[center][h1][u][b]Slaughter of Sanctii[/b][/u][/h1]
[b]High Hell And Beyond[/b]
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A spearhead of golden jetbikes veered overhead into the center of Sanctii, flying past the burgeoning forces of the Imperial Army besieging the spire. The dropship of the Stygian Talons berated the pillar of Sanctiian society with all manners of devastating munitions, vigorously dodging away from wall-mounted defenses and far-flung missiles from armament racks. Their success in bypassing the ancient defenses of Deep Winter fiercely encouraged the attacking forces, leading to several breakthroughs in different portions of the city. No one knew of the slaughter on both sides within the depths of the Administrator, nor would they until the end of the siege. Regardless, the Eighty-Eighth Cryxian Blades fought valiantly to maintain a steady position against the secondary walls.

Alcoves, junctions, and corridors leading up to the assaulting position of the Eighty-Eighth were cordoned off by heavy weapon emplacements. The three, enormous buildings just shy of the spire walls were half-demolished in the wake of the reinvigorated assault. Great Malcador battle tanks positioned themselves in these ruins, aided by the hulking shadows of Colossus siege tanks and smaller Dracosan armored transports. Rubble, accumulated from the mass shelling from outside of Sanctii, formed several rows of defensive lines that infantry sheltered behind. The harsh crack of lasfire echoed a hundredfold every passing second, reinforced only by the blossoming bang of bombardment cannons. The deep thumping of heavy autocannons from ruins-turned-foxholes pocketed the Sanctiian wall, while the electrifying charge of plasma cannons unleashed azure death on wall-bound sentinels. The activities of the Excertus Imperialis were many, ranging from hundreds of support personnel on skittering buggies to groups of signal officers calling in precise artillery strikes. The chaos of it all was everconsuming and Sanctii burned for every second it was besieged.

Primarch Aeternus ventured through the closest checkpoint with the God-Slayers and Thirty-One-Third in tow. Their presence easily bypassed the heavy emplacements, recognizing the genetic might and scale of the Thunder Warriors. The familiar sound of an arcing plasma ball caught his attention, noting the following aftermath of an azure plume from the Sanctiian wall. Despite the ferocity of the nearby combat, the immediate area was the closest one could find to an operations forward outpost so close to the enemy stronghold. Great auspex cogitators, vox relays, and hefty crates of ammunition combined with medical kits were spread across a wide area around a group of fifty-odd individuals. Amid their number, five stood out as God-Slayers with long-ranged weapons and large combat knives. As the Primarch closed the distance, he realized that the group surrounded a hololithic table supplied by four aides.

“... The third and fourth segment are showing continued resistance to bombardment cannons and artillery shells. Lascannons are proving efficient yet futile against the corner-bastions. The Sigilite’s aides believe that smaller, positional barriers are being rapidly deployed in an effort to slow the assault. As previously stated, the spire’s main gate is impervious to the Tyrannis super-heavy tanks. The next actions we can take are all equally suicidal, but we’ve got a solid chance at- [b]Primarch Aeternus![/b]” One of the officers, a young man with an augmented eye and baremetal cranial augmentation, had been speaking before noticing Aeternus’ arrival. His announcement drew the attention of the group away from the display towards the arriving group with a mixture of emotions. The Thunder Warriors in the crowd, notably Captain Tiberius and the Seekers, pressed their fists against the Raptor on their chest in salute. 

“[i]Be at ease[/i]. There is no need for formalities. Simplify and repeat your report.” Aeternus loudly stated as the officers of the Eighty-Eighth attempted to bow, salute, and profess in their own way. Captain Tiberius momentarily drew his attention, aware that the Third Cadre Captain had been dealing with separate matters during the assault. Out of the gaggle of weary and ragged officers, a particularly large man with an ornate trenchcoat and smaller variant of powered armor emerged. His bald head was briefly covered by a unique style of helmet similar to a barbut with a metallic plume. Dark skin kissed the bitter, frozen air of Ursh, while a pair of earthen-brown eyes stared daggers into the God-Slayer. A one-handed power hammer swung from his left hip, while a dangerously sparking plasma pistol hung from his right. An undaunted, stalwart aura radiated from the man like a refractor field of righteousness.

“[i]Primarch Aeternus[/i]. I expected you would’ve joined us sooner.” The man, General Astaroth, stated with a voice as deep as the now-nonexistent oceans. Without inquiring on the reason for the Primarch’s tardiness, the mortal commander knew exactly why the God-Slayer had ran late of the scheduled assault. The piercing eyes of the Cryxian general bore into the members of the Damned. His lip nearly parted in a disgusted near before he righted himself. “[i]Ah[/i]. Colonel Stavin. I see that you still live.”

Stavin looked up from his auspex, a device he had been positively glued to since he, his men, and the God-slayers had arrived. An idea had formed in his head, and he'd been messing with the settings on his personal ‘spex since, a fixation that had utterly failed to prepare him for a face to face meeting with one of the most important Army officers of the Crusade. Severina elbowed him, and Stavin saluted.

“General Astaroth.” Stavin said, “Yes sir, I still live, despite their efforts.”

The two officers were a study in contrasts. Astaroth was straight backed, noble, and imposing in his powered plate; Stavin was grubby, covered in soot and blood and grime, his only protection a flak armor vest that was worn at its diamond patterned edges. No doubt, it was not an impressive countenance. Stavin briefly wondered if the General wished for a debrief, or some other military formality, or if his reappearance was so offensive that it was enough to halt the meeting in progress. 

“Primarch Aeternus found us after we managed to reach the surface.” Stavin continued, “We've got valuable intel concerning the nature of the intelligence at the heart of the city, so the good Primarch has requested-”

A white lie, as it was the opposite, but Stavin continued.

“-we accompany him on his mission. We're decapitating Sanctii's brass, isn't that right sir?”

“Colonel Stavin speaks the truth. The time has come to enact the final part of the siege. No doubt Captain Tiberius has mentioned our priority targets. What he hasn’t relayed is that the Penal Legion will be directly under my command until the mission’s success. The Heroes of Sanctii deserve that much.” Primarch Aeternus responded with a clear tone, adding emphasis to the validity of Stavin’s comment. For a second, it appeared as if General Astaroth had been shaken by the prodigious assignment. The stoic attitude returned as quickly as it had disappeared, Astaroth responding with a simple nod to the comment. His eyes dared to linger on Stavin, a mixture of disdain and envy momentarily crossing his facial features.

“So shall it be, Primarch. No doubt you understand the gravity of your new assignment, Colonel Stavin, you will likely come back with even less men than expected.” His voice was loud enough for the Penal Legion to hear, barely a decibel higher than the nonstop crack of lasguns and mortars. Without another word, General Astaroth turned away from the entourage to evaluate the entirety of the siege. An armored hand waved to the officer that had been previously speaking, who glanced between the Primarch and the General with no shortage of anxiety. One of his nervous hands reacquired the dataslate, scrolling through the contents to find the last point discussed. The two groups began to fuse together with Aeternus, Astaroth, and Stavin at the forefront of the officers.

“... As I was previously stating. We’re locked in a stalemate at the spire walls currently with the Sanctiian militants on the defensive. We’ve managed to whittle down their numbers, but their equipment is pulling through over our current arsenal. Several breaks have found purchase in the walls, yet each breach was quickly patched after their first defeat at the entrance of the hive. We will eventually encircle the spire with the entirety of our Master’s forces, but current data estimates that it’ll take skyward of several weeks before a breach appears.” He casted a nervous glance to General Astaroth, who simply shook his head in rejection of prolonged siege warfare. The officer mustered his courage by clearing his throat, adjusting his collar, and blinking a few times over. “As it was previously stated in the original planning, the Stygian Talon has engaged with the spire proper. We do not have the luxury of a lengthy siege. That has limited our next approach to a few suicidal attempts. Firstly, a mass infantry assault on the wall with mines, grenades, and climbing gear. Secondly, a mass armoured spearhead through the walls, sacrificing all of our vehicles for a single breach. Lastly, a full withdraw and delivering inaccurate, nuclear payloads on the seven bastions surrounding the spire.”

The loftier officers began to murmur amongst themselves, whispering about different tactics that could potentially offer a breach without mass casualties. The God-Slayers crossed their arms, turning their attention to the Primarch as the one true commander of the siege. Astaroth pensively held a hand to his cleanly shaven chin. The officer that had been speaking nestled the dataslate into his chest, awaiting the final word on any of the suggested operations. His demeanor clearly painted an image of a man who didn’t want to sacrifice all the people he called comrades. A pair of young, blue eyes nervously rested on Aeternus and Stavin; however, it was Captain Tiberius that broke the silence.

“The citadel itself has shown signs of exit and entry since the beginning of the siege. Although I haven’t managed to catch their Interior Security in the act, I believe there is a point-of-entry hidden from plain view. It’s possible we could rile them with alternative tactics to draw their ire, but it may embolden their defenses.” The somber voice of the Third Cadre Captain announced, pressing a rune on the hololithic table to focus on the spire-side citadel. A vague imprint of the towering structure materialized before their eyes, pointing out several points of deduced entry. At the mention of alternative tactics, Aeternus furrowed his brow in stern disappointment. A smoldering fury quietly built up around the Primarch of the God-Slayers as his fellow genewarrior spoke. Noticing the distasteful look from Rex and the inquisitive stares from the officers, Tiberius pressed on. The hints of a small, dry smile could be heard in his tone. “As my Primarch would rather me state plainly for alternative tactics, I meant that we could openly butcher their people for them to watch.”

A plethora of emotions spiraled through the group of Excertus Imperialis officers. Some covered their mouths in distaste, while others pensively nodded their heads in grim acceptance. General Astaroth, in particular, seemed inclined towards the idea with a respective nod towards the Third Cadre Captain. Aeternus flexed his hands in silent inferno of rage. He was aware that the suggestion was valid, yet Rex knew that it was offered up as a challenge to the Primarch. Caligula shook his head in disdain at the mention of such primitive methods. Curiously, perhaps sadistically, Captain Tiberius turned to Colonel Stavin.

“You are living proof of a nigh-insane operation. What would the Commander of the Damned suggest, I wonder?” The question was spoken exactly as it was intended. For one reason or another, the Colonel had been targeted. Perhaps it was a sick game for the God-Slayer’s black sheep, or was it a genuine request for the survivors to speak their mind. Intentionally or not, the officers turned to the Thirty-One-Third.

Stavin was continuing to mess with his auspex, initially unaware of the attention on him, until, again, Severina elbowed him. He held a hand back to her, as if signaling her to hold on, and she hissed at him, something very foul and very violent. Stavin didn’t react though, as whatever he had been fiddling with seemed to fall into place. He looked around at the surrounding officers, his triumphant expression turning briefly to confusion, then to a suitably serious military bearing. 

“So, the [i]key[/i] to understanding Sanctii, gentlemen…” Stavin began, wondering how he could put his inspiration into words, “...is understanding what lies at the heart of it. The lord of Sanctii is no man, or even group of men. It is an artificial intelligence, a thinking engine - that propagates itself wirelessly over the entire city, above it, and below it.”

He held his auspex up, the detection screen facing the assembly. He had it in map mode, and overlaid on it were masses of conglomerated auspex contacts. 

“When I was under the city, at the flue station that caused our first breach, we discovered this feature of Deep Winter.” He cleared his throat. “Almost everything in this city is wirelessly connected to the central Winter core, and thanks to a comms operator - Trooper Grebbin, now deceased - we isolated the base frequency this control is exerted with. We used it to jury-rig a localized signal jammer, but with that freq, I’ve recently been able to devise a few new functions.”

“One of which is that we can track their troop movements.” Stavin said, his turn to look smug. “The Sanctii defense forces enjoy unrivaled coordination, but we can use that against them. Most soldiers carry some form of implant that allows Winter to monitor them. It’s that same implant data I am tracking now, in real time, on my ‘spex. It’s also what I theorize gives them access to various parts of the city. What I am proposing, gentlemen and ladies…”

Stavin walked over to Aeternus, smiling up at the demigod. “Me and the Primarch’s kill-mission can now serve a dual purpose. We’re targeting Sanctii’s top brass. One of those guys has to have clearance into the city’s inner sanctum. We get the right guy, it’s as simple as using his access to march our army in. No tanks, no artillery…”

Stavin grinned back at them. “...and certainly no atomics. We will impale the enemy upon their own technological hubris.”

The Primarch raised a surprised eyebrow beneath his knightly helmet as a grin began to grow on his scarred lips. Once again, Colonel Stavin had managed to take him by surprise. He had wondered why the mortal commander was so affixed to the auspex since they reunited with the wider Imperial forces. It all made sense. Aeternus looked down to the Hero of Sanctii and gave him a respectful nod. Using the momentum gained from Stavin’s revelation, Rex pressed forward to steal the proverbial podium.

“Colonel Stavin has devised the penultimate plan to deal with the Sanctiians. From this moment forward, we will be enacting this as part of our siege. The Administrator will be taken by surprise between Tiberius’ watch and Stavin’s revelation. Every ounce of firepower will be needed to divert Deep Winter’s attention away from the citadel’s hidden corridors. For that, I entrust General Astaroth with venting the Emperor’s fury upon the spire-walls.” If Astaroth’s voice was the boom of thunder, then Aeternus’ was the crack of lightning in this moment. Every word was a command, an order, and a statement with the authority of their Himalazian Master. He watched officers straighten reflexively and their eyes brighten with a mixture of peaked emotions in response to his words. The General of the Eighty-Eighth gave a firm, unpleasant nod before moving away from the hololithic table with new orders. Tiberius turned his attention away from Stavin to Aeternus and began to speak.

“A solid plan. I will maintain vigilance over the citadel until the moment we are ready to begin; however, how will we obtain authentication against Deep Winter?” Captain Tiberius inquired as his Seekers began to walk away to enact freshly relayed orders. A second of silence responded to the Third Cadre Captain as Aeternus seemed to glow with an unusually enthusiastic aura. He was certain that the Primarch had grown a toothy grin beneath the black helmet.

“There is only one group I can entrust such a duty to.” Aeternus stated with a warm voice, gesturing to a nearby menial and pressing a rune on the hololithic table at the same time. One of the menials, a youthful man in snow-covered fatigues, dropped to his knee as the Primarch beckoned for him. The icon of Malcador’s Sigilites blinked into life above the table. Rex turned towards Colonel Stavin as the symbol flickered in holographic form. “The stalwart stewards of the Sigilite will grant us the authority over Sanctii. Bring your auspex here, Stavin, and become the harbinger of Sanctii’s demise.”

The menial that had been called forth from Aeternus began to work at a rapid pace, connecting together a mess of vox relays with chugging cogitators that threatened to burst into electrical fires. Thick, black cables connected to the hololithic table from the ramshackle vox-network crudely assembled in short time. The electronics momentarily shuddered as different networks communicated between each other before stabilizing out. He stepped forward, offering a set of cables for Colonel Stavin as the icon of the Sigilite’s twinkled before them.

“[i]Varlet, you continue to impress[/i].”

The voice of the Scribe-Intendant filled the briefing area before her face replaced the sigil of her, and Malcador’s, order in the hololith. She stared directly at Stavin, the sound of her stylus tapping against parchment transmitting clearly. “If the God-Slayers have found a use for you, I shall not deny them. This shall be noted,” she said, before scrawling something unseen.

Deep behind the lines, in the security of the semi-permanent Imperial command center, the words she wrote had almost nothing to say about Stavin. Instead they were an altogether more important data point, a tally in the whispered debate about what was to be done with the Thunder Warriors.

There was only a brief delay as the Scribe-Intendant was brought up to speed, the woman pursing her lips in silence as her eyes bored holes into the Colonel’s skull. “You are a [i]clever[/i] man,” she said, voice entirely flat. “Proceed. Initiate data transfer, the data-smiths will prepare you as best they may. Take caution, Aeternus. This shall not last forever, do not forget your foe is canny.”

Stavin offered the auspex to the menial, who plugged it into the field expedient cogitator network. The amount of data that was being transferred must’ve been immense, as Stavin could hear the clunking and whirring of hard disks and gears and relays as the code was written to the auspex. Stavin wondered if his battered, Urshic copy of a Merican pattern ‘spex could even handle such a onload, but the little device survived. 

On its small screen, the city emblem of Sanctii blazed in digital green glow. 

“I admit, I thought we were gonna have to snatch an officer and figure out a way to copy it, but…” Stavin smiled up from his auspex. “I guess we got friends in high places.” 

“I’ll double check and make sure my men are loaded up properly.” Stavin continued, “But I don’t see much reason to not get started immediately. We got a city to crack.”
[hr]
A lull in the assault of the spire-walls momentarily silenced the battlefield. A nauseating quiet blanketed the areas around the last defenses of Sanctii as the Imperials pulled themselves back from advanced firing positions. Fat-bellied battle tanks wheeled away from the alabaster inner walls with their cannons facing forward. Colossus siege tanks inched backwards, retreating to the main walls with their shells muzzled. The bark and call of officers calling for a retreat saw a mass of infantry move from their foxholes into the ruins of nearby buildings. Towering, yellow-armored genewarriors vanished from the battlelines as if their presence had never been. Warmachines on metallic wings pulled away from the spire area, arcing over other areas of Sanctii that continued to fight. Whispering voices filled the repressed tones of the stifling war as the spire-wall was freed from Imperial control.

The Sanctiians allowed themselves a breath as more reinforcements began to slowly fill the gaps that dead or dying warriors left. Pocket marks on the alabaster walls revealed the wrecked remains of their advanced turrets and crushed drones. Devoid of portable turrets, the genewarriors of Deep Winter readied themselves on the spire-wall with plasma carbines, adrastite stubbers, and supernova lascannons. They knew the Imperials would return with another assault of the wall, either with fresh reinforcements or some new hell-machine to assist them. Morale was beginning to tank as every inch of Sanctii was scoured by the abominable plague of unwashed barbarians. The Administrator, however, pushed them forward in the name of preservation. They knew, without a doubt, that the future of mankind was riding on their shoulders in this battle. Valor filled each of their chests with every steady breath as they awaited the next fight.

Luckily, they wouldn’t have to wait for long. A vox blare boomed from every corner of the Imperial-controlled zones of Sanctii. Those awful noises were the heralds of war. Chaos exploded all across the spire-walls as the vox died down to a low decibel. Artillery shells, flung from Colossus siege tanks, rocked the alabaster walls protecting the Administrator. Explosive plumes harmlessly wrapped around the ethereal void shields portably placed in specific sections of the wall. Anti-armor rounds, fired forth from the maw of battle tanks, erupted against the alabaster bulwark with the ferocity of an untamed carnosaur. Lasfire barked to life as a vicious horde of mongrels across the entirety of the southern wall. Beams of brilliant red filled the air with ozone-depleting lasers in vast volleys. The rhythmic thump of a heavy autocannon resounded in the shelter of multi-storied ruins. Globs of sizzling blue plasma flew through the air, splattering against the prismatic aegis. Reality-defying rays of black-crimson snapped in lethal bursts from the few and rare disintegration weapons. None managed to pierce the sturdy barriers of the Administrator’s dominating technology. 

Untapped adrenaline coursed through the veins of the defenders as the Imperials unveiled their counterattack. Sentinels fought in eerie silence as hostiles revealed themselves across their helmet displays. When a target was identified, tracked, and guided by the grace of the Administrator, the defenders unleashed a torrent from hell upon the attackers. Adrastite stubbers vomited rays of blinding white-black that cut men straight from existence. Plasma carbines vented death in waves of automatic fire, spewing a near-stream of plasmic flame against the fleshtide. Supernova lascannons unleashed all four of their maws in a brilliant dance of blue-white lasers that pierced the hardiest of Imperial hulls. Erasure grenades were tossed from the top of the walls, erupting into spheres of non-existence that claimed a myriad of souls in seconds. Supporting drones ferried batteries, automatic dispensers, and fusion cores to the warriors that needed it most. Their position was supreme, superior, and defiant against the forces of the Emperor. Yet, even mongrels had the chance to bite back.

The sky around Sanctii momentarily lit up with an eye-wateringly orange light. A beam of volcanic death pierced the upper portions of the outer-walls, melting man and metal alike in its deathly trail. Imperials rushed away in a tide of urgency as the molten ray splashed against the spire-walls in a continuous stream of malevolence. Genewarriors in alabaster plate instinctively shielded themselves from the blinding ray and nature-defying harm. The trail of ferocious gold began to die down after fifteen seconds of active punishment. As the light disappeared, the natural sky of northern Ursh peaked through the gathering clouds once more. In the distance, a lumbering tank twice the size of a Sanctiian structure smoldered in fuming agony. To the surprise of the Sentinels, their wall remained steady and stalwart against the best the Imperials could offer. One of their number, a younger warrior, cried out in triumph as they unleashed their stubber into the fleeing Imperials. Invigorated by the failed attempt, the Sanctiians cheered along with their younger soldier and followed after their example. Death returned to the fields of battle as the assault began anew once more.

Primarch Aeternus watched from far beneath the alabaster spire-bulwark as the sentinels began to murder the Eighty-Eighth again. Plasmic bullets, adrathic rays, and scorching lasfire erupted overhead as the fight continued. He turned to his left, observing the crouched forms of the Thirty-One-Third with Colonel Stavin at their head. To his right, Captain Caligula attempted to lower his hulking form with the burgeoning forms of his Destroyers. Ahead of them, Captain Tiberius pressed against the lower section of the citadel proper with his Seekers watching behind him. None remained behind him besides a trail of dead warriors from the Excertus Imperialis. Valiant souls that had made this stretch of their infiltration possible through acts of heroism. 

Suddenly, Captain Tiberius gestured for the rest of their retinue to continue forward to his position. One of his yellow-armored gauntlets was pressed harshly against the pristine surface of the spire-wall’s citadel. The Seekers around him dropped to their knees, lifting their scoped bolters in preparation for an ambush. Aeternus notably turned his black helmet to Colonel Stavin and nodded with imperious purpose. Noticing the actions of their Primarch, Captain Caligula turned around and readied his weapon with the rest of the God-Slayers. From their actions alone, the Thunder Warrriors made it apparent that they would bring up the rear.

“Is this smart, sir?” Whitaker said, as Stavin took his auspex, now the most precious weapon this entire retinue possessed, out of his musette bag. 

“Is what smart, sergeant?” Stavin said, “Or should I say, Lieutenant?”

“[i]Hmmph.[/i]” The promotion didn’t seem to faze Whitaker. “Make me the [b]bloody warmaster[/b], don’t matter to me. I’m talkin’ about goin’ in first, ahead of the God-Slayers. Is that smart?”

Stavin extended the antenna on his ‘spex, checking his wireless connectivity. “Modern war is about firepower, Whitaker. Who can put out more hurt, more quickly. How tall is Aeternus, you reckon?”

Whitaker shrugged. “Eight, nine feet? Hard to tell. Ten?”

“But big, right?” Stavin asked, “He’s not small?”

“No. I don’t see what this has to do with nothin’. Their battle-plate can take a hell of a lot more punishment than us.” Whitaker said, refusing to budge. 

“Armor’s not gonna matter with what the inner circle can throw at us, and you know it.” Stavin said, “My point is, Aeternus’s crew can shoot over us. We can’t. If we’re gonna get anywhere in Sanctii’s inner ring, we’re gonna need as many guns shooting as we can.”

Whitaker thought about that, then nodded. “Right. Makes sense.”

“Trooper Raum alright?” Stavin asked.

Whitaker nodded. “He’s been shipped back to a field hospital. Apparently we rate that now.”

“Must be the same friends who gave us this cipher.” Stavin mused. “His arc rifle?”

“Gave it to Maulins in second section.” Whitaker said, “The dyke-y lookin’ one, right?”

“Yea, I know her.” Stavin said, “She’s a good shot.”

“Not like you need to be with that tech.” Whitaker said, “But yea.”

Stavin looked at the screen of his ‘spex. “We’ve got connection. We’re looking for an access duct…”

Nearby, on a nondescript section of wall, a gust of air kicked out from an invisible seam. It blew up brick dust from the rubble in the street. Two sections, machined so perfectly that their separate panels were only apparent when they were separating, parted. It was a surprisingly wide tunnel, clearly meant for trucks, or other similarly sized transports to bring supplies and materials to the inner ring. 

Stavin threw hand signals to Aeternus, on his right. 

‘We’ll advance inside, bring your men in behind us.’ Stavin signaled to the God-Slayers, then signaled to his own men. Forty nine souls got up, creeping from cover to cover, the first imperial troops to breach the inner sanctum of the enemy. 

Captain Tiberius observed the precise movements of the Thirty-One-Third as they spread out into the citadel’s undergrowth. He followed shortly after with the scoped bolter raised and ready. The Seekers of the God-Slayers echoed the same motions as their commander. Their augmented eyes adjusted to the darkness of the long corridor as swiftly as their helmets. Where the Penal Legion were quick to find cover, weaving into the tunnel with careful strides, each genewarrior unceremoniously stalked forward with their power armor loudly roaring. The God-Slayers suddenly halted several meters into the underpass, wordlessly awaiting the Primarch and the rest of their brethren.

Primarch Aeternus saw Tiberius’ and Stavin’s group disappear into the darkness of the citadel. Carefully, he began to inch towards the safety of the tunnel as death-dealing weaponry scorched the area above his helmet. One quick look at the parapets confirmed their attention was fully settled on the Eighty-Eighth. Confidant in the execution of their plan, Rex closed the distance into the underpass with Captain Caligula following shortly behind. As Aeternus entered, he reached back to pull Apocrypha free of its magnetic shielding and lowered it into a defensive stance. The crimson lenses of his knightly helmet illuminated the darkness, outlining the sheer amount of nothing inside. The God-Slayer behind him readied their weapons, some turning around to face the portal out into the Urshic snow in preparation. None dared to speak when the final acts of the siege rested on their pauldrons.

The portal doors, as quietly as they had opened, closed seamlessly as the God Slayers in the rear kept their weapons trained on the fading light of the hellscape on the other side.
[hr]
Deep within her cocoon of coolant and nano-machines, Deep Winter watched the defense of her city, and her dream unravel before her. The Imperials, damned as they were, threw themselves heedlessly at her forces. Her defenses kept them at bay, reaping heavy tolls on all that attempted to breach her inner wall. Sentry turrets and magma cannons swept the killing grounds where they still stood defiant, and her mortal companions slaughtered where her mechanical defenses had long since been silenced.

She could tally the dead with every passing moment. The unfeeling mathematics of her programming telling her that there was still a chance to save her dream. To save this dying world. To save her doomed people. To save herself.

An alert notified her that a tertiary access point had been accessed at 02:26:37 by the Assistant Deputy Director for Internal Security, Bohdan Pavlo. She silenced the command, her subroutines continuing to scour her data streams and issue commands as she gave the bulk of herself to the ever changing defense of her city. 

A new subalert interrupted her strategizing, Assistant Deputy Director for Internal Security Bohdan Pavlo had just entered the Central Strategium at 02:27:12. A subroutine flagged the event and Deep Winter scrutinized the entrance log. One minute and fifteen seconds had passed between his entries. He had traveled a combined total of 1627 meters when accounting for a vertical gain of 427 meters. The trip was mathematically impossible in that time frame. Winter knew without a doubt that she had been breached. The Imperials were inside, and they’d faked a transponder code to do it. She flagged the Assistant Deputy Director’s transponder code, locking it from all access, and gave the Imperials her answer for their deceit.
[hr]
As the Imperials inched forward down the access tunnel, a strange hum began to fill their ears. A number of the Damned stopped in their tracks, their heads turning cautiously to follow the sound before their eyes fell on the pristine surface of the tunnel walls.

A genewarrior in the rear, among the closest to the closed entrance, figured it out before the mortals.

He sounded the alarm with a bellow that carried his genewrought voice down to the most forward of the 31-3 with ease, “[b]RUN,[/b]” it was the last thing the Thunder Warrior ever said.

Deep Winter watched from the hundreds of hidden viewpoints in the tunnel as the capacitors hidden behind the walls reached full charge with audible clicks.

All along the column of Imperials, tiny pinpoint pricks of molten stone became apparent running the length of the tunnel walls. Grids of miniaturized las flashing from their hidden mechanisms and punching clean through plascrete, power armor, flak jacket, and flesh alike. 

A dozen Thunder Warriors fell as Deep Winter focused the majority of the power she had allotted on the gene warriors of the Emperor. Their deaths were silent and unceremonious as they simply toppled where they stood, punched clean through in hundreds of places along their bodies by the laser traps. Weapons clattered to the floor, followed by the thuds of thousand pound warriors and the thunder of power armored footsteps as the God Slayers reacted.

The toll reaped was far less heavy on the 31-3, only those few unlucky of the Damned close enough to the Thunder Warriors suffering any losses. The rest of the mortals forward of the column were left unharassed by the malevolent gaze of the AI, the cold mathematics of killing deeming them unworthy of the energy expenditure. The humming began anew.

“[b]Tiberius![/b]” Aeternus called out with a lion’s roar of urgency. Every second counted as the next wave of miniaturized las would be upon them. He activated a rune on Apocrypha, charging the plasma on the greatsword for an overarching slice. The Primarch halted in the middle of the tunnel as God-Slayers rushed past him with suicidal determination. No longer would they cautiously stalk through Sanctii’s bowels.

Captain Tiberius wordlessly acknowledged the shout, rushing forward with preternatural speed to pick up the most important personnel of the Thirty-One-Third. Colonel Stavin was personally grabbed by him and forced to endure a sprint at an eyewatering speed. The Third Cadre Seekers echoed his movements, scooping up other high ranking members of the Damned such as Whitaker and Severina. Each of their weapons was holstered to emphasize their speed, easily passing ducking and weaving through the tunnel without further obstruction. Those that remained behind the Cadre, however, were in far more dire straits.

“[i]In His name, duck your heads![/i]” The Primarch called out once more as the last God-Slayer pushed burst past him in a headlong sprint of genewrought might. Keen to the voice of their commander, the Thunder Warriors half-bowed their bodies in a running crouch as Aeternus lashed out with hatred. A wave of plasmic fury erupted in the form of a whirlwind assault, backed by ancient technology and genetic strength. The interior of the tunnel shook with Rex’s fury as panels, servos, and more were shredded by Apocrypha. Akkad’s Blade of Destiny screamed in agony as the microcapacitors vented heat with such intensity that Aeternus’ gauntlets began to bubble with heat. The final crescendo of chaos was a ripple of plasma jettisoning from the greatsword, superheating and warping the path forward.

The men, women, and genewarriors that had adhered to his warning felt a supernova of heat pass over their bodies. Hair, armor, and equipment were singed with the heat of Apocrypha flying over them. Panels in the path of destruction were broken, mechanisms were pierced by overcharged plasma, and optics began to crack from thermal oversaturation. As the plasmic wave began to sizzle out further down the tunnel, it exploded into an azure corona that threatened to stun the sprinting Imperials. Luckily, the God-Slayers pressed on with the driving determination that had given them their namesake. Some carried lower priority members of the Thirty-One-Third to shelter them, while others braved the explosion to fight whatever awaited them. Those that hadn’t listened to his warnings, remained behind as burnt corpses or brutalized carcasses.

“[b]Caligula![/b]” Primarch Aeternus roared out as he dashed further into the tunnel in a unique sprint. The First Cadre captain had seen the maneuver only once before yet it unnerved him still. Their commander launched forward in a bestial lunge with Apocrypha nestled against his right pauldron like an animal. His left gauntlet was used for maneuvering while his legs were used for pouncing. As the Primarch passed him, Caligula turned to level his bolter at a disintegrator cannon of a fallen Destroyer. The rites of the fallen were whispered in his mind as a bolt was launched from the mouth of the weapon. He sprinted after Rex as the tunnel began to warp behind him.

Caestus’ post-reactive shell contacted the Destroyer’s disintegrator cannon, exploding into a torrent of supermassive energy. Those dozen warriors, many of them being Destroyers, that had been killed were immediately engulfed by expanding death. Further weapons of destruction were added to the pile of mayhem. Laser destroyers, plasma cannons, autocannons, and more expelled lethal malevolence into the detonation. The reinforced citadel of Sanctii’s spire-wall began to shudder with catastrophic force. A plume of uncontained ruination chased after the Imperials as it ravaged wall and corpse alike.

Stavin’s lungs burned as Tiberius frog-marched him through the tunnel of death - the second time in a single day - had it been only one day? His thoughts were confused, bunched up things, coming in one after the other, unorganized and diffuse. Lack of oxygen would do that. 

Oxygen at this point was becoming a rare luxury. The tunnel stank of fyceline and plasma ionization. His men were slower and less well armored than the Thunder Warriors. Many simply didn’t have the initiative to duck or the speed to sprint out of the way of a murderous trap like that, but again, fortune seemed to spare most of them. Going in first had saved a majority of the Damned, who had simply had less space to cover to get to relative safety.

He checked his auspex as he and Tiberius came to a more reasonable pace, his body aching and lungs burning. Ten more souls. Twenty percent of his dwindling force had been murdered, again, by Winter’s wrath. Becoming an Imperial soldier was a slow, gradual process for Stavin, but in his later years, when he could afford to reminisce about these early, formative days, this was the moment he often came back to. 

It was now that he began to hate. And hatred, as he would come to find, was an essential characteristic of being an Imperial soldier. He hated Deep Winter in that moment. He respected her, but he hated her. 
[hr]
She watched the cruel mathematics of her trap go to work from dozens of eyes. The las-traps cut down the Imperiums genetic prowess with ease. She began the second set of  batteries charged as quickly as the first and finished, and with surety beyond reason, knew that she could take more of the brutes before they posed a true threat to her city..

A subroutine alerted her to the trouble beyond her crypt, a final data burst from her guardians depicting the situation as dire. She turned her attention to her own safety, a box transmission from the Imperials went out on their encrypted channels, and was easily decrypted by the machine sentience.

[i]“Amalasuntha of the Stygian Talons transmitting, we are making entry to the final vault, Emperor Protect.”[/i]

She set a control line and released the command center guardians from their stasis pods, and turned her full attention to the Custodians knocking on her door.
[hr]
Commander Yaroslav crouched with his head down in the lee of the fifth atrium of the command center, a medic stood over him with a bioreader and surgical gun. 

“Get it over with Checkov, [i]she’s[/i] going to catch on if you keep stalling.”

The medic gave a slight chuckle, a shaky hand stilling as he brought the surgical gun down against the base of his Commander’s neck.

“Whatever you say boss,” the medic shrugged, “little pinch.”

Yaroslav suppressed a scream, allowing himself only a small grunt as the wonder of technology that was the surgical gun excised the microchip from his neck. Hot fire shot down his spine, and he felt the warmth of blood running down his back as Checkov stepped away.

“You’re cured,” he joked as the microchip dropped to the ground with a wet slap, “you are the only one with that right?”

“The only one left still breathing, yes. Yours don’t connect to Winter, just to mine, they’re purposefully gapped, saves her processing power or so I’ve heard,” he chuckled as he stood, rubbing his neck with a smirk.

He raised a hand to the remains of his brigade, some two hundred men crouched in the darkness, and signaled for them to begin their movement.
[hr]
Yaroslav cursed as he let loose a volley from his adrasite rifle, a burst of fire that erased the creature that had been sprinting down the hall on all fours at him and his command section from existence with only an afterimage left in his retina. 

He motioned for the command section to keep moving as he trained an eye on his helmet mounted auspex toward the enemy markers moving through the inner wall. They hurried down the passageway toward the sound of fire from adrasite rifles and coil guns.

The command section burst into a fourway promenade in the tunnel section, and an all out fight for survival between the remains of his 51st and the vile creatures that bitch had siced on them.

As they sprinted across the promenade, a trooper went down to his left. The blur of a beast flailing on top of him the only thing he could make out before they exited the promenade into the next tunnel.
[hr]
“Contact!” one of the lead troopers of the 31-3 called out as a number of Sanctiian troopers in carapace  poured into the tunnel exit ahead of them, they sighted in, about to let loose with their carbine before a cooler head waved them off.

“Hold! Hold!” a newly promoted NCO urged the vanguard as they watched the Sanctiians spill into the passage.

The carapace troopers were firing rapidly back down the tunnel, their armor was rent and torn in places, as though someone had taken a can opener to them, and several were missing helmets and large pieces of their white armor. 

A commander, by the stripes on his armor, pulled a pistol and the sun grew in the tunnel for a split second.
[hr]
Yaroslav lowered his perdition pistol, the four armed beast with a mouth full of knives falling limply before his firing line with a molten hole through its chest. 

He placed a hand on the shoulder of his closest trooper and yelled over the gunfire, “Stay alive!” he ordered before turning down the tunnel.

Sprinting  with his arms raised in surrender toward the Imperials, he prayed that this unit too would take prisoners.

And he, unfortunately, was sighted by no less than Captain Tiberius of the God-Slayers and the Seekers. Colonel Stavin struggled under one of his yellow-armored arms as the genewarrior came to a complete stop. The honed senses of Curzio kicked in, his bolter raised in one hand to aim at the surrendering Sanctiian captain. Those Seekers that hadn’t died in the charge followed suit, dropping their Penal Legion escorts to equip their weapons. Scoped bolters trained in on the Sanctiian, ready to tear the man limb from limb in a scything burst of post-reactives shells. He could feel the Thirty-One-Third’s commander fume as he began to squeeze the trigger.

His eyes suddenly darted away from the Sanctiian, drawn by a [b]thing[/b] that crawled on the walls of the tunnel. The brief illumination from Aeternus’ destruction and the oncoming Sanctiians revealed the many-limbed thing that prepared to pounce on their formation. Tiberius, however, was swifter. He dropped Stavin unceremoniously onto the ground to wield the bolter in both of his enormous gauntlets. His movement betrayed the expectation of execution, swiveling away from the unknown captain to the white carapaced creature. The tunnels thumped with the sound of post-reactive shell fire, splattering fresh vitae and gorey skin against the underpass. Further down, perhaps from the area that the alabaster commander’s came from, more could be seen creeping along the walls.

“[b]You[/b]. Remain here,” The voice of Captain Tiberius mumbled to life as the Seekers began to find firing solutions, maneuvering past the Sanctiian in pursuit of slaughter. The cowled helmet swiveled away from the splattered form of the white thing to the surrendering commander. He pointed downward with one of his blackened gauntlets, directing attention away from him to Colonel Stavin. Regardless of the strange situation, Curzio seemed agitated at the appearance of non-human foes. “And do not move from this spot. You will be dealt with by Colonel Stavin and Primarch Aeternus.”

Without another word, Tiberius followed after the advancing Seekers with his bolter exploding out in fury against the unknown things that crawled. Further behind him and the coalescing Imperials, the remainder of the God-Slayers began to appear out of the destructive plume. Many limped out with their yellow-armor stained obsidian black, similar to that of Aeternus’ plating. More began to pile in around the Thirty-One-Third as Colonel Stavin stood to deal with the surrendering Sanctiian.

“Alright, first off, [b]we accept your surrender[/b].” Stavin said, before Yaroslav could respond. “On this term - you fight with us out of this shit hole. We’re inbound right now, not outbound.”

Stavin winced as a long peal of bolter fire rang out. “Second term, Yaroslav - you tell us what the fuck was attacking you. Us?”

The rest of the 31-3 took up security positions. Lieutenant Whitaker moved among them. 

“Safeties on the arc guns!” He bellowed. “Rad carbines only! We can’t be sure the arc won’t hit friendlies in these quarters! All arc gunners, switch to sidearms!”

Whitaker, for his part, loaded his shotgun, his radcarbine slung on his back. Instead of buck, however, he loaded the shotgun with bolt shells, not dissimilar to the bolts fired by Tiberius and Aeternus’s men. He’d held on to them for a while. Now might as well be the time. Despite the Colonel’s optimism, Whitaker wasn’t convinced they’d make it out of this. 

Yaroslav would have smiled then, were the combat stims not twisting his face into a sordid frown.

“Aye, we’re ahead of you on that one,” he spoke in accented gothic as he punched a thumb back at the remains of his brigade as they unleashed fire and fury at the oncoming beasts, “as far as I know—” an explosion rocked the corridor hidden beyond the corner of the passageway.

Yaroslav righted himself against the wall and continued, “they’re some form of bioweapon, Winter, [i]that bitch[/i] loosed them on us when it became clear we were deserting to you lot.”

He turned his gaze to one of the beasts blown open a few meters from them by the God Slayers, “Right tough bastards, Ambrose says— he’s my chief medic— he says they’ve got chitin as armor, like from bugs? Glances off some of our lighter stuff, but it’s their numbers that’s giving us a real run for our money.”

Yaroslav stopped a moment and pulled in close to Stavin

“I think she’s gone crazy if I had to guess, this siege of yours is good as won for you, but she keeps everyone dying. Can’t see the reason,” he shrugged and began to turn back down the corridor, “we’ll fill out the paperwork another time yeah?” Yaroslav smiled as he pulled his pistol from its holster.

The storm of abyssal death from the citadel entrance finally parted way as the last God-Slayers burst into the clearing. Eerie flame licked off of their armor in several places, their pelt capes burnt to a singe, and their plating dyed an obsidian hue. At the forefront, the Primarch came to a halt from his bizarre sprint. The momentum from the armored gallop was enough to shred grooves into the floor. His towering form straightened up with inconceivable ease, fuming breathes momentarily wheezing from the knightly helmet. Captain Caligula appeared shortly behind Rex with chunks missing from his pauldron.

Without warning, the Primarch stepped forward with the greatblade already swinging down towards Yaroslav. The arc of the blade radiated with a muted fury carried forward from it’s master. As Apocrypha sliced through the putrid air of the cavern, it suddenly stopped mere inches away from the Sanctiian’s neck. Crimson plasma radiating from the edge of the thunder warrior’s weapon bathed Yaroslav’s form in a red hue. Optics within Aeternus’ helmet clicked with interest as he remembered the promise that was made with Colonel Stavin. As the bloodlust died down, the plasma-field was deactivated and the sword lowered to a neutral position.

“Then an accord has been struck.” Aeternus stated as his eyes bounced between Stavin and Yaroslav. Despite the losses, the Primarch’s voice was still AS loud, vigorous, and deep as the creatures he was nicknamed after. His attention turned away from the two smaller men before him, instead gazing at the horde of things crawling down the cavern. Several of the God-Slayers, untarnished by the explosive entrance, caught his eye as they battled against Deep Winter’s monsters. Wordlessly, Rex stepped past the men with Apocrypha’s plasma-field activated again. The rest of the tarnished thunder warriors followed after him with their weapons ready.

Aeternus slowly halted, turning away from the massacre to the two warriors behind him. “Come, Stavin, we have [b]gods to slay[/b].” After the words were spoken, the Primarch dashed into the chaos of the under-citadel with Apocrypha lashing out at the things that plagued their path. The God-Slayers roared at the top of their lungs, plunging into the mayhem with gritted teeth and foaming lips. Sounds of tearing gore echoed from their descent, accompanied only by the cries of victory for their liege.
[hr]
Credit: Aeternus/God-Slayers [@MarshalSolgriev], Colonel Stavin/Thirty-One-Third [@BornOnBoard], Yaroslav/Deep Winter [@FrostedCaramel], Scribe-Intendant [@grimely]