The Imperium of Man Comes to Zemuria (Trails JRPG series x Warhammer 40k crossover)

[BattleBrotherOfCalderis]

As above...

It is the 42nd millennium.

The Great Rift pulsates across the Galaxy, radiating terror and Chaos. Huron Blackheart continues to raid and despoil across the endless void, with no fleet - human or Xeno - able to contain his greed. With the former Cadian Gate firmly in his grasp, Abaddon marshalls his forces within the Eye of Terror, and the galaxy holds its breath in dreadful anticipation of a new - and perhaps final - Black Crusade.

Inside the Immaterium, the Great Game continues. The Chaos Gods and their servants jockey with one another in an eternal competition for dominance, occasionally turning their gaze on an increasingly fragile materium. Lorgar, the first of the Emperor's sons to fall, emerges from his long meditation, his insights into the Primordial Truth known only to himself. The other traitorous sons likewise stir, seeking to finish what the long-dead Horus started ten millennia ago.

Xenos empires great and small flock across the stars like the carrion birds of Ancient Terra. The opportunism and myriad agenda of the Alien lead them to war against the Imperium and one another. The undying Silent King sneers upon them all, seeing the younger races as naught but fodder for the Great Devourer that would buy time for his legions to rebuild their strength. All the while, the unending Hive Fleets descend upon the Galaxy, seeking to satiate its endless hunger and undeterred by the wars among the stars.

Yet the Emperor's vigil continues, unbroken for the past ten millenia. His returned loyal sons battle across the galaxy to reunite the divided Imperium and restore a modicum of sanity to the maddenened galaxy. Their actions spur on the armies of the faithful even if they themselves scorn the twisted worship of their Father. The Adeptus Custodes and the Sisters of Silence return to the battlefield after a ten-thousand year absence, fighting with urgency and ferocity not seen since the darkest days of the Horus Heresy. The Adeptus Mechanicus scour the stars, looking for any scrap of archeotech to keep the dying light shining for a little longer. The Imperial Guard and the Imperial Navy continue to hold the line on the ground and in the void, even when they are the only line remaining. Of course, nothing more needs to be said of the many shadow wars fought by the Inquisition and the Officio Assassinorum against the Alien, the Heretic, and the Daemon...

Then there are the Adeptus Astartes, gene-enhanced warriors and the embodiment of The Emperor's fury. From Chapter to Chapter, Firstborn and Primaris stand as one to battle the ever-encroaching darkness. They valiantly strike out across the galaxy, vanguards against the myriad unspeakable horrors among the stars. Chief among them is the Ultramarines, proud sons of Guilliman and masters of the interstellar realm that gave the Chapter its name. With valiant Marneus Calgar at the helm, their forces collect blood debt after blood debt from their hated foes, from the treacherous Word Bearers to the vile Tyranids.

One such force seeks to join the greater Indomitus Crusade, now raging into its fifth decade. Yet it is waylaid and scattered by the Arch-Enemy, sending some of Ultramar's greatest champions hurtling out of the Emperor's reach...

---

So below...

It is Winter 1207, and the World War continues. The Ashen Chevalier's sacrifice and the Ebon Knight's banishment failed to stop Jormungand's insatiable maw, the miracle that Operation Radiant Wings fought valiantly for turned out to be for nought. The other five groups of doomed brave souls were forced from the skies and became the hunted, seemingly swallowed up by the land of darkness that became of Erebonia.

Operation Mille Mirage fights on to contain Erebonia's expansion, but even with a Cassius Bright fuelled by grief and rage at the lead, it is failing. The combined armies and militias of smaller nations are swatted aside, leaving Calvard to mostly stand alone. Their associates fare no better.

The Bracer Guild, long-served as the supporting gauntlet of the common man, finds itself increasingly overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the suffering, with the Bracers themselves often having to act against their conscience just to survive. The Septian Church struggles to offer comfort to the masses who cry out to The Goddess for salvation, their prayers growing more desperate by the day. Not to mention the horrors they must battle in the shadows...

Even with Osborne dead and Crown Prince Cedric missing, the Erebonian war machine found vicious new leaders at the helm. Free from the pretense of ancient curses and their true motives clouded in mystery, the Erebonian High Command continues to feed Men and Machine into the grinder. Amidst the backdrop of feverish wardrums, Emperor Eugent and the entire Royal Family vanished from public view overnight even as the war continues in his name...

In Crossbell, vicious street battles rage day and night. The Crossbellan resistance and their Calvardian allies fight tooth and nail for their lives and for the city's very existence. Yet they are losing ground. Erebonia's Garellian Garrison, possessed by a strange new battle lust, sow fire onto the battered city, and in return reap a tally of blood and skulls from the enemy, the innocent, and even their so-called compatriots.

The World War reopened old scars from the Hundred Days War that Liberl desperately wished healed, and the nation rallied behind the Army. Yet even total war and Calvardian support were not enough to stop Liberlian lines from being crushed under Erebonia's mighty treads. The occupiers waste no time in turning newly captured territory and resources against its former masters. Supplies and industry are seized at gunpoint, resistance is stamped out, and even Liberl's populace is beginning to be press-ganged into joining the Erebonian war effort. Liberl's final redoubt, the factory city of Zeiss, is under siege, and Queen Alicia resigns herself to making a final stand with her people.

Amidst the carnage and chaos, the Society of Ouroboros has fallen silent. Some say it is engaged against an unseen war of its own against an even more sinister enemy...

"Zemuria cries out for its Goddess, but She does not answer! She does not!"

It is a time of madness and despair. Hope and progress has been torn asunder, replaced by the flames of ending war. Yet above the cacophony of battle, a lone star descends, bringing with it promises of salvation.

And of retribution.

 

[ATP]

I knew notching about JRPG series - but,adding WH40 ALWAYS made story more interesting,so please continue !

 

[BattleBrotherOfCalderis]

I knew notching about JRPG series - but,adding WH40 ALWAYS made story more interesting,so please continue !

Click to shrink...

Glad you're interested! People who are familiar with the series might find the idea strange because Trails is just so noblebright compared to 40k's grimdark. On the other hand, the series does have pretty dark moments (such as the World War that the prologue alluded to and a Chaos-like cult). Plus one thing the fanbase has in common with 40k is the sheer amount of powerscaling debates.

In any case...I came up with this absolutely unhinged idea while I was deployed overseas and needed some kind of outlet to not go completely insane. I'm pretty busy IRL, but I do hope I can have some kind of steady update rate going.

 

[ATP]

Glad you're interested! People who are familiar with the series might find the idea strange because Trails is just so noblebright compared to 40k's grimdark. On the other hand, the series does have pretty dark moments (such as the World War that the prologue alluded to and a Chaos-like cult). Plus one thing the fanbase has in common with 40k is the sheer amount of powerscaling debates.

In any case...I came up with this absolutely unhinged idea while I was deployed overseas and needed some kind of outlet to not go completely insane. I'm pretty busy IRL, but I do hope I can have some kind of steady update rate going.

Click to shrink...

RL is always more important.I could wait for next chapter some time.

 

[BattleBrotherOfCalderis]

"Perhaps one day, Epstein's marvels can lead us to the stars above. There we can meet new civilizations among the stars, lead Zemuria's people to a new age of peace and prosperity, and maybe even 'meet the Goddess herself' as my dear little Towa puts it. It's a shame I will not live to see it."

- Excerpt from the private journal of Alfred Herschel, renowned Erebonian astronomer (deceased)

---

Strategium, Ultramarines Battle Barge Righteous Contempt

"ATTENTION! ATTENTION! BRACE FOR IMPACT! MAY THE OMNISSIAH BE WITH YOU ALL!"

"Brother Frontius..." Lieutenant Demetrian Titus grunted, his patience clearly tested by the ongoing alarm. The emergency atmospheric re-entry had concluded two hours ago with a particularly violent splashdown in some body of water, but the ship's Machine Spirit seemed oblivious to the event. The alarm klaxons and flashing red lumens continued to perform their duties, having gone from helpful remainder to unbearable nuisance.

"Forgive This Unit, sir. The machine spirit is fickle and it is taking considerably longer..." The Techmarine trailed off when the alarms abruptly ceased. "Praise be to the Omnissiah! This Unit can finally reactivate his audio receptors!"

"Not all of us are blessed your ability to deactivate your hearing, Techmarine," Titus said impassively. He scanned around the Strategium, eyeing the seniormost Battle-Brothers and mortal overseers he had summoned. The Conclave was the highest administrative body of Strike Force Trajan, of which Titus held command over as its Force Commander. It handled the day-to-day running of the Force and the Battle-Barge hosting it, ensuring both would function at full efficiency. Although there was some overlap between the Conclave and the War Council's membership - the most notable of which being Titus chairing both - the two remained distinct bodies.

First of the Conclave to arrive was of course Frontius, the Battle-Barge's senior-most Techmarine which by extension made him the chief of the Engineerium. He was also the only Firstborn present. The Apothecarion had deemed him unable to cross the Rubicon Primaris due to his extensive augmentics - in other words, Frontius simply did not have sufficient flesh and blood left to attempt the surgery. Frontius had taken the news in stride, stating that the inability to cross the Rubicon Primaris was a worthwhile price to pay for being able to keep the True Flesh the Omnissiah had granted him. Perhaps it was an innate quirk in his soul, or perhaps his training with the Martian Priesthood had changed him, but Frontius shunned company and had a tendency to speak in third-person for as long as Titus knew him. Despite the Techmarine's bizarre mannerism and lonesome nature, not to mention Titus's own soured attitudes towards the Adeptus Mechanicus, he grew to trust Frontius with all matters related to the sacred machines. The Techmarine's was competent, resourceful, and he was equally masterful with an Omnissian Axe as he was with his tools. That, and any Battle-Brother who can wield several two-handed weapons at once - courtesy of his mechadendrites - was great boon in Titus's eyes.

Next was Apothecary Gessius, the senior medicae on board. Like Chairon, Gessius had borne witness to the full horrors of treachery and Chaos on Calth. Unlike Chairon, however, Gessius had actually directly taken part in the hostilities as part of the old Thirteenth Legion. The wizened Apothecary's bald head was a patchwork of scars, adorned by an augmentic left eye and lower jaw. It was said that the same wound which had cost Gessius his jaw had also taken away the use of his Betcher's Gland. Not that it was a major concern in battle unless the enemy were to somehow evade the punishing fire of his Brothers or his own Absolver Bolt Pistol. Despite his unnerving visage, Gessius was quite approachable and renowned for his capacity for mentorship. The Righteous Contempt's Apothecarion had become a place of healing and learning in equal parts under Gessius's guidance, with the more junior Apothecaries and even Imperial Guard medicae receiving personal guidance from him whenever they went about their work.

Then there was Epistolary Chaledus. If there was any Astartes onboard that rivaled Frontius in reclusiveness, it was him. Deliberate or not, the Librarian radiated an aura of wrongness, and only Titus himself could look the Librarian in the eye for longer than a minute. His close-cropped grey beard seemed to be perpetually covered in a thin layer of hoarfrost, adorned by the occasional icicle. Despite his connection to The Warp, he was a staunch son of Guilliman through and through, and his abilities had snatched many a victory from the jaws of defeat. For some reason, Chaledus was the only psyker on board to respond to Titus's summons. Neither the ship's Navigator nor the head of the Astropathic Choir had arrived, and that did not bode well in Titus's mind.

The last of Titus's Battle-Brothers to heed his summons was Reclusiarch Varnus, a veteran of the Imperium's campaign on the frozen killing fields of Lorn V. In contrast to the late Leandros - Emperor rest his soul -, Varnus was far more supportive of Titus's actions and decisions. The Reclusiarch's authority was second only to Titus's own as Force Commander, and in certain cases Varnus's word would even take precedence over Titus's. He had been a much-welcome addition to the Crusade, for he was equally versed in guiding Astartes and mortals alike as he was in caving in Xeno and Heretic skulls with his Crozius Arcanum. The reputation of him slaying a Bloodthirster in single combat had preceded him, but he would always downplay the deed.

With his Astartes advisors assembled, he turned his attention to the only mortals that had heeded his summons.

The first was Overseer Portia Villicus, the leader and representative of the Chapter Serfs staffing the Battle-Barge. Any matter not directly handled by Astartes specialists or the mortal shipmaster was under her purview, from the procurement of provisions to cleanliness of the ship's flats and bulkheads. She was a wizened woman seemingly in her late forties - her true age hidden by rejuvenant treatments - with deep sunken green eyes and graying brown hair tied up in a neat bun. Unlike the others present who were adorned in various martial regalia, Villicus wore a simple blue tunic and boots - popular everyday attire among Macragge's populace. The Overseer had originally come into the Chapter's service when some of Titus's Brothers had rescued her and a handful of refugees from a Tyranid invasion which had ultimately doomed their home world. Vilicus had begun her career as a Serf, but steadily worked her way up what passed for an informal rank structure among the Serfs which had eventually brought her to this point.

Next was Shipmaster Virgilia, adorned in a uniform that only somewhat resembled that of the Imperial Navy. She held the rank of Commodore in the Ultramar Defence Fleet, and Lord Calgar himself had hand picked her to assume command over the Battle-Barge due to her strategic acumen. The woman exuded an air of confident authority, even if it was eclipsed by that of the assembled Astartes. While others were engaged in idle chatter, she pored through her dataslate as if she was trying to commit every last detail from the readouts to memory.

Finally, there was Brigadier-General Maximus Lang, dressed in the unassuming beige uniform of the Cadian Shock Troops. He was the only member present that had no affiliation of any capacity with the Ultramarines. Brigadier-General Lang held charge over the Imperial Guard brigade that had been assigned to support his Astartes, with the General himself hailing from the 203rd Cadian - one of the four regiments that answered to him. While Titus would have preferred regiments from the Ultramar Auxilia, Lord Calgar had tasked them with consolidating the Ultramar home front instead. Still, the Guard was more than a welcome substitute. The 203rd in particular had been an old comrade of arms of Titus's during his time on Graia. Lang was distantly related to the late Lieutenant General Miranda Nero - old age had achieved what the fires of war could not - and he was more than an adequate inheritor of the regiment's command. Command aptitude aside, Lang did have his vices. His seat at the table was marked by an ashtray and a near-constant cloud of smoke, having lit up a lho stick as soon as he had sat down. It was a habit that he shared with his Colonels, which was why Chapter serfs had become rather reluctant to approach the sectors that had been alloted to the Cadians for social activities. Even some Astartes found their habit to be irritating and obnoxious, although they kept their opinions to themselves out of respect for the Cadians. It was telling that Villicus and Virgilia had chosen seats as far from the General as possible, with several Astartes blocking their view of him.

Titus glanced at the assembled council, and seeing that the others he had summoned will not arrive any time soon, he cleared his throat.

"I hereby call this emergency strategy meeting to order," Titus announced. "First order of business: Librarian Chaledus, can you provide insight on why Navigator Huygens and Chief Astropath Mercury failed to attend this meeting?"

"Certainly, My Lord. I'm deeply concerned the reason of their absence will have profound consequences on the strike force. The strain of the traitor ambush and emergency Warp jump were so great that they are the only surviving members of their respective offices," Chaledus said gravely. He paused for a moment before continuing, and the moment of hesitation was not lost to his fellow Astartes. "In addition, Navigator Huygens and Chief Atropath Mercury are...incapacitated. All three of us agree that upon our exit from The Immaterium, the Holy Astronomican simply disappeared."

Titus clenched his teeth. Battle-Brothers of the Adeptus Astartes knew no fear. If it ever existed, it had been thoroughly scrubbed from their psyches during the numerous arduous trials they had to endure as part of their ascension. But to be bereft of The Emperor's light and protection while marooned in uncharted territory? The revelation sent chills down Titus's spine, even if he kept up his stoic demeanor.

"WHAT?" Overseer Villicus's exclamation was a showcase of the shock and dismay that the Astartes also shared but kept to themselves.

"Emperor preserve us..." Brigadier-General Lang muttered as every member the Conclave made signs of the Aquila.

As if sensing the growing unease, Varnus struck the shaft his Crozius on the Strategium's deck. The slow, firm thuds echoed throughout the chamber, drawing the gazes of everyone present to the Reclusiarch.

"This chamber will have order! If we allow fear and panic to fester among us, it will open the way to doubt and heresy among the men!" Varnus admonished the Conclave. "Even if He is hidden from Witch-Sight, the Emperor's hand still rests on our shoulders and He watches us still! It would behoove all off you to remember that. Carry on, Brother Titus."

"Thank you, Brother Reclusiarch. Based on Brother Chaledus's theoretical, we would be stumbling blind in The Immaterium should we resume our voyage - a sure death sentence," Titus said. "That is...if we still retain the ability to do head underway. Brother Frontius, Shipmaster, can you provide insight on this matter?"

"The Ship's Spirit is in unending agony, Brother. Her wings have been clipped, and even This Unit is unable to restore her flight. The Teleportarium has suffered catastrophic damage, and other aspects of the ship have also been affected. The Motive Force is unable to flow to fifty-seven percent of the ship. Ten percent of the vessel has been claimed by what is presumably this world's ocean. Furthermore, the traitor attack has neutralized a quarter of our batteries," Frontius began reading off what was most likely a display projected on the inside of his helmet. "Not all news is bad, however. The flooding has been stopped, and the ship still has considerable reserve buoyancy. After cross referencing reports on the ship's structure and on data gathered by her auspexes, This Unit determines this world's weather is unlikely to further jeapordize the ship. If anything, a storm could actually aid us by pushing the Righteous Contempt closer to shore. Strike Force Trajan's vehicles remain in good repair and the entire ground fleet can be restored to full working order within forty Terran hours while the aerial fleet remains untouched. The Forge is capable of supplying basic munitions effectively indefinitely. Furthermore, The Righteous Contempt is still capable of sustaining basic human life."

"Then we are effectively a floating Chapter Keep?" Titus asked impassively.

"That is indeed the case, Brother. The Strike Force can remain self-sufficient for months, if not years, should the need arise."

"I concur with Lord Frontius's assessment," Disappointment was clear in Virgilia's voice as she rubbed her temples. Titus understood her anguish. To be in command of a immobile crippled hulk was an insult to a seasoned voidsman of Virgilia's calibre. "Still, if my duty for now is to simply keep the ship afloat and keep the guns loaded, then I will execute it without hesitation."

Titus nodded at her before turning his attention to Gessius.

"And what of the Apothecarion? Is it in good working order? Any casualties."

"The Apothecarion is unscathed, and we have no need of it at full capacity just yet," A deep heavily modulated voice slowly reverberates from somewhere on Gessius's neck. "I have only received reports of broken bones and concussions for now and I have nothing further to report. Praise the Emperor for shielding us all."

Yet…Titus couldn't help become suspicious. Gessius would not have any reason to lie to him, and Titus did not expect such. Still, the fact that the crash-landing had not resulted in any fatalities roused Titus's suspicions. How did a battle within the Warp and a crash-landing result in precisely zero deaths? Was it truly The Emperor's protection? Or were more nefarious forces at work? Questions to be answered later. For now, Titus needed to know more.

"Do we know anything about this world? Anything at all?"

"Nothing at all, Brother. All we know is what we can see with the our Augurs and eyes," Varnus spoke up. "This world has an ocean, some large central landmass, possible signs of civilization, and an atmosphere that unaugmented humans can survive in."

"My Lord, some of my men who were duty at the ship's Vox Chapel reported picking up chatter," Brigadier-General Lang piped up. "However, they were unable to decipher its contents, but they said it did not match any known Imperial codes."

"This Unit believes an unknown encryption scheme was involved," Frontius spoke. "Given enough time, and the Omnissiah shall unravel this puzzle."

"But for now…" Titus piped up. "...we know nothing. Nothing aside from the fact this world is inhabited."

He let the silence hang, mostly because he needed time to gather his own thoughts. Demetrian Titus was a man of action and a proud son of Guilliman. Lurking in the shadows was more suited for the sons of Corax, and intelligence-gathering was more suitable for those crazed motherless bastards who bore the Inquisitorial Rosette. Yet here he was, forced to take after the Raven Guard and play Inquisitor…

"It appears we have gathered all the theoreticals we could," Titus spoke up once more, keeping his tone calm and measured even if he felt irritated at their current predicament. "We are unable to navigate the Warp. The ship is effectively immobilized. We have next to no information about our surroundings.

"All of this leads to one practical: we are blind and adrift, with no way to rejoin the main Crusade fleet. Make no mistake, I did not say this out of despair, for I have faith The Emperor will show a way forward. However, it does mean our course of action is very limited at present."

Demetrian Titus knew of his reputation as an unorthodox warrior and commander who moreso followed the spirit of the Codex Astartes rather than the letter. Yet even the loosest interpretation of the Codex's intent condemned reckless action and wasting Imperial resources. Titus sighed deeply, then with grit teeth and frustration in his voice, he gave his orders.

"For now, we shall wait for Macragge and we shall observe for Macragge," Titus proclaimed. "Once we have discovered a way forward, then we can finally march for Macragge."

"...and Cadia shall stand with Macragge no matter what, my lord." Lang said as the Conclave murmured in agreement.

The next half hour was spent providing detailed instructions to the Conclave. They ranged from restoring Astropathic communications to effecting repairs on the ship's structure and Motive Force distribution, and even included formulating work and training schedules to ensure the Battle-Barge's crew do not cross the fine line between leisurely rest and idleness. By sundown, the floating voidship was alive with activity. The Strike Force finally had purpose, even if it was only for the short term.

Of course, there was the matter of intelligence collection. For the time being, Titus opted for routine Thunderhawk and Stormhawk overflights, sending servo-skulls to the maximum extent of their operating range, and having Frontius using the Machine Spirits at his disposal to break the unknown Vox encryption.

Thus passed the first day.

The second day passed by without much incident. The Auspex detected an unidentified radiation field that seemed to saturate the world's atmosphere, but nobody in the Engineerium could make sense of the data. A Cadian on sentry duty observed an abundance of sea life in the surrounding waters. Once word was spread, enterprising Guardsmen got a little creative with surplus pipes and cabling. By day's end, tissue samples were delivered to the Apothecarion and deemed suitable for human consumption.

Thus the refectorum's selection expanded.

By the third day, Frontius's Machine Spirits had finally accomplished their duty. Decryption had been a more laborious affair than Frontius had initially anticipated. He had discovered that the world's Vox traffic had a patchwork of differing encryption schemes and that they changed regularly. A lot of that traffic had been military-grade, but overall none of their encryption schemes matched the sophistication of the Imperium's own Vox technology nor that of its enemies. Soon, Strike Force Trajan had full access to what Vox traffic they could pick up, albeit with minor but regular interruptions due to the constantly-switching cryptography. Not only that, but Frontius claimed that the world had its own version of something the Techmarine called a "Datascape". The implication was not clear to Titus, but it seemed to cause a stir among the Techmarines and mortal Tech-Priests. The Imperium force also had enough visual intelligence to begin cartography efforts. All in all, it was abundantly clear that they had landed on a populated world, with civilization and even industry. It was also clear that the various petty fiefdoms of this planet were at war with each other.

The new intelligence allowed Titus to initiate the next stage of his plan: the dispatching of two hand-picked Astartes long-range reconnaissance squads. Their Sergeants were Decimus and Scipius, alumni of Combat Squads Talasa and Veridian. The two defunct Kill-Teams had performed with distinction for as long as they had served under Titus, but he knew that it was not to last. Talasa and Veridian had been bursting at the seams with rising stars of the Chapter, and Lord Calgar had become increasingly convinced that keeping them together was actually doing their members a huge disservice. Thus the difficult decision to dissolve Talasa and Veridian had been made ten years prior, and their members promoted and transferred to where the Chapter needed them the most. The Battle-Brothers had taken the move in stride, and the two Sergeants had seemed quite pleased to be working together again. Thus, Decimus's Phobos Strike Team and Scipius's Eliminators jumped into the sea, setting off on a long hike that would take them across the sea floor. Later that evening, they would make landfall on the outskirts of a port city named Ruan.

By day four, it was abundantly clear something strange was going on with this world. Aircraft straying too far from the landmass had found themselves back at the Battle-Barge, and any attempts at Astropathic communications had ended on failure. Not only that, but the stars observed at night did not match any chart located in the Battle-Barge's database, and Chaledus said there was a strange shroud blanketing the world. Debates raged fiercely regarding the ramifications, with the most common theory being that the planet was located in the middle of some unknown Warp pocket that hid it from the Great Crusade, the Horus Heresy, and the ensuing unending war for the Imperium's survival. Idle speculation notwithstanding, it was clear that no help would be coming from the wider Imperium, which meant no way off this planet. Not without seeking aid from the locals and putting themselves at the mercy of local technology, anyhow. Another worrying development was that their arrival had not gone unnoticed by nearby polities. The warring local powers began to send seagoing vessels towards the Righteous Contempt, and their own aircraft began to chase after Titus's Thunderhawk's and Stormhawks. The latter was a fool's errand considering how Astartes aircraft were designed to reach escape velocity in the execution of their duties, while the former was quickly becoming an annoyance. By Titus's orders, Strike Force Trajan remained neutral and Vox-silent. There would be no outreach efforts, but rather passively monitoring the battles on land, on the sea, and in the air. Intelligence collected so far gave names to the warring powers, and the fact that the main belligerent - Erebonia - seemed to have the upper hand. Titus was no diplomat, but he began to considering sending overtures to this so-called Erebonian "Empire". Perhaps backing the winning side would make this planet's future integration go much more smoothly…

By day five, battle plans were drawn, and recce flights were canceled in favour of pre-combat readiness checks. There was an unease in the Strategium, a shared sentiment that this would be the calm before the storm and that the Imperium's neutrality would not last. The question was…who should the Imperium back, if anyone at all?

There was still no decision by the day's end.

---

"Find me."

His eyes snapped open, and darkness greeted him. A darkness so pervasive that not even his Occulobe-enhanced sight could pierce.

"Find me."

He made out the voice of a young girl. With no other guidepost, he strode towards the voice. He felt himself for any equipment, but found nothing. Not the reliable contour of a Boltgun, nor the stalwart pommel of a Chainsword, nor even a humble combat knife. In fact, he did not even feel power armour nor even bare skin. It was as if his body did not exist at all.

"Find me…please."

That final word had carried the hint of desperate pleas for salvation. Duty bade him forward, even if he felt nothing underfoot. It could have easily been a trap set by the Arch-Enemy, but his instincts told him that was not the case.

"They are almost here…find me."

He pushed forward as fast as he knew his enhanced musculature and skeleton would carry him forward. Yet the increasingly desperate voice simply did not get any closer.

"Find me…find me…Please, FIND ME!"

A brilliant flash of light erupted all around him, like the spotlights at a stage. But it was not the welcoming golden glow of sunshine, but rather the sinister crimson incandescence of Warpfire and brimstone. He was now in a city, not the congested soulless Hive Cities all too common through the Imperium, but a welcoming place of culture not unlike those on Macragge.

Or at least, it had been.

Now, it was desecrated. Corpses of the dead littered the streets, dressed in varying degrees of finery. The walls of what buildings that remained standing had corpses nailed to them and the foul sigils of Chaos etched on the brickwork. Daemons rushed down the streets outwards, marching towards unknown destinations. Yet they did not notice him. He tried to go against the Daemonic horde to trace it to its source.

Closer…closer…closer! If he could reach the source of the Daemonic host he could stem the tide!

Soon he arrived at a blood-belching fountain that was decorated with rune-etched bones arranged in blasphemous totems. Beyond it was a formerly grand palace but now sported an ugly tear in reality.

Astartes knew no fear, but he did not dare look inside.

Then the hellscape disappeared, replaced by a pale void that was broken only by a strange shape. The silhouette resembled some sort of landmass that was covered by a repulsive black miasma. Six pinpricks of light were scattered amidst the darkness, but one by one they were smothered out.

"Find me."

The impenetrable dark returned, and so did the child's voice. The panic in her tone was once more replaced by a calm but insistent pleading.

"Find me." / "FIND HER."

A second voice joined the child's. It was male, ancient, but somehow familiar.

"FIND HER."

Now only the man's voice remained. It stayed the same, but the closer he listened the more it seemed to subtly differ.

"SON OF GUILLIMAN."

That was when he noticed the countless other voices whispering with the man, adding to his own.

"BLOOD OF MY BLOOD."

He and they commanded, and dictated, and begged and pleaded and wept as one.

"FIND HER."

 

[BattleBrotherOfCalderis]

"Warriors of the Imperium, each and every one of us carry the Emperor's light within. We shall not withhold that light while Chaos continues its rampage unopposed. We shall not stand idle while our potential allies on this world see their lines crumble and their innocents slaughtered!"

- Excerpt from Force Commander Titus's speech on the eve of commencement of hostilities

---

Day 6, Before Dawn

Titus's Cabin

Righteous Contempt Habitation Deck

The living space of an Ultramarine Battle-Brother - especially on campaign - was a cramped and spartan affair. Per the Chapter's most ancient customs dating back to the golden days of the Great Crusade, Ultramarines were to eschew personal luxury as a reminder of their duties and that the collective glories of the Legion - now Chapter - and Ultramar were of greater importance. Normally, it consisted of a bulkhead-mounted foldable rack, some storage cabinets, enough standing room for three Primaris Marines, and nothing more. The convention differed slightly for those in leadership roles as their living spaces often doubled as offices. The simple cot was exchanged for a day bed, there was an office desk plus a round table respectively for administrative work and receiving visitors. Finally, a private wash place, even if those assigned to such quarters rarely used them due to the blessings of post-human Astartes physiology. Finally, the bulkheads had modular mounting points that allowed for a mixture of bookcases and a personal cogitator.

Titus had opted for both upon assuming command, as well as arranging for a standalone station for purified drinking water and the required storage space for cutlery. Finally, there was a small cupboard where wine and glasses of varying sizes stored. Titus rarely drank, as the wine was more of a tool for receiving visitors, especially mortals such as the Cadian General and his own command staff.

Today was one of those rare cases.

Unlike the sons of Russ, the Ultramarines had no tradition of brewing nor distilling their own spirits. Instead, fortified ceremonial wine tended to be commissioned by a designated captain on behalf of the Chapter as a whole - typically to mark major events and important anniversaries - with the surplus sold in markets across Ultramar for reasonable rates and exported to the wider Imperium for more exorbitant sums. While strong by mortal standards, they were not intentionally brewn to bypass an Astartes' Oolitic Kidney. Instead, their appeal came from their rich taste - both overt and subtle - designed to stimulate an Astartes's senses, and certainly overwhelm a mortal's. For an Ultramarine, to partake in commemorative wine was to be reminded of their duties and that they fought for the peace and prosperity of Ultramar. For certain Battle-Brothers, the wine may carry deeper and more personal meanings such as commemorating a fallen Brother or a shameful reminder of a world they couldn't save. Thus, Titus found himself sampling a twenty-year vintage that had been commissioned to commemorate the defence of the Fortress of Hera against the vile Tyranids of Hive Fleet Behemoth. He sat in his desk as he swirled an Astartes-sized glass containing the magenta liquid and sighed - the soothing aromas not enough to distract Titus from his burdens.

Idleness, stagnation, indecision - Titus thus castigated himself. He and his senior staff had done their best to keep the troops occupied. The body needed training, the mind needed honing, and the machine needed tending. Cadian infantry and Kasrkin had adapted and overcame, occasionally cordoning off multiple sectors of the ship for elaborate urban warfare exercises. Unfortunately the same could not be said of the armoured corps and artillery. There was simply no space onboard for the vehicle crews to do anything but drive tight circles, and Titus wasn't going to wantonly blasting away at open ocean in the middle of a warzone the Imperium currently had no part in. Thus the 482nd Armoured and the 576th Artillery had to make do with tabletop training, theoretical exercises, and jerry-rigged simulators. The training value of those tended to plateau sooner rather than later, for Titus knew nothing could top the cerebral rush of feeling the roar of an engine beneath one's boots or hearing the whistling of shells and rockets as they hurtled towards their targets. Titus was no Techmarine, but he imagined the Machine Spirits of the 482nd's vehicles and the 576th's guns were like Macraggian hounds - chomping at the bits and pulling away at their chains, barking and growling, hungering for prey.

And he had no way to sate them, no outlet for them to vent their pent-up fury.

Furthermore, despite his efforts at gathering more information on this world, he was now at a standstill. Should he and the Imperium remain neutral in the face of this petty planetary war? If he did intervene, who should he support? How will this affect the planet's future and that of the wider Imperium? He had more theoreticals than earlier that week, but he also had practicals he cannot afford to wrongly choose. With his Strike Force cut off from the wider Imperium, they were the Imperium in its entirety, and Titus now directly represented his Primarch and his Emperor. Any costly mistake will be ones his fragment of the Imperium could never recover from. This additional burden weighed heavily on his soul, even if he did share it with come confidants. He thought back to his captaincy, wondering if he was slowly stumbling into making the same mistakes as before.

He shook his head. No, he was more than open on Strike Force Trajan's current predicament. Even the lowliest serf and Cadian whiteshield knew that they were stranded on this world, and that everyone must carry on with their duties regardless. Titus led by example, continuing to train and to fill out routine reports that had no hope of being transmitted off-world. Although he wondered if the latter was a fool's errand…

A chime from the chronometer on his desk caught Titus's attention. The dawn service at the chapel would soon start. He drank the rest of the wine in a swift gulp - wincing from the aroma - and headed out.

---

Chapel

As Titus approached the chapel doors, he noticed the Judiciar on duty was a familiar face. Vespasius has once been Talasa's squad leader before its disbandment. Since then, he had traded his outspoken litanies for the pitch-black armour and vow of silence of a Judiciar - a necessary step on the path towards taking his place in the chaplaincy. Titus greeted Vespasius warmly, who responded with a firm handshake and a nod before guiding him inside.

To call the Battle-Barge's place of worship and spirituality a simple 'chapel' was something of a misnomer. Back on Titus's homeworld of Tarentus, a place of worship the size of this chapel would have been considered a particularly large parish church. Its bulkheads were lined with stained glass displays of the Chapter's past battles - from Calth to Macragge and beyond - and memorials to past heroes who died while the Righteous Contempt was their home away from home. Reclusiarch Varnus's serf assistants darted to and fro, lighting and re-lighting candles, polishing the various bronzework, and generally ensured the chapel's cleanliness. They were proud of their work, for they perceived it as directly serving the Primarch and The Emperor Himself. Vespasius led Titus down the aisle between the pews and came to the front row, where the remainder of Command Squad Damocles had already gathered. There were enough pews to sit an entire company, but only slightly over half was filled. It was a sad reminder of how overstretched the Chapter was.

The service itself was just about what Titus had expected. It was far from his place to tell Varnus what to preach, but the Reclusiarch had a good understanding of their predicament. 'Vigilance' was the key word of the sermon. Vigilance against the Xeno, the Heretic, the Daemon, even in the face of despair and the eternal enemy that lay within mankind's psyche - boredom. The sermon appeared to have been well-received by the Battle-Brothers present, and after he gave his benedictions the Astartes began to file out to resume their duties for the day.

"Damocles, Brother Frontius, Brother Chaledus, I would like all of you to remain here for a moment," Varnus called out as Titus was beginning to stand up. "There is something we need to discuss."

As if on que, Vespasius shut and barred the chapel doors. It was clear the Reclusiarch had no appetite for visitors or interruptions.

"Is it about the dream, Honoured Reclusiarch?" Veteran Sergeant Valorem Gadriel was the first to speak up. When Titus had been given command of Strike Force Trajan, he had hand-picked Gadriel due to the blood they had shed together during the Recidious campaign. In the five months since, Gadriel had since proven himself to be a wise counselor as well as a peerless warrior that Titus always knew him as. To hear someone as level-headed as Gadriel speaking of dreams in such hushed tones came as a surprise to Titus.

"Indeed, Brother. I have been taking confessionals all night from our Brothers and even the Cadians. The Ministorum priests were overwhelmed by the sheer volume of guardsmen with identical nightmares," Varnus's reply set Titus even more on edge. "Strangely, the Cadians have had…different dreams. They all found themselves back on their world during the Fall, even those who had not been born at the time. From what I understand, nobody onboard has been spared from these dreams, for the Priests of Mars and the Chapter Serfs have also been plagued by their own nightmares. This omen…I do not like it."

Titus grimaced as he pondered the implications of all this. Was Chaos beginning to work its way into the listless minds of mortals and Astartes alike?

"That Daemon-infested city, and that landmass covered in darkness…It must mean the taint of Chaos is worming its way into this world! We must act, and quickly!" Brother Meduras Chairon interjected. He was another of Titus's hand-picked elite for his Command Squad, both for his fighting spirit and for his intuition - one that had been burned into his soul by the horrors he had witnessed on Calth as a child. Chairon's interjection drastically altered the theoretical Titus was building in his mind.

"I have been consulting the Emperor's Tarot ever since we crashed on this world. At first the cards fail to deliver any signs," Chaledus said. "But now? Now the cards are urging us to march forth. Still, it is not clear where to just yet. That dream, no…that vision may be the clue we needed."

"The neurological phenomenon known as 'dreams' typically have rational, physiological roots, namely the imbalance of humours. However, the statistical anomaly of the exact same neurological phenomon ocurring across multiple individuals necessitates the formulation of a new hypothesis. One that factors in the involvement of the preternatural," Frontius said. "This Unit has cross-referenced the contours of the dark landmass with the Strike Force's cartography results in addition to data harvested from the local Noosphere which the natives call 'The Orbal Net'. The landmass is a one-hundred percent match for the nation-state of Erebonia. Analysis of the six spots of light are ongoing."

Titus was deep in thought. On the surface, the contents of the dream seemed so obvious. Instead of working with the dominant power that was Erebonia, Titus must go to war against them. Still…

"And what about those voices? Who could they have belonged to?" Sergeant Gadriel then turned his attention to Titus. "Brother, you had confided in us about hearing a voice shortly after our victory against thrice-damned Imurah…"

"Indeed I have, Brother Gadriel. I also said at the time it was that voice which returned me to the realm of consciousness and restored my strength," Titus nodded. "That voice and the male one from our collective dream…it was one and the same."

The assembled Battle-Brothers looked on at Titus in stunned silence, with Chaledus looked especially lost in thought.

"The Tarot working again," Chaledus muttered. "…that voice…could it be?"

Titus knew exactly what the Librarian was getting at, and he shook his head in objection.

"Brothers, I dare not presume anything," Titus said. "What we do know is that everyone has had nightmares and that every Astartes heard those voices. This may very well be a lure by the Arch-Enemy rather than…"

"Your humility and caution do you credit, Brother, but we cannot discount that possibility. Our forces have been miraculously spared any major harm during that void battle, we have no way of leaving this world, and now the visions," Varnus said. "Brothers, I will say this plainly: I believe with great conviction that the Emperor is guiding us onto a path and urging us to take our first steps. To assuage your concerns about potential deception from the Arch-Enemy, I will speak with the Ministorum confessors to arrange a full week of fasting and prayer among ourselves. Perhaps The Emperor can show us a more definitive sign during this time."

The sign that the Imperium sought arrived barely an hour later. Titus had been urgently summoned to the Vox Chapel. There, he found Frontius and two other Techmarines performing a purification rite on a Vox terminal. Meanwhile, the Cadian Vox operator on duty was praying fervently while clutching an aquila pendant. A Ministorum priest attended to her, muttering catechisms that he then had her repeat.

"What is going on here, Brothers?" Titus asked.

"This Vox operator was on duty when she intercepted a transmission from far to the northwest - in a location known as Crossbell," Frontius paused his part in the ritual and replied. Titus nodded - he was personally familiar with the unusual occurrence of Vox transmissions glancing off of a world's ionosphere and ending up far from their intended recipient. "A recording has been made available for you to review. It is stored locally because This Unit dares not let its taint spread."

The last statement raised major alarm bells in Titus's mind. A quarantined piece of data most likely meant Chaos corruption was at play.

"Would you like to listen?" Frontius offered Titus the Vox station's headset. Titus nodded and held it close to his ear, steeling his mind for whatever may come next.

"Beginning playback."

"This is Second Lieutenant Noel Seeker requesting any available support to grid…" The transmission was broken up by static before continuing, but no static could hide the tearful desperation in her voice. "Send troops, tanks, bomb this place to dust, anything! Those Erebonian bastards have gone fucking rabid! Sweet Aidios, here they come again! Hold the line! We can't let them get…"

A long string of gunfire followed the speech, which was itself drowned out by an almost incoherent roar in the background.

'Almost' being the operative word, which had been enough for Frontius to work with.

"This Unit will now play a copy of the recording that had been cleansed of excessive noise."

It wasn't a whole lot different, but now Titus was able to make out the sounds of more gunfire in the background and prayers of desperate men and women directed towards this "Aidios". Judging by all the Vox-intercerpts gathered so far, "She" seemed to be the sole deity worshipped in the local pagan religion, but matters of faith would have to wait for another time to resolve. Soon, he was near the end of the recording once more. Aside from the familiar long string of gunfire, he heard a faint voice belonging to the same Second Lieutenant Seeker mumbling: "Oh Aidios, help me get out of this. Mom, Fran, I love you both so much. You have no idea how…"

Then came the roar in greater clarity, cutting off Seeker's desperate mumbling. It was a battle cry, one warriors of the Imperium knew far, far too well…

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"

"Continue the cleansing and quarantine this recording. I have no more need of it," Titus grit his teeth as he took off the headset. "Have you informed the Reclusiarch yet?"

"Indeed, Brother. He is preparing the rites of war at this very moment." Frontius nodded. "It seems the Omnissiah has finally shown the way forward."

"...and who our enemy will be. I will gather the War Council post haste," Titus remarked before turning to give Frontius his orders. "In the meantime, prepare a Thunderhawk for a supply drop. I shall send an itemized list shortly. Our Brothers on recce duty will require ample explosives…"

---

Noon, Day 7, Ruan

Alan Richard sat against the dining room corner and stared at the entrance door as he slowly tucked into a tin of fish. He was a very tired man, and he had been that way since the day the Imperial Stallion began flying from Ruan's flagpoles. Even before the Liberl Royal Army had made their begrudging retreat to Zeiss, Richard had been forming and then running resistance cells in the occupied parts of Liberl. Gunrunning from Calvard, daring acts of sabotage, and more mundane but no less important work of gathering intelligence. All of it had been to soften the ground for an eventual Liberlian counterattack. Yet as weeks turned into months, that counteroffensive never materialized. In the meantime, cell after cell in Bose, Rolent, and even Grancel began to go dark. He had read the reports - of homes and businesses seized at gunpoint, of mass executions of those who dared to show their loyalty to their own land, of the purges targetting Bracers who were unable or unwilling to escape the Erebonian occupation, of entire families being broken up with the children being forcibly deported to Erebonia, and even of press gangs rounding up able bodied Liberlian citizens. It was clear that Erebonia had been consolidating its new holdings with an iron fist, and that whoever had replaced Osborne was an even more ruthless bastard than he had been. The Imperial Intelligence Division and the Railway Military Police had been steadily trickling into Ruan with the clear intent of snuffing out the resistance cells there. If they had already made it to Ruan, the the situation in Bose, Rolent, and Grancel were much, much worse.

Richard pressed on despite the increasing amounts of horror stories landing on his desk. He could not and would not stop, not until either Liberl was freed or he was buried in a shallow grave with a bullet in the back of his head. He didn't know what drove him on anymore. Whether it was his love for the Liberl, the sheer spite he felt towards the Erebonian occupation, or the desperate need to atone for his mistakes from four years ago.

Heh…four years ago.

Late at night, he'd often stay up to ponder how differently this war could have turned out, and how Liberl could have been better prepared.

Refuse to yield Haken Gate when the Erebonians first began their attack…

Begin fortifying the Krone Mountains and the Grancel Region as soon as Erebonia annexed Crossbell…

Implement at least some of the policies I had put forward…

Make sure the coup succeeded…

It was a notion Richard began to more frequently entertain, and it scared him. Yet it all seemed so rational. By defeating Cassius's daughter, he would have taught Liberl a valuable lesson on the pitfalls of idealism versus hard strength. Liberl would carry that lesson forward through the years and fortify herself, not relying on miracles or blind hopes in the goodwill of men. In turn, instead of depending on the Schwarzer scion's naive desperate gamble, Liberl would have been able to stand on her own against Jormungandr…

He shook his head. Despair and desperation did strange things to one's mind. Fantasizing about how he could have won did nothing to help him keep the flames of hope burning in occupied Liberl, nor would it help him solve a mystery that had reared its head a week ago.

Everyone in Ruan had seen that shooting star and felt the ground shake as the massive tidal wave had slammed into the city's waterfront. Since then, unidentified airships began to buzz all over Liberl. They roared like ferocious predatory beasts and zipped through the sky with speed that no airship could match. His own sources in what was left of Ruan's hospitality sector informed him that the Erebonians were spooked. Not only were the airships armed to the teeth, but they could fly circles around Erebonia's mightiest airships while the Imperial Air Fleet could do nought but flounder in place. Not only that, but sailors reported seeing a gigantic blue floating fortress off the coast of Ruan festooned with cannons. It seemed to radiate power and menace, and whoever resided within had made no effort to make themselves known nor to make any diplomatic overtures. They clearly were not Erebonians, but their true identities evaded even Alan Richard.

Yet they were only tangentially related to the mystery. Roughly two days after the mysterious shooting star, Richard began to receive reports of strange hulking figures stalking Ruan's sewers and outskirts. Sometimes, resistance fighters on watch at night would even see the same hulking figures clambering up Ruan's walls for seemingly no purpose except to prove that they could. Then there were the acts of vandalism. A ripped wire fence here, a broken wall there, and a random act of arson here. On top of all that, both Erebonian patrols and resistance scouts began to report being stalked by unknown contacts and even the odd floating skull. Alan Richard didn't believe in ghost stories, but It was telling that even he - no doubt the subject of many Intelligence Division and RMP manhunts - also began to feel like he was being watched. No…no just feel like…thanks to his swordsman training, he would actually sense that he was being watched - by beings that felt more like something rather than someone. It set him on edge even more than when he first started the Liberlian resistance or when he got word that the RMP had sent one of their elites to Ruan.

Lieutenant Colonel Victor Helstrom had been one of the Railway Military Police's founding members. He had begun his career as an officer of the Heimdallr Military Police and had built a reputation for his skills as a detective. Said repution had caught the eye of none other than Chancellor Osborne himself who had arranged for Helstrom's transfer to the burgeoning RMP. He had distinguished himself during both the Erebonian Civil War and its aftermath - first by combat action against the Noble Alliance malcontents, then by hunting down the alliance's remnants. During Operation Birdcage, he and his men had been instrumental in capturing the arch-terrorist Lloyd Bannings. Just like his superior Claire Riedveldt, he was a rising star in the force, and the occupation of Liberl gave him even more opportunities to practice his skills in hunting down Erebonia's enemies. Alan Richard was sure he had met his match when Helstrom had arrived in Ruan. He figured he need to play his cards right to preserve the resistance cells in Ruan and to not become one of Helstrom's victims himself.

Then the problem solved itself. Two weeks after Helstrom's arrival - and five days after the mysterious shooting star - a patrol had discovered his headless corpse floating in Ruan's southern harbour. Before the occupation authorities could even announce crackdowns and curfews, yet another murder had been discovered - this time a Major of the Intelligence Division.

Richard felt his fork hit metal and saw that he had finished his impromptu lunch. By this midday meal, the grisly headcount had already reached ten. All field-grade officers, all middle management with access to a lot of information and enough authority to hobble the local Erebonian chain of command with their deaths. It would mean more crackdowns that would make life even more difficult for the citizenry, especially those poor brave souls who were associated with the resistance.

Then his fork hit the floor.

Perhaps it was the midday wine he had allowed himself, or perhaps it was a trick of his sleep-deprived brain, but a hunch hit him with the force of a Rhinocider - a hunch that would tie these phenomena together.

There is a third party probing Ruan.

No, it wasn't Calvard nor any powers sympathetic to Liberl. They had already committed to supporting his little resistance movement. This was some yet-unknown party, and more likely than not it was connected to those mysterious airships and that strange floating fortress.

A series of knocks echoed from his door. After all, this was the office of R & A Research, and business was still booming. This pattern told Richard that it was Kanone Almathea, having returned from her dead drop. He opened the door for her, and that was when he saw she was absolutely spooked.

"Were you followed?" He asked as he quickly shut the door, feeling an unusually strong breeze blowing inside as he did so.

"N-no, sir. The job went off without a hitch," To her credit, it took Kanone less than a second to regain her composure. Aside from the shaking hand holding a letter, that is. "But…but I found this note. Somebody knows about our dead drops."

Richard took a look at the paper, and a pit began to form in his stomach. The lettering was large, blocky, and done in all capitals. Whoever wrote it must have cared little for subtlety, and the entire statement read like a threat.

COLONEL RICHARD. I HAVE BUSINESS WITH YOU. WILL COME TO TALK.

"Greetings." A new voice piped up.

Dropping the mysterious note, Richard whipped around and his hand instinctively went for his sword - only to feel something strong and heavy press down on his left shoulder. His eyes registered what was holding him down but they did not understand. Not did they comprehend the thing looking down at him and Kanone.

"I come in peace. There is no need to brandish that…needle at me." A scarred face spoke as it looked down at Richard with an unreadable expression. But a man's face should not be that large or that wide, nor should the supposedly-human body that hosted the human-like face be three-arge tall. Then there was the hand…a human's hands should not be so large that each individual finger were the size of a truncheon, nor should a hand exert enough force to so casually pin a grown adult the height and weight of one Alan Richard to the floor.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" Kanone whipped out her pistol and pointed it at the "man" with the speed of a trained professional. Yet Richard could tell she was simply compensating for the initial shock both Richard and herself had experienced.

That, and the man was even faster. A blue blur and a weight being lifted off of his shoulder was all Richard saw and felt before the pistol was snatched out of Kanone's hand. He took a brief disinterested look at the weapon before letting it drop to the floor.

"Colonel Richard and Captain Almathea, I presume?" The man asked calmly, seemingly unbothered by the little episode with the pistol. Now that the initial shock had worn off - and that Richard had become something of a captive observer - he could see the man was dressed head-to-toe in a strange blue armour. Steam seeped out from somewhere on his back while a thick hooded cloak wrapped around his shoulders. A strange visor hid his eyes from view, and Richard's own eyes began to ache when he looked at the cloak. It seemed translucent, hovering between existence and non-existence…

Then there were the weapons. Aside from the gratuitous amount of grenades and spare ammunition strapped over the stranger's armour, Richard could see a short sword and an obscenely large pistol fastened to the man's thigh and belt, plus an even more obscenely large rifle slung over his back. Size or not, the loadout was a familiar one to Richard.

Sniper and long-range reconnaissance. Probably trained to remain self-sufficient and hidden for extended periods of time. Some kind of Jaeger?

Richard saw no course of action but to simply nod. "I am Alan Richard, yes, but I have not been a Colonel for four years now. This is my assistant Kanone Almathea, and together..."

"...you are the brains behind the resistance movement in the occupied portions of Liberl in general and Ruan in particular," the mysterious interloper piped up, stunning Alan and Kanone with just how much he knew about them. It was clear that he belonged to Richard's hypothesized third party, and they've been doing their homework.

"N-name and rank, soldier," Kanone broke the pregnant silence. She couldn't help but gulp as she stared up at the interloper. "He gave you ours, so it's only fair that you return the courtesy."

"Very well, Captain. I shall entertain your request in the spirit of quid pro quo. I am Brother-Sergeant Scipius of the Ultramarines Tenth Company, leader of the Eliminator Squad which bears my name. That may not mean much to you at the moment, but it will in due time," said the man who called himself Scipius. "I have come to deliver a warning. There will be a cleansing sometime this evening. If your associates and the denizens of this city value your lives, you will stay off the streets tonight."

With that, Scipius disappeared from view in the blink of an eye. Richard and Almathea stared at where he had been in stunned silence, wondering if they both had experienced some collective hallucination. The sound of the front door slamming shook the two out of their reverie, and they scurried towards the basement, where an Orbal radio station lay hidden behind a false wall.

That had been no hallucination, and Richard felt dutybound to warn his subordinates in the resistance about the storm to come. Still, questions flooded his mind.

How did he appear and disappear out of thin air like that?

How will they pull off this… 'cleansing'?

Will they actually be Liberl's friend once the dust is settled?

 

[BattleBrotherOfCalderis]

The continent of Zemuria has its own system of measurement that correspond to IRL metric units, just under a different name.

Taken from the Trails wiki:

rege	リジュ	1 rege = 1 centimetre
arge	アージュ	1 arge = 1 metre
selge	セルジュ	1 selge = 100 metres
torim	トリム	1 torim = 1,000 kilograms
curim	クリム	1 curim = 1 kilogram

 

[BattleBrotherOfCalderis]

"To take a town, send a legionary. To take a city, send a squad. To take a world, send a company. To take a culture, send a Chapter."

- Great Crusade Era Ultramarines aphorism

---

2359, Day 7

Occupied Ruan

Due to the treacherous overland path through the Krone mountains and the fact that the harbour had been blocked with scuttled ships, Ruan had been converted into an aerial logistics hub as well as a secondary line of effort for the Imperial Army's siege of Zeiss - Liberl's temporary capital, final stronghold, and the holdout for their Royal Family. The terrain between Ruan and Zeiss simply did not allow for the passage of heavy equipment, turning the western half of the siege into a simple blockade with infantry, light vehicles, and airships. With only the remains of the Air-Letten checkpoint covering a narrow corridor between Ruan and Zeiss with little possibility of Calvardian relief efforts from the south, Ruan had come to be seen as the quieter and safer half of the final battle of the Liberlian front.

Until the Imperium's arrival, that is.

The stillness of the night was suddenly shattered by several searing fireballs erupting throughout Ruan, their artificial thunderclaps booming as one. Unshuttered windows near the epicenters of the explosions were shattered by shockwaves, catching more than a dozen unlucky victims unaware. A Liberlian dock worker was one such victim. He had been a true patriot, risking his neck to do what he could to sabotage his workplace so the Erebonian war machine could be slowed - even if by one-hundredth of a percent. When he had received Colonel Richard's transmission about an outside force intervening in Ruan that night, he had made sure to hide his wife and children in the family's root cellar. Yet the thought of liberation coming at long last filled him with overwhelming anticipation. Thus, he had found himself near a window after curiosity had gotten the best of him. Thus, he had found himself thrown back, screaming and thrashing as blood poured from his glass-torn face. In time, his wounds would rob him of his right eye.

He would be one of the luckier ones, especially if the fates of his Erebonian opponents would be included in the count.

Waves of pressure and heat shot down the streets, knocking down Erebonian troops who were just a smidge too slow to brace for impact. Those who were caught in the vicinity of the ammunition depot had been far, far less lucky. Munitions cookoff sent deluges of burning hot shrapnel hurtling outwards, cutting down anyone not behind cover, and even those who did find cover died in agony as the very act of breathing sucked in scorching hot air that roasted them from within or smoke that doomed them to slow death by suffocation. The especially unfortunate souls saw shrapnel tear through their spinal columns, sending them screaming as they hurtled to the ground, never to walk again. They would spend the brief moments before the fireball reached them crawling in agony, screaming like the damned of Gehenna for their comrades to drag them to safety and praying to Aidios for the strength to get back up again. Then the fire would engulf them, licking away at the violet uniforms they took pride in until the flames reached the fleshy prize beneath. Their final moments would be spent screaming for the Goddess, for their mothers, for anyone to come help, even as their very screams for aid robbed them of precious oxygen. Their skin would char and slough off, their melted eyes would trickle down their faces in a twisted parody of tears, and their last moments among the living would feel like an eternity spent in the deepest pits of Gehenna.

As sudden as the silence had originally been broken, it returned, filled with tension rather than relative tranquility. It was broken up by the screams of the wounded, patrol leaders barking out orders, and the hum of countless Tactical Orbments preparing to cast healing Arts. Then, the silence was shattered for one final time that night. A long ear-piercing air raid siren sounded in the air. It had once been used by Liberlian authorities to alert Ruan's people of artillery or air attacks, and now it was used by the Erebonian occupiers to rouse the garrison to respond to surprise attacks such as these.

The cleansing of Ruan had begun.

---

Ruan Military Governorate Headquarters (Formerly City Mayor Residence)

The past couple of days had been hard on Major-General Hermanus Warner. He had already been on edge over the mysterious fast-flyers and the unidentified floating structure off the coast, then several officers turned up dead - butchered like animals, in fact! He knew that Ruan was a stronghold of the Liberlian insurgency, but he did not expect them to be so brazen as to turn the tables on the very people trained to sniff them out. He was no stranger to bloodshed and conflict - having been a veteran of the weeks-long slog that was the Krone Pass campaign which ultimately saw the Liberlian pissants flanked by air and pushed out of Ruan - yet an overwhelming sense of foreboding had hung over the General for the past few hours. It was enough to keep him from precious sleep and force him to resort to paperwork and strong liquor as distractions.

Once we take Zeiss and capture Alicia II, it'll break their spirits for good.

Heimdallr has plenty of agents to spare.

Those damned Liberlians are far too stubborn for their own good.

Then the Colonel on duty that was responsible for keeping peace in the city just had to perform his due diligence at this hour, informing him that the patrols manning Ruan's walls had not responded to any hails for the past ten minutes and that - as per protocol - the duty Quick Reaction Force had been dispatched to investigate.

"Very well, keep me informed," Warner grunted in barely-suppressed annoyance. He was sorely tempted to add a jest about not wanting to see another beheaded Major but held his tongue. The mood among the garrison's higher echelons was already dark enough, and Warner had good reasons to suspect the joke might darken it even further.

Then all Gehenna broke loose.

The sheer force of the explosions were powerful enough to shatter each and every one of the manor's windows, showering some unfortunate sentries with glass. Already, medics went about their work pulling the wounded to the infirmary while the reserve guards took their place. Judging by the direction of the explosions, the insurgents seemed to have targeted the Ruan Garrison's most crucial locations - the ammo dump, the motor pool, and the landing port.

Oh no…no, no, no, NO!

"Colonel, report!" Warner fought to keep down the panic in his voice! "What in the name of Aidios is going on out there!"

Yet his subordinate did not answer. All Warner heard were faint voices coming from radio comms and the Colonel barking orders. Seconds trickled by slowly and painfully like an overburdened snail as the Erebonian General tried to make out the chaos on the other end. After what felt like an eternity, the silence was broken.

"S-sir…the Liberlian insurgents have launched a mass rebellion. The men are attempting to fight back, but…"

"But WHAT ?"

"Our patrols are going dark by the second, and the QRF have not been able to stabilize the situation…hold on…"

The Colonel seemed to have held his radio headset too close to the phone, because Warner could make out a voice from the third party practically screaming in horror.

"WE ARE BEING FUCKING SLAUGHTERED OUT HERE! WHERE THE FUCK ARE THE SOLDATS AND THE AIRSHIPS? AIDIOS…THESE GUYS ARE NOT LIBERLIANS! I SAY AGAIN! THESE GUYS ARE -"

The call was interrupted by what seemed like a thunderclap, followed by the Colonel desperately trying to rouse the third party. He gave up soon after.

"S-sir…he…he's correct. We've been unable to rouse any of our vehicles or airships. We're not sure…oh no…the rebels are here…Shoot back, damn it! It's only one man! " the Colonel's panicked voice was suddenly replaced by an eerie calm. "Sir, I can now confirm we are being attacked by an unknown hostile force. It has been an honour serving under you. Hail Erebonia, Hail His Imperial Majesty, Hail the Chancellor's grand vision!"

An explosion sounded on the other end, followed by gunfire and what sounded like thunderclaps going off in quick succession. Sweat dripped down Warner's brow as he listened in on the battle on the other side. He desperately prayed to Aidios that his men would prevail, but judging by the screams and fading gunfire his prayers were falling on deaf ears.

Then, dead silence.

Warner was about to hang up until a voice sounded on the other side. It sounded like some kind of half-machine half-Devil monstrosity straight out of the pits of Gehenna. The voice seemed to taunt him and every single soldier of the Ruan garrison, every syllable a deep reverberating metallic growl that shook Warner to his very core, The line then went dead. Warner sat at his desk, frozen in panic as he tried to ponder the meaning behind those words. How could have things gone so wrong so quickly? How did the mighty Imperial Army's Ruan Garrison find itself fighting for its life against a bunch of disgruntled workers and washed-up veterans who had more enthusiasm than skill? Had Erebonia's sins become so great that Devils were crawling out of their pits to exact gleeful mayhem? No…this was an enemy trick. He could still salvage the situation. There were concrete steps he could take.

"Attention, this is the garrison commander speaking. Lock down the manor immediately," he spoke into the emergency public address system that's been wired throughout the manor. "All personnel present will be committed to the defence of the garrison headquarters while I personally coordinate the defence of this city. You know your duties, now hold the line and fight hard!"

The next few minutes were filled by a frantic flurry of radio transmissions by and to General Warner, trying to figure out where to best place his troops to stem the uprising and attempting to summon reinforcements from Ruan's outskirts. Yet all the units Warner was able to reach reported the same gloomy news about being picked off from the shadows, and there were no responses from units outside Ruan at all. That's when he realized the most likely reason why the sentries atop the walls had gone silent. The enemy - be it the Liberlian insurgency or this new unknown hostile force - had killed them all and placed their own troops along the walls. With the best high ground in the city and having somehow cut off external communications, the enemy had turned Ruan into their personal killing field. If Warner survived the night, he would have to answer for his failure, especially since his subordinates were now somehow being mowed down by the dozen.

Then a heavy machine gun emplacement at the ground floor let off a brief burst before what sounded like a loud whine silenced it. Panicked screams came from below as what seemed to be chainsaw roared to life, immediately followed by what sounded like the deepest pits of Gehenna itself: the nauseating wet tearing of flesh, the screams of the doomed, and the cracking of bone. He briefly contemplated escaping through the manor's secret pier - the very same one that the former Liberlian mayor had scurried away in - but quashed that thought and grabbed his greatsword - taking the time to boost his strength and defences with well-timed Orbal Arts. He was a star graduate of the Arseid school of swordsmanship and a decorated veteran of both the Hundred Days' War and the Civil War. He would not shame himself by fleeing while his men fought and died! As Major-General Hermanus Warner charged downstairs, he realized that he had made a fatal mistake.

Time seemed to stand still, giving Warner a long good look at the infernal scene facing him. The previously ornately-decorated ground floor resembled a charnel house, splattered with blood and the dismembered remains of his men. A large hole with molten edges sat where the machine gun nest used to be, its bottom pooled with molten metal and cremated ashes. To make matters worse, the being responsible was in plain view. It was a hulking giant three-arge tall, clad head to toe in a strange gore-soaked armour and a skull-like helmet that made it look like a shrunken Devilish parody of a Panzer Soldat. At that very moment, the creature was lifting the final guard off the floor with the same ease as Warner himself raising a whisky glass, and it was not doing so with a hand. Instead, it used a motorized blade that had been skewered through the soldier's stomach, drowning out the dying man's wet gurgling screams with raw industrial fury.

That…that's a chainsaw sword…an honest-to-Aidios chainsaw fucking sword!

Before the life faded from his eyes, the soldier briefly locked eyes with Warner, his expression contorted in horror and agony. Then the skull-faced giant casually flicked aside the dead man like a piece of trash - sending the corpse crashing into a wall in a wet smack - and whipped towards Warner. Seeing no other choice, he let off a roar of false bravado and charged at the hulking creature even as his bowels emptied from sheer terror. Yet the giant was even faster. A bestial mechanical roar later, and Warner realized his forearms and greatsword had clattered to the ground. He screamed and fell to his knees as blood spurted from the useless stumps his arms had become.

"What…what the hell…are…you?" Warner weakly gasped as the giant pushed him onto his back. Before the sickening crack and the endless darkness, Warner knew he had already gotten his answer from the other being that had taunted him over the phone.

"WE ARE ANGELS OF DEATH, AND WE HAVE COME TO DELIVER JUDGEMENT."

---

Barracks Building B-11

Military Annex

Occupied Ruan

If the explosion hadn't been enough to rouse Private Edward Lichtman from his sleep, then the siren sure was.

"Wh-what's going on?" The 19-year old farmboy asked his comrades as he rubbed his eyes.

"We're being attacked! Get dressed and prepare to gear up!" Answered the Corporal that served as the vice-commander of Lichtman's squad.

Edward grit his teeth as he hurriedly put on his uniform. Those damn Liberlians! They had already taken his father from him during the Hundred Days War, had killed several of his childhood friends while his Division had fought through the Krone Mountains, and now their brazen insurgency had the gall to begin their attack and try to spoil Erebonia's final victory over Liberl. Why won't those bastards just keel over and…

"Hey! You some kind of Jaeger?" A muffled voice came from below. "Who gave you…"

A thunderclap, a sickening wet splashing sound, and screams sounded simultaneously.

"Get to the armoury! Get to…" the panicked voice belonging to Edward's Sergeant called out before it was silenced by another thunderclap. Then another, and another, and another , and another ! That was no thunderclap! That was a weapon!

A soldier scrambled up the stairs, and Edward recognized her from a different platoon. Truth be told, he's had a crush on her ever since their platoons had fought alongside one another over the course of Erebonia's march through Liberl. Now, her face was etched in an expression of abject terror and her entire person was drenched in blood that was clearly not her own.

"Don't come down! Save yourself…"

Her head suddenly erupted into a crimson fountain, showering any unfortunate nearby Ereboian with blood, brain matter, and bone. Some of them tried to scream, but their more experienced and disciplined comrades clamped their hands over their mouths.

Come here! The Corporal gestured to Edward and the others with a standard tactical hand sign while holding out an ARCUS II Orbment.

The soldiers crept over, with Edward's eyes firmly fixated on his superior in an attempt to distract himself from the horror he had just witnessed.

"I'll cast La Crest and La Forte on us," the Corporal whispered. "Then we'll storm downstairs and take out the insurgent shithead that killed our comrades, got it?"

Edward simply nodded.

Just as the familiar glowing sigils coming from the tactical Orbment surrounded the Corporal's feet, a shot ran out from below. The bullet punched into his jaw, and detonated as if it was a miniature artillery shell, popping his skull like an overripe tomato. The headless corpse fell onto its knees as the tactical Orbment clattered onto the floor, its glow rapidly fading. Even as his squadmates screamed, Edward dove towards the Orbment.

Then more shots sounded. Whoever was down there had an uncanny ability to sense each Erebonian's position, for the same exploding rounds punched into the others one by one like clockwork. Most died quickly, but some were not so lucky. As they dove or scrambled or stood or attempted whatever futile maneuver to escape their fate, the exploding rounds caught them elsewhere instead, sending their mutilated forms crashing to the floor. Edward himself was such a victim. While attempting to cast an Art, he heard a defending roar and found himself unable to feel his legs. To his shock and horror, he saw that everything below his navel was gone , with his exposed entrails seeping gore.

No! This can't be happening! Frantic dying thoughts flooded Edward's mind. Mother and my younger sisters are still waiting for me!

Then, a being resembling a somewhat shrunken Zauber Soldat stormed up the stairs. Edward chalked it up to a shock-induced hallucination, for nothing that large could be that fast. The illusory blue giant strode towards Edward even as he futilely tried to crawl to safety, a large smoking rifle with some kind of scope in its right hand. Without looking, it put one round into each wounded soldier, obliterating what remained of their mutilated bodies. Soon, the floor became flooded with gore, mixing with Edward's own. That was when he finally realized the hulking being was no hallucination.

"No…get…away from…me," tears welled up in Edward's eyes as the giant stomped towards him. It picked up the ARCUS, and held up the device to its visor as if examining the device like some predatory beast examining new prey.

Another deafening roar sounded, and Edward's world went dark.

---

Ruan Chapel

Father Theodore had been one of the first people to join Alan Richard's resistance movement even before the Erebonians had moved in. After news of the atrocities committed by the Erebonians wherever the Stallion's hooves tread, how could he not have? Those people - in the loosest interpretation of the word - committed blasphemy upon blasphemy while still claiming to be Aidios's faithful. Thus he had found himself surveilling the occupiers via cameras hidden throughout Ruan and providing medical care to resistance fighters and Bracers alike. Thus, after the devastating explosions caused by a mysterious new faction Colonel Richard had warned the resistance about, he had found his eyes glued to the screen, watching street battles unfold. The Erebonians were professional, with their close cohesion, defensive positions, and overlapping fields of fire that shot at anything that moved. Nothing on Zemuria could survive that firepower, as the Imperial Army had demonstrated all too painfully these past few gruelling months.

Yet their new enemy was even better, for every defensive cordon - no matter how sturdy - was being picked apart before Theodore's very eyes. Whoever or whatever was killing the Erebonians was brutal and agile, with bullets detonating inside the bodies of Erebonian troops and brief blue blurs zipping among the enemy and cutting them down with impunity. He watched footage of Zauber Soldats stomping away from the remnants of the Erebonian motor pool only to be scythed through by beams of blinding crimson light from the city's ramparts. He watched aircrew desperately combing through the remnants of the landing port for any serviceable airship, only to get picked off one by one by sniper fire from above. His jaws were slack as he watched the Erebonian garrison suddenly turn from the city's undisputed masters to nothing but mere prey. For the first time, he felt a sensation he thought he'd never feel for the Erebonian occupiers: pity.

Father Theodore switched cameras, seeing an Erebonian patrol pinned down by what seemed to be sniper fire. He recognized the location as an alleyway just down the street from his church. With the knowledge gained from Colonel Richard's crash course and his own experience, he determined it was about the size of one and half platoons and made out the uniform of a Captain leading the troops. The contingent must have been a lot larger, but the new guys cutting down the Erebonians must have not spared them either. The view of the Captain's head exploding into a bloody mist proved it. Before panic could set in, a First Lieutenant began to shout orders to reassert discipline.

Then the shadows behind him moved.

What appeared to be the tip of a shortsword suddenly erupted from the junior officer's chest. Whoever the blade belonged to was strong, because it was able to fling aside his corpse like a piece of wet trash. That's when the Erebonian patrol broke. They began to fire wildly in the killer's general direction, but the mysterious being had already disappeared. Father Theodore watched in equal parts fascination and horror as a Sergeant's head suddenly disappeared, followed by a hulking being stepping into view. It resembled a shrunken down version of the Erebonian Empire's humanoid war machines and painted a dark blue. Father Theodore thought it was some kind of archaism at first, but its movements were too fluid to be a machine, yet he knew no human could possibly be that massive. It knocked the beheaded Sergeant aside and let loose rapid fire with its own rifle - a suitable gigantic weapon matching the being's stature. If any of the Erebonians' own bullets did hit, the creature simply shrugged them off. In the blink of an eye, it was behind one of the many stone blocks the Erebonian garrison had put in place themselves to regulate foot traffic. This creature was quick, efficient, and deadly - for every bullet fired seemed to be a killing blow. It was also cunning - intentionally targeting surviving officers and NCOs first as well as ignoring covering fire to shoot anyone who dared to pull out an Orbment. In quick succession, the helpless soldiers popped like tomatoes that had spent too much time in the oven, showering the street with gore and shredded organs. In less than a minute, the Erebonian force was whittled down to a single squad which then broke and ran - making a beeline for the chapel.

Father Theodore rushed to the chapel door, checking to see if it's still barred. He was torn between his love for Liberl and his duties as a priest. True, he had been warned by Colonel Richard to stay off the streets and to refuse shelter to Erebonians seeking refuge from this so-called "cleansing". Yet he hoped that the horrific events tonight would serve a warning to the surviving Erebonians. That they'd finally see the signs of Aidios's displeasure and come to their senses. He'd be able to take their confessions and help them take their first steps back into Her light. He tightly gripped the bar, praying to Aidios for a sign on what to do and thanking Her that there were no Sisters awake at this hour to witness his dilemma.

After several minutes that felt like an eternity, he heard frantic banging from the other side.

"Let us in, Father! Let us in! There are Devils out here!" he held his breath as he listened to the desperate Erebonian soldier. "Goddess…we never signed up for this!"

He grit his teeth as indecision overtook him.

They seem genuinely remorseful.

Where was that conscience of theirs when they first joined the Imperial Army?

Maybe they didn't have a choice…

There was no shortage of volunteers back in the summer. They had a choice!

"It's here! Aidios, that Devil is here! Help us, please!"

It sounded like firecrackers going off in the distance, and every pop became louder, deeper, and closer. The desperate screams of the soldiers outside were silenced one by one, each voice abruptly cut off with a single wet, meaty smack.

Then, silence reigned. Father Theodore crept off to the side towards one of the boarded-up stained glass windows to get a better look through the gaps. Despite the colouration, he knew he was looking at puddles of blood and broken bodies littering the ground in front of the church. The giant stood alone amidst the carnage it caused - smoke still rising from its massive rifle's muzzle. The being was easily three arge tall, and everything about it screamed that it was built for one thing and one thing only: warfare. He was sure that it could easily kick open the church's doors should it wish to do so, yet it simply stood still. The hulking figure stared at the church's edifice for what felt like an eternity before clamping its humongous rifle onto its back. It then performed a curious gesture: crossing its wrists over its chest, thumbs and fingers splayed out like some two-headed bird. Afterwards, it readied its rifle once more and went on its way, no doubt looking to start a new murderous rampage.

Then a new sound filled the night sky. Father Theodore rushed to the chapel clock tower, hoping to have a better look. From his vantage point, he made out several unfamiliar-looking airships hovering over various locations throughout Ruan, side doors and front ramps wide open. Each carried figures standing inside that were barely illuminated by red lighting within the airships's holds. Father Theodore had to squint to make out any kind of detail, but it was enough to tell him these were soldiers. Ropes were quickly lowered from half of the airships onto the rooftops below - the other half of the new fleet seemingly proving covering fire should the need arise. One by one, the soldiers inside hugged the ropes and zipped down. As soon as one soldier's boots touched the ground, they trotted outwards and dropped prone - aiming their rifles outwards. Within seconds, defensive formations were formed at the base of the airships - which then dropped their ropes and allowed their partners to disgorge their own troops. With hand gestures and barked commands, the defensive cordons dissolved as quickly as they had formed, with the soldiers all standing up with a cold efficiency and beginning to sweep the city.

As he watched the Erebonian occupation of Ruan come to an end, he prayed that these newcomers were truly liberators.

---

It was all hopeless, so Aidios-damned hopeless. From the futile search for any salvageable airframe amidst the burning wreckage of the landing port, to attempts to fight back against the Liberlian uprising.

"There's a reason why infantry training was mandatory back at Thors, now move your ass!"

Those had been the last words of her squadron commander before a sniper shot had turned everything above his navel into a pink mist and showered her fellow aircrew with viscera and bone fragments.

"Run, run! We'll have better luck supporting the surviving patrols on foot!"

Said the vice-commander before a torrent of exploding bullets erupted from the shadows and obliterated everyone but a junior radar operator and herself. Only dumb luck had saved them. Caked with sweat, soot, and the bloody remains of their comrades, they fled.

"It's not fair…it's not fucking fair!"

They tried to find refuge by sticking to a mobilized Zauber Soldat, only for a lance of blinding red light to core through it and sending it crashing on top of the radar operator. She never got his name.

Then came the roaring engines that the air squadrons based out of Ruan had become familiar with. Those damned unidentified airships…the late squadron commander had a hunch they'd turn out to be hostile, but she didn't think anyone would think they'd bring friends. They were all over the city, with whatever unholy army within rapidly sliding down the ropes - no doubt hunting Erebonian survivors like herself. Maybe if she took off her uniform and stole some casual clothing, she could sneak out of the city and report what she'd seen. That was the only duty she could perform in the face off…

Crack!

A sudden dull pain erupted in the back of her skull, and she fell flat on her face. She felt the cold muzzle of a rifle briefly press against her neck before withdrawing.

"You know the brief. Leave this one alive."

---

Mayor Residence

1 Hour Post-Explosions

"Why did you pick me out of all people, Brother? You know I do not care for cloak-and-dagger schemes!"

"Out of all the Sergeants I could have picked from, Scipius trusts you the most. If - or when - we need to dispense with covert tactics, I want your squad to deliver the first blow."

Sergeant Decimus felt like he owed Lieutenant Titus an apology. He had doubted the strategy and wisdom of his Force Commander, and to Titus's credit he had been quite understanding and had actually bothered to explain his reasoning. The past week had been nothing but a series of boring recce missions that chafed against Decimus's more aggressive instincts. Yet all the "prep work" - as Scipius had called it - had paid off. Decimus and his own squad had vented their pent up righteous fury with impunity, crushing whatever pitiful resistance the Erebonians could offer.

Now, it was time to start the debrief.

"Speak, Brother," Lieutenant Titus's voice sounded over the newly-established Vox link, his tone carrying the faintest hint of anticipation.

"Phobos Killteam Decimus and Eliminator Squad Scipius achieved all objectives, My Lord," Sergeant Decimus said, his voice brimming with satisfaction. "Erebonian garrison neutralized, and wave two is landing as we speak. Ruan is ours."

"Good. Prepare to brief Colonel Graves once he arrives," Titus explained. "He is leading the second wave personally."

"I am sure the Kasrkin will be honoured to pick up the scraps we have left for them," Sarcasm was evident in Decimus's voice. "A shame. They have been craving action for quite some time."

"...and they shall see it soon. The Erebonians may be pawns of the Arch-Enemy, but I doubt they are fools. I anticipate a counterattack from outside Ruan's walls well before dawn," Titus said. "While we still have the element of surprise on our side, the Kasrkin will fortify the beachhead. That should buy the rest of the Guard more time to deploy. Have you collected any intelligence?"

"Plenty, Brother. Too much to brief over Vox, and perhaps enough to impact decision-making for future operations," Decimus replied as he looked at the unconscious Erebonian General and the burlap sack filled to the brim with documents.

"Excellent. Vox me as soon as you finish briefing Graves, and I shall redirect a Thunderhawk for extraction," Titus said. "Your time before the next mission is short. Priorities are as follows: debrief, rearm, and rest. Courage and Honour, Brother."

"We march for Macragge, Brother." Decimus responded to the customary Ultramarine greeting.

"Wait, one more thing," Titus said. "Your actions this evening are enough of an apology. Out."

After terminating the Vox link, Decimus took one last look at the prisoner. Due to risks of Chaos corruption, the two advance squads had been forbidden to use their Omophageas. That left more traditional methods at the Imperium's disposal. Brutal interrogations, psychic probing, nothing was off the book - eventually culminating with a righteous hanging as befitting a foul servant of the Ruinous Powers. With the Righteous Contempt completely devoid of the Inquisition's agents, the tedious task of interrogating the prisoner would have to be performed by the Battle-Barge's embedded Vigil Opertii cell. Sooner or later, they would uncover the Chaos taint hidden on this world. Sooner or later, Decimus would serve as one of the Emperor's many scalpels, cutting away at the hidden evil until it was finally unearthed and destroyed.