~ Warhammer 40,000; Vigil ~

The Alisae System, Vigil's Orbit...

"Vigil...it's namesake held true to the end...are the fleets organized and in position?"

"Yes, mi'lord."

"Excellent...let us show them how stubborn the Imperium truly is."

The designated Alpha, Beta and Omega fleets had positioned neatly above a gargantuan garden world. This world was bristling with hive cities, Imperial fortresses, and some of the most advanced laboratories and factories unknown to the galaxy. It was soon to be bristling with a terrified population of nine hundred billion souls under the crushing weight of war and despair.

"I rather enjoy the view of the Viridian Oceans from here...it's a breathtaking sight..."

"What about that sight...?"

Storming en masse was an encroaching horde of chaotic battleships. Outnumbering the fleets three to one, no two forces waisted time starting the war. Lord Admiral Stauffenberg immediately ordered the sacrifice of the Alpha Fleets, ordering them to push forward so that Beta's battleships could form a more sturdy and defensive line. As broadside cannons obliterated ships on both sides, the Alpha Fleets effectively pushed forward and spread out in front of the remaining fleets.

Practically a temporary shield, Alpha neglected to actively provide Beta's outline with clear firing lanes. Within minutes the opposing forces of Khornate battle barges punched a hole through the shield. The plan appeared to halfway work, however, as the fortified lines of twelve Vengeance-class battleships proceeded to bombard Khorne's greedy battle barges back into their lines. It may have been all for nought, however, as the unexpected always happens. From out the lines of thousands of barges came forth a space hulk of completely unknown design. Every clear inch of the massive ship was adorned in the bones of every species in the galaxy and beyond, foreign skulls lining the trim of cannons and engines alike. What exactly it was capable of was unforeseen by everyone, even Champion Kargan behind it's wheel.

The first three laser salvos effectively annihilated eight of the twelve battleships on Beta's line, wiping out several heavy and battle cruisers in the process. Grand cruisers attempted to plug the hole, only to be met face to face with a terrifying sight. Seven more space hulks rushed from behind Nurgle's line of barges. Bulbous spores and nauseating gases spewed from these hulks as they crashed head on with Beta Fleet's position. One hulk embedded itself within another battleship, locking them into a boarding conflict situation. The remaining six had built up enough momentum to set a direct course on the planet.

Lord Admiral Stauffenberg, utterly speechless, calmly walked the length of the bridge. As a courier servant approached him, he whispered a solemn statement in his ear, and the courier was on his way. Soon Lord Commander Deltrov would be planetside, and the true fight for Vigil would begin. He wasn't about to give up the Orbital Front, however, and continued to order the large number of ships in Omega's fleet to spread out and give 'em hell. For the following three months Lord Admiral Stauffenberg's abilities would keep the bulk of the Omega Fleet and what remained of the Alpha and Beta Fleets fighting. They would refuse surrender or defeat at all costs.

Meanwhile, chaos of course ensued within the Skull Throne. Khorne's Chosen Champion, Leonothas Kargan, stood at the forefront of the bridge. A heretical admiral stood before him, a wicked frown beguiling him.

"The wretched things, how dare they defile the Pact's regulations! We were to be the ones to land first upon Vigil, not those putrid puss bags! I say we follow suit...quickly! Glory can still be ours if we act fast!" The admiral cursed and shouted.

Normally one would assume Kargan to be perfectly tactical and collected in such a position. If he indeed partook in such recklessness and failed, it would be considered an embarrassment to military command anywhere and everywhere, and to his master most importantly. However, the Admiral's foolish words held some semblance of truth. The Ruinous Pact agreed on very specific terms just outside the Alisae Sector before battle, their plans precise. Still, in hindsight Lord Fel acted accordingly, if not boldly. A hole was made, and an opportunity sought. Witnessing the Imperial fleets strategically moving into more spread out positions, stabilizing the flow of battle, the admiral seemingly changed his opinion.

"Ahck! The fools. Clearly I see now the throne must be held here, to preserve the tide of battle. I will stay my position, mi'lord, and join with you on the fields of glory once these Imperial space dogs are taken care of." He placed a firm hand on the towering man's forearm. "May the blood of your enemies wash upon your face, and their skulls shatter amongst yours."

The Ruinous Pact had indeed set very specific rules for the battle plan, although nothing ever goes to plan. With Lord Fel already setting foot on Vigil, Kargan contacted Champion Daul and the prophet, Malignus. They would have to make a run past the fleets to join Fel quickly, or assume defeat for Nurgle's unreinforced front. A backup plan was put into motion, as the Skull Throne proceeded to waist precious ammunition in denting the fleets line, distracting them long enough to send a suicidal force of a couple thousand barges toward the planet's atmosphere. After nearly half the invasion force was decimated, as expected, the surviving forces carrying the bulk of reinforcements arrived. Within moments had thousands upon thousands of traitorous guardsmen and heretical space marines unleashed themselves on Vigil. The ground war was set in stone.

~
The Alisae Sector, the Asteroid Belt of Agrosh...

There is always a silence...a calm before the storm. An admiral stood at the head of his grand army, looking for long into the rocky abyss that had stained an empty blackness within his mind. That empty blackness was an unfilled part of him, a part that so often required violence and destruction to make him whole, much like the rest of his species. Of course, this man was not quite like the rest of his kind...he could tolerate a concept such as patience.

When it came time for the two forces to collide, it was a sight like no other. A flowing tidal wave of space hulks clashed with their ultimate foe, the collective hive fleets of countless Tyranids. They practically overwhelmed each other until they ended up on the opposite sides of the conflict, successively turning around and proceeding to overwhelm each other once more. It was enough that the Tyranids had not anticipated a force nearly as large as their own, and with the strategic capability behind it. The Orks were effectively training the hive fleets to inch ever closer toward a ground war, the closest planet beyond the asteroid belt being Vigil itself. The admiral simply could not let such an opportunity pass to prove to the galaxy the sheer power and identity of his newfound empire.

~
Planet Vigil, the Southern Glacial Islands...

"A darkness will awaken..."

The Dagger of O'Shi'ur rested upon a glacial summit's plateau, as if some sovereign observer to the chaos at hand. The Ethereals brought Commander O'Shi'ur and his forces to Vigil for a reason, a reason known only to their high command at the current moment. Initial objectives were to set a forward operating base, expand scouting operations and find an artifact known as the Pillar of Enlightenment. It was an unknown situation with unknown expectations, and setting out on a mission with very classified and limited information was certainly bothersome amongst the men.

Another unanticipated threat, even to high command, awaited beneath them however. A cryptic force gathered below the unnaturally formed glaciers, soon to fully awaken their collective armies to unleash armageddon.

-- Two months later...

Operation October Rain...

"My Lord...it has begun."

A smog of spores and plaguing gases hovered like clouds over the Eastern Continent, making it almost completely inaccessible without proper gear or surrendering your soul. Lord Fel observed the unfolding situation, possibly contempt at the paradise he forged for his father. Vigil would become a vessel for the Plague Gardens, in fact it would not be farsighted to believe it possible to incarnate Nurgh-leth himself upon the soil of reality. Fel's accomplishments were capable of things beyond mortal comprehension. Yet still they resisted.

Storming legions of Death Korps troopers fought their way through the outer hive cities, encroaching on his throne. Reports of Armageddon Steel Legionaries passing out gas masks to unplagued civilians are on the rise, they had continuously defied Nurgle his children. Resistance would be met with death and decay, surely.

Meanwhile, a dying commander lay in the arms of a fellow comrade. The Rune Lord could do nothing for the Lord Commander's injuries. A chain ax had cleaved through his left leg and abdomen, bleeding out was only a matter of short time. In his dying, bloodied breath, the commander of all imperial forces relinquished his duties to that of Kurn Wolfstalon. A new Lord Commander? An Adeptus Astartes now in full control of the Imperium's military...it was a lot to put on one man.

Kargan's forces continued pushing forward, berserkers tearing up the line. The men, even Commissars retreated without orders. Wolfstalon and Kargan locked eyes briefly before the latter would be on his way to reorganize his forces. The operation, while more successful than imagined, left the Lord Commander dead and Fort Orion in the hands of Chaos. Even in short lived victories, the grim darkness of war follows...

~
The Southern Glacial Battlefields...

"For the Greater Good...brother."

Lasers and photons and plasma bursts echoed and fired all around the surrounding environment. Two unlucky pathfinders found themselves pinned down under the diminishing cover of thick ice sheets. The enemy that had revealed itself was one rather uncommonly fought by the Tau, the Necron Dynasties.

They came forth from demolished sinkholes in the glacial islands, marching out as if sovereign dictators come to cleanse the world of impurity. Thankfully they had yet to storm any significant fortified positions, yet the situation for the pathfinders was growing dire.

One of them took off his helmet, staring right into the eyes of his comrade. "Our communications are shot...one of us has to survive and warn the bulk forces..."

"Well than what are you waiting for?! I'll cover you!"

"No, brother. I am almost out of ammunition, chances are you'll need yours to fight your way through. We've only got this one chance...do not fail me."

And he wouldn't. A lone pathfinder running through the harsh and empty cold of the snow, a blizzard storming by to halt his progression. He figured he was not running for his life, but the life of his comrades. Three days into the blizzard and the pathfinder found himself on the verge of death and defeat, until the beautiful golden sight of the Dagger was before him. On his own he marched up the plateau, collapsing on his knees in front of the commander. His throat was coarse, his mouth dry. A subtle, vibrating sentence forced out through his lips before his untimely death.

"They're coming..."

As the FOB attempted contact with smaller positions and scouting troops, they realized that something indeed was coming. Slowly surrounding their position would be armies of Necrons, hoping to use the southern continents as their forward fronts. The severity of the mission was still at hand, with limited options available. They would obviously have to pack up and move positions, but where? It seemed like no place was safe on Vigil.

~
The Equator Trenches, Four days after Operation October Rain...

"What in the bloody hell is th-...oh my god..."

The sound hit the guardsmen like a freight train wreck. The screeching, wailing, moaning and bending of metal as it fell from orbit nearly deafened the more sensitive of troopers. A space hulk, with what appeared to be a Tyranid ship embedded in it, fell like two graceful gods battling each other into the ground. The sheer impact force wiped out the entirety of guards stationed in the trenches, and out from the wreckage poured countless Orks and Tyranids fighting to take their position. And while battling like tidal waves of oceans clashing against one another, the Orks still showed a tactical superiority over their enemy. The two massive forces, never once ceasing fire since the beginning, had finally brought their battle to Vigil.

~
The Day of Reckoning, The Prophecy's Conclusion...
0100 Hours...

"There's something about this planet...something that could save us...or annihilate us..."

In the waning moments of the battle for the Orbital Front, Lord Admiral Stauffenberg sent very classified information to a rogue trader hiding from all the commotion in the Alisae Sector. Information known only to the High Lords of Terra and the surviving Primarchs. It included descriptions of a fortress monastery on Vigil and the subsequent declassification, redaction and expungement of any further data. Whether or not this rogue trader would comply to her duties to Humanity was in question, but the Lord Admiral had faith. He was the one who appointed her, after all.

It was the mark of the fifth month of war, the first day of the twentieth year of the 42nd Millennium. What remained of the Omega Fleets had finally exhausted all ammunition, their unstable supply line to Vigil finally shattered by Kargan's forces. With ships exploding all around the Valiance, dozens of men shouted at Stauffenberg, demanding orders.

Some ships diverted back to the planet, others crumbling under fire as they demanded the next course of action. He elegantly marched the bridge's length to the observation deck, ordering all communications be shut off from the rest of the fleet.

"Pilot, what's your name."

"D-dimitri, mi'lord."

"Full speed ahead, Dimitri. We have one salvo left, let's give it to them."

"B-but, sir...all ammunitions reserves have been exhausted."

"I said one salvo left, pilot." The admiral tapped his cane twice onto the floor of the deck while darting his eyes in a gesturing manner across the room. "Full speed ahead...set a direct course for that ship." He commanded, pointing to the Skull Throne.

Brother Arkos Leantes of the Maccrage 1st Company found himself in the odd position of receiving a direct comm line to the Lord Admiral whilst in the middle of a firefight between a patrol of Thousand Suns marines.

"-Expect a passenger to arrive at these forwarded coordinates within the next oh-nine hundred. Escort them to their destination at all costs. Lord Admiral Stauffenberg...out."

~
0400 Hours...

A lone trooper fighting in the north-western fronts had happened to gaze upon the early morning skies, witnessing the Skull Throne clamoring down upon the world with all of its bearing might. On it's left broadside lay countless shredded holes and dents with shattered bone fragments chipping away. Flames drew pillowing smoke from the wounds as it maneuvered a less than honorable landing. As the bay doors opened, out marched legions of Khornate daemonspawn.

"With haste, the altar must be constructed to perfection." Bellowed a ginormous bloodthirster, cracking his whip at his lesser kin. "We must ensure Lord Kargan survives, our Master declares it. The Gate to his Lair will become our ultimate achievement."

-

Lord Fel sat upon a throne made of gold, decorated with dead flower pedals, tangled vines stretching along it's base and putrid spores emanating from mushrooms growing out through cracks in the stone. Before him lay a conquest, a planet to be crafted in his image.

At the center of the city of Vahl, standing adjacent to the throne, was an archway connecting to a seemingly new dimension. On the other side one could see a garden overwhelmed with decay, and out from it came legions of daemons loyally serving Fel. When the time was right and he was called, he would pass through the archway to receive the ultimate gift.

-

Rune Lord, or newly appointed Lord Commander, Wolfstalon stood watch at Fort Tiberon. Behind him lay a significant force of the Imperium, men and women ready to die for a cause. It was up to him to give them that cause, for encroaching forces of Chaos Undivided with rumors of Tyranids threatened them on all sides. Luckily, Fort Tiberon was built to combat such an assault.

Apparently Brother Arkos Leantes, along with a large group of space marines, had been en route to Fort Tiberon. An important package he was to escort was intended to arrive there, and he wasn't about to be late to such an appointment.

-

The three Equatorial Continents had served as landing zones for both Tyranid and Ork forces. As snotlings finish constructing a relatively crude forward position, fellow kin soon begin shaping up and handing off lazily done Imperial salutes to a figure marching before them. The Grand Admarul was a symbol to their kind. A sovereign god, almost, were it not for their devotions to Gork and Mork.

In front of him were armies to be defeated, and he was set on those goals.

-

The Dagger of O'Shi'ur had been primed and ready to go for some time, but issues had been present. Issues no doubt frustrating to the commander and his men.

Number one, they still had a destination to choose. Retreat was not an option, but only two choices presented themselves. A land mass dozens of miles north had dense foliage and heavy amounts of flora, or a desert even further north layered with dunes and canyons. And number two, they still had a force of one hundred pathfinders in the field unaccounted for. The choices had been the Commanders to make, but the consequences for choosing the wrong one could be dire.

-

It is a grim moment in the 42nd Millennium. Five long months of brutal warfare have brought nine unbeknownst individuals spiritually together on a path toward the galaxy's greatest kept secrets. With sightings of surviving Primarchs both heretical and loyal across the planet, coupled with the disappearances of Lord Daul and the prophet Malignus, the construction of altars dedicated to the Ruinous Powers, and a full scale invasion of a Necron dynasty...well, stranger things are yet to come.

O'Shi'ur filtered through the reports coming in over the command channel. The reports were anything but encouraging. The Necrons, who had seemingly arrived from nowhere, were still continuing to approach his headquarters. With all of his forces pulled back, there was not much else he could do. He occasionally sent out harassment squads to try and slow the advance, but they always ended in his own forces retreating before they could suffer serious losses. Running out of spaces to commit to the Tau tactic of Mont'ka (the killing blow), and too close to use Kauyon (patient hunter), O'Shi'ur had decided that retreat and redeployment to a different zone was crucial to the survival of the operation. Recon drones had identified two new possible landing areas; a desert zone with canyons, and a forest zone with dense foliage. But this wasn't O'Shi'ur's only dilemma. About one hundred pathfinders remained unaccounted for in the field. Pathfinders were one of the most crucial units in the Tau army, providing both intelligence and fire support in the form of marker lights. It was a force O'Shi'ur could not afford to lose.

O'Shi'ur's battleship, the dagger of O'Shi'ur, was already primed for redeployment as soon as they were ready. But they couldn't leave without the pathfinders. Such a crucial niche in his forces needed to be extracted as soon as possible. Having come to a decision for how to respond to this crisis, O'Shi'ur reported to the command bridge. As he made a quick dash down the hallways, he ran into his second in command, and leader of his crisis suit squad; Shas'el Ko Suam'anuk. El'Ko noticed him, and gave a quick salute, declaring "Shas'O. Tau'va." O'Shi'ur gave her a nod and kept walking. In any other circumstance, they would have had a far more congenial, as they had served together for many years and were good friends. But in these circumstances, everyone needed to focus on the tasks at hand.

El'Ko followed behind O'Shi'ur, and they both arrived at the command bridge. As they entered, the entire bridge staff stood from their vast array of consoles, and saluted, declaring "Tau'va!" O'Shi'ur motioned for them to return to their duties. Everyone needed to be doing their assigned tasks. O'Shi'ur passed by the host of bridge staff, primarily served by the slender figures of the air caste. Arriving at his command console, O'Shi'ur set up a communication array, and addressed the entire force. "All units. This is Shas'O Vior'la O'Shi'ur. We are re-positioning our headquarters to a more favorable zone. Follow standard headquarters evacuating procedure. Fire warrior and pathfinder guards; return to the ship in waves as called by squad. If attacked, continue to retreat to the ship unless otherwise ordered. All ground vehicles on defensive duty; report back to the ship to your designated hangars when called. Recon drones; re-task to monitoring the Necron advance, and scout out to find our missing pathfinders as assigned. Finding the pathfinders is your priority. Orcas; prepare to take off to retrieve the pathfinders as discovered. Also considered a priority order. Remain alert, and do your duty. Tau'va."

Closing the channel, O'Shi'ur opened a private channel with team Duskfall, his stealth suit team. "Duskfall team. Meet me in the Orca hanger. We are going to moniter the Necron advance up close, and see if we have a better shot at finding the pathfinders." After receiving a response, O'Shi'ur turned to El'Ko, and said "Get Sunfire team ready to go. I want you on an Orca monitoring the situation, and ready to deploy if we need a diversion." El'Ko responded with a quick salute, and bolted down the hallway to find her team. Lastly, O'Shi'ur addressed his bridge staff, and ordered them to plot a course to the forest zone. O'Shi'ur's forces were heavily leaning towards stealth and recon, and it would allow them to continue to keep tabs on the Necrons' activities. With that, O'Shi'ur made his way to the battlesuit hangar.

The many members of the stoic earth caste who maintained the battlesuits immediately saluted O'Shi'ur's arrival with a booming "Tau'va". Looking at where the XV8 suits were kept, O'Shi'ur was pleased to see team Sunfire members Shas'ui Kauyon and Shas'ui Ol'kak, twin brothers, already readying their suits. The two brothers were always eager to serve the greater good through combat. Both were newer members to the team, and were always eager to prove themselves with their "agile" fitted crisis suits. O'Shi'ur made his way to his way to his personal suit, an XV22 command stealth suit. It wasn't as big as the crisis suits, measuring only slightly bigger then standard XV25 stealth suits. However, it packed just as much firepower, and was more maneuverable then a crisis suit, which suited his combat style just fine.

O'Shi'ur stepped into his suit, positioning his body into the setting. He took a deep breath as the suit closed in over him, and his MIU interface connected with the suit. The earth caste members ran standard diagnostics on the connection, and were satisfied that no anomalies were detected. O'Shi'ur always appreciated how the suit meshed with his body, allowing him to feel himself fight, as opposed to the cramped cockpits of crisis suits and riptides. As he headed towards the Orca hangar, O'Shi'ur interfaced with his command drone, setting it to give him a constant stream of information from his forces. This would allow him to continue to give effective orders while in the field.

Waiting for him at the nearby Orca was team Duskfall, who saluted him curtly and promptly boarded. O'Shi'ur followed behind, entering the open space that was the passenger bay. After a prompt from O'Shi'ur, the Orca took off, heading off away from the ship, while he continued to sift through the constant information being fed by drones.

Alisae Sector, Asteroid Belt Agrosh

A hundred thousand vessels hung in the inky black of space, deceptively calm as they faced off with the coming storm. Across the fleet a billion Orks drummed their choppas against the deck, their voices lifted in incoherent song. ''Ere we go, 'ere we go, 'ere we go!' On the greatest mass of asteroid and machine, the space hulk known as Da Big Rok, one Ork stepped ponderously onto a lectern overlooking a hanger packed with his lesser minions. With a gesture the great figure silenced the hall and began to speak. 'My boyz. Today wez standz before da second biggest threat to life in dis galaxy, da Niddy hordes of da 'ive Mind itself.' His voice was broadcast throughout the fleet and every Ork paused in his revelling to pay homage to Da Grand Admarul. 'Deyz iz not weak or flimsy. Deys iz tuff, deys iz choppy, deys iz worthy prey. But, deyz iz not the invincible.' The Ork drew himself up to his full and considerable height, towering metres over every other greenskin. 'Kuz I'z iz da biggest threat ta life in da whole zoggin' universe! And youz iz mah Waaagh!' The air crackled with ominous green lightning as every greenskin in Da Grand Armarder, Ork and Grot alike joined their Warlord in mighty exultation. 'Now boyz, now iz da time! For Gork and Mork, and a zoggin' good fight! Waaagh!'

A million engines lit up like a cluster of young stars against the pitch black backdrop of space and a billion Orks screamed their war cries as they raced toward the encroaching tendrils of the Tyranid Hive Fleet. Thousands of smaller ships shot ahead of the main Ork fleet, ramships little more than a kilometre long blade strapped to a powerful engine and manned super-torpedoes who's only purpose was to go down in a flash of glory. Behind them followed a mulit-layered screen of Kroozers and escorts of various size, their guns swatting smaller Tyranid bioforms down like flies. Finally came the main bulk of Da Grand Armarder; thousands of enormous Roks bristling with kannon, spewing Fighta-Bombas and led by a sharp delta of mightiest of all Ork warships, the hulks. Da Big Rok sailed at the head of the formation, driving deep into the Tyranid lines, spewing death in all directions. Countless Orks lost their lives in what would be remembered as the single largest fleet action of the campaign, but superior manoeuvre and sheer bulldog tenacity ensured that Tyranid casualties were an order of magnitude higher. Still, da Grand Admarul knew full well that while the Hive Mind could sustain such losses, da Waagh! could not. After two solid months of space combat and countless billions of dead bugs, he decided it was time for da Waagh! to come to Vigil.

Vigil, Eastern Equatorial Continent

The first Ork landings were not intentional, as ships, Roks, even entire hulks became infested with Tyranids. The crews generally tried to land their lost vessels near population centres in hopes of spreading the Tyranid plague, but more often than not they came down in sparsely populated areas, areas that soon became battlegrounds between roving Ork and Tyranid forces. Da Grand Admarul had picked his own landing site very carefully, expending wave after wave of Fighta-Bombas to scout the surface for an appropriate location, easily defended yet with ample land for barracks, factories and the unique Orkoid biosphere to grow. Leaving Da Big Rok in the hands of his First Officer, the Warlord headed down on a specially built Rok, smaller than most and packed to the brim with flat-packed base materials. Once he had a chance to survey the area on foot, he would call down other Roks to serve as strongholds, ensuring Ork domination over this land. A pair of Nobz kicked open the Rok door for him, laying down a walkway for their leader to reach the ground. Da Grand Amadrul took his time touring the camp, one gargantuan hand grasping his lapel in a surreal throwback to the Imperium he found so fascinating. Everywhere he went Orks stopped in their work to give him ill-coordinated salutes and call him 'Sur'; it was magnificent, a glimpse of what Orkind would one day become under his leadership. A handful of large Orks followed behind him, each wearing a tattered greatcoat and crush cap. These were his closest advisors, Orks that had been with him since the beginning and powerful Warbosses he had subjugated over the years.

He beckoned one forward. 'Yes, Grand Admarul Fraurn? Wut may Iz do for da Waagh?' Warboss Hrak, known to his enemies as Taubane, was the nearest thing an Ork could be to an administrator. With his unique cranial bioniks and naturally inquisitive mind, Hrak was a savant at running supply lines and military bases and served as Fraurn's chief quartermaster. 'Take a trukk and scout da area. Gimme good sites ta drop Roks and a good open plain ta land a hulk. And if ya run inta any 'Nids, call 'em in... Git goin'.' Hrak gave his best salute and jogged off to find or steal a trukk, his retinue in tow. 'As for da resta you snotz, I want patrolz around da perimetre. No 'Nid gets inside or I'll eat whoeva let it in.' The rest of the Nobz saluted and scattered; many had their own warbands to patrol with, while others would need to bash a few lesser Orks around first. Fraurn knew it would be impossible to secure a large area against a threat like the Tyranids, but with sufficient force consentrayashun he ought to able to keep his own base clear. The great Ork headed back to the relative comfort of the Rok, mentally planning the next stage of his grand Waagh!

The defenders of the Imperium were not prepared when the first dozen warships broke orbit. They had been assured that the combined mights of the Alpha, Beta, and Omega fleets would be enough to beat back any attacker before they ever tasted the thick smog-filled air of the planet's hive clusters. And indeed, as the 19th year of the 42nd Millennium began; when a chaos fleet the likes of which had never been seen descended upon the system; the combined might of the Imperial armada had been enough to stop the heretics in their tracks. With their defensive lines well established, the admirals hoped to hold out and whittle away at the Chaos ships until help arrived or the heretics retreated back into the void.

These hopes were dashed when The Skull Throne arrived: that massive hulk of twisted bone and metal, the hulls of hundreds of ships; man and xenoid alike; fused into a single entity as twisted the minds of those within it. From its first salvo the Imperial line was broken and the cluster of Nurgal ships made landfall amidst troops who were too surprised to properly arm their anti-aircraft cannons. On the bridge of The Skull Throne, the dark, bloodshot eyes of the one called 'The Red Wolf' watched the putrid hulks touch down to the furious roars of his own troops who felt the glory had been theirs to take. "It matters not!" Leonothas Kargan barked as the entire crew fell silent. His rage at Lord Fel's insult boiled beneath the surface but he would not jeopardize this chance with petty action. "They have seized their opportunity and we will seize ours. The God of Blood shall have His offering as we bring glorious battle to these... slaves of the false Emperor!" Rising from his ornate throne, Kargan's hulking form stalked toward the giant flight monitors that showed the serene view of the planet before them. From his waist he drew Khornesgrin, the blood-red teeth of the chain-blade glowing in the faint light, and held it aloft. "We will throw off their shackles, my brothers, and join them together with the one who welcomes all in his red embrace! Sharpen your blades! We bring them freedom! We bring them war!" The cheer was deafening as tens of thousands of voices proclaimed their devotion to the one true Lord of Skulls.

"You will take the Throne and give us an opening." Kargan ordered Admiral Ashran, the Imperial defector who'd brought nearly an entire battlegroup of warships to their cause and who had thus become the Wolf's chief naval officer. "Let them taste blood and fire... When we have our foothold you will provide the support we need." The chaos lord waited for no confirmation as he knew the zealous man would follow his orders to the letter. No objection was made as Kargan stepped aboard the chaos barge for every heretic knew their great and glorious God would guide his chosen to the front lines.

Within an hour several thousand bone covered ships bore down on three of the planets largest hive-cities. Though the planetary defense force had this time been ready with guns trained upward, the sky became dark with the number of hulls that made it through. After a merciless firebombing that left hundreds of thousands dead, they released their payload on the populace and the true nightmare ensued. They spread like a wave, thousands upon thousands of chaos marines, traitor guardsmen, and vicious mercenaries, all with a singular purpose: to spill the blood of the enemy.

At Fort Orion the fighting was fiercest as the men and women of the Imperium put up a valiant defense against the red and brass tide. Well entrenched, the guardsmen had set up three trench-lines complete with hundreds of supporting machine-gun nests and basilisk artillery behind. Against the radical and uncoordinated charges of the berserk hoard they faced, their fields of fire were impenetrable. "Servants of the Imperium!" Sergeant Edheron, commander of the trenches voxed over their secure channels one evening from his command station in the forward line. He spoke with a flourish if his cape, his crooked nose held high as he gestured out over the scared battlefield. "The Holy Emperor watched over us this day! Foul heretics and demon-spawn broke against our will and fled before us! We will drive them back! Back into very warp that spawned them!" A great cheer rose from the ranks, the men's hearts bolstered by their strong position and the looming fortress at their backs. "No servants of Chaos shall touch this Fort Orion's inner wall! Long live the Imperium! Long live the Emper-" The final line of his speech was suddenly cut off as the commander was buried beneath six-hundred pounds of blood matted fur and bone. No move was made by the man's retainers, two Death Koros guardsmen, who were too horrified to react as the great beast closed its foaming jaws around his skull. His shrill scream ended when the head was ripped clean from his shoulders; the only sound for a long moment being the crunch of bone as the wolf-demon consumed its meal. More terrified shrieks sounded out from the immediate area as four more of the creatures crested the trench and began slaughtering the guardsmen without remorse. The Death Korps soldiers recovered quickly, drawing their lazrifles and firing at the closest demon but the beast was too quick, bounding away as their shots pattered agains the trench wall. They moved to pursue but stopped short as a great shadow towered over them. How was this possible? How had they heard no war cries? How had no one sounded the alarm?

One of the retainers promptly wet himself, weapon becoming too heavy for his shaking hands and dropping to the dirt. Chaos Lord Kargan looked down at them with disgust, his eyes shining a deep red in the fading light. "Cowards! Your thin blood is not worthy of Him..." With one sweep of Khornesgrin he cleaved them both at their waists and watched as the pieces of their bodies tumbled away into the trench. Not a single shot was fired in his direction as he planted himself in plain view of the battlements, the soldiers of the remaining two lines looking on in terror as the imposing figure raised his wicked blade to the sky. All at once the air was filled with a great roar of such magnitude that the earth itself seemed to shake. Tens of thousands of heretics poured over the forward line, slaughtering the defenders in an instant and not slowing in the slightest as they swept towards the second. Kargan watched as a thousand were cut down by the opening fire of the Guardsmen but a fanged grin spread across his face as not a single one of his soldiers faltered. Within fifteen minutes they had reached the walls of Fort Orion and within another forty they had breached its 'impenetrable' walls.

Kargan had gained his foothold.

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From Fort Orion, the forces of chaos sent death and destruction in every direction: pillaging all three hive cities between which the fort was situated. Thick billows of smoke and ash choked out the sun from that day onward and the streets were soaked in the blood of men, women, and children. Twice had the forces of the Imperium launched counterattacks with the goal of retaking the fortress but both times they were repelled by their own defenses which were now well utilized by the traitor legions. Soon after, The Skull Throne landed beside the walls and further augmenting the Forts already impressive firepower. Now few could hope to dislodge the unholy army with its bloody claws sunk so deep.

For Kargan, the fort itself was simply a side benefit to the valley the bastion overlooked. Within this space was built a man-made open air cistern of immense proportion where the rain-water and sewage from the three hive clusters was collected. This was the chaos lord's true reason for landing in this particular spot of the planet: where the forces of the false Emperor were so thick. As people died in the tens of millions, their blood inevitably flowed into the basin and stained the waters red.

After the first week, Kargan gave a new order to his troops; one that was so controversial to the teachings of Khorne that it was a marvel anyone complied. But comply they did, for they believed the one who gave the order spoke directly with their dear Blood God and to disobey that word, no matter how outlandish it was to their twisted minds, was certain death. And so it began that the Khornate Berserkers of the World Eaters legion ceased their mindless slaughter and started taking captives: capturing thousands upon thousands of poor souls who were marched in great droves to the center of the valley. On the lip of the great basin their throats were cut and their lifeblood was spilled, their bodies disappearing below the surface, and as the cistern's contents grew a brighter and brighter shade if crimson one would swear that the waters began to swirl, faster and faster with each sacrifice. Night and day cultists stood around the great ring chanting their praises in insane demonic ramblings and before long the contents began to bubble, some force from within causing the very blood to steam and boil. Occasionally, terrifying creatures would emerge from below the surface; red-skinned creatures spouting claws and horns; and would slink away into the ruins of the city.

"Soon, my love..." Kargan muttered from atop the battlements, delicately taking the hand of his wife as the screams of the dieing echoed around him. "Soon we will be together again."

"Hurry, Leonothas..." The woman cooed softly into his ear, her bright red lips brushing his cheek in a manner that caused him to shiver.Her long flowing black hair perfectly framed her beautiful olive-skinned features and the impossibly white gown she wore hugged against her ample curves. She seemed to have no place in that world of death and blood and fire but none of that mattered in the eyes of Chaos Lord for she was what drove him ever onward. Drawing away from him, her elegant hands dwarfed by his own, she gave him the sweetest smile that never touched her dark, void-like eyes. "Our father is waiting."

I am the way to the City of Woe, I am the way to a forsaken people
- Pre-Imperial Fragment, Author Unknown

The Basilica of the Ascension of the God-Emperor of Mankind, Sabatplatz, Tier 1462, Hive City Vahl, Vigil

"Honored guests, be welcome here, may the Lord of All infest you endlessly with his blessings."

The voice was a rich, sonorous baritone that reverberated down the length of the enormous templum, echoing among its soaring vaults. Though it did not seem loud, it drowned out for a moment the endless, garbled hymns of praise and thanksgiving sung by the hundreds of thousands of Faithful assembled in the vast chamber.

Scabiousi had been Lord Auditorix of the Flawless Host for two centuries and was a student of Sound. He relished the rich psychic undertones of the greeting, the intricate interplay of despair, malice and mocking joy that gave it such tremendous manipulative power.

The Noise Marine walked up the central aisle of the basilica, flanked by six of his battle brethren. Lord Daul was missing, his hosts scattered across the warscape of Vigil. In the absence of their commander, opportunism mingled with curiosity had led Scabiousi to seek out Lord Fel, who seemed now ascendant among the many powers fighting for control of the planet, and certainly a more subtle and intriguing figure than Kargan and the idiot rabble that followed in his wake. The followers of the pig-devil Khorne offered no new thrills to connoisseurs of depravity like Scabiousi, but... to experience the necrotic immortality granted by the Plague God...this had for years been his most secret obsession.

In the distance, the Noise Marine's enhanced optics could make out a massive throne of gold that sat in what had been the Templum's apse. Behind it, rising like a dark halo was a gigantic, circular maw of rusted metal in which the wyrding energies of the warp undulated and flashed. Throne and portal were flanked by a choir of ecclesiarchs and clerics, their grand robes soiled, their faces splotched and bulbous with the blessings of their new Lord. They led the assembled congregants much as they had always done, chanting litanies to the Emperor, thanking him for his boundless munificence.

Thurifers in rotting liturgical garb walked the aisles between the pews, swinging censors filled not with insense but with the divine disease of the Lord of All, dispensing blessed poxes amongst the eager, groaning Faithful, who swelled and putrified in an ecstasy of deathless decay. Insects filled the filthy air, including daemonic rot flies- some nearly as big as chimera tanks- that buzzed lazily through the temple's pestiliential murk, descending occasionally to feel on some particularly appetizing worshipper.

"You have done well to come to me," echoed Fel's voice as the Noise Marines approached, "And will be rewarded mightily. Come, approach the Throne and cast your eyes upon Divinity enfleshed."

Lord Fel stood as the Noise Marines drew near. Arms outstretched, hands upturned, he descended the steps from his chair. Taller than an Astartes but thin, he wore stained robes of crimson and purple. Rings and bangles covered his hands and bare arms. His face was hidden by an expressionless mask of gold, adorned with a crown like a sunburst. His eyes were shadows.

Scabiousi found himself awed, speechless, unable to move.

"Everything comes to serve the Lord of All in the end," Fel said, "That which does so willingly is most effulgently rewarded. You come to offer me your violence."

"Yes, Lord," said Scabiousi, kneeling and removing his helm. His battle brothers hesitated- they had not come to offer worship, only service to Fel- but in the end they followed their Audiotrix and knelt.

"Be not afraid," Fel said, sensing their thoughts, "I am not a jealous god. The Lord of All loves his lesser brothers unspeakably, and those who serve them. You forsake nothing of your former pieties by joining me."

Fel produced a bejewled goblet from the folds of his robe. With one ragged fingernail he opened his wrist and held the dribbling wound above the cup. Thick, dark ichor dripped into the chalice, which he offered to Scabiousi.

"Come, recieve my blessing. Drink of my communion."

The Noise Marine put his mandibles to the cup and drank deeply of the foul draught. He could feel the changes immediately- the blessings of his new god mingling and recombining with the gifts of She Who Thirsts in strange and exciting mutations. His mouthparts clicked and chittered in excitement and pain. His battle brothers drank of Fel's chalice as well.

Fel put a slender, too-long hand on the Traitor Marine's shoulder plate.

"Arise, happily befouled... I have need of your talents."