, with their superior size and training, initially had the upper hand. But the sheer number of townspeople was overwhelming. Horst found himself locked in hand-to-hand combat, his chainsword buzzing as it cleaved through foes.

The sun glinted off the weapons as Lieutenant Horst and Sergeant Kiel faced a frenzied group of townspeople. The bloodied, second-hand Ordanian armor on the townspeople painted a gruesome picture of their previous conquests.

A townsperson lunged at Horst, swinging a pickaxe with wild abandon. The Lieutenant deftly sidestepped, bringing his chainsword down in a swift arc. The serrated teeth of the weapon caught the attacker's shoulder, biting through the flimsy armor and deep into the clavicle. Blood spurted as the man crumpled, his pickaxe clattering to the ground.

Another two closed in on Kiel. He met the first head-on, parrying an axe swing with his combat axe before thrusting his laspistol into the man's abdomen and firing. The flash of the lasbolt was brief, but the resultant hole it left was fatal. The second attacker tried to exploit Kiel's momentary distraction, swinging a knife towards his exposed neck. But Kiel was quicker, raising his armored forearm to block the attack before driving his combat axe into the assailant's sternum, splitting the ribcage.

Horst's hot-shot laspistol hummed to life, sending a charged shot into an oncoming attacker's thigh. The muscle and tissue were instantly cauterized, and the man fell with a pained scream, his momentum causing him to slide on the ground, leaving a grisly trail.

As more of the townspeople converged on them, Kiel found himself back-to-back with Horst, their synchronized combat dance a testament to their years of fighting together. A woman with wild eyes lunged at Horst, a sharpened shovel raised high. Horst met her charge, swinging his chainsword upward. It caught her in the midriff, the revving teeth mangling her internal organs before she even knew what hit her.

Another townsperson tried to grapple Kiel from behind, but the seasoned sergeant dropped low, swinging his axe backward and connecting with the attacker's shin. The bone snapped audibly. As the man howled in pain, Kiel finished him off with a precise laspistol shot to the temple.

Despite their training and expertise, fatigue was starting to set in. Then a raking fire from a heavy bolter team tore about the freshly charging enemies, giving Horst some relief.

From his vantage, he saw a brave squad of his Hardies plant melta charges near the Sicaran's tracks, a desperate bid to halt its advance. The explosion was deafening, sending a plume of smoke and dirt into the air. When the dust settled, the tank's right track was mangled, but it was still ominously operational, pivoting on its remaining track to bring its guns to bear on new targets.

Kiel and his squad managed to take out a large number of townspeople on their flank. But a stray rocket from the Sicaran obliterated half his team, and the once-cohesive defensive line began to falter.

Horst, in a desperate bid, rallied a few of his men for a last-ditch assault on the tank. With a battle cry to the Emperor, they charged, grenades and melta bombs in hand. They managed to reach the Sicaran, planting their explosives on its rear armor. The resultant explosion rocked the tank, disabling some of its secondary weapons, but still, it pressed on.

From afar, Kiel saw the situation deteriorate. The combined force of the Sicaran and the frenzied townspeople was grinding down their defenses. The Hardies fought valiantly, each fallen soldier taking many with him, but the tide was turning against them.

An enemy lascannon from a nearby building took a shot, catching one of the remaining Leman Russ tanks in Horst's formation. The tank went up in flames, and its crew scrambled out, only to be cut down by the townspeople.

Horst, bloodied but unbowed, tried to rally his men once more. But it was clear the situation was dire. The Sicaran, even damaged, was an unstoppable force, and the sheer number of townspeople, fueled by some unholy fervor, was overwhelming.

From his position, Kiel took out a few more townspeople before shouting into his vox unit, "Fall back! To the secondary position! We can't hold them here!"

Hearing the order, Horst felt a pang of defeat but knew it was the only option. "Retreat! Covering fire! Fall back!" He roared the orders, his voice hoarse from the intensity of the battle.

The remaining Hardies, with lasguns blazing, began their tactical withdrawal. They left behind the smoldering ruins of their vehicles and the bodies of their fallen comrades, but they carried with them the determination to fight another day.

As they retreated, Kiel found Horst amidst the chaos. "We'll regroup and plan our next move," Kiel shouted over the cacophony of battle. "But for now, we must live to fight another day. The Port City of Petra Minima! It's our only way out!" yelled Kiel over the cacophony.

Horst nodded, realizing the truth in Kiel's words. His gaze fixed on the smoking remains of the battlefield, a testament to the ferocity of the fight and the tenacity of the Ordanian Hardies. They would return, and next time, they would be ready.

Horst nodded, realizing the truth in Kiel's words. With their path to Buffalo Plains blocked and the enemy tightening the noose, the city was their only chance. "All units, fall back! Make for Petra Minima!"

A valiant rear guard, led by Sergeant Kiel, held off the traitors just long enough for the bulk of Horst's men to retreat. With each passing second, the line wavered, until finally Kiel signaled the retreat, his team blasting away in a controlled withdrawal.

The journey to Petra Minima was fraught with danger. Skirmishes broke out as traitor patrols found them, but the Hardies held their ground. Their determination combined with their natural advantages made it a formidable challenge for the enemy to keep up.

By the time they reached the city's gates, Horst's battalion had been severely reduced. Petra Minima, a sprawling port city, loomed above them with tall walls and naval artillery. It was a bastion, but one under severe threat. Word had spread of the approaching Zerg, an alien menace that had already scarred the Ultramar. Preparations were already underway, defenses were being fortified, and the port's fleet was preparing for a blockade.

"We've been running for too long," Horst told Kiel as they surveyed the city's defenses. "Here, in Petra Minima, we make our stand."

Kiel grinned, clapping Horst on the shoulder. "The traitors will regret the day they ever crossed paths with the Hardies of Ordan's World."

Horst simply nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon, where dark clouds seemed to gather. The storm, in the form of the Zerg and the traitors, was coming. But so too were the defenders of humanity, ready to meet them head-on.

The smoky skies over Pereskot hinted at the town's descent into chaos. Where once there had been camaraderie and jovial conversations, now there was only the echoing laughter of the mad and the corrupt. At the town's center, a grotesque portal of swirling energy formed, its very presence twisting and tainting the air. Cultists danced frenziedly around it, their chants reaching a deafening crescendo.

In the midst of the cultists stood the psyker, his body pulsating with unnatural energy, his eyes glowing with an ethereal light. Beside him, Warpsmith Karonax, his formidable Chaos Marine armor looking alien in this setting, stood stoically, overseeing the ritual. His presence was a stark reminder of the deadly power of the forces they were playing with.

As the chants reached their peak, the psyker began to convulse violently, arcs of warp energy bursting from his very skin. Karonax looked on impassively as the energy from the portal began to pull from the psyker, draining him, until, with one final scream, the psyker exploded, leaving only ashes in his wake.

From the portal, the silhouette of a giant figure began to take form. There appeared the shadow of the towering form of Warsmith Lan Xaxthus the 'Ironbone' was revealed, his armor adorned with the marks of countless battles, his presence commanding immediate respect and fear.

The portal was not enough to grace this world with such presence. So, a select group of Iron Warriors materialized instead, among them Wexan the Steelframe, the trusted lieutenant of the mighty Warsmith. He greeted Karonax with a nod, his cold, calculating eyes assessing the scene.

"Warpsmith Karonax," Wexan began, his voice dripping with authority. "I see you've been keeping yourself busy."

Karonax bowed slightly, "Wexan, always a pleasure. The psyker was weak, but he served his purpose in bringing us here."

Wexan looked at the remnants of the now-dead psyker. "They always are," he remarked coldly. "And the ambush?"

"Successful. The local Imperial Guards were caught off guard. Their retreat, however, is troubling. They've fled," Karonax reported.

Wexan's lips twisted in amusement.

"It is not like you to let go of a prey."

Karonax smiled back.

"We do not know this world, and it was a pure chance that we came here. We needed some information and chaos of conflict. It appears that there is another conflict brewing on this world. We shall delight in it."

"Indeed so, my friend. We shall grind these pitiful Imperials to the ground and turn this place into a fortress of iron and blood."

"Excellent. By the way, I have heard strange tidings in the Warp."

"Oh? What does the malignant tumor in your brain whispers to you about it?"

"Khadam, the Warpsmith who had fallen in with the likes of the disgraced Ashzan the Hereticier, is heading here. The daemons have been whispering of a new power rising seeking something terrible that daemons would not speak of."

Wexan paused.

"Ashzan… did he not join the ranks of a former Loyalist?"

"I believe so."

"So foolish. On the other hand, we shall not be found wanting, brother. Iron Within!"

"Iron Without!"

Time - Unknown

Ultima Segmentum

Maelstrom

Daemon World - Zenkaar

The Daemon World Zenkaar pulsed with an unnatural life of its own. Once a proud fortress world of the Imperial Guard, it now stood as a grim testament to the corrupting powers of Chaos. Twisted spires stretched towards a sky, that was an ever-shifting kaleidoscope of ominous hues - from blood-red to a deep, sickly green. No longer did it echo with the march of Astra Militarum boots; now, it resounded with the clang of machinery and the desperate cries of souls in torment.

From orbit, one would see sprawling, vast, biomechanical structures dotting the charred landscape, like malignant tumors. These were the factories of Zenkaar, where the Dark Mechanicum, with their insidious expertise, conducted their unholy work. Here, humans, grown in vast vats and robbed of their free will, toiled day and night. They were not born but manufactured, their entire existence limited to the dark recesses of mines or the claustrophobic interiors of factories. Their life was a monotonous blur of labor and exhaustion, devoid of hope.

Yet, these factories weren't just for mining. Some of them served as grotesque laboratories, where the most heinous of experiments were conducted. Fabius Bile, the twisted Apothecary of the Emperor's Children, took particular interest in Zenkaar. With the assistance of the Dark Mechanicum, he sought to refine and enhance his art of body manipulation. The lab-grown humans were the perfect subjects for his dark aspirations. He re-engineered their physiologies, twisting them into grotesque parodies of the human form, melding flesh with machine, turning them into abominations of nature, serving no god but the twisted desires of their creators.

The very air of Zenkaar was thick with a cocktail of smoke, toxic fumes, and a palpable sense of despair. The clouds above constantly churned, a maelstrom of darkness punctuated only by occasional arcs of warp lightning. This was a world devoured by Chaos, where hope was a forgotten word, and suffering was an eternal constant.

The harsh, pulsating atmosphere of the Daemon World Zenkaar seemed to writhe in response to the gathering of power. Rising from its ever-changing terrain was an obsidian throne, with Lord Judanus seated atop, looking down at his warlords, his form shifting and distorting with raw energy.

Before him, arranged in a semi-circle, stood the formidable leaders of his army, each exuding an aura of malice. Each warlord held sway over countless warriors, having seen countless battles and reaped millions of souls.

Lord Judanus raised his hand, beckoning Apothecary Lilgath forward. The Khornate Berserker, a brutal contradiction of savage prowess and chilling intellect, stepped up.

"Warlords," Judanus began, his voice echoing like a thunderclap, "the time has come for us to seek out the Spirit of the Phoenix."

Murmurs spread among the group. Some had not even heard of such an artifact. Some few have, and even to privy to such secrets, that was a name more myth than reality to most.

"Is this what you dragged us away from our conquests for, a fairy tale?" sneered Captain Laros.

Judanus's gaze silenced him. So powerful that Judanus had become, Laros could no longer challenge his new master. It was because Laros could not even think to challenge four different Daemon Princes and defeat them, tearing out their hearts and skulls. Judanus had done so successfully and thus given the respect he deserves for his power.

"It is no tale, Laros. The Spirit has the power to reshape the cosmos in our image."

"And why should we follow you in this mad endeavor?" questioned Lord De'shalk, his voice dripping with a Slaaneshi drawl.

A wicked smile formed on Judanus's lips. "Because, De'shalk, with the Spirit, the galaxy will bow to Chaos, unopposed and eternal."

A dark excitement gripped the warlords. Judanus continued, "To reach the Spirit, we must first breach the defenses the Chaos Gods set for it. And for that, we need the Eight Skeleton Keys of Forbidden Nightmare."

Lilgath, always well-prepared, unveiled a case showcasing six ornate keys, each more terrifying than the last. "We have six," Judanus stated, "and I know where the last two are. The eighth key is on Ordan's World, protected by the Necron Pylons."

Terminator Lord Adravan spoke, "Ordan's World is shielded. The Pylons there weaken our forces. This is so on Cadia, which not even the Warmaster could breach… yet."

Judanus nodded, "Yes, indeed such xeno technology is powerful. However, we are not all tied to Daemons and warp powers to win wars. Physical invasion is needed, perhaps."

Other nodded, for they were all powerful warlords who could conquer entire worlds.

"There are other challenges but with the Four Anchors of Chaos," he pointed to four darkened crystals floating beside him, each one pulsating with malevolence, "we will diminish our obstacles."

"And once we have the keys?" asked Warpsmith Kaskand, eager for battle.

Judanus's voice darkened, "We will need the Lightning Claws of Konrad Kurze, and the Space Hulk 'Uteros Dolore' to pass through the Seven Gates of Perdition unscathed. Other ships must wait outside the gates, lest they be obliterated by the million trappings and hounding of daemons set there by the Four Gods. And then, at the Infinity Well, we must face the Tetrakolasia."

They have heard that name. It was rumors, of course, but it was tale told of ancient Greater Daemons that had battled Eldar Gods and the Emperor himself at one point. The mere mention of the four Greater Daemons made even the hardiest warlord shudder.

"Who will breach Ordan's World?" questioned Judanus, his gaze sweeping over the assembly.

Lord Ashzan, stepping forward, his armor echoing the cold efficiency of the Iron Warriors, responded, "My Black Sanctifiers will take the task. We will establish a foothold and retrieve the key."

Judanus smiled, "Very well, Ashzan. But remember, this isn't a mere conquest. Fail, and my wrath will descend upon you."

Ashzan nodded, determination in his eyes.

As the meeting adjourned, the warlords prepared for the coming war, each knowing that the stakes were higher than ever before. The galaxy was on the brink of an upheaval, and the powers of Chaos were gathering for their most ambitious endeavor yet.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
I was stuck with a writer's block as I was writing my third novel. So, this was my distraction. I probably won't be posting regularly or anything like that. Just that my brain squeezed this out.