Chapter 35: Loyalty at the Battle of Isstvan III
Aboard the Emperor's Pride, flagship of the Emperor's Children Legion...
"Tarvitz, do you have any idea why the Primarch has ordered complete reorganisation of our battle formations?" Captain Lucius of the Thirteenth Company approached with characteristic swagger, draping an arm across his brother's shoulders.
"You have keen tactical insight; surely you've figured out his purpose?"
"At last, we get the honour of spearheading the assault! Shall we compete to see who first breaches the enemy's walls?"
Captain Saul Tarvitz of the Tenth Company felt unease crawling beneath his skin at this inquiry. He forced a smile, returning Lucius's fraternal gesture.
"Who among us would shrink from such glory?"
Yet even as he spoke these words, Tarvitz withdrew toward the rear of the formation.
In the chamber's shadows loomed a massive Dreadnought, its adamantine bulk a monument to sacrifice and service.
These revered war machines represented the ultimate honour, reserved for those battle-brothers who had suffered wounds beyond mortal endurance, yet whose wisdom and experience proved too valuable to lose.
Within the sarcophagus, the pilot's broken form lay curled like a gestating child, his nervous system directly interfaced with the machine's holy systems. Through this fusion of flesh and sacred steel, the fallen warrior achieved a form of immortality, though whether this existence constituted rebirth or entombment remained a matter of theological debate.
The one controlling this particular war engine bore the honoured name Rylanor.
He had fought beside the Emperor himself during the earliest days of the Great Crusade, his armoured hull inscribed with battle honours spanning decades. In many ways, Rylanor's personal chronicle was the chronicle of the Third Legion.
"Honoured one," Tawiz approached with proper reverence, his unease demanding counsel. "I would request permission to delay our deployment schedule."
Long moments passed before Rylanor stirred from whatever depths of thought or memory occupied his centuries of existence. When Rylanor spoke, his voice emerged as a synthesised rasp from the Dreadnought's vox-grille.
"Speak your concerns."
Tawiz had expected to justify his request at length, yet the Ancient's immediate attention emboldened him to voice his doubts.
"The Primarch's behaviour has grown... strange. He seems transformed into someone entirely different."
"This complete restructuring of our formations, combined with Eidolon's conspicuous absence from the vanguard, elements that should lead our charge, leaves me deeply troubled. I formally request a deployment delay pending clarification."
Ancient Rylanor processed this intelligence; his experience earned across decades of warfare led him to a dangerous conclusion.
"Your instincts serve you well, battle-brother. Our enemies possess cunning beyond mortal measure; vigilance remains our greatest weapon."
"However, Legion commands brook no defiance. I'll take your place in the first wave."
Despite the cold mechanical delivery, Tarvitz felt profound honour at this gesture.
Hiss. Clang. Clang. Clang.
The sound of heavy machinery engaging echoed through the chamber as Ancient Rylanor, to the amazement of all present, entered his drop pod first among the assault force.
The remaining loyal warriors followed their Ancient's example, boarding their own pods while raising voices in unified acclaim:
"Emperor's Children! Slayers of the Father's Foes!"
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.
Countless drop pods launched from the battle-barge's deployment bays, streaking like falling stars toward the choral city where rebel forces had established their stronghold.
Identical scenes played out across the Vengeful Spirit, the Conqueror, and the Endurance. The eyes of these descending warriors burned with devotion to the Imperium; they believed this day would bring fresh glory to their Father's realm.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The Imperial drop pods struck the planetary surface with devastating force.
Hiss.
Deployment hatches cycled open, disgorging hundreds of Astartes who charged forth with unified battle cries: "For the Emperor!"
Their support remained deliberately limited, a handful of armed gunboats and basic communications equipment. Only the Death Guard contingent had deployed with proper heavy armour: Brutal Blade super-heavy tanks, Scorpion-pattern Whirlwind missile systems, and Proteus-variant Land Raiders.
"Come and play with us! Come and play!"
"Hehehe~ Such comfort! Such divine sensation!"
"Oh mighty warriors, why not shed those cramping suits and join our revelries?"
Throughout the city streets, countless beings writhed in corruption beyond mortal understanding. Warp-taint had rendered their flesh translucent, revealing internal organs and circulatory systems in nauseating detail, living anatomical displays of daemonic transformation.
Their faces had twisted beyond recognition, features displaced into impossible configurations while obscene smiles stretched their mutilated lips. Growths covered their forms, tentacles, spikes, and writhing protrusions that moved with independent malice, exuding stenches that defied description.
Distorted organs fused multiple entities into singular abominations that moaned constantly while tearing at everything within reach. Some growths released intoxicating pheromones; others emitted screams capable of shattering ceramite.
Limbs had elongated into spider-like appendages or swollen into massive, scale-covered clubs. Wings, tails, and fin-like appendages sprouted randomly from torsos, while twisted shadows and phantasmic illusions danced through the air with malevolent purpose.
Witnessing this blasphemy, the Imperial warriors erupted in righteous fury.
"Purge the heretics! CHARGE!"
Battle commenced with explosive violence.
The corrupted monstrosities shrieked their perverted ecstasy as they lunged toward the Astartes. Their chaotic attacks struck everything nearby. Some wielded blades of crystallised pain, others unleashed psychic energies that sought to unravel reality itself.
"More! More! Strike us again!"
"Such exquisite agony! We crave more!"
Yet Astartes power armour proved resilient against most assaults, while their bolt weapons spoke with the Emperor's own voice, each round punching through corrupted flesh with righteous purpose.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Chainswords roared hungrily as power fists crackled with contained lightning. Every swing dismembered the enemy, chainblade teeth grinding through bone and sinew while their wielders pressed forward through sprays of putrid ichor.
A corrupted psyker materialised before one Space Marine, its eyes replaced by swirling vortexes that sought to devour the warrior's sanity.
The Astartes responded without hesitation; his chainsword separated the creature's head from its shoulders before claiming the trophy for his belt.
At the battlefield's heart, the Dreadnoughts reigned supreme.
Their armour gleamed with cold radiance in the dying light. They wielded thunder hammers and storm bolters with equal mastery, each footfall crushing enemy corpses as they advanced through the carnage like icebreakers through a crimson sea.
Their thunder hammers carved silver lightning through the air, each impact accompanied by deafening crashes that shattered armour and bone alike. Every charge scattered formations like flood waters; every blow fell with the weight of divine judgment, reducing enemies to component atoms.
Blood-mist saturated the atmosphere while corpses formed mountainous barricades. The Dreadnoughts carved trails of destruction that would scar this world for generations.
Just as victory seemed within Imperial grasp...
The scene shifted to the Vengeful Spirit's command bridge.
"Deploy virus ordnance."
Horus delivered the command with terrifying calm, as though ordering the most mundane of tactical adjustments.
As his words spread through the fleet, Captain Saul Tarvitz aboard the strike cruiser Andronius became the first to discover life-eater virus canisters being loaded into his vessel's torpedo tubes.
The accompanying orders demanded indiscriminate bombardment of the surface.
In that moment of horrified revelation, Captain Tarvitz of the Emperor's Children Tenth Company finally understood the full scope of the betrayal.
"They want to murder our own brothers! The Warmaster and our Primarch they've turned traitor!" Tarvitz stared at the operational orders with mounting rage.
Initially, he had strange doubts regarding unusual behaviour, but now the magnitude of treachery became clear.
"Why? WHY? Why have they betrayed everything we swore to protect?"
With trembling hands, he tore the data-slate apart, his entire frame shaking with barely contained fury. "No! I must warn them!"
Without hesitation, he commandeered his personal Thunderhawk, launching from the battle-barge's flight deck even as countless virus torpedoes prepared for launch.
"I must reach them! I must be faster than death itself!"
Meanwhile, aboard the Conqueror...
Angron lay sprawled in his command throne, utterly insensible to the unfolding catastrophe below.
"My lord! How long will you remain in that debased state?"
"Rise and lead! The enemy awaits destruction, yet you lie here like a corpse!"
Khârn's voice cracked with rage and disbelief. He couldn't reconcile the pleasure-drunk creature before him with the Primarch who had once led them into glorious slaughter.
The Red Angel had abandoned the very violence that defined their Legion's purpose.
"Once the virus ordnance completes its work, there'll be nothing left to fight," Angron slurred through his artificial euphoria. "Why concern ourselves with such trivial matters?"
"Fine! FINE! If you won't lead, then we will! You're nothing but a worthless coward!"
Khârn's fury reached volcanic heights. Complete disappointment flooded his system; the current Angron was utterly unworthy of commanding the World Eaters. With tremendous force, he drove his fist through the bulkhead, leaving a massive crater in the reinforced steel before storming from the chamber.
Hidden on Isstvan III's dark hemisphere, Leman Russ began quietly deploying anti-toxin countermeasures while moving his forces toward the planet's surface.
"That thrice-damned Horus has betrayed our Father's sacred trust!"
"Immediately contact the Ultramarines, Dark Angels, and Blood Angels Legions! Send the command for their immediate return to apprehend the traitor! Transmit that happened here to Terra!"
"By your will, my lord!"
However, unnatural Warp storms had begun manifesting throughout the Isstvan system, their chaotic energies disrupting all long-range communications. How long their warnings would take to reach their destinations remained entirely unknown.
[End of Chapter]
Can we have Powerstone and some feedback? Hmm :)