---

---

Gellar fields rending and screaming, the hull groaning, the armored shutters of the bridge vibrating, the Fleetmaster felt all become still once more. It was like passing through a veil, a cold and clammy shower, to become real again after so long in the dreaming sea of warp-space. The helmsman gave a barking report, hoarse Low Gothic mixed with the high, staccato tones of astrological Techna-Linguis, as the armored shutters drew away to reveal the Karia system.

Warp Jump successful, he had said. The Fleetmaster, stood as he was at the command station, was neither pleased nor displeased. The warp jump was a fact of reality, of life, of his station and of his command. It had to be done often and with care, lest the whole of the action be made impossible and the duty of the Chapter made to heretical sluggishness. His face was impassive behind his Heresy-era helm, his armored gauntlet lax against the railing. It simply was. Fleetmaster Amocis had performed the act hundreds of times previous, and would do so hundreds of times again if the Emperor willed it. Reports flowed over his displays from the ship and from the fleet, personnel and equipment and ship statuses, and at that the Fleetmaster did allow himself a portion of satisfaction. They had not lost much.

Before him, though, the distance of the Karia system stretched far. Above that fifth world of the system, above that hive world of Tergatus Magna, he could visually see the threat that they had hunted before. It measured but sixty kilometers in length, curved slightly with long spines and sensory devices Amocis had heard referred to as similar to that of crustaceans. Hard chitin covered much, while vents protruded here and there. They boiled out black-fly swarms, masses that wept acidic concoctions freely in their wake, all while the Fleetmaster could see the Battlefleet Trecentis at a distance, attempting to fire into the creature.

He did not know what it was. All he knew was that it had killed a world before and required its own death.

“Launch sensor probes. Maintain course and speed.”

The Karia Crusade emerged into realspace with minimal issue, its ships' Gellar Fields holding steady throughout their voyage on the tides of the Warp. Aboard the Tenacity of Sigismund, a lord of the Astartes poured over a tactical readout of the current void situation, barking orders as the Striker Cruiser's escorts stayed in formation around it.

"Commsman, get me open channels with the Navy and any Space Marine detachments in the theater. Battlefleet Trecentis, do you read? This is Marshal Hartmut of the Black Templars, arriving in-theater with ground and void reinforcements. Requesting any and all tactical information on these unknown xenos, over."

Had this been a known enemy, there wouldn't have been the need for hesitation. The order to launch boarding torpedos and engage in the void would have been given already. But nothing in the Templars' long history of battle had any information on these new xenos. Not an unheard-of situation, especially among those dedicated to the Eternal Crusade, but it still merited some amount of caution.

Was that supermassive abomination above Tergatus Magna a living ship like those of the Tyranids, or an entire leviathan soaring through the void? One could be boarded and its inhabitants fought. The other was simply asking to waste the Emperor's currency on fruitless actions.

"To all servants of the Emperor in-system, we are the Karia Crusade, and we bring the Emperor's wrath upon these foul wretches. In the name of the Emperor and Dorn!"

Sons of the Harvest 4th Grand Caravan
Strike Cruiser The Coming Rain
Karia System Mandeville Point

Litanies of gratitude for He On Terra's protection through the warp sang through the vox network as The Coming Rain screamed into realspace, with all the shuddering and groaning of ancient machine spirits that such a feat entailed, as a lone figure sighed in relief within the Navigators chambers. Draugen Grosse, Librarian of the 4th Caravan, let his body crash into the navigator's throne as sweat steamed from his body before it could bead. Even for one of the Emperor’s Astartes navigating through the Immaterium was a perilous thing fraught with madness, death, and worse for those that called The Coming Rain home. Truly it was The God-Emperor's holy providence that allowed the Grand Caravan to make these treks unharmed.

Time, however, was ever an enemy and there was still much to do. Whispering a prayer of forgiveness for his moment of weakness, Draugen rose from his throne and garbed himself in the rough, brown robes he'd worn since his days as a Neophyte before making his way to the Armoury for the Rite of Armament.

Yet before he could leave the threshold Draugen paused to gaze at an unfinished illumination he'd been working on before the jump. Weeks it had sat there half finished as Draugen steered The Coming Rain through the warp, an account of the campaign of extermination against an errant Ork Waaagh!! that threatened the agri-world of Grekiod 4. Of the blood spilled on those days, the brothers who were lost, the people they had saved, and the weight of responsibility the Sons of the Harvest carried on their backs… of the warmth brought by faith in He On Terra on days when rain cut as cold and sharp as razored knives.

Draugen wondered if he would be blessed enough to finish it once this was over.

---

Deep within the Reliquary of The Coming Rain stood a massive figure cloaked in black and bone, the deaths head glare of his skull helm giving away nothing to the many attendants as they waited on the Garde Manger Fossagrim’s commands. The large Firstborn marine ruminated over a broiling concoction that took center stage in the Reliquary as various smokes, fumes, and vapors belched from metal pipes and winding glass.

“It is missing something,” he thought to himself, a thin straw siphoning the biosludge the Caravan lovingly called “trail soup” into a nutrient canister before consuming the sample through an intaoe port hidden in the cheek. Deep notes of umami complimented by an acidic ba, with a distinct oily finish that let the toxins within it sting at his tongue, [i]”The toxins are too thin to bind, I'll need collagen… and something to enflame our brothers spirit. Perhaps it's time to use the rest of that Ork?”

Fossagrime continued to muse to himself as his attendants began to act on his words, there was scarcely a beast in all creation that the Sons of the Harvest hadn't consumed at least once. Upon a great slab Fossagrim's attendants struggled to roll out what remained of a great Ork Nob, a beast that the Garde Manger took great pleasure in peeling open, showing his young protégés the few ways to bleed such creatures dead. Now all that was left of the thing was half a torso, the meat separated from the bones neatly and packed in salt. Truly a shame that their organs were too redundant to have any real flavors, Brother Cadmeus once even complaining that their guts were unfit to become sausages, yet the glands produced chemicals that infused Fossagrim’s concoctions with violent efficiency.

As the Garde Manger's attendants began to put the prepared chunks of ork flesh within the cauldron they quickly broke down quickly into a film of scum that floated to the surface. Once skimmed, the Garde Manger once again samples his volatile broth and let a rumble of satisfaction as the chemical rush lit his nerves aflame.

With a flick of several switches and a prayer of thanks for the Holy Emperor's bounties, Leuan's Cauldron began to bottle the trail soups into easy to consume nutrient packs that could be integrated into the power armour of his Brothers.

---

”It sure is an ugly thing,” thought Captain Huldran Grosse to himself as he scoured a pictogram of the unknown xenos abomination that threatened the system.

As foul in form as the great beast was, there was a small degree of comfort in the knowledge that it wasn't some strain of the Tyranid disease infesting the galaxy, but little else. It was an unknown, a mystery, a phantom nightmare that crawled out of the depths of the void. And it would die, that much the good Captain understood.

“Captain Grosse, we're receiving vox… Scions of Dorn, The Black Templars!” Spoke the Vox Master, her amplified voice cutting through the silence of the Command Bridge.

“Repeat and patch it through Vox Mistress,” replied Captain Grosse, a toothy, near feral grin splitting the half mechanized face of the Lord of the 4th Grand Caravan. The prospect of fighting with Sons of Dorn, and his fabled second sons no less, was setting his warriors blood alight, “Vox Mistress, record this message and release it on open comms.”

”Children of the Imperium hold tight your weapons, keep lit your holy places, guard your faith. He Who Sits upon the Golden Throne has called upon his angels of death to fall upon the Abomination that threatens your world. The Sons of the Harvest are here, we are coming. The thunder of war has called upon you but be not afraid for the rain has answered. Deliverance is here."

Tu’Shan, Regent of Prometheus stood at the front of the formation of Salamanders. The First company stood on the left with the Second, Third, and Fourth companies lined up to the right of these. On the far right of the line stood the Sons of Nocturne, the Seventh Company. The Second Company could only muster thirty-four officers and NCOs as they were in the process of rebuilding their ranks from the pool of initiates entering as Battle Brothers. “Salamanders, Attention!” The assembled Space Marines simultaneously slid their left foot to the right standing straight with heads and eyes forward. “Parade, rest!” Every Marine slid their left foot shoulder width apart and looked directly at Tu’Shan.

“Currently, the Defenders of Nocturne are replenishing their strength here at the Fortress-Monastery in view of the Pantheon of the Salamanders. The Firedrakes and Pyroclasts are to remain here on Prometheus as well. Captain Dacien and Captain Jacobi are taking a detachment of Salamanders to the Karia system, to assist in the defense of the Hive World Tergatus Magna and mining station Ruitegier. Their companies, The Branded and The Sons of Nocturne will travel from Nocturne aboard the Strike Cruiser Fire Ark, and escorted by the Frigates, Fire Lord and Forgehammer. I expect good deeds from you marines deploying to Karia and may you find Vulkan in your travels!”

“As Captain Dacien is the senior commander, he will have overall command of this detachment with Captain Jacobi as his second in command. Salamanders, Attention!” The formation of marines returned to the position of attention. “Dismissed!”

---

Weeks later…
Aboard the Fire Ark
“Sons of the Harvest and the Black Templars have arrived ahead of us,” Captain Dacien told Captain Lucius Jacobi and the other officers and senior NCOs assembled. “We will coordinate our efforts with them and begin landing on the surface. Wait for my instructions.” Lieutenants Degener and Falck of the 4th and Lieutenants Clemens and Stengel of the 7th were present along with Senior Sergeants Stiegler, Marcellinus, and Feuerwerker representing the Non-commissioned officer corps of the Chapter. “Lieutenant Degener’s First platoon, 4th, will travel with Lieutenant Falck’s Executioners. Lieutenant Clemens’ Third platoon, 7th and Lieutenant Stengel’s Fourth platoon, 7th will initially travel aboard Senior Sergeant Feuerwerker’s Redeemers of Fifth Platoon. Each squad will be assigned a vehicle. We will keep our formations tight and react accordingly to any situation. As we receive intelligence on our enemy, we can adjust our formation as necessary. With The Branded in the lead and The Sons of Nocturne in trail, we will deal with whatever situation is in front of us. The fourth will move with First Platoon in lead and Second Platoon following. As soon as intelligence on the enemy disposition is sent to me, I will pass it along to you.”

Captain Dacien turned to the commanding officer of the Fire Ark, “Commander, do you have a plan to support us on the ground?”

“The void strength present is the Fire Ark and two Frigates, Fire Lord and Forgehammer. Our priority will be in defending our ships against any hostile incursion here in orbit. Assuming there is none, we will provide orbital strikes to any ground targets you provide us. We will assign specific ships and/or gun batteries to provide direct support to each of your squads on the ground. Please prioritize your targets to massed formations of the enemy rather than individual targets. Do not waste the time and energy of our gun crews. Thank you, gentlemen, and happy hunting.”

“Thank you, Commander. Unless anyone has any questions, you can prepare for insertion,” Captain Dacien thanked the ship’s commander for his input and ordered the Salamanders to move to their jump pods.

As the individual fleets of Astartes vessels began their translations into realspace, the bleeding wounds of the Immaterium closing behind them, so too did a different breed of warship. Lance and macro batteries bristling about their broadsides, warships of the Imperial Navy slipped from the Warp as squadrons of escorts began to form up alongside them. These hulls of Battlefleet Charadon bore signs of battle, deep scars and patched armor plate, while one cruiser soon began venting atmosphere from one of her far lower decks. It closed as quickly as it was made, a leak of gas into the void, as the warships formed up with their larger brethren. Transports came behind, each slowing to a crawl with their precious cargoes of Astra Militarum regiments, their own hulls wearied and worn.

To all ships at the point, and indeed reaching to the ships that lay before them engaged against the xenos, a hail came. Audio only, the voice ground with age and tinted with vox-aids, to reach every bridge in the fleet he spoke.

“To all vessels, this is Solar Admiral Draysius, Battlefleet Charadon. By the grace of the Emperor we know this is our duty. All warships, make battle speed, form with Battlefleet Trecentis and engage the xenos. This foe bleeds - this foe can die. Target their exhaust ports if able and be wary of their spawn. All escorts shall provide for the defensive screen. Hold your strike kraft launches and concentrate your fire. Keep it bleeding. Keep its attentions clear of our transports. Once it is rendered ineffective, we shall begin planetary landings. Astartes vessels - your orders are no different. Make landfall if you desire. I shall not deny Angels their blood. Solar Admiral Draysius, out.”

The Imperial Navy squadrons began their rallied charge to join their damaged Trecentis brothers, the warships yet firing again and again into the creature. A dozen swarms cut through the defensive screen, blanketing one of the lagging cruisers in a swarm before pulling away to reveal her hull breached in a dozen places, venting atmosphere, coolants, and personnel. The massive xenos craft, however, remained implacable in orbit, the scaled hull resisting the fire from the fleet.

---

The door to the bridge opened, two more joining the Fleetmaster upon the bridge. He did not need to turn to see who; the smells of burnt Promethium yet lingered on the Fleet Librarian’s armor where he had anointed it and only one other would be so inclined to come to the bridge at such a time. Their twin boot-steps and clamor of armor shifting seemed to fill the space, though it was nothing new to the bridge-crews. They, too, remained concentrated upon their tasks. For the Fleetmaster, his eyes remained fixed on the hololithic display of the battle, of the singular xenos threat that hung in the center while one group of Imperial warships, Battlefleet Trecentis, was huddled between it and the planet. To them, directly against the xenos, sped Charadon with all haste. They were to join their brother in the corner and die bleeding.

He chafed against it, yet only through such a way could there be any chance for the Trecentis ships to survive. Otherwise, they would be the sacrificial lamb.

“Fleetmaster, the Third stands ready to embark the drop-pods and landing craft.”

“We have no need for the landing. Not yet. The only targets as yet are scattered, flies about the hive city. Sahas, your Tarot. What has it said.”

“Nothing and everything. Every card is drawn and reversed. Another’s hand guards against His providence; I have never seen such interference.”

“Then we have no need for the landing. Not as yet. Sound General Quarters, prepare port batteries for sustained fires. Helmsman, alter course fifteen degrees starboard of Battlefleet Charadon, maximum burn. Voxmaster, hail the Astartes fleets, close-band.”

As the alarm for General Quarters sounded throughout the ship, and indeed across the Gulf Marcher’s fleet as they turned with engines flaring like grand torches in the night, a voice cut-across the bridge. “The channel is open, Fleetmaster.”

“This is Fleetmaster Amocis of the Gulf Marchers. We sail for the creature’s flanks as it feasts against the Imperial Navy, in the Emperor’s Name. You may join them in their butchering or join us in cleansing this creature of life’s burden. The choice is yours.”

One First Founding Chapter, and two relative unknowns. Acceptable enough. Perhaps their faith and zeal wouldn't measure up to the Templars', but they were all the Emperor's Space Marines, and that would be enough as a baseline. Of course, the Salamanders' famed compassion may lead to issues down the road, to say nothing of whatever idiosyncrasies the other two Chapters possessed, but those could be worked around later. The Marshal's mind whirred with formulating void tactics while planning the logistics of a mass landing.

"Charadon, acknowledged. Templar ships will move to assist." Marshal Hartmut entered a series of orders into his command console, his voice radiating across the vox as he changed channels.

"Reinhardt, take command of the situation on the ground. I want fully half our Crusader and Assault Squads ready to deploy in Drop Pods, along with our venerable brother Dreadnought for support. Have our vehicles loaded onto the Thunderhawks and ready to launch once we have confirmation of a possible landing. Make ready to cleanse Tergatus Magna of abomination."

"Heard and obeyed, my lord. In the Emperor's name!"

"Helm, comms, relay these orders to the rest of the Crusade's ships: we are to join the Gulf Marchers in flanking the leviathan. Ready all guns for broadside." They may not have had a proper Battle Barge, but their Strike Cruiser still possessed a Nova Cannon and its escorts more than functional weapons batteries. By the Emperor's will, this thing would be cleansed from the void on this day.