Sol System, Zahr-Tann Craftworld
544.M32
Raldoron
Tirol Var led them through a series of corridors and chambers, where they saw Aspect Warriors everywhere, primarily Dire Avengers and Howling Banshees, but there were others as well.
Was this supposed to be a show of force? Surely, if they had been alone, Raldoron would have felt uneasy, but he knew that the two Aeldari leading this mission were not only more than prepared for combat, being equivalent to human alpha psykers, but above all, they guaranteed that no fighting would occur.
Their guide spoke proudly of the Craftworld itself, though his words were mainly directed at Orain and Melyth. Raldoron only listened half-heartedly, as his eyes darted around the complex, searching for possible escape routes, places to hold the enemy longer, or defence systems.
When they reached a vast chamber resembling an amphitheatre, covered entirely in painted wraithbone bas-reliefs, he had to admit the sight was truly extraordinary, and after spending time in Ilmarin, he had acquired a taste for the art form of which the Eternal City was replete.
Another surprise was that they were allowed to enter armed, but he soon realised that he was about to find himself in a chamber with incredibly powerful psykers who could kill him faster than he could attack them.
Eleven men and women sat in a semi-circle at a massive table also made of wraithbone, joined by Tirol Var himself. Each exuded a well-concealed power, but his keen instincts made it clear what a threat they posed to him.
It had to be the Seer Council. The group's gaze quickly swept over Raldoron and his brothers, lingering on the mighty figures of the Krorks before finally settling on Orain and Melyth.
"Respected Elders, I greet you on behalf of all our race, dwelling on Zahr-Tann," the woman addressed them, rising and bowing her head slightly. "Of course, we also welcome your companions. I am Faeliyn Brightstar, High Farseer of our Craftworld."
"Orain Droh."
"Melyth Dawnlance"
The Eldar of Ilmarin introduced themselves, and then Orin pointed to himself and then to Thrall, standing a little further away. "This is the Captain-General of Angeli Custodes, Raldoron, and slightly behind is the Vice-Commander of the last surviving Krorks, Thrall."
This prompted murmurs among the Council members and curious glances from others present within the Eldar chamber.
"Krorks. Surely you don't mean to suggest, esteemed Elder, that these individuals here are members of a long-fallen race and our former allies, according to our myths and legends?" spoke one of the Farseers, a man with long silver hair.
Orain merely smiled, then added, "Oh, but I assure you, that's precisely what they are."
"Your message surprised us... as did the company you keep," Faeliyin said, redirecting the topic. Her tone, however, was as unassuming as the surface of a lake on a windless night. "So where do you come from? And to what end?"
"If you will, esteemed members of the council, I would like to connect us with our leaders. I believe a face-to-face conversation will better clarify our purpose." Melyth spoke, and a small device materialised above her outstretched hand.
The Council members didn't exchange a word, but Raldoron was convinced they must have communicated mentally. For after a short moment, the High Farseer spoke.
"So be it. Connect us if you have the possibility."
The device in Melyth's hand glowed, and a moment later, a beam of light shot from it, creating a holoprojection several meters away, with a large portion of Ilmarin visible in the background, with its majesty and splendor.
In the foreground were the Old Ones, the two remaining Eldar, and the two Primarchs.
Sanguinius himself stood in the center of the projection, clearly indicating that he would be leading these discussions.
"High Farseer, Esteemed Council. I am Sanguinius, once Primarch of the IX Legion of the Imperium of Mankind, now Lord of Ilmarin, the Eternal City. "I have an offer you can't refuse," their father's voice boomed, carrying so much confidence and authority that, to Raldoron, it reminded him of the Emperor himself.
Faeliyvin looked carefully, first at Orain and Melyth, her gaze flickering briefly over the Old Ones before settling back on Sanguinius.
"I don't know who you are, but Sanguinius has been dead for two thousand years, and I have no idea where this Ilmarin you speak of is. However, the fact that two such ancient yet powerful Eldar speak in your name compels me to at least listen," she said, her previously calm tone dripping with suspicion and hidden aggression.
Their father merely smiled faintly at her words, then replied, "I am Sanguinius, believe me or not, Lady Faeliyvin. As for Ilmarin, the Eternal City is the former capital of the Empire of the Old Ones, your creators, located in the Webway."
"Impossible, those are just myths and..." she replied.
"And I wish to offer you freedom and safety from Slaanesh for eternity."
At these words, the entire chamber fell silent, and the High Farseer stood frozen. After a moment, she forced out through gritted teeth, "Speak. And if this is some kind of trick, we will have your head."
But he only smiled again. "No, no. I assure you, it is no trick. And as for my head... you are too weak for that, but I care very much about the heads of my envoys, so I hope you will accept the hand I offer you."
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Segmentum Solar, Hive World Udine
544.M32
Azkaellon
It was already the fourth day on this Imperial Hive World, one of the most populous in the galaxy, where they were trying to stem the tide of Orks invading them while simultaneously evacuating the planet's inhabitants, which was no easy feat, as there were trillions of them.
Over 120 ships were dispatched to the planet by Lord Jaghatai and Old One Seeker, who led the entire operation. However, they knew that even though most of them were true behemoths, up to 30 miles long, they wouldn't be able to evacuate all the people.
Moreover, the Orks weren't about to let them, attacking all the Hive Cities in their countless numbers. They had only been able to repel them so far thanks to the legion of Titans that accompanied them, but even that wasn't enough.
In the atmosphere and above, their small but powerful battleships fought an unequal battle with the WAAAGH! ships, which he was convinced had no business operating at all. But they did, and quite well.
They couldn't count on any support, as their forces were scattered across a dozen worlds under Ork attack. Moreover, what good was it that Ilmarin's towering hangars were filled with tens of thousands of Titans, machines, and vehicles if there was no one to pilot them?
The current Titans, like most of the ships, were controlled by the minds and technology of the three Old Ones. Azlaellon didn't particularly like this, as it reminded him too much of AI, but on the other hand, Sanguinius said it wasn't the same and that the Ancient Xenos were allies.
He didn't need to hear anything more. His father's word was law and truth. According to Azkaellon, there was no one more worthy of obedience. Only the Righteous and the Just Angel.
That's why Azkaellon was the first to volunteer to evacuate the worlds. When his father expressed his wish to rescue as many people as possible from the Orks, while the Imperium abandoned them to their own devices, he only strengthened the Astartes' conviction.
So, like a dutiful son, he volunteered to fulfil this task and bring pride to his Primarch.
He glanced toward the southern defences, where several squads of Knights were blocking the Orks' walkers. There, Druell fought among them, no longer imprisoned in his Dreadnought and consumed by Black Rage, but commanding a massive Imperator-class Titan, though more slender than those of humanity.
While protected by powerful shields, he himself unleashed powerful projectiles that devastated the surrounding landscape and disintegrated tens of thousands of Orks.
The greenskins, however, did not remain passive, constantly sending their own Gargants against them, which, fortunately, were significantly inferior to the Titans produced in the armouries of Ilmarin.
Two hive cities had already fallen since their arrival, and although they had evacuated most of their inhabitants, tens, if not hundreds, of millions still died. Four more had been destroyed earlier, each housing billions of people.
He and two of his brothers, along with the Planetary Defence team, secured the transport ships from attack as they were being loaded. Seeing the wailing and crying people shouting over each other, he felt nothing but contempt.
They were weak and pathetic, but in the future they could serve in Sanguinius's Holy Crusade and contribute to the ascension of their glorious father to godhood. That, and only that, would make Azkaellon now help save their worthless lives.
A small Ork ship, clearly on fire and missing a large section of its hull, suddenly caught his attention as it descended toward their position.
One of the plasma cannons struck it, destroying almost the entire forward hull. The wreckage struck several hundred metres from where the Astartes stood. To Azkaellon's frustration, it didn't explode, but the impact itself created a shockwave strong enough that he had to grab onto something to keep his balance.
But since the ship didn't explode on impact, it was likely that the Orks had survived the crash.
And indeed, not a minute later, swarms of Orks began pouring out of the wreckage, screaming "Waaarrrgh!" as they attacked not only the Astartes and PDF soldiers but also the civilians.
Azkaellon aimed his plasma gun at the front rank of the advancing enemy, and his brothers and the PDF followed, but the Orks pressed forward. Azkaellon drew his axe and charged towards them, slashing left and right.
Thanks to his modified Terminator armour, he was as tall as even the largest of these Orks. When the last of his enemies fell to the ground, he began finishing off those still moving. A quick headshot, blowing it to pieces, and that was it.
He looked at the plains, filled with Greenskins as far as the eye could see, and knew they had a difficult two days ahead of them.
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Segmentum Solar, Forge World Malleus Mundi
544.M32
Varrok
Furiously, he grabbed the Ork's head in his hand and crushed it mercilessly, simultaneously catapulting the next one into the air with a powerful kick. His flamethrower, held in his other hand, sent beams of flame with a temperature that melted rock over a hundred metres, creating a sea of fire before him.
Those few of his race's degenerate descendants who made it through were swiftly eliminated by him. Without mercy. Looking at what had become of their once-mighty race, he felt only shame and fury.
The Orks resembled more feral beasts or barbarians than the mightiest warriors in the galaxy. They charged forward without any order. Tactics were nonexistent.
Their weaponry revolved around blindly firing at the enemy, and the weapon itself... He had no idea how it could possibly work.
Even their racial psychic ability was being wasted. The constructs they created were crude and clumsy, functioning only because they believed in them.
The ability that had allowed Krorks to bend the very tide of battle to their will now amounted to nothing more.
"AAARRRRGGHH!" He roared his fury with a mighty roar, and his subordinates followed suit.
And the fact that their feeble descendants were now looking at them with wonder and admiration only fuelled his burning anger. "Yes, that's what you once were, and that's what you could be."
He looked around at his comrades surrounding him and called out, his voice carrying far over the battlefield.
"Show no mercy. Today we will erase even this tiny stain on our honour. Our pride will not perish."