I AM ALPHARIUS
Throughout the stars countless many had uttered the words "I am Alpharius", the phrase deeper than simply being a title for misdirection and confusion: it was a philosophy of an entire Astartes Legion that had farther reaching tendrils of influence than any other. The Alpha Legion were masters of their craft, being expert saboteurs, political agents, assassins, and intelligence officers, but they were more than that. As instructed by the Primarch Alpharius-Omegon himself they were trained to be 'one' solid entity within which any could take the role of another, all the while possessing 'many' to carry out their tasks. They were not only shaped to physically resemble their Primarch, his Legion were made to seamlessly fill in for him and one another as required.
While not the masters of close combat that the World Eaters and Space Wolves were, the Alpha Legion were trained in assault tactics well before the Codex Astartes of Guilliman had all Loyalist Astartes trained in every field. Using misdirection, dirty fighting, and techniques copied from their foes on the battlefield the Alpha Legion were capable in melee because to lack such proficiency would be to reveal cracks in their interchangeable façade. In the same way each was a trained marksman that could mimic the shooting discipline of Legions such as the Imperial Fists when called upon to do so, and the Alpha Legion's assassins could even be said to surpass those of the Raven Guard due to a lesser adherence to scruples.
Shock assault tactics were studied and lifted from the Luna Wolves and their later Sons of Horus iteration, mechanized warfare trained to mirror the Iron Hands and Iron Warriors, and in this way their Legion was fitted to be able to adapt to whatever task they were required to. Their adaptive and mutable tactical philosophy demanded flexibility from them that could not allow for error, making such rigorous training and preparation a necessary stipulation to carry out the multi-pronged and seemingly ever-changing plans of Alpharius himself. They might not be capable of besting other Legions at their dedicated fields, but by possessing a diverse toolkit the Alpha Legion could better adapt and shift to attack what weaknesses existed in those doctrines.
Upon the alleged death of Alpharius during the Horus Heresy on numerous occasions some of his sons did as they were trained to and stepped into the vacuum left behind, leading those around them as if they were their Primarch and acting in what they believed to be his image. The ambiguous loyalties of Alpharius during the Heresy left his forces splintered, with some joining Chaos outright given their role in the Istvaan massacre that saw to the deaths of countless Astartes they betrayed. Others instead took to acting in ways that would benefit the Imperium, believing his actions such as saving the life of Corvus Corax and refusing to participate in the Siege of Terra as signs that he was actually working for Humanity's benefit rather than that of Chaos. Others eschewed philosophy entirely and focused on bettering their own individual forces, seeing the survival and further propagation of the Legion as more important than the conflicts of other factions.
The mythological hydra was their symbol for a reason, and it was in this way that when one head was cut off that many others sprouted in its place. When those in turn would meet their ends the Alpha Legion would further splinter, and as the millennia passed by whatever cohesion and unified ideology existed within the Alpha Legion had been wholly shattered if that ideal had ever truly been reached in the first place. The lack of their Primarch and his instruction led to successive generations of Astartes lacking the same degree of skill possessed by the original Astartes trained by Alpharius himself, and a lack of unity, selflessness before the Legion, and discipline spiraled from there.
As it stood in the present day the Alpha Legion clung to their combat doctrines and remained experts at their underhanded ploys, but the spirit and ethos behind them had been lost by many. Scheming for a greater purpose had shifted to scheming for power and pride, and those more idealistic members were cut down by their ruthless kin who held nothing back. Their effectiveness was still fearsome enough that the Imperium had hunted down the Alpha Legion in force on numerous occasions, eradicating many of them, only to realize when they believed they succeeded that they had only removed a drop of water from an ocean.
After all, when each member could fill in for another and they were broken by time and conflict into ever-spreading cells just how could you ever be sure that you were through with the last of them? Bureaucrats would lay claim to the feat of having finally finished the traitors off only to face the inevitable humiliation when the next Alpha Legion conflict broke out. If they could not be vanquished, and with revelations that many records relating to them were believed to have been fabricated by the Alpha Legion themselves, what was to say that even their Primarch was as dead as Guilliman had claimed him to be? The rare accountings of some spoke of Dorn slaying Alpharius, but even that was left unknown as to its veracity given that Alpharius-Omegon was known to have his Astartes pose as him even to the point of using his personal weapons and wargear.
Despite their fracturing many of the Alpha Legion clung to the ideal of Alpharius, in their own ways seeking the truth about his life or death, and for many they hoped that he would one day again lead them to vanquish whatever that Astarte believed to be their great foe. As years passed by many claimed to be Alpharius himself, boasting skill and talent beyond their peers, but these usurpers of the name would fall at one point or another as their claims drew attention to their activities.
It was one thing to disorientate a foe in combat by having each and every Legionnaire be interchangeable and possess no discernable names other than 'Alpharius', but it was another to claim to be the Primarch himself not just in spirit but in body. That was something warranting swift and immediate action by the Imperium, and so they dispatched their assassins to deal with them. Sometimes others would finish the job for them before it reached that stage, but this was the game of cat and mouse that the Alpha Legion had grown to possess with the Imperium.
One such 'Alpharius' throughout the cosmos struck an imposing figure, standing far taller than his kin and boasting strength comparable to the strongest sons of Vulkan thanks to the mutations gifted to him by Chaos. While not quite as powerful as a Daemon Prince this Alpharius was a skilled combatant who had slain mountains of his enemies to achieve the favor he had curried with the Ruinous Powers, even succeeding over a warband of Death Guard overwhelmed by the chaotic and rapid force deployment. Their forces had come across one another by seeming chance, but neither was willing to cede domain of a world to the other and so conflict broke out.
Against their champion, a servant of Nurgle's servant Typhus, Alpharius wore a suit of power armor adorned by emerald scales rusted and corroded by the ages to possess a bronze hue. Equipped within it were systems to filter out toxins, giving credence to the idea that it was the Pythian Scales of old, and in his hand the two-edged spear he wielded gave the impression of the Pale Spear. While some accounts had it that the Pale Spear was symmetrical, here the weapon had a scythe-like edge to one end while possessing a more traditional spear's tip upon the other, though with how it carved through the Legionnaire of Mortarion few would disagree that it functioned like the Pale Spear of legend.
Such accomplishments emboldened his claim to being 'Alpharius', and his followers began to truly believe that he might be their Primarch after all for who but a Primarch could know only success after success across centuries of warfare? With a growing base around him Alpharius announced himself for all of the galaxy to bear witness to, drawing further Alpha Legionnaires to his cause with his accomplishments and the wargear he held that deepened his claim.
They were not the only ones to notice, however. His warband, now known in its growing form as the
Endless Hydra, required ever greater resources to fuel their war-machine and so waged a campaign within the Danevra Sub-sector laid claim to by the Imperium. The moons there possessed the minerals they would need to have the Dark Mechanicus build their weapons of war, and with their ever-growing size the Endless Hydra could quell most Imperial Forces sent against them.
After eviscerating an Imperial soldier captured in a recent attempt to free the Sub-sector Alpharius retired to his quarters, intent on prayer to his Gods of the Primordial Truth after spilling so much blood in their honor. Out of paranoia common to the sons of Alpharius-Omegon he had forbidden any from entering his chambers, the Chaos Lord using it as a place to formulate his schemes away from the prying eyes of his subordinates who he believed to covet his title. Trophies from hundreds of campaigns lined its spacious walls, and while they would be considered grotesque to those not pledged to Chaos the vile pieces of his prey kept there proved to Alpharius that he was truly worthy of the name he adopted for himself.
"You committed three grave errors."
The mutated Lord twisted around, seeking the source of the voice that ought to not be there at all. He had made certain that the seals he placed on the doorway had not been broken, and none but the most powerful of his Psykers could hope to lift them...only together would they truly have a chance. Had they betrayed him and allowed some assassin to lay in wait for him? Was that why Noaa and Veloc had not reported back yet? Alpharius had believed them merely delayed in their operations, but if they were planning a coup...
"What foul wretch encroaches upon my hallowed chambers?" Alpharius growled out at his surroundings, using his supernatural senses gifted to him by his adherence to Chaos Undivided to better his chances. Even still within his gargantuan personal chambers within his fleet's vessel the
Omega he could not find the source of the voice, as if they had taken precautions to prevent their discovery prior to his arrival.
In preparation for this unwanted guest Alpharius drew his 'Pale Spear' and focused, the voice he heard likely coming from a source that intended to speak further. If not they would have attacked first, but this individual appeared to have some score to settle that drew them to arrogantly wasting time talking.
"First: an insulting lack of preparation and foresight into your chosen target. Your boasting of your identity has drawn the attention of the Imperials, but your proximity to our operations means your folly endangers more than your pitiful enterprise. Had you properly surveilled the region you would have known this."
Alpharius used his power to illuminate his dark surroundings, only to find that the reason he could not sense his intruder was that there were other bodies in the room vying for the attention of his senses: strewn about in the pattern of a delta symbol were ten of his most powerful Sorcerers who no doubt had been forced into opening the room before being executed. Just how many foes were infiltrating them, and why had none of his forces noticed them until now? It mattered little to Alpharius who was confident in his ability to kill those who dared trespass, but heads would roll when he was finished with this.
"Second: short-sighted victories are hollow and will lead to ruin. Mining these moons for resources while drawing attention to yourself will mitigate whatever you do succeed at obtaining through losses. If you must proclaim your identity for all to hear, you must do so when the reward is truly worth it and at the precise moment it will benefit you most. Your mind is too simple to engineer the circumstances that will see to your eventual success, and for pride alone you have risked all."
From out of the rows of grisly trophies Alpharius kept emerged a new figure, this one wearing wholly unremarkable armor that any member of the Alpha Legion in the Great Crusade might possess. While quite tall for an Astarte, they were nowhere near as large as the enhanced Alpharius, and neither did they appear to be armed.
"Third: your ability does not meet your ambition."
Alpharius grinned wickedly as he finally came to smell this individual he had never met before, knowing them to be a foreign Legionnaire by that alone. It would seem that they wanted to usurp him thanks to their believed superiority if this lecture was any indication, and while faint he could smell the blood of his Psykers and that of various trophies from them. The coward had hid among the dead rather than face him, and they now stood beside the remains of a traitor who once crossed Alpharius: this intruder would make for a fine sculpture to place beside them, a set of Alpha Legionnaires who did not know their place.
He surged forward, Alpharius sweeping the scythe-end of his spear at this upstart to cleave him in two just as he had done to Typhus' lackey not too long ago. In response his visitor drew from the Alpha Legionnaire's corpse two Power Daggers taken as trophies by Alpharius, quickly feeling their weight and size in his hands before crossing them to parry the Chaos Lord's attack.
Spear struck daggers, and by timing it just right the intruder caught the spear and with power beyond what Alpharius expected held the scythe in place. In this one action the Alpha Legionnaire was revealed to be something more than the common Legionnaire they appeared to be, be it from greater training, augments, the boons of Chaos, or perhaps it was something else entirely beyond typical explanations.
Whomever they were, they were not someone to be taken lightly, and 'Alpharius' had dared to do so after crushing far more imposing threats over the years. In the universe they inhabited there were countless horrors to overcome and he had crushed each and every one in his way until now, lining their remains within his quarters with hundreds of specimens like a museum.
By twisting the daggers the intruder snapped the scythe's blade as if the metal capable of tearing through Terminator armor was brittle, and in the next moment he was upon his target like a ferocious beast.
"
I am Alpharius, and those who claim my name for the Dark Gods will know no mercy."
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Forescien was just one more world to add to the countless that Brechung had helped conquer in his time as an Astarte, his long and accomplished service having granted him entrance into the Iron Warriors' elite Stor-Bezashk. Their his talents for breaking through anything put in his way and ending sieges was honed to an artform, soon followed by an insatiable bloodlust and desire to test his capabilities. Foes that did not fight back were of little interest to him and so he had refused to cut down civilians on Olympia, eventually resulting in his service beneath Warsmith Jarn even if their actual motivations were far and apart.
The Iron Warriors were known to possess a brutality that was akin to that of the World Eaters when they would end a long siege with close-quarters engagements, bleeding their enemy out for the grueling pain suffered through until then, and Brechung was little exception to this. In fact, while not entirely alone in indulging his personal venom in such a way among Jarn's forces, Brechung found himself often the only one doing so in most teams he was assigned. The others still were Iron Warriors to their core, but they were reformists like Jarn who desired to reshape their destiny moving forward: for Brechung there was only the visceral sensation of fighting to the death that only grew with time.
While they did not possess a positive rapport at least the members of Urkamus Squad tolerated his aggression more often than not, with Urkamus himself fine to use Brechung as an attack dog if such a role was called for in a mission. Grund was visibly uneasy around him and did not bother to talk Brechung's ear off like everyone else, and Brechung did not care at all about the new blood to the team. Helsh and Tristain perhaps were their names?
His introductions to them had seen Brechung in a cloudy state of mind, longing for battle that he was not partaking in every moment that he was instead dealing with these fresh recruits, and so when given the opportunity to surge into battle he did so ahead of his team. Urkamus would bark at him afterwards, but when he returned with the skulls of every foe in the nearby blocks and accomplished the duties of multiple squads on his own there would be no punishment Urkamus could assign him without losing face.
And then a sudden sharp pain struck him as he chased his prey through the ruins of the city. Before he knew it Brechung had fallen down and was unable to stand back up, the pain having subsided and instead been replaced by intense numbness. He was paralyzed from head to toe, and thanks to whatever struck him he could not even properly feel how he had been harmed.
Instead he was left strewn over some rubble as a fellow Iron Warrior approached him, their armor dull and unadorned by heraldry or honors. Thinking that they were going to help him up, Brechung attempted to vocalize what had happened to him only to find that even his voice was beyond him right now. All he could do was stare forward through his helmet as the Iron Warrior knelt down before him, taking a pose that showed an intent to observe him.
"You have not yet fallen to the Ruinous Powers, but it is an inevitability at this point: you will be consumed by your bloodlust like so many before you and blinded to the ideals you once held."
That voice...Brechung knew he had heard it before, though he struggled to ascertain as to where. Was it aboard the fleet? A former member of a team? Maybe it was that Astarte on Olympia who convinced Jarn to take action...whomever they were they had been around for some time, and their derision would have elicited a growl of rage if not for Brechung's inability to make any noise.
"While your life may be forfeit, I will do you the honor of granting it another purpose. Once you fought for the Emperor and his vision, and so again shall Brechung of the Stor-Bezashk fulfill his duty. You ought pray that you will be greeted by our Emperor and not those who would flense your soul with eager claws."
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In their attack upon Inwit each Iron Warrior had their own purpose and objective given to them to serve a greater whole, with each Astarte only being granted the information necessary to fulfill their duties without infringing upon others. In this way few knew the true purpose as to why both Ossus and Richter had been deployed, their legion's minute quantity of apothecaries making the deployment of two dangerous and thus inadvisable under such dangerous circumstances.
Even so they were there, and despite his lack of seniority Richter had been imparted with some of the truth behind their presence there: the extraction of Gene-Seed stored deep within the facility's vault, pure in nature and extracted from the stores once held on Kimara as well as extracted from the Iron Warriors who fell defending the world. Why the Gene-Seed was brought to Inwit and not eradicated was lost to history and it was unlikely even the inhabitants of the facility knew, but through encrypted and censured shipping manifests dating back millennia Asier had confirmed its presence.
Secrets were not the forte of the Imperial Fists with their direct natures, and so their attempts to shroud their shipments were trivial to decipher for an expert in the field. That they lost most of their number by the end of the campaign first against Kimara and later against Perturabo's Iron Cage meant that it would have been even more difficult to cover up such an important secret, as their attention was drawn instead to the survival of their Legion as a whole. As pure as Gene-Seed came, it was almost entirely first or second generation in its nature while never having had contact with the Ruinous Powers. This perhaps explained why it would be spared, for if there was ever the possibility of recreating the Iron Warriors it would have to come from untainted means.
Recovery of this vital resource was not the apothecaries' sole task however, and as important as securing the Gene-Seed that could revitalize their legion as a whole so too was ensuring they escaped without pursuit with said Gene-Seed. First they were to provide medical aid to any Iron Warriors who came to be harmed in the assault to mitigate losses, while those who were unable to be saved or recovered instead had their Gene Seed extracted and secured. Despite stacking the deck in their own favor the Iron Warriors did not underestimate the might of the Imperial Fists stationed upon Inwit and so underwent their attack expecting that any one of them could fall in the process, and it was the duty of their Apothecaries to lessen this inevitable cost.
The second task they had was one that their 'Loyalist' brethren might scoff at or believe dishonorable, but it was necessary all the same: planting select corpses of felled Iron Warriors with traces of Chaos taint upon them within the wreckage, their procurement due to Asier and thus unquestioned. When the Imperial Fists would eventually discover the fall of their fortress it would seem that the defenders had fallen while successfully holding off the Iron Warriors who invaded them, ones which due to their Chaos taint would draw attention to whatever Chaos-aligned Iron Warrior warband might catch the Imperial Fists' sights next.
As a part of this false-flag effort blaming their fallen kin was making certain that the corpses would be mostly destroyed when the base was eventually detonated from within by tampering with its reactor, using the mathematic prowess the Iron Warriors were known for to calculate the best locations to place the bodies to this end. Astartes were capable of accessing the memories of those they consumed and so it was important that nothing would be left to be properly examined, both of their own fallen and those captured and slain from other Iron Warrior groups.
The reactor's eventual detonation would leave little to chance when the armaments of the Imperial Fists' own armory were added to it, but denying what little chance remained to give away their true nature and their success was vital to prevent the Imperial Fists from chasing them down later on.
On the face of it there would seem to be a heroic last stand that would make Rogal Dorn proud, with his sons having slain many Iron Warriors despite the ambush they faced before detonating their fortress with the tools they had on hand to prevent its fall to the enemy. In reality this monument to Rogal Dorn's secrets will have been laid completely asunder and its contents pilfered, those who might eventually find it completely ignorant to the truth just as Dorn had intended concerning the facility's activities and purpose.
It was only after these matters were handled that they would secure the Gene-Seed from where Asier and Tristan were deployed, leaving its defenders to those more suited to the task. The quantity of the Gene-Seed was enough to fuel Jarn's ambitions in the past, as the breeding programs he instituted on Kimara to populate all of its fortresses and ensure an impervious defensive grid included gathering Gene-Seed as well. Through his mentor Forrix's connections it was easy for Jarn to acquire the Gene-Seed necessary for his plans, intending for a gradual and exponential increase in Astartes recruitment on Kimara as its population multiplied.
Now that very Gene-Seed would fuel new ambitions held by the Warsmith born from the ashes of old. He had been unable to return to Kimara during the aftermath of the Horus Heresy thanks to his engagements with Chaos fleets to hold them at bay, but now Jarn had an opportunity to repay his homeworld for the faith it had entrusted to his family for ten millennia.
Serving as the leader of the unit they were assigned under in the Inwit operation was Archimedes, whose intellect made him adept at command roles whatever they might be even if his body was comparably frail to other Iron Warriors. The thankless conditions of the Great Crusade had worn on his body severely, but he could still function at a basic level that saw the Iron Legion deploy him when necessary given their lack of manpower.
Attacking from the opposite approach as his old friend Khyr, Archimedes was to see to it that communications were wholly disrupted to prevent the total route of their forces while Khyr neutralized their armory. The Warsmith was handling the command center itself and the central area of the fortress, so all three of them would converge to one point as they fought their way inside if their missions went according to plan.
The only complicating factor as Archimedes could foresee was that the Imperial Fists would be able to reinforce their positions faster than the Iron Warriors could break through any one point, as the multitude of defenses and barriers to entry at any given point were exactly what made fighting the Imperial Fists so tedious at times. It was a simple set of defenses, but there was no easy way through them except to kill whatever local defenders were present then move on to the next methodically. In that time the Fists would have time to regroup from the initial shock and rally their remaining defense force to try and combat the incoming tide, the Fists present possessing the codes and clearance to simply walk through security systems the Iron Warriors would have to breach.
For this reason Archimedes had assigned some of his force to utilize multi-meltas to burn through the top of the fortress and drop down into secured locations to open the way for his others, though with his limited personnel available there was a limit to how many men he could spare for such tasks. The Iron Warriors had the initiative and wounded most their foes to some degree before the battle even began, but they were outnumbered and so intelligent maneuvering of the resources they did possess was paramount.
As the attack on the communications was expected to hold the least danger a new recruit by the name of Momon had been assigned to Archimedes for the operation. Why a recruit was tagging alongside them when all others present were veterans or at the top of their respective fields was unknown to him even as a Triarch, but his curiosity into the matter was answered by Ossus with "Field testing". Knowing he would be told nothing else led Archimedes to dropping the issue, trusting the Warsmith's judgment and figuring that since this recruit was now a part of Urkamus Squad officially that he had to be worth his spot on the team.
At eight feet in stature Momon stood taller than most Iron Warriors including Archimedes without being so tall as to particularly stand out in an army which included the likes of Jarn and Tristan. The recruit's form was quite balanced unlike Jarn whose bulk mirrored that of Perturabo and afforded him far greater strength than his peers or Tristan whose spindly build for an Astarte hid his innate grit. Beneath his helmet Momon possessed medium-length flaxen hair and a set of angular facial features that emphasized his youth, as well as differentiated him from the other children born to the mortal servants aboard the
Eisernen. Whereas Kimaran-descended crewmembers almost all possessed sharp features, blue eyes, and jet black hair Momon's heritage had likely been mixed somewhere along the line.
Overall there was little to note about the recruit on the surface, his physical differences being so minor that he could fit right alongside other Astartes even if he stood slightly above them. Despite this it still struck Archimedes that the newest member of Urkamus squad was more different than one could tell at a glance, something which led the Triarch member to look into the young man's files prior to the mission. Archimedes had known thousands of Astartes in his time with the Iron Warriors and few had caught the interest of the tinkering leader of the Iron Legion's Dodekatheon since he cared more for inventions and tactical simulations.
In the personnel reports he had access to with his rank Archimedes was able to learn basics about Momon such as his age, training records, and other such pertinent information that could better inform a commander how to utilize him...only to find that Momon was lacking various Gene-Seed implants. Specifically Momon did not appear to possess a Catalepsean Node, an Omophagea, a Neuroglottis, or a Betcher's Gland with no record being made that they were faulty or otherwise not implanted. In fact further inspection showed that Momon lacked any form of records for his implants having been done, whereas for others Ossus had always made certain to have intimately detailed records to make certain any flaws or issues which arose could be traced directly back to the source.
It was possible that Momon's records were simply sealed, though why that would be done for a Neophyte of seemingly little note was perplexing as was it being unavailable to a Triarch, the right hand of the Warsmith. Archimedes did not dig further because he knew that whatever was the answer was to the mystery of this soldier it was not actually necessary for him to know, it was simple curiosity and not worth stepping on others' toes to determine.
The four missing organs shouldn't have an effect on the present mission if he was cleared for duty, and that was what mattered. Mention of an 'Immortis Gland' was made in Momon's files, but it held little meaning to Archimedes and so he assumed its likely experimental implementation was the reason behind Momon's lack of implantation records. Similarly the records of a 'Loyalist' Astarte chapter known as the Sons of Antaeus being linked to his file meant nothing to Archimedes who had never heard of them, he just remembered seeing similar files attached to Tristan Bertrand's documents when the Astarte was placed under Archimedes' banner.
It struck Archimedes as possible that the Neophyte, by far the youngest of their forces on Inwit as only a teenager, was attached to him because the Apothecaries were here as well and could better record what was likely their science experiment. That too held little interest to Archimedes, who instead found himself fascinated by the construction of the fortress they had just broken into and was quickly lost in a land of numbers and architecture as he methodically gave out orders to his men.
Their assault on the Imperial Fists' communication system was well underway while Archimedes recorded everything in sight for further examination when they returned to the fleet, intent on dissecting Rogal Dorn's secrets to better break them in future engagements. While not primary combatants the presence of both Ossus and Richter helped embolden the other Iron Warriors with them, as they knew they had immediate medical care if it so happened they were wounded. While relaying his progress to the Warsmith Archimedes casually gunned down a lunging Imperial Fist with a bolt pistol, having expected that particular Fist to make that move despite Archimedes' seeming lack of situational awareness.
In truth he enjoyed the Warsmith's apprentice given to his forces because they both shared certain traits and methods for combat, but whereas Archimedes had centuries of conflict and experience to draw upon Tristan was still learning. Archimedes did not hesitate to act because at this point he knew by instinct what his foes would do, he did not have to second-guess himself and determine what their likely course of action was, and so despite Archimedes' unassuming appearance he was one of the quickest draws within their forces with expert marksmanship. He would lose ninety-nine out of one hundred fights in close combat against Khyr, but that was why Khyr handled the close-quarters matters and left longer-range engagements to Archimedes where the opposite was true.
It was this very situational awareness that had Archimedes notice Momon in a duel with an Imperial Fist youth who similarly stood apart from his peers present, a fight which Momon appeared to have the advantage in due to marginally greater strength than the Fist born of Momon's greater size. The Fist lacked a helmet which allowed his anxiousness to be apparent for all to see, as if he was scrambling to know what to do since these circumstances were well beyond any training he had gone through or battle he had survived. Fortunately for him the loyalty of his brethren saw one of the other Fists present tackle Momon away, driving him back from the power struggle the Neophyte had been engaged in.
Momon was the one closest to Ossus however while Ossus carried out his own mission parameters, and while the conflict in this block of the fortress was entirely in their favor the Iron Warriors were still outnumbered: the moment of relief granted to the Imperial Fist saw a clear path between him and Ossus, and the Fist dashed towards what was obviously a high value target whose attention was dedicated to covering their tracks. Ossus noticed the movement just a moment too late, and turned to try and parry the Fist's now spinning chainsword with his drill...only to have his arm collide into the back of Archimedes, who had moved between them.
Archimedes had attempted to shoot the Fist to intercept him only to have another Fist swing at him in that very moment, ruining the moment and his aim simultaneously since now there was a body in the way. Shooting that target left his clip empty and so all Archimedes had time left for was to intercept a the chainsword's swing with his body. While nothing compared to the blade of Rogal Dorn the whirling blade still was well-crafted and so carved into Archimedes' armor where previous damage had already weakened it.
If it was any of his normal soldiers Archimedes would have instead used the opportunity to trade equally, killing the Astarte who dared to harm his soldier, but in the chaos of this battle someone vital to the survival of the Iron Legion as a whole had been placed in danger. It was just a natural risk born of their lack of numbers that their defensive lines would be thin, and it was not anyone's fault: most Astartes in Momon's position would have been knocked back by a full tackle of another Astarte, and Ossus had to hurriedly prepare things while the combat still raged on so that they could depart as soon as it was over.
The chainsword stopped halfway through his abdomen, its teeth red with blood as they tried to keep spinning, though this did not prevent Archimedes from clenching the arms wielding it with his own. Now held in place the rookie Imperial Fist soon found himself run through by the arsenal of tools on Ossus' wrist: he may have been a moment too slow to protect himself but Ossus had moved to attack the moment he realized he had been saved. The upper torso of another Imperial Fist was hurled at this one from nearby, the abdomen knocking the already impaled Katus further onto Ossus' drill and destabilized any attempt to retaliate.
Chainsword still protruding from his body, Archimedes fell to his knees as Momon and Ossus both struck down the Imperial Fist who had by coincidence defeated him. Had things played out slightly differently he would not be bleeding out now, if he had not been slowed by centuries of injuries he could have reacted to the threat in a more ideal manner...but at least their chief apothecary was safe now. They were almost done clearing this area out of hostiles, and Khyr and the Warsmith both would be finishing up their ends too.
The Iron Warriors would be able to live on with the Gene-Seed they would harvest, and so true to his nature Archimedes passed on without a single word spoken, content that he had played his part in the revival of their Legion. If he had regrets they were hidden upon the calm, content smile he held in death.
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Torian moved back to avoid the ace of an Iron Warrior's power sword, having arrived at the armory just in time to see Sevald be cut down by this very foe. It seemed that the Iron Warrior was interested in Tempest's Claw given the craftsmanship of the weapon, but they had not been able to retrieve it from Sevald's body yet due to Torian's gunfire. Driving the renegade back at the armory gave Torian the space needed to retrieve his comrade's personal weapon in his own hands, refusing to allow a damnable traitor to touch it.
Their fellow Iron Warriors and Imperial Fists were fighting to the death without relent or remorse, and while the Imperial Fists possessed greater numbers they were unprepared for the sudden attack given its nature and many of them were injured by their fall. This left the Iron Warriors to clean them up one by one, slowly turning the tide in the Iron Legion's favor while the Fists fought to delay them and hope for reinforcements.
"I just earned that blade...I suppose I will have to earn it once again," Khyr spoke, his armor torn in places where he had been struck but his many shallow wounds had rapidly healed with his transhuman physiology. Sevald had put up a better fight than almost any marine could have hoped to in such circumstances, but Khyr had fought and killed countless Imperial Fists in his time and knew their art of the blade well. Sevald may have been the best in raw skill on the base with close combat, but it meant little when your foe could anticipate every strike you would make and at what angles to block.
Torian would mourn his fellow battle-brother when the battle was won, but for now he needed to use this mimicry of their Primarch's weapon to cut down the traitors before him. Sevald might have possessed greater technical skill and finesse, but Torian possessed a more brutal art of swordsmanship that was more akin to that of the Black Templars than the reserved Imperial Fists.
It took only moments of crossing blades and parrying one another's strikes for Khyr to realize that this opponent would prove far more difficult, ferocity taking the place of grace all the while not sacrificing much in the way of finesse. Every strike carried through to be a parrying blow by the same movement, never relenting from attacking while also maintaining a swift defense. It was in this way that Torian had once slew a Warsmith and earned commendations, for through sheer aggression he could force victory in mere strokes while others would be clashing blades for entire minutes. The unique blend of skill and might it took to both attack and defend with the very same strikes was something not unknown to Khyr, but it had been quite some time since he had witnessed it firsthand.
Rogal Dorn may have cast him out as a disgrace, but there was no doubting that Sigismund had been an Astarte worthy of bearing his titles and duties. While they might serve different masters and be sworn enemies Khyr had always admired that sole Imperial Fist for his abilities that were comparable, to some, to that of the Primarchs. Sensing such an individual before him, a hidden gem of a foe sidelined because of his talent to protect a facility in situations such as this, was about all Khyr could ask for. He had never gotten the chance to test himself against Sigismund before Abaddon stole his life, but perhaps this could suffice for the meanwhile.
Having taught Levente for more than half a century by now it was obvious to any who saw them fight alongside one another that they were near perfect replicas: Levente's growing talent with blades and other close-combat weapons was learned directly from Khyr, their shared aggression in battle not giving their foes an inch to fight back and creating their own protection by disallowing their foe to act in any way but defense. Either their offense would peter out or the defender would make a fatal mistake, there was no in-between, and so despite Torian's own abilities Khyr still was pressing him back bit by bit towards where the Fist had joined the battle.
Iron Brand, the power sword held by Khyr, was a tool of his own creation with assistance from his longtime companion Archimedes. Its size was akin to a two-handed weapon that could also be held in one if the circumstance demanded it, and the energy pouring off of it was like an inferno that could sear through even Adamantium given the time and effort. Possessing both brute force from its size and penetrative capabilities well beyond those of a typical power sword made it a devastating weapon on the attack capable of burning through most others, but this power came at a cost: it possessed a limited operation time as a natural consequence of it drawing upon more energy to function.
This consequence made every swing important for Khyr, every second in battle one of life and death, and it is in this way that he had rose to the top of his field through nigh-unchecked aggression. It was also what made the construction of the Tempest's Claw an issue for him, as the chainsword modeled after Rogal Dorn's own possessed much of the same strength but all of the same durability, allowing it to withstand even the searing power of Khyr's Iron Brand. Whereas it would cleave through lesser weapons and eviscerate their unfortunate wielders in this instance his blade was only having minimal effect.
Each moment that dragged on was one that favored Torian in their duel and Khyr in the overall circumstance: while Khyr's weapon might burn out if used too much at once Torian's brethren were falling one after another around them. It was a peculiar and exhilarating feeling for Khyr who was used to dominating his foes, only having ever lost in brute strength against the Warsmith himself, for the Warsmith's size and resulting strength were simply too great to overpower. Torian matched him blow for blow and actually had Khyr on the backfoot at moments through well-placed attacks that also knocked the Iron Brand back.
It was as if Torian was fighting with no consideration to his survival, that every attack he negated was simply an aftereffect of his raw offense. Death did not appear to frighten Torian, and each aggressive strike from one of the two duelists was met with an even more aggressive blow from the other. True to his Iron Warrior nature Khyr worked in strikes of opportunity with his fists and feet, punching and kicking even while swinging his massive blade with his other hand as a distraction. In this way he could at times gain the initiative and interrupt Torian's own movements, but Torian had tricks of his own to counterbalance such sleight of hand tactics.
Torian as the commander of the facility had direct access to many of its systems and as such he could call upon them with the systems of his Power Armor. Through an input he could have a barrier close down on where Khyr stood, or a weapon's locker spring open to clip the Iron Warrior's arm. The honor of the Imperial Fists rode on victory, and Torian would not just allow these fiendish traitors to do as they pleased with the fortress he was tasked with defending. Even if it meant his death or even his dishonor, he would have victory.
It was for this reason that he would soon strike true on Khyr, Tempest's Claw penetrating Khyr's armor and abdomen in a split second. Unlike the reinforced armor worn by Archimedes that only a lucky strike could pass through Khyr's armor was only as reinforced as other members of the Iron Legion compared to typical Power Armor, as to wear more would be to weigh him down and weaken his intended role in melee combat. He had ultimately been fighting to live, careful and mindful of his life, but Torian had thrown away any such ambition and threw himself forward in a life or death attack that was beyond reckless.
The Imperial Fist pinned Khyr against one of the weapon lockers as he drove his chainsword deeper, his shoulder pinning both Khyr's body and the arm holding the Iron Brand. If a single movement had been different Khyr would have run Torian through there, accepting that his mistake was believing that this Imperial Fist had no intention of surviving. Khyr had swung around where Torian's attack pattern would have naturally blocked, killing the Fist outright for continuing to use his offense as a defense, but as he did so Torian had jumped into the arc and landed his fatal strike.
Recognizing he had lost, and unable to articulate his sword to retaliate at this point, Khyr used what strength he had left to toss his sword across the floor towards his pupil. While Khyr's speed had slowed with centuries of brutal combat that had taxed his body it had never quite caught up to him until now, but the Warsmith's personal student was a worthy successor and a near replica of how Khyr had once been at his age.
"Levente!"
Instantly the Iron Warrior whose skill matched his own dove to the ground, avoiding an Imperial Fist's swing of a power fist and also retrieving the Iron Brand simultaneously. By the time he rolled over, no simple feat for one as large as an Astarte, Levente had swung the sword up through his foe to bisect them vertically. He had already cut down a handful of Imperial Fists that day, more than many Astartes would ever achieve in their careers, but it was not enough for Levente who sought glory...and now revenge as he turned to see his mentor slumped against the wall with blood pouring from his grievous wound.
Torian had noticed that the last of his men present were about to fall, and reports of the Iron Warriors heading to the vault had reached him, and so he chose a tactical retreat to engage them elsewhere rather than fight against the remainder of Khyr's forces all by himself. Torian might have accepted death from the moment the Iron Warriors breached their defenses, but that did not mean he was willing to throw his life away for nothing: risking it in a duel was acceptable because he had to, but pointlessly dying to a full team of veteran Iron Warriors would be a waste of the only resource he had left.
As a parting gift Torian locked down the entire area to slow the Iron Warriors further, accepting the sacrifice of their armory as there was no saving it at this point. He could still find some form of victory if he could stop them from accessing the vault, as the defensive network on Inwit would not allow the Iron Warriors to linger long even with a surprise attack such as this. They would be discovered at some point, and so if the surviving Imperial Fists holed themselves up inside the vault they could protect its contents and survive both...though Torian himself would have to be outside of it to properly handle its controls, forfeiting his life for those of his men and the legacy of their Primarch.
Levente impaled the gate that Torian had lowered and began carving through it with the Iron Brand so that he could give chase, but before he could finish Khyr called him over to speak in his weakened voice.
"Reinforce the others...converge on the vault..." Khyr spoke as firmly as he could manage with the damage to his internal organs, "I still have some life left in me...I will gather the armaments here and prepare their reactor for detonation. Now go..."
Rather than linger on the eventual death of his commanding officer Levente did as he was told, assuming command and carrying out the orders given. He appreciated the decades of combat instruction he had received until now, and acknowledged that every warrior would one day meet their end like this...but that did not mean he had to accept his own anytime soon.
"Iron Within," Levente affirmed as he left Khyr behind to cover their tracks, intent on killing at least ten more Imperial Fists for the death of one of their own. As he turned a corner an Imperial Fist attacked without warning only to be skewered by the Iron Brand, Levente's combat instinct second to none now within the Iron Legion and serving him well even as he rushed forward to avenge his mentor.
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In the dimly lit vault both the venerable Contemptor Dreadnought and Torian stood aghast at what had been said to them: the figure before them bore the armor of the Alpha Legion's Primarch, the Pythian Scales, and in his hands the Pale Spear had been reassembled and put to use on their reinforcements. In seconds a squad of Imperial Fists had been wiped out without even the opportunity to retaliate, the tall figure that appeared as if from nowhere eviscerating them with the grace of a dance.
'Asier Terminus', or Alpharius as he so claimed to be, boldly proclaiming his identity was seemingly done to unnerve the Imperial Fists and it had succeeded. He could have killed Torian in those moments of confusion, but he seemingly chose to not ambush him like the others and instead announce his presence to make some point...though why was known only to the Alpha Legionnaire who had long worked alongside the Iron Legion for their shared ambitions and ideals.
"IMPOS...SIBLE...YOU...PERISHED..." the Dreadnought's attention was fully drawn to this new target, his intonation still as mechanical as most Dreadnoughts but now possessing an almost aghast quality to it. As if, from experience, he was unable to believe what it was he was seeing.
Alpharius scoffed, his own tone one of amusement and mockery born of the confusion he was sewing, "Impossible? By my very
presence the lies of your kin lay bare before you."
By this point Torian had gotten past his initial shock and attempted to charge Alpharius and strike him down as the alleged Primarch spoke, only for Alpharius to sidestep him without so much as a glance. With Torian slipping past where he just stood Alpharius swept the Pale Spear down into Torian's shins, tripping him with the shaft of the weapon and sparing him the lethal touch of its bladed edges.
"Such foolhardy faith is what the Emperor of Mankind hoped to eradicate. That we might all be joined by the light of reason and seize our potential rather than see it squandered as our enemies picked away at us until nothing was left."
The Dreadnought had reloaded the ammunition in its bolters and so retorted with gunfire rather than words. Alpharius did not move an inch as he was peppered with bolts strong enough to punch through most Power Armor, instead allowing his shielding and the Pythian Scales to deflect each and every shot fired. While not as sturdy as the Logos, the Pythian Scales still were beyond even Terminator armor and could mitigate alternate sources of harm to the bearer such as poisons. Alpharius was making a point it appeared to all present, and showing that his armor was no mere replica of the Primarch Alpharius but the genuine artifact seemed to be it.
Torian had been tripped but threw himself into a roll that allowed him to recover swiftly, still spry and ready for combat despite having already fought through numerous Iron Warriors to reach the vault including one of their Triarchs. He had plenty of fight left in him and so prepared himself for another duel, the behemoth of an Iron Warrior from earlier having been taken out of action by the Venerable One. Said Dreadnought attempted to grab Alpharius only for the supposed-Primarch to disappear with a twist of his cloak, the cameleoline shrouding him once more and allowing him to disappear into the darkness surrounding them.
As he looked around for any trace of the Alpha Legionnaire Torian tried to goad him as well, voicing his refusal to believe that a Primarch had revealed himself after all this time that Torian's predecessors swore perished, "You lie. That armor you wear and spear you wield prove that Rogal Dorn defeated the traitorous filth Alpharius once and for all. You are nothing but an imitation."
There was only a split moment between Torian sensing a figure directly before him and said individual grabbing him by the throat and hoisting him up one-handed as if he was lifting a small animal. How effortless it seemed did surprise Torian, but monstrously powerful Astartes had existed for millennia: that one with the power sword earlier had a build likely capable of the same feat, so it was not definitive proof as to this Legionnaire's identity...but it certainly did not dispel the image either.
"A suit of armor and a weapon are naught but tools to be used and discarded like any other, or did you believe that names are our only sacrificial tokens?" Alpharius spoke as with one hand he continued his grip on Torian while in the other he held Torian's wrist to prevent the Astarte from utilizing his blade. His other arm pried itself against Alpharius' torso to try and push away, though once this failed he attempted to strike at Alpharius to no effect, his fist striking metal that seemed as resilient as the metal within the behemoth's arm.
As Torian struggled to free himself Alpharius granted his wish and released him, though not before twisting and throwing the Imperial Fist into the arcing claw of the Dreadnought still attempting to crush the self-described Primarch, "Whether you speak the truth or not, it is your folly to unquestioningly take everything your brethren say as fact. This very facility is a monument to the lies Rogal Dorn hid, even from himself."
To his credit Torian was able to twist himself mid-throw to lessen his inevitable impact against the Dreadnought, only to be pleasantly surprised when the Dreadnought displayed skill enough to catch him rather than bash him aside. It let Torian down to the ground barely worse for wear, though by the time he could check his surroundings Alpharius had disappeared again.
"Face us, coward!"
"Pragmatism is not the same as cowardice, just as insanity is not the same as bravery," Alpharius' voice resonated in such a way that telling where he was was difficult even to the discerning ears of an Astarte, "You will meet our Emperor soon enough like Rogal Dorn before you, but I am not finished with you yet."
Torian seethed at the implication of his Primarch's passing, though he channeled that rage into focusing on the source of Alpharius' voice to locate him and strike, even retorting in an attempt to bait the Alpha Legionnaire into further revealing their position. The Dreadnought was attempting to locate Alpharius as well, but the cloak of the traitor was beyond any standard issue equipment and appeared to wholly mask his position.
"I care not for what a dog of the Iron Warriors says! You proclaim yourself as a Primarch, Cretin, yet you are nothing more than some treasonous Warsmith's lackey!" Torian called out, only to sense movement once again and quickly block a strike aimed to the neck. The relative speed of the strike told Torian that it had not truly been meant to kill him, rather serving as a test for reasons unknown to him.
Just why was this opponent observing him like this, and why was he not utilizing his tools to their full capabilities? The Pale Spear lacked the unsettling aura of light it did when it carved through the other Imperial Fists, telling Torian that somehow Alpharius had turned it off right before its swing. The so-called Primarch was toying with him, and Torian intended to punish his foe for it.
"I would have thought that an Astarte would understand the concept of brotherhood. Mutual trust. But perhaps I overestimated you."
Alpharius twisted out of the way of the Venerable One and swiped his spear's blade across its arm joint, still lacking the ethereal aura and not leaving any noticeable damage upon the reinforced armor it struck. This appeared intentional as Alpharius then brought the spear around to make contact with the construct's leg, as if to show that he could have disabled it in that single moment if he so wished. Instead only light scratches were etched upon the Dreadnought, and while it was lumbering in its agility the veteran interred within seemed capable of reading Alpharius' movements and twisted to face him faster than most would in his position.
Only by the time the Dreadnought had done so Alpharius was gone, abusing his cloak in the darkness once again. For all the hubris he exhibited there was no doubt that when it came to tactics he was ruthless and efficient, though just as Torian was getting a feel for his behavior the Primarch lunged out at him in a sudden flourish of his spear. Alpharius appeared right before Torian and drove him back with a thrust that the Fist could only just barely parry, not able to go on the offense as he had with Khyr because there was no target to truly follow...until now that was, as Alpharius swept backwards to duck below the swinging fist of the Dreadnought.
Seizing the opportunity presented, Torian threw his full force and weight into a flurry of swings with Tempest's Claw that would be nigh impossible for a defender to predict...only for each and every one to be met by the chaotic twisting of his foe's spear, Alpharius moving as if in a dance as he shifted from aggressive offense to flawless defense without pause. The Primarch's swerving spear caught Tempest's Claw and locked it in place with his blade's edge, allowing Alpharius to lean in close to Torian and speak over the roar of the chainsword.
"Like you, Rogal Dorn never could understand that his vision did not align with that of the Emperor he so venerated. There was no room for nuance in my brother's eyes, his narrow beliefs of right and wrong uncompromising even in the face of armageddon. He would kill millions in unnecessary warfare when a handful would have achieved the same end, then pontificate about his righteousness in having sacrificed for raw idealism."
It was everything Torian could do to hold his blade in hand as his foe pressured it, the strength Torian was up against exceeding his own by a fair margin without being out of the realm of an Astarte...but was his foe using his true strength? That doubt crept into the veteran soldier for but a moment, and it was as his resolve wavered for that briefest window that Alpharius twisted his spear around with such speed that it wrenched Tempest's Claw from Torian's hands.
Sensing he was about to lose his grip, Torian had thrown himself forward and tackled into his foe, driving Alpharius back and slamming him into one of the vault's reinforced walls. Primarch or not, he would fight to the end and make certain that this Throne's damned traitor fell with him. With this in mind Torian bashed his head forward into Alpharius' helmet, then grab the Legionnaire by the shoulders and begin to throw him down to the floor beneath them.
As he did this however Torian found his vision invert, Alpharius having reversed his throw and slammed Torian down hard enough to impact the vault's hardened floor. What the Alpha Legionnaire did not seem to expect was for Torian to instantly recover and plant both of his armored boots into the Pythian Scale's torso, kicking him back into the wall again and then rising up to swing a fist right at his head.
His fist struck the metal of the wall however, Alpharius having slipped past him in that moment and slammed his spear across Torian's back. Rather than continue their close-quarters engagement Alpharius slid under the double-fisted slam of the Contemptor Dreadnought, its fists powerful enough to deal severe damage to the structure and emitting a shockwave and almost knocked Torian off his feet.
Now between the outstretched arms and the rest of the Dreadnought Alpharius brought the power of his Pale Spear back on, something the Dreadnought sensed and shifted its torso away from as if they were intimately aware of what the weapon was capable of. The moment it took to adopt a defensive stance to try and block any incoming strike from the lethal weapon was one used by Alpharius to instead rush back towards Torian, confusing the Imperial Fist who had no way of reading his movements since they possessed no apparent pattern.
Torian met Alpharius' charge with one of his own, Tempest's Claw meeting the Pale Spear once again with the latter having since flickered back to being nothing more than a typical spear at its owner's behest.
"You are no different than the rest of your kind: you hide and strike from the shadows, you don't know honor, and your lack of true convictions is why your ambitions will never be realized! We, the true sons of the Emperor, will always prevail over the likes of you!" Torian roared as he unleashed a full offensive that actually drove Alpharius backwards, mocking the Alpha Legionnaire in an attempt to get a rise from him.
Instead Alpharius maintained the same icy facade he had possessed throughout their engagement, calmly parrying Torian's blows with increasing efficiency as if he was learning from him each moment the battle raged on.
"I would not exist if Rogal Dorn was truly accurate as to our Emperor's vision. That stubborn refusal to see the full picture is why he is but a memory while I still stand before you, a true agent of the Emperor's will. Never again shall Humanity fall due to the hubris of men like Rogal Dorn, nor Horus, nor any of our brothers. If Humanity is to thrive we must lift up every mortal Human so that we can truly move forward. Primarchs, Astartes, we are not gods nor angels as some believe, nor are we truly mortal. We are flawed versions of both, something Rogal Dorn never truly understood."
Torian drove Alpharius back through sheer aggression and towards the Dreadnought, trying to set up a scenario the Alpha Legionnaire could not flee from...only for any trace of light to cut out in the vault and the room they entered from. Torian's eyes could adapt to the darkness present thanks to his Astartes augmentations and so it did not truly stop him, but it did throw him off-guard for a brief moment that saw Alpharius sweep his legs out from underneath him.
Torian hit the ground hard but leapt right back up to tackle his foe with chainsword in hand, swiping at where Alpharius had just been only to slice through the air. His foe had moved aside and now pointed over to the corner of the room where his Iron Warrior ally had fallen. Looking there nearly blinded Torian as the entire room suddenly lit up in a flash of blue and white light, a mass of raw energy pouring out from Tristan's armor as the Iron Warrior stood once again.
"That light...what foul, impure sorcery is this?" Torian balked, not understanding where all of this power was coming from. The Dreadnought had defeated the man and Torian himself had damaged his armor, so how was he capable of emitting such power that it was everything Torian could do to just remain standing?
"Terminator Armor has also been known as 'Tactical Dreadnought armor', and of countless iterations developed over the millennia the Logos is perhaps the most formidable for its time," Alpharius explained like a mentor might their pupil even as he too had to brace himself from the raw energy that the Dreadnought now lumbered towards, "It is to the detriment of our kind that we ignore the potential of technology not our own, but some understand that a tool is just that: a tool to be used, what matters is its application."
The Logos, like what that pseudo-Perturabo was wearing before? Was this armor somehow linked to that? Before Torian could gather all his thoughts and what he remembered from dueling the now standing Iron Warrior the other intruder continued to speak.
"That armor you deride as 'impure' is a refinement of the Logos without consideration given to your customs and rituals. Facilitating its construction was no simple task, cannibalizing the most useful components of Centurions, Dreadnoughts, Terminators, Mark II and Mark III Power Armor, Van Saar shielding, Spyrer hunting rig exoskeletons, Iron Halos, refractor fields, Iron Circle automata...the Xenos technology incorporated was actually easier to obtain through Rogue Traders than many of these esoteric systems," Alpharius explained for him the missing pieces, though why was beyond Torian except to mock them.
"It is to your credit that you managed to lay a scratch upon it, even with the relic you hold in your palms, but those very flaws will be excised by the time it is fielded again. Your dire efforts to slay its bearer have only assisted its iterative improvement into an impenetrable defensive system. However, what hope does a mere Dreadnought have against armor meant to endure and defeat a Daemon Prince?"
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(Continued in next post due to size limitations)
