Warhammer The Iron Empire (Warhammer 40k)

[Thunderscourge]

INWIT

Despite being the world in which Rogal Dorn was raised upon in his youth the planet known as Inwit had lost much of its status and importance upon Dorn's discovery by the Emperor of Mankind, with Dorn taking up the role of Praetorian of Terra and thus adopting it as a second home. This however did not mean that Inwit had been entirely abandoned, for it still possessed a population to recruit Astartes from even if the Imperial Fists began to draw their initiates from Terra itself. Dorn had improved Inwit's infrastructure such that it could support the lives of the Human tribes which lived upon it, and so despite the ice world's natural danger its population continued to flourish even if compared to Ultramar or Caliban their Astartes Legion did not particularly venerate it.

This seeming lack of importance did not mean that Dorn would leave his former home defenseless however, and so Inwit possessed many fortifications to protect it from the massive invading forces one would expect at the time of the Horus Heresy. While on the surface it would seem just to be a means of protecting the world and its populace, beneath the planet's thick ice lay another reason for these defense systems: a hidden fortress containing secrets known only to Rogal Dorn himself.

The craftsmen of Inwit were masters at what they did at the time of the Great Crusade, even fashioning the mighty chainsword Storm's Teeth which the world's Primarch would use until the defeat of Horus. According to one Imperial historian this chainsword was powerful enough to carve through even the finest of armor and could tear through even a Primarch's physiology when even advanced and otherworldly weapons could not, making this feat an unbelievable accomplishment for mundane Human mortals to accomplish. With such skilled men at his disposal Rogal Dorn had been able to create a fortress no typical siege could hope to overcome even if the enemies of the Imperium were to somehow locate it.

Embedded deep inside of Inwit with its many glaciers and constant snow, the base was subterranean and supported by the rigid ice which surrounded it. Surface strikes would be ineffective given its depth and by the time any could scratch its reinforced plating they would find themselves under fire from Inwit's other defensive structures and forces. The only entrance leading to the surface was protected by redundant adamantine gates that in turn were hidden beneath a façade of snow and ice to further mask the base's presence. Entirely self-sustaining, the fortress required nothing from outside to function which was important to its status as a secret base. Hidden beneath thousands of feet of ice, and possessing shielding to mask any external signs of its existence it had remained undetected since its creation.

It was this very base that Inwit native Torian of the Imperial Fists 5th Company found himself in command, safeguarding the secrets of his Primarch that were unsafe even for the Phalanx restored by Dorn above this very world to possess within its depths. Once on his way to becoming a Captain, it was through his accomplished service for the Imperial Fists and the greater Imperium that Torian had instead managed to rise to his current station. Vain or glory-seeking Astartes might see such an assignment as wasting their talents and an end to their advancement within the ranks, but to Torian it was the greatest honor that could be asked of him as someone whose specialty lay in security. A grizzled veteran with a thousand war stories, Torian was determined to be the most suitable candidate to take over security when the time came that new personnel were required. Even if he would rather be fighting Heretics and busting them to pieces he was perfectly content depriving the Imperium's foes of whatever it was he now was tasked with protecting.

Lieutenant was a rank largely discarded among the ranks of the Adeptus Astartes after the Primarch Guilliman crafted his codex to direct their operations and organization, though for the Imperial Fists within Inwit's hidden base who carried traditions and ceremony from the Great Crusade it was still a position to be awarded to those within. Records would show that Torian was only an "honorary" Lieutenant, officially being equivalent to a Sergeant, but in practice he had command just below that of a Captain. In those same records he had many Sergeants under his command who in turn held roles more akin to that of a typical Lieutenant just as his own duties exceeded what one might expect, but that was all irrelevant within the fortress itself and simply was a way to obfuscate their true purpose.

Those very records also no longer held the Astartes garrisoning the base as being on active duty, listed instead as Missing in Action so that they may return to the greater chapter if dire circumstances arose requiring them to do so. The only instance of such an occurrence was when the Last Wall protocol, formed by Rogal Dorn to protect Terra in times of dire need, was called to action and united all Imperial Fist successors together to form a Legion in direct violation of the Codex Astartes. The rules imposed had sought to limit the power of any individual group of Astartes to lessen the damage should they fall to Chaos or otherwise act against the Imperium. Rogal Dorn's opposition to the Codex was well known and it was not until after the Iron Cage conflict that he and his sons begrudgingly accepted it, with the Last Wall protocol stemming from this dislike of the doctrines proposed by Guilliman.

Such an action could have earned the Imperial Fists and their ilk condemnation and even damnation from the Greater Imperium by opposing the will of the High Lords of Terra and the Codex Astartes, but to their fortune no such action would come to pass. The near extinction of the Imperial Fist chapter in that conflict may have had something to do with their lack of retribution from the heavy-handed Imperium, along with their sacrifice in saving Terra from Humanity's foes at such great cost to themselves, though the truths and falsehoods of that era lay thousands of years in the past. Despite its origin being their Primarch there existed many among the successor chapters of the Imperial Fists who disagreed with the protocol, the already choleric Black Templar among them, breeding doubt about its future efficacy.

The very fortress that Torian now found himself commanding was just another of the secrets kept by the Primarch, one kept from all but a chosen few unlike the Last Wall which even their successors knew of. What Rogal Dorn saw fit to lock away in seeming perpetuity was unknown even to those in defense of the facility, but if it required such obfuscation and concealment it had to be important to the Imperium as a whole. Those who resided within the base had hypothesized for millennia about what it truly was they were guarding, but the unspoken truth they had come to was something they had reasoned out: the facility had been crafted in the time after the Horus Heresy at around the time of the Iron Cage, meaning that whatever lay within may belong to the Iron Warriors their kin had fought.

Their Chaplains over the years had sensed no taint of the Warp from the vault which meant it likely was not some artifact of the Ruinous Powers but rather Gene Seed from fallen Iron Warriors, leaving them to question as to why it would be brought here under orders of Rogal Dorn and why it was not just destroyed. Would the forces of Perturabo not have been corrupted by Chaos and thus their Gene-Seed as well? The Iron Warriors and other Traitor forces were known for launching raids to collect Loyalist Gene-Seed to swell their ranks given how Chaos damaged their own Gene-Seed, so how was this supply different?

Pondering such things only came natural to those within the fortress, for while they were unquestioning in their servitude to their Chapter and Primarch that did not prevent them from wondering under what circumstances they may find themselves under attack. Depending on the contents of the vault it would change who would come looking for its contents, who Dorn was trying to keep it from, and also how the base's defenders would have to go about protecting it. Thus it was not out of a selfish desire for knowledge itself, such as one may have found within the ranks of the Thousand Sons, that these Imperial Fists found themselves contemplating the subject of their protection but rather out of a desire to better facilitate that very protection while not possessing permission to actually peer beyond the veil.

With each generation of new Astartes brought to defend the fortress and its vault came more and more knowledge gathered and collected in their exploits beyond, a natural secondary purpose of the facility arising thusly as a collection of Imperial Fist records and knowledge dating back to the Great Crusade itself. Their Chapter had their own archives, but here such information was similarly gathered and used by the Imperial Fists to reflect upon their history and the service of those before them. This would include battlefield records, ancient data, recorded firsthand accounts from Fists throughout the ages, and of course written material.

Popular among the myriad of archives for the Fists were the texts of Hannes Frantsesa, an Imperial historian who had published historical novelizations of important conflicts pertaining to various Legions during the Horus Heresy. Written in the direct aftermath of the conflict, the novels were popular among Imperial citizens who had little understanding of the greater universe beyond their own worlds, though as information would become clamped down upon and word of the Heresy purged by the Imperium such books were burned or otherwise destroyed. If not for the seclusion of the Imperial Fists themselves they would never had copies of such rarity, or so the story went, but they were a coveted good for those Imperial Fists present who sought a greater connection to their lost Primarch and the men who fought beside him at historic battles such as Phall, Pluto, or the Siege of Terra.

Despite the lack of external threats the garrison did not remain idle while on their vigil, instead engaging in regular combat drills and exercises that kept them ready for whatever threat may one day loom over them. These exercises were taken with the utmost discipline and the many veteran Astartes present were allowed to hone their skills beyond those of many of their kin to be found elsewhere, for not only were they able to continuously prepare themselves for the day they might be needed they also had ready access to innumerable military treatises to study and further their understanding of combat from every level.

All that might occasionally interrupt this regimented service was the occasional tremor of the 'ground' beneath them as tectonic forces brought noticeable but typically negligible earthquakes. The ice their fortress was sealed deep beneath insulated them from some of the force, but the first tremor to be encountered during Torian's command of the facility was still powerful enough to cause their serfs fall and Astartes on the base to stumble.

On Inwit when warriors came together they stood, and that philosophy had continued even after all this time thanks to the facility's ranks all having been drawn from Inwit itself. There was not a single seat to be found outside of personal quarters, and it was for this reason that so many were standing at the time of the seismic disturbance.

"Seismic activity is within calculated projections," Trius spoke from within the command center, his cold disposition leaving him unperturbed by the phenomena he was relaying the data for from a computer terminal. Possessing an uncanny intellect and mind for tactics that meshed well with the logical and regimented doctrines of the Imperial Fists made him an effective officer even if his complete absence of charisma meant few looked to him for leadership.

While he had experienced Inwit's natural phenomena since he was a child Torian still worried that this particularly notable instance might be a sign of something more to be concerned about.

"I will inspect the facility manually. Gather what data you can in the meantime," Torian ordered Trius while helping others back to their feet, Torian's Terminator armor barely inhibiting him in doing so given how it was like a second skin to him.

Emperor let me be wrong.

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After checking the perimeter to ensure that no breach to the facility had occurred Torian moved on to the more specialized sections to the base to obtain reports from his officers. Given the danger sudden seismic activity could pose during live fire exercises he went to see those in training first, finding to his relief that no injuries had occurred thanks to the caution and discipline of his Astartes present there. Leading the exercises were Wanzar and Sevald, two of the base's most veteran Fists that he had fought alongside in past conflicts beyond Inwit.

Wanzar was short for an Astartes, but his sturdy and stout nature had seen him survive artillery fire and brutal combat with Iron Warrior warbands they had come into conflict with. Those encounters had cost Wanzar greatly, each of his limbs having been long since replaced by mechanical counterparts after sustaining irreparable damage. His natural strength had been a source of great pride to the Astarte who favored brawn over brain, but these losses had not deterred him as he quickly came to appreciate the machine limbs granted to him by Adon. Integrated into his Terminator armor directly, Wanzar's hands now possessed raw might exceeding that of Power Fists and with a single mighty blow could break through whatever armor or structure he came into contact with.

Sevald was the opposite of Wanzar in terms of battlefield prowess, instead being highly skilled with the blade and wielding his personal chainsword with a finesse that made his movements appear as if a dance to those around him. Built upon Inwit and fashioned after the chainsword of Rogal Dorn himself Storm's Teeth this facsimile blade was similarly named Tempest's Claw, smaller in size given that the original was so heavy only the likes of a Primarch could properly wield it, but using later technological improvements to maintain as much of the original's raw power as possible. Still large and cumbersome in the hands of most Astartes, it was only Sevald's immense skill that saw it able to be used properly while in the hands of a typical Astarte it would prove ineffective.

If Trius were present he and Sevald would no doubt argue over how to best prepare to face the enemy and thus train with Trius' preference for ranged conflict, but the vain swordsman got along far better with the similarly melee-focused Wanzar. Centuries of service had disciplined Sevald to suppress his natural urge to seek conflict and wet his blade with the blood of Heretics, though it was still obvious that he held such desires deep within. His pride in his talent bordered on hubris given the countless Heretics he had cut down, but Sevald's training as an Imperial Fist kept him grounded all the same.

This did not stop Trius from likening the man to those arrogant Kimarans defeated by the Imperial Fists in ages past, for stories had been passed down throughout the years on Inwit of their triumph over the similar icy world. Veterans of that conflict had been among the first guards of this hidden base, and some of the only records of the battle upon Kimara were to be found here based on the accounts of those very Astartes. In comparison to the humble nature of those on Inwit it was said that Kimarans were callous in their beliefs concerning their superiority over others, and so the term Kimaran had become synonymous with arrogance that could lead to one's ruination if left unchecked.

Trius was perhaps not wrong concerning Sevald's inner nature, but it was Torian's perspective that the cold logic of Trius was actually closer to those they had conquered following the Horus Heresy. Despite their differences the dislike between the two Astartes had no real risk of escalating given their reserved natures, so Torian left Trius and Sevald be. In truth their arguments brought some life to the otherwise taciturn and stoic base.

Wanzar greeted Torian warmly even as the other Astartes present snapped to attention to greet their commanding officer, each of them paying Torian the proper respect expected of his post. Torian gave them leave to continue their exercises and training, wanting them to be as ready for an actual invasion as possible even if that day may never come. While Sevald continued instructing the others Wanzar took to watching them alongside Torian, seeming almost disappointed to hear that the base had not been attacked.
"Sometimes I wish the heretics would try to breach our defenses here, if only so we could turn them away just as our forbearers did on Terra," Wanzar opined as he clenched his metal fists, his face uniquely expressive for an Imperial Fist and lacking the stoicism many of his kin possessed. His grin was near infectious and Torian restrained himself from mirroring it, knowing that the reason Wanzar got along so well with Sevald was their shared pride in both themselves and their chapter. He was a capable warrior and affable which made him popular among their ranks, but it was his nature to act and speak without thinking.

Torian suppressed his own smile at the idea of once again testing himself against the Imperium's foes, instead bringing up the implications of such a security breach and what it would mean for them all, "For them to even reach this facility would mean that Inwit has fallen to the enemy, something our kin will never allow. Even so we must stay vigilant lest we fall prey to the trickery of Chaos. Their methods and actions are beyond mortal means."

Wanzar nodded, pounding one mechanical fist into the open palm of the other, "Should that day come my fists will be ready to put their traitorous hides down once and for all! Those who turn their backs on the Emperor deserve no mercy and ought perish for their deeds."

After making certain that everything was as it should be in the training room Torian took to depart and check-in with their Apothecary next, though before he could actually depart Sevald spoke to him with his blade's hilt held out to the Lieutenant.

"Care to try it, Lieutenant? It is our shared birthright as Fists of Inwit, after all."

Torian had a fondness for weapons, one which saw him tempted to take his comrade up on his offer, as it would be like wielding the weapon of their Primarch and that alone would be an honor. Despite his personal desires though Torian declined the opportunity, seeking to continue his security sweep as he wanted to run the base as close to a well-oiled machine as he could. His personal desire could be sated at a more opportune time, as there would be plenty moving forward he was certain.

"I thank you for the honor, but I will have to accept another time."

Sevald nodded in understanding before returning to his training alongside Wanzar and the others present, each of the seventy Astartes within the base desiring nothing more than to be ready for the day that they were called on to act.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

"Adon, status report."

Torian found his old friend carefully tending to some of the mortal members of the facility's garrison, aiding them with their injuries with a warm face and humanity that gave the impression of a grandfather tending to his kin. If not for the bushy set of eyebrows atop his face he would be near identical in general appearance to Torian himself, the two Astartes having both been brought closer together by gene-seed in facial structure with each of them particularly possessing faces like that of their Primarch. If not for Torian's height and Adon's distinctive brow they would truly appear to be twins, something they had bonded over in their many years serving together.

The Apothecary finished aiding the last of his patients before turning to face Torian with the same warmth and beaming smile he had offered them, now seeking to salve his commander's woes just as he had done so for their servants.

"You need not worry about the occasional tremor, Torian. This facility was built to withstand immense force based on calculations from prior conflicts with the finest of Perturabo's Warsmiths," Adon noted some trivia he had learned from Wanzar, who despite being intellectually dull possessed a fondness for history. Adon's own sociable nature allowed him to fulfill a fatherly role to all of the Fists by telling stories of his own as well as listening to each of their own, helping reaffirm their sense of duty through tales of their Primarch and Emperor to demonstrate the importance of their service. It was Adon's fine skills that saw Wanzar capable of possessing such capable mechanical limbs, and so the two had shared a particularly close friendship in the many years since second only to that of Torian and Adon.

While perhaps too lax and prone to overindulging in celebration like a member of the Vlka Fenryka as compared to his more disciplined brethren in the Imperial Fists it was Adon's indisputable skill in both combat and as an Apothecary that saw him able to get away with it all. Only those Imperial Fists trusted with the utmost discretion were brought to serve in this location, and Adon was no exception. He earned his trust on the battlefield for centuries, even going so far as single handedly defeating a Warsmith of the Iron Warriors when a warband of them came into conflict with Adon's forces. The Warsmith and Adon had clashed many times and formed a rivalry that eventually saw the Apothecary defeat the servant of Chaos as Torian fought off the villain's kin.

Always one to double-check, Torian continued his line of questioning just to be certain, "And the vault? It matters not if our walls hold if what they were built to contain is destroyed."

It was one of the duties of the Apothecary of the fortress to check on the vault they all protected now and again, for reasons unknown to all but the Apothecaries which passed down their duties from one generation to the next. Not even Torian was allowed to open the vault except under the most dire of circumstances, something they fortunately have never had to experience in its thousands of years of existence. The role of the Apothecary helped spur the theories about the contents within the vault, but even the talkative Adon spoke nothing of what lay within.

Adon placed a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder, seeking to calm his fears that were no doubt acting up given that the fortress now fell to Torian to lead, "Like I said, nothing for you to worry over. Our Primarch ensured that the vault could survive any concussive damage inflicted on the facility by utilizing stasis fields. Even if this entire facility were to be destroyed, as unlikely as that course of events may be, the contents of the vault would remain intact so long as the stasis fields have not been nullified."

Torian was not an expert in technological matters and was far from being a scion of Mars, so it was reassuring to him to hear it explained like that now that he had his nerves wracked by his new position of authority.

"There is still much for me to learn. Your patience is most magnanimous, as well as duly appreciated."

Placing a hand of his own over Adon's, Torian was reminded as to why the Apothecary was so capable in close-combat: drills, scalpels, welders, sensors, and a myriad of other tools lined his arm thanks to Adon possessing a personally upgraded and expanded Apothecary toolkit. While meant to carry out necessary medical operations on the battlefield it doubled as a deadly weapon. Less deadly were the pair of pistols Adon kept at his side for the instances he had to engage in longer range combat, for some sacrifices had to be made with the Apothecary's many medical tools taking up the space an Astarte might otherwise utilize to hold a heavier weapon.

Torian himself possessed a custom weapon of his own, that being a combi-weapon fashioned by a now deceased Imperial Fist Techmarine. Capable of firing not only boltgun rounds but serve as a Flamer, Meltagun, and Grav-gun it was a useful tool for many scenarios even if it carried limited ammunition for any particular one of them. Torian was skilled in all methods of combat as befitting his experience and rank, but his true passion was security even if he did enjoy other endeavors as well. Firepower was more of a delightful hobby, as was his swordsmanship even if it was said to be as fine as a Company Champion's own.

Everything was fine, and the sense of worry Torian had about the sizeable earthquake posing a threat had since dissipated. He was far from an anxious person, but his nerves had tightened by his promotion and he wanted to prove himself to be every bit as concerned with the security of the facility and safety of its inhabitants as he ought to be. So long as he breathed he would protect the secrets of Dorn, the Imperial Fists, and the Imperium itself, for that was the role he had been tasked with and it was his duty to fulfill it.

Sensing perhaps his superior officer's stress fading away Adon quickly offered Torian a drink, only to be rebuffed for daring suggest such a thing while they were on duty. Adon laughed it off, ever the lackadaisical one, while Torian shook his head with some exasperation at his friend's nature that was so atypical for their kind.

It was time to do another security sweep and to check in with Trius, for everything was fine but that did not mean they could afford to be negligent in their obligations. There was a schedule Torian had to keep, and so he departed to continue yet another day's agenda deep within the frozen lands of Inwit.

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A/N: Okay, back to more normal sized updates so I can keep things going week to week. Just had a few really large sections to write this past summer that required far more time to properly put together, but I will be doing what I can to post weekly now! Your support helps make that possible, so know that I appreciate whatever discussion and support you bring to the thread!

Hope you all enjoyed, and that you will let me know what you think in the comments below!​

 

[Thunderscourge]

URKAMUS SQUAD​

Tristan's introduction to Jarn's preferred Astarte team, Urkamus squad, was as lacking in glory and glamour as the Iron Warriors history in the Great Crusade. No acknowledgement was made of his having joined them in their latest deployment, no fanfare, no ceremony, Tristan was simply inducted into their ranks as if nothing had changed at all for them.

It was not a slight against Tristan, or at least intended to be so, that his presence within the group was ignored entirely. Rather it was a simple byproduct of Urkamus not caring. While not lost to complete apathy, Urkamus simply did not care about a great many things he saw as pointless. Centuries of unending siege warfare had seen any hopes, dreams, beliefs, and other such things ground out of his soul leaving only the raw tools necessary for survival on the deadly battlefields of the Great Crusade and Horus Heresy. You could only survive in such conditions by shedding one's humanity as your gene-brothers died around you by the thousands, almost every single person you gained familiarity with dying to secure some tactical victory of which the greater benefits would be lost upon the soldiers dying in the dirt.

Urkamus was not always so bitter or living out of spite for those that would try and kill him, having originally come from a world that had joined the fledgling Imperium thanks to the persuasion of its Iterators who brought the Imperial Truth, logic, and reason with them. Despite the largely religious populace present on the world they were able to shift their methods of belief to be in line with those touted by the Emperor of Mankind, particularly when gospel surrounding him began to take root thanks to those such as Lorgar of the Word Bearers.

This peaceful transition of belief would only last for a short while however, as eventually factions would rise based on varying interpretations of the Imperial Truth and the Emperor's own believed divinity as proposed by some. When the disagreements came so did the religious wars which would soon embroil the entire planet, neighbors killing one another over their differing beliefs, families turning on one another, and eventually over half the world's population exterminated in mere months from the sheer brutality. Urkamus had survived it all even as his family perished, only able to endure because of something he had heard the planet's Iron Warrior garrison speak of: utopia.

Eventually the handful of Iron Warriors on the planet were able to establish control over the masses through cold brutality of their own which saw none willing to cross them, but it was in their operations that Urkamus was recruited into the ranks of the Iron Warriors and given release from the hellish landscape his world had become. It had been so long since that day that Urkamus could no longer even remember the name of his home, nor what his family looked like or how they had even died in the flames of revolution, but he had been able to move forward with the belief that some day the Iron Warriors would achieve the perfect world they sought through their possession of both strength and intellect for intelligence alone could not corral all to accept your beliefs.

The Great Crusade had seen to it that such views would not persist as unrelenting conflict and tragedy stripped all from Urkamus until he was a husk of his former self, though far more experienced for his struggles. His growing nihilism saw him remain as a sergeant even as other survivors of such conflicts advanced through the ranks, a growing weariness to his actions evident to his commanding officers who nonetheless continued to utilize the Astarte for his combat record was commendable and those with similar levels of experience were few and far between for the Iron Warriors in those days thanks to attrition.

If he had not been with Jarn at the time of the fall of Olympia he may have been persuaded to partake in it by his officers, no longer able to truly bring himself to care for faceless civilians, but through Jarn he had been given a sense of renewed purpose: to continue on with their Legion's original goals and to make a better world, a utopia in which they could all thrive. While Urkamus did not fully believe in it himself or even feasible to accomplish it was still preferable to him than walking the road of damnation his fellow Iron Warriors were beginning to tread. If it would all be meaningless he may as well choose to follow the one who more aligned with his own goals once upon a time, even if it meant fighting an uphill battle that would take countless more conflicts to truly overcome.

To some not truly caring about anything would leave them weak, but for Urkamus it had become a strength of his. On the battlefield he possessed no fear, for his own life was worth nothing to him as well along with the lives of those under his command. His stubbornness in the face of death had seen him defeat foes far more skilled than him, for the victor was not the one who was best but rather the one still standing at the end of it all. Any objective given to him by Jarn would be carried out, be it helping a Neophyte gain real battlefield experience or be it annihilating a horde of Orks. It did not matter if his heart was tired and that he merely was going through the motions expected of him, he would see to it that his orders were carried out.

Urkamus did not care, and that was to the peril of those who stood in his way.

After Urkamus was his unofficial second-in-command Grund, an Astarte who had been assigned to work with Urkamus since they joined the Warsmith's ranks. With a keen attention to detail and a noteworthy mind Grund was capable of handling the day-to-day minutiae that Urkamus could not be bothered with to maintain the squad logistically, as well as assist in formulating battle plans by offering precise information on a variety of subjects. Unlike the members of the Dodekatheon who were mostly interested in engineering and other such mechanical pursuits Grund's knowledge was more widespread and so he could always be counted on to inform those around him of anything he knew that might assist them...whether they asked for it or not.

Unlike the squad's leader Grund did at least speak to Tristan to inform him as to the specifics of their mission, going into exhaustive detail that would likely have been tuned out or ignored by someone less severe than Tristan. It was simply Tristan's nature to take in whatever information he could and process it, somewhat inoculating him against Grund's behavior unlike other more irritable Iron Warriors who just ignored him. This would prove useful for fleshing out the finer details of their operation, up to and including the name of the world Forescien which Urkamus had completely neglected to mention given that it was irrelevant what the dirt they were on was called.

Physically Grund was not particularly notable, but from Grund's explanations Tristan got the feeling that while intelligent his fellow Astarte was lacking in the outright genius possessed by the members of the Dodekatheon while still possessing a formidable intellect of his own that was nothing to scoff at. Grund was not a member of the Dodekatheon for a reason beyond those in it disliking him, but he was likely in the strata of intelligence just beneath those within it. Loathe as he was to admit it, Tristan could recognize that even Levente belonged in the Dodekatheon with his intuition and quick thinking for solving problems.

While Tristan did not ask, Grund proceeded to overshare information as he was wont to do whenever he captured someone's attention and proceeded to fill the squad's newest member in on various details about himself such as how he was from a Forge World originally and always had possessed an voracious desire for information. Tristan also gleamed from what was said that Grund's mother and father had perished like Tristan's own, though instead of being slain by the servants of the Word Bearers they died of exhaustion caused by the unreasonable work placed upon them by the local governor's decrees. Many of the Iron Warriors Tristan had met possessed something akin to this as their history, losing their family before eventually joining the ranks of the fourth Legion, and despite how cold many of them were the fact that they did not possess a home to return to after the loss of Olympia helped unite them.

Grund appeared the most emotive on the surface with expressive speech and actions but he gave little true insight into his deeper feelings, appearing even more guarded on that front than Urkamus as if his emotions were entirely repressed after years of deadly conflict. This did however leave him as a firmly logical sort of man, something that Tristan could appreciate even if he found the unnatural and even forced exuberance of Grund somewhat bothersome.

The third member of their team was one which Tristan was lightly familiar with, that being his fellow rookie Iron Warrior Helash who had led the other team during their final trial. While Tristan would have preferred to have been partnered with one of the more competent members of his own squad they had been divided throughout the ranks to best utilize their talents. Helash had managed to join the squad before Tristan thanks to 'supplemental lessons' Jarn imparted upon Tristan and Levente both after their trial, having thoroughly castigated them over their failure to maintain a single unit during the trial as the instigators behind the split. Tristan understood objectively that what he did was wrong by the book, but he also felt that it had been necessary given the circumstances.

The conclusion reached by Jarn's teaching was that the two of them should have properly established chain of command and stayed united, figuring out who was to lead in the sudden vacuum based on which of them could make the other submit to them. From there the others would follow and such their group would have been stronger and not nearly at death's edge when they were found by their veteran Iron Warrior counterparts. This spoke well to both Tristan and Levente, appealing to the might makes right philosophy of the latter while making logical sense to Tristan as if he had not forced Levente to do as he said there was no way their vastly different worldviews could have been reconciled.

Having led a team with a fair amount of success until the final night Helash was commended and ultimately was brought to Urkamus squad to further expand his talents. Compared to Urkamus it was quite obvious that Helash was new, his armor possessing a particular sheen that an Ixolotl would be drawn to and not a single mark upon it to indicate damage it had sustained. Somehow during the battle with the Beastmen and Orks Helash had remained unscathed compared to the grievous wounds of the others, and so far in his weeks with Urkamus squad he had not tarnished it. When put beside Urkamus' own repeatedly cobbled together and mended armor it showed an almost before and after diagram of an Iron Warrior's life, further enhanced by the recruit's youthful face and the grim, dour looks upon his sergeant. To look at Urkamus would make one wonder if his face possessed the capability of smiling, while such an expression would seem natural upon Helash's softer features.

While not as antagonistic as Levente it was quite obvious to Tristan that he would have a somewhat adversarial relationship with Helash. Observing or understanding social cues was beyond Tristan's personal skillset, machines and their functions being far easier to comprehend, but the enmity radiating from Helash was hard to miss. Like Tristan he was prideful in his own capabilities, skills which had been venerated by Ossus following their mission on the Beastmens' world, but now he was to share a team with one of the Warsmith's own pupils and it was natural for him to worry that any of his own accomplishments would be overshadowed by those of Tristan. Alpha Squad had been the top group amongst all initiates, being formed from the hand-picked selection of those with the greatest talent, and in training drills which saw them cross paths it was obvious that they were superior in most regards.

Helash had been quite proud in his seeming success compared to either of the Warsmith's personal pupils and had seen his joining Urkamus squad as a statement that he belonged with the best and would learn from them...only to soon thereafter see one of those very Astartes he delighted in beating for once now beside him. Whereas Tristan and Levente were notably competent in one field or another Helash was broader in his skillset yet not as individually capable in any one area, something that had allowed him to properly bring together his team whereas Tristan and Levente fractured Alpha Squad with their personal fissures and disparate beliefs.

Ultimately his opinion mattered little to Tristan so long as it did not interfere with their work, so despite the daggers being glared at him Tristan paid them no mind.

Last of the Astartes within Urkamus Squad was Brechung, whose response to Tristan's arrival was even colder than Urkamus' own: Brechung gave no indication that he knew Tristan existed, instead focused intently on sharpening his blades for whatever combat lay ahead. Whereas Urkamus did not care that they had a new member he at least demonstrated he knew Tristan was there, it just lacked any ceremony or particular scrutiny which is how Tristan preferred it. Brechung was so single-mindedly focused on his weapons that everything else seemed to have no hold on him even if his reactions to sudden noises revealed that he was keenly aware of his surroundings and ready for battle.

Originally a member of the Stor-Bezashk, Brechung had been one of the Iron Warrior's elite units and had earned a reputation as a fearsome close-combat combatant who could force his way through almost any defensive garrison placed in his way. Utterly brutal and without mercy towards anything or anyone it was quite common for him to break or otherwise damage his wargear as he sacrificed everything to inflict the most damage possible upon his foes.

Despite his brutality it was seemingly his desire for worthy combatants that saw him join the ranks of Jarn during the fall of Olympia rather than follow the orders given to him to scourge the populace for their rebellion. Point him at a military target and he would kill them to the last man no matter what it took without questioning orders or even uttering a word, but point him at civilians and there simply was no fight to be had.

Grand Battalion leader Khyr had expelled Brechung from his own ranks in the Iron Legion thanks to the sheer logistical drain Brechung brought to his siege-breaking forces, leaving the stoic brute to instead find a place with Urkamus since the Sergeant's apathy allowed him to be more accepting of irregular behavior. It did not matter to Urkamus if he had to continually requisition more equipment so long as Brechung accomplished his objectives and did as he was told.

Physically Brechung was an imposing figure, actually managing to stand about even with the Warsmith and possessing an even physique that lent itself equally towards agility, endurance, and strength. His armor was simple albeit modified Mark Three armor to cover his massive form, the plating possessing few unique characteristics other than obvious signs of having had entire sections replaced time and time again.

It was in Brechung's nature to always be ready for combat and so he was almost always armored up even during times of rest, and while it was not uncommon for Iron Warriors to wear their armor more than Astartes from other Legions for Brechung it was a second skin that he was never seen without. The only original piece of his armor left was his helmet, which while scarred superficially possessed no severe damage. If it had at some point Brechung would have perished from whatever dealt it, so it made intrinsic sense that it would be relatively untouched compared to the rest of his Power Armor.

The reason for their deployment to Forescien, a Forge World of the Mechanicum, was to provide ranged firepower support to aid in a siege of its primary structures and the cities they lay within. With communications and travel disrupted with the greater Imperium thanks to actions taken by Asier prior to their arrival the world would not receive aid until long after the Iron Warriors had departed. Existing on the outskirts of the Imperium's reach meant that Forescien had to typically rely upon itself to defend its valuable equipment and schematics, both of which were the objectives of the Iron Legion's operations there.

Given their insatiable thirst for knowledge and reverence of technological artifacts the Mechanicus forces would not simply hand over their possessions nor would those of Forescien dare destroy them to prevent them from falling into the hands of their foes. Instead they would fight to the death to protect what was theirs, and so a siege was called for to lay claim to equipment not obtainable by simple subterfuge. While the Neophytes had been undergoing their final examination the Iron Legion had been acquiring orbital docks once belonging to the Kheledakos that Jarn had poured resources during and after the Heresy into recreating. Ages had past by but they remained where he had left them hidden, none knowing of their existence and their hiding place having been where travelers would not stumble upon them in the wide expanse of space.

Replicated from the docks once belonging to the Black Judges the Iron Warriors had subjugated upon Perturabo's discovery these orbital structures were capable of being moved from one world to another or to exist entirely on their own and would serve as a mobile base of operations for the Iron Legion going forward. If his forces were to be able to defend themselves before and after they built the utopia they sought they would require and need to repair and otherwise maintain their fleet of spacecraft, so for this purpose the docks were invaluable to their needs. While lacking in the raw resources to construct additional craft the docks would allow for that when they had properly stockpiled enough.

Forescien was a piece of this greater plan in its possession of the raw equipment necessary to create various tools needed for the expansion of the Iron Warriors' forces, as while Jarn knew his men were capable he was not foolish enough to believe that they could take his homeworld by force with what little he had to start with. It took the Imperial Fists far more Astartes than what he had under his command to do battle with a single fortress on Kimara, and while he detested them Jarn knew how capable the sons of Dorn were at siegecraft. Having designed the defenses himself and noting the difficulty of Astartes in actually taking the hexagram grid of fortresses sprawled throughout Kimara it would be suicide to do battle there without orbital supremacy combined with a strong foothold on the ground.

Successfully pilfering enough supplies to undertake an operation as daunting as retaking Kimara would take decades for a small warband to accomplish without drawing the attention of the greater Imperium, but gradually grinding their way to victory was the modus operandi of the Iron Warriors and so they took to their task like fish to water. By deploying siege weapons such as Basilisks and wearing down their foes at range they traded nothing but ammunition for eventual victory as their foes did not dare charge thousands of Astartes on land and the punch of their own artillery did not match that deployed excessively by the Iron Warriors. The first targets were the Mechanicum's longest ranged defensive structures and vehicles to prevent further retaliation and mitigate overall damage incurred, crippling the world's defenses from the very start and making the outcome almost inevitable.

With enough Basilisks to field one for every squad deployed on the planet even Urkamus squad possessed one to use as needed to coordinate with the greater offensive, something which saw Tristan as the newcomer manning the deafening weapon. Thanks to his Astartes physiology he was able to carry out the grunt work he was tasked with without risk of damaging his hearing, something that would prove useful over the coming weeks and months as their operation continued. It took longer and much greater effort to shell their enemies in a way that would not risk damaging certain structures that possessed what they came to collect, and so it was with cold precision that the howl of Earthshaker shells rained down upon their targets and slowly whittled through shields and defensive measures to eventually open the pathway to victory.

It was a constant tedium of loading to fire, calculating the strike, and then carrying it out day after day but that fit Tristan's personality completely fine. Slow but assured victory was preferable in his eyes to sudden and possible victory, and if what was required to succeed was constant attrition warfare of beating down their foes day after day then that was what he would do. While he did this the others vigilantly stood guard for the occasional attempt by Imperium operatives to raid the Iron Warriors whose army sat out in rigid formation upon a large plains just within range of their target. The Mechanicus presence was beginning to crack in morale and cohesion more and more each day, their initial plans to hold out until Imperial forces arrived growing less and less tenable with each passing day.

Except for when a group of Skitarii vanguard would be deployed to try and strike them there was almost no interaction between Tristan and his foes, never truly getting the opportunity to see them given that this was a siege rather than direct conflict. It did not particularly irk him that this was the case, for unlike Levente he did not truly venerate personal combat or think it honorable even if he understood that others saw it that way. Victory was victory, and if he could kill his opponent before ever seeing them that was still a successful encounter in his book.

Days passed by like a blur on Forescien, a world which possessed much in the way of sprawling meadows and beautiful skies despite its status as a Forge World. Whatever natural forces were at play upon it made Forescien resist the smog and pollution major industrialization could bring to a planet, and if not for the world's populace being paranoid and wary of outsiders perhaps it could have possessed a minor tourism business. If not for the valuable minerals beneath its soil that could be easily used for production the planet may have become a Paradise World even such was its inherent beauty with its soft landscapes that were a natural blend of pastels.

This was completely lost upon Tristan who had taken to his new team's hobby of silently doing their job, spending what idle moments were possessed between barrages to tinker with mechanical devices Tristan had brought with him. A hastily yet expertly crafted fortress rest behind their battle lines to allow the Iron Warriors to rest and always be ready for a counterattack, as well as serving as a command center for the Warsmith to command them, and it was here that Tristan remained whenever he was not outside engaging in the wrack and ruination that the Iron Warriors were known for. He could tend to DOTS and provide the Akran water before settling in and studying schematics and blueprints to further his knowledge, even contemplating Basilisk designs given that he was now able to better understand the vehicles thanks to using them for weeks upon end in actual 'combat'.

Despite having spent months with them Tristan had not learned much at all about his new team, having instead submitted to the stoic silence they often employed while operating in the field. They did not seek him out when resting, and he did not care to do the same with them as of yet: he was just another fresh soldier in their eyes, with his status as Jarn's pupil ignored entirely by Urkamus who made no efforts to spoil or accommodate Tristan. It was just as well though, as Tristan would have resented being shown such favoritism simply because of who taught him. If he was to obtain respect he would do so through results, results he could bring all the easier if he understood every mechanical aspect of the warfare around him.

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Eventually the day the Iron Warriors were waiting for came, the last of the defenses in their way shattered and the spirits of their foes broken into countless pieces as their inevitable defeat met them without mercy. As planned by Jarn the Iron Warriors deployed fire support units to suppress any defenders that may halt their advance, shelling them at range with Earthshaker cannons as well as laying down autocannon, lascannon, and heavy bolter fire with organized precision that saw the Skitarii present drowned by the weight of fire levied at them. Urkamus squad had been deployed for this purpose thanks to Urkamus being a former Iron Havoc, the sergeant callously barking orders as they slowly advanced and gunned down anything in their path across the plains between them and the city.

"Press them back!"

"Concentrate fire!"

"No mercy for the foolish!"

It was then that Tristan was finally able to point a weapon in hand at their foes, the superhuman eyesight granted to him by his implants allowing him to track his targets and open fire with the autocannon held at his side accurately despite their movement. Thanks to his size carrying an autocannon was simpler for Tristan than it was for others, as while his strength to body ratio was just like that of other Astartes he simply had more of a body to carry it with. While the autocannons possessed by the Iron Warriors did not have as much volume of fire as their heavy bolters they did possess greater strength and more effective range, allowing Tristan to pick off his foes while they still could not fire back at him with any accuracy. What shots did come his way harmlessly glanced off his Power Armor, its structure having been reinforced well beyond its initial status after the damage inflicted by the Beastmen and Orks.

Urkamus stood at the head of their squad with a heavy bolter that thanks to his centuries of experience was able to hit all his targets one after another even further than what would be considered the range such a weapon could be considered effective. With his eyes scouting out any enemy that would rise from the debris of the city's ruined exterior Urkamus was able to direct them to priority targets such as heavy weapons or plasma that could pose a risk to them. By the end of five minutes the gunfire had grown silent, no more targets remaining in the section assigned to them or any of the others assigned to other squads.

A part of Tristan felt an odd pang as he looked upon the ruin they wrought, having felt almost nothing as he slew Beastmen but now finding it unfortunate that these more Human foes had to be cut down. The Beastmen had been savages unable to be reasoned with, but these martyrs for technology and knowledge were just as unreasonable and there was no peaceful solution to be found here. Dogma could be just as dangerous as brutish ignorance, and while the Caprigors and their ilk were unlikely to ever have had a chance at civility these mixtures of flesh and metal had such a thing taken from them simply by circumstance of what world they were born upon. They were tools of the Imperium and the Cult Mechanicus, and that earned an ounce of pity from him.

Within the city there would be further defenders no doubt, but that was why a systematic plan for eliminating them section by section had been implemented. As a thousand Astartes descended upon the city so did their fellows elsewhere in other important locations on Forescien in simultaneous sieges, and in teams of five to ten they swept blocks of the cities by eliminating any and all threats before moving on to the next. Using scanning equipment they located any life signatures and while civilians were simply intimidated into compliance actual combatants were swiftly and brutally executed to both ensure security as well as further demoralize the city's inhabitants. If their wills were broken they would not throw their lives away fighting, a stark contrast to the wholesale slaughter other forces might engage in for their own whims. Ammunition spent for an important cause was an acceptable loss as they could always craft more in their forges, but firepower used on unnecessary targets was simply wasted.

Months of breaking down their foes at range had left little danger to confront in the actual city, but some resistance remained nonetheless and made its presence known by the fourth block Urkamus squad was tasked with securing. Battle automata larger than Jarn roared to life and emerged from civilian housing in the area, their Mechanicus cyborg masters having noted the Iron Warriors scanning equipment and used it against them by having their machines offline yet ready to act the moment they were called upon. In this way a sudden barrage erupted forth that had all of Urkamus squad forced into taking cover of their own, the automata using debris and the natural terrain of the buildings they emerged from to present as little of themselves as possible to those laying siege.

"Adjust positions and take cover. Selective shots only, prioritize stalling them out," Urkamus commanded bluntly, expecting complete obedience and in return commanding his men in a way that would not make them question it. Other Iron Warriors would reinforce their position within minutes if not moments, so there was no need to risk needless injury.

Before Tristan had not had reason to notice how Grund was acting as they mowed down other sources of resistance now Tristan found himself shocked that the talkative Astarte had become as robotic and methodical as the machines they were now facing. Grund had taken cover along with the others before immediately emerging back out from it as the machines moved to fire upon where they calculated he was to be. Whereas the machines shot straight through the flimsy debris he would have stood behind they completely missed him out in the open where he instantaneously blew the head off of a Techpriest tending to them. By the time the automata shifted to fire on him again he had doubled back to where he initially was to have taken cover, the debris' damage having collapsed a structure and made the cover deeper and sturdier overall than it had been before.

Helash seized upon the opportunity to unleash heavy bolter fire of his own and tore off the arm of one of the dozen automata standing in their way, though this action earned him its attention and it opened fire on the ambitious Astarte. Not so foolish as to try and take its remaining firepower head-on, Helash ducked back behind the building he was using to shield him even as more and more of it began to be shredded by the powerful shots being fired rapidly against it.

Tristan attempted to follow suit and use his autocannon against the automata distracted by Helash, but one that had locked onto Tristan shot him the moment he stepped away from his cover. The impact upon Tristan's abdomen was severe, but thanks to his armor it did not manage to actually deal any true damage. The shots immediately afterward did however knock Tristan off his feet and slam his back into a fallen structure as he attempted to open fire, instead shooting past his target as his body shifted mid-shot.

"That must have been the worst shot I have ever seen," Helash remarked to himself, only for Urkamus to instantly speak up as he exchanged fire with the Mechanicus forces.

"If you have time to fire your mouth off, then fire your weapon."

Any rebuttal or insubordination Helash might have possessed was silenced when the next moment saw Tristan climb back to his feet and lift his autocannon back up in a single movement, the heavy weapon firing two successive shots right into the machine that struck Tristan and tearing through its innards to silence its firepower. Tristan had used that moment he was down to prepare his timing and shots, and since the machines were not moving as they focused entirely upon their firing the variables for firing were simpler. By aiming at where he expected it would possess thinner armor Tristan was able to make his shots count before dragging himself back to a more defensive position. He had been shot multiple times as he stood back up and yet was able to shrug the hits off thanks to his heavy armor, something he would have to thank the Warsmith for when he next had the opportunity.

As the others all engaged the automata Brechung had been climbing through a broken building to draw closer to their foes, swapping his boltgun for the twin swords resting at his sides. Once in position he charged in towards them, leaping through a broken window display to cut down a Skitarii guarding the machines and then twist his power blades to eviscerate the side of one of the automata that was just now processing his sudden appearance. They were slow to react to things due to their programming, not being truly independent combatants but rather behemoths whose actions were heavily controlled by their (somewhat) organic masters. While they possessed devastating firepower and might this sluggishness was their primary weakness, and one which a seasoned close-combat expert could readily exploit.

By the time the first automata could swing a massive fist at him Brechung had already bisected it horizontally and moved on to a second that he instead disarmed in a literal fashion, carving through its limbs at the joints to prevent it from properly striking him even as it moved to do so. Its large form still collided with Brechung and knocked him back, but he spun on his heel and thrust both of his blades into its upper legs to tear through them where they met its body. Now lacking any limbs it fell to the ground still functioning but removed from the battle, something Tristan took note of because he might have the opportunity to recover it later for study.

"Two!"

Despite Brechung's effective dispatching of two of their machine foes Urkamus still called out to their brutish member to retreat, as the danger was too severe to continue fighting them in such close quarters, "Brechung, disengage at once!"

Intel shared over their communications lines showed that the highest concentration of remnant Mechanicus forces was in this area, having congregated together it seemed as they continued to fall back from various sections. The Iron Warriors' foes were likely to receive reinforcements before they did at this rate and breaking formation could lead to them being overwhelmed in short order, so he would rather have the machines wasting time shooting at Brechung at range than risk the Astarte being beaten down by a single lucky strike against him.

Blood lust, if it could be called that when applied to machines which possessed other types of fluids in their systems, had a grip upon Brechung however and he continued to push forward. Skitarii were on their way to further reinforce the position and he threw himself upon them, ripping them apart in a grisly display of gore and mechanical annihilation. The automata were programmed to not fire upon their allies and so went back to firing at the other four members of the team, resulting in Urkamus cursing out Brechung as eleven against five became nine against four.

Brechung's assault continued forward as he began to drift further and further away from the group to chase down fleeing Skitarii, quickly leaving the sight of his team as he contributed to their plight in his own way. Reinforcements from other streets did arrive, though by the time they did the automata had been cut down to six thanks to shots from the remaining four Astartes focusing on the same targets for assured destruction. The galvanic rifles of Skitarii were powerful, but they were not enough to supplement the loss of the automata and so slowly the battle was turning in their favor.

It was at this point that one of the massive automata found itself knocked across the street as a massive power maul slammed into its side, knocking it into its fellow automata as circuitry and oils spilled from the gaping hole opened up in its own form. Tristan recognized the form of Eirlithriad, and actually found himself relieved as Jarn and his Iron Circle finished teleporting into the thick of combat. Despite the slow speed Jarn possessed in combat his Terminator armor allowed him to rapidly insert himself where necessary during a battle, and so here he stood after reports of the enemy congregating here reached him. That his student was nearby engaged with them was irrelevant to Jarn, as this was simply where he needed to be to best aid his forces at this moment, and so not a single glance was paid to Tristan as the Warsmith began to force his way through the remaining Mechanicus forces before him.

One machine managed to stab forward with a large claw to try and impale Jarn's armor, and while successful the strike did not go deep. The impact still was enough to wound Jarn, but not so severely that he could not retaliate with a swing of his maul that ripped the cranial unit off of the automata along with part of its upper abdomen. To Tristan's surprise the Logos Secundus began to shift as the breach in its form was quickly filled, a silver-like fluid entering the gaps before solidifying.

It was not something that Jarn loudly touted, but the one 'improvement' he had made upon the armor of their Primarch was integrating pilfered Necron technology into it after conflicts he had with them. Jarn would use any advantage at his disposal to find victory so long as it did not ultimately risk his goals, and while not so gifted as to be able to create such devices on his own he could take what already existed and bend it to his needs where others would balk at the usage of Xenos artifacts. In this case integrating and modifying a Necron Phylactery to repair the Logos Secundus mid-battle and prevent him from gradually having it worn down by his foes. An underhanded and perhaps 'dishonorable' method to avoid death, it nonetheless was pragmatic and had allowed Jarn to continue his personal crusade throughout the stars for many years as unless a weapon's strike killed him outright it was unlikely to do so.

Thanks to Jarn's arrival Urkamus squad was able to open fire without needing to constantly take cover, resulting in them quickly mowing down the Skitarii present as well as the Mechanicus field commanders present here. The Warsmith demolished the remaining automata before continuing forward to push their forces onward to the crippled military base beyond, a wake of destruction existing behind his calculated insertion into the battle while the others present were left to mop up what remained. Tristan withheld his admiration for Jarn to instead focus on his objective as they gunned down any remaining Mechanicus forces, executing those wounded but not slain yet and making certain the battle automata were unable to act further.

Urkamus tried hailing Brechung while Grund saw to the automata cleanup, leaving Tristan and Helash to sweep the nearby area for other threats. Helash went to check a structure nearby while Tristan inspected the nearby civilian habitat, noticing now that in the conflict it had been damaged severely and was crumbling after the large automata they shot down crashed into it.

Upon entering Tristan heard what appeared to be someone in pain, and as he stepped through the dust kicked up by the battle he found himself before a young woman and their child. The child was only a few years old at most and was attempting to assist its mother, who had been struck by shrapnel and was struggling to move her wounded leg. It did not appear to be a fatal injury and so Tristan would have simply let them be so he could rejoin his Battle Brothers, if not for the fact that the structural damage to the building saw to it that various sections were beginning to collapse.

More specifically the ceiling between this floor and the next was about to fall.

The mother and her child screamed as their home crashed down around them, even more dust and debris being kicked up as they were to be crushed by it all...

Only that did not occur at all. Instead, after a moment they realized they were not crushed at all, but rather the ceiling was being held just above them. Further inspection revealed through the dust that an Astarte was holding it up just barely, straining himself under the weight of this piece of broken debris to keep it from collapsing down upon all three of them. Tristan had not thought when he acted, he simply did so, and as he used his back and arms to press upwards he grunted out to the civilians caught in the crossfire of their invasion.

"Go...now..."

After months of being under siege by the dreaded Iron Warriors, servants of Chaos and traitors to the Imperium, his words did not reach the woman the way they ought to have. Rather than flee she instead was shocked into terror, clutching at her child as she let out a blood-curdling shriek as an Iron Warrior loomed over her. Stories had been told of what the Iron Warriors did to their prisoners, of how they used them as fodder for battles and how they once carried the derisive title of "Corpse Grinders" for how awfully they treated mortals under their command.

To be a slave of them was to invite certain death, suffering, and untold misery...and so rather than allow themselves to be captured by this villainous figure the mother tried scrambling as far away from him as she could manage with her child in tow. Still buckling under the weight of the ceiling, Tristan was not able to call out to them as the building's damaged sections finally finished collapsing down upon them all.

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It felt like only a few moments, but the impact down upon him left Tristan in a daze that saw him unable to act for an indeterminate amount of time. By the time Grund had pried broken pieces of the second floor off of him Tristan had somewhat recovered, though only just barely. Something so simple as a building falling was not enough to kill him, but the impact had exacted a toll.

When his eyes focused and he became fully aware of his surroundings Tristan noticed that right before him were the crushed and mangled bodies of the mother and child he attempted to aid. Tristan tried to make sense of what had happened as Grund shook his head at the sight.

"What? Did you believe they would accept your aid, that of a loathsome traitor? Even when we were their allies we were treated with naught but scorn, derision, and fear if we were looked at at all. Now our brethren have seen to it that we long for such treatment."

His voice was resigned, as if it was simply how things were and that there was no getting around it. While far from a believer in romanticism and that good deeds would always result in good outcomes it still stood as a shock to Tristan that despite placing him in harms way for their sake he had still terrified two innocent people into putting themselves in harm's way. His prior thoughts on the dogma servants of the Imperium possessed deepened in that moment, having seen it firsthand, though he quickly began to push the encounter aside as he forced himself to his feet and walked past Grund to exit the remainder of the building.

"The other buildings are all clear. Are you finished with one and only, knight in shining armor?" Helash commented as Tristan joined the others and Grund followed, revealing that while they had not been inside the building when it collapsed that they had seen what happened thanks to their enhanced hearing.

Tristan ignored him and instead shook the rubble off of him as he grabbed his autocannon where he left it, having only taken a bolt pistol with him inside since the autocannon would be unwieldy there. As he lifted his weapon up Urkamus placed a hand down on his shoulder less out of a sign of support and more just to gain his attention.

"You will see far worse going forward. Get used to it, or you won't live long."

While perhaps harsh it did actually help Tristan put things in perspective, and so he continued to push away the thoughts of the crushed corpses he had just witnessed. He had already walked by dozens of bloodied bodies that he had helped rip apart with heavy caliber weapons, but this had struck him in a different way that was hard for him to put into words.

There was still a battle to fight, and so they moved onward whatever the feelings they possessed.

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A/N: As one might expect we will not be going over each and every day of Tristan's career, but I figured it would be a good idea to show his odd introduction to a certain peculiar team.

Hope you all enjoyed, and that you will let me know what you think in the comments below!​

 

[Thunderscourge]

In an attempt to placate the masses the Conomor regime allowed for the institution of an Ixolotl 'daycare' within the Schola Progenium's outer facility, for the animosity felt by the regime's soldiers towards the creatures meant that there would be blowback if it was kept within the bounds of a Fortress City. The purpose of creating it was to provide a serious academic institution for the creatures that would assist members of the Schola in their tasks given their general capability, though in reality it provided a safe haven for both citizens and Ixolotls to visit. The government only rarely paid visits to the location and their predilection towards pomp and vanity meant it was obvious when they would do so, meaning that what was done or said behind the Schola's walls stayed there.

To maintain appearances this 'Ixolotl Schola' carried out actual courses and studies for the animals, something not entirely new to the world but more professional compared to the more localized education done family by family. With Ixolotls reaching maturity around twenty years of age their growth in many ways mirrored that of their Human companions, and so while their owners were receiving their own lessons so too were the Ixolotls who otherwise would be left unattended. This had a positive impact regarding the disappearance of lustrous objects during the daytime, and also made the Ixolotls more productive when they returned from their lessons. Teachers included both Humans and matured Ixolotls, their elder members quite serious when it came to protecting their young despite their lack of severity in most matters.

Paying attention was sometimes a difficulty for the juvenile Ixolotls, but their eagerness to please Humans who treated them well saw them do as told more often than not. Topics covered in their lessons included basics like how to carefully carry objects even with their undeveloped arms and mouth if need be, how to properly navigate through the snow, that building igloos inside was not good to do and that 'igloos' would be provided to rest in, and basic commands and words so that they would understand what it was their owners were saying. An experiment into having Ixolotls press buttons that would convey messages was discarded when the ones for "Shiny" and "Love you" were used on repeat until said devices broke, having distracted the Ixolotls from actual useful tasks and their studies.

More complex studies were done for those whose masters had entered into some form of specialization, with those belonging to future Tempestus Scions learning how to properly scout out areas and report important information that was not just metallic objects found, those belonging to prospective scribes and administrators bringing useful supplies and acting as messengers, and those belonging to rising Commissars were trained in methods to help motivate and uphold morale. Civilian owned Ixolotls possessed similar training to assist in the tasks their Kimarans had to carry out day to day, while members of the local militia had their own taught the basics of how to help reload artillery. Given their tendency to wander Ixolotls sometimes went to the wrong classes and so it was not uncommon for them to learn things beyond their specialties, though with their natures they tended towards mirroring the general occupations of their owners in the end regardless.

Of course beneath the surface of this seemingly tame institution was what it was a cover for, that being the collection of renegade operatives intent on overthrowing the current regime. It was a perfect cover for the dissemination of rebellious materials thanks to Verita's growing circulation of readers for her 'Ixolotl Information network', leaflets being passed out by her pet Seta and other Ixolotls who proved adept at such tasks. Nothing was printed that was not objectively true or outside of the bounds of what was permissible under Imperial law, but by drawing public attention to certain incidents it helped keep them from being propagandized by the regime's misinformation. It was thanks to the government's own apathy towards its citizens that allowed for such material to grow under their noses, along with the fact that the Ixolotls only passed their materials along to those who too possessed Ixolotls, something that had been banned by the government for its public servants in recent years. Their rulers were comfortable in their power and so remained completely oblivious to what was going on, at least for the time being.

Beyond his duties for the Schola and Imperium were those Commandant Eisen Kohlenstoff possessed for the people of Kimara, and just like his work as an Imperial Commissar years ago he would take whatever measures were necessary to succeed in his goals. The death of one of his charges through subterfuge had forced him to accelerate his plans but it was to his fortune that his daughter and her chosen classmates were up to the challenge. While largely keeping them in the dark and compartmentalizing what information each received as to their operations to minimize risk, he had still brought them in on his plans and operations where necessary to both utilize and also expand upon their skillsets.

His daughter Isolde largely assisted him at the facility when she was not undergoing her training at the Schola, officially being a part of the Commissar program and having passed the typical final test given already after her execution of a classmate. While it was not a practice that the Commandant actually had his students carry out unlike other Scholas it was agreed that as Isolde had in essence killed Umida for the survival of her other companions that she proved her mettle, and so had been made a Cadet Commissar who could be deployed on missions alongside Imperial forces to gain experience. This saw Isolde traveling to and from the Schola as needed, fighting alongside members of the planetary defense force against the leviathan Yormungaros and other such threats while also meeting with other branches of the Imperium to gain experience with them as well. This made her an effective agent of her father, who while remaining in one place could have her as a proxy meet with potential allies elsewhere on Kimara, weaving a web of contacts that could be called upon when needed.

It was no exaggeration to say that to most in the Imperium the frigid and cutting personality Isolde possessed was much like the environment of her world, but whereas this would make her incredibly uncharismatic on other worlds it held deep appeal to those on Kimara. While still new to public speaking and giving speeches the Commandant gave her a platform to do so within the Schola's walls, allowing his daughter's cold fury born after the betrayal she faced at the hands of the government to be channeled towards a productive end of rallying those who might otherwise be uncertain in their loyalties or worth. Isolde was a natural at it with her imposing form, having reached her father's height and being set to surpass him to the point that she would tower over even Kimaran men, all the while possessing an incredible form which resembled immensely the idealized Kimaran woman. A cold beauty who possessed a commanding presence, it was said by some that she had been made for such a role, and that was by no means an insult given the controlled nature of Kimaran life.

There was perhaps little surprise to be found that the majority of the Schola's staff could be found assisting the Commandant in one way or another, for they had been hand-picked by the Commandant himself out of countless Imperial servants to work there. With this being the case he was able to recruit individuals who either owed personal loyalty to him or shared his ideals in liberating Kimara from the reign of the Conomors, those also loyal to the Imperium itself since having had such faith eroded by enduring the excesses of the Conomor regime. Seeing how the planet was mismanaged, its wealth plundered for short-sighted greed, its people tormented and the workforce diminished, it was clear to all who knew how things once were that Kimara had taken a harsh turn for the worse. Change came in incremental yet increasing amounts of decay to their society, and it was increasingly obvious that if the Conomors had their way Kimara would become like countless other worlds in the Imperium, its own culture and practices eradicated in favor of a new order.

To combat the societal rot setting upon them required action to be taken, and for this task the Commandant made extensive usage of his daughter's two closest peers Dairine and Verita.

While Verita stood in the open and used her talents to reveal truth, Dairine had been removed from the Schola and her records expunged following her 'death' in a training exercise that possessed many witnesses, all of whom ultimately answered to the Commandant. With her very life hidden from view of both the Imperium and the Kimaran regime it allowed Dairine great flexibility in what she could do, for none knew to look out for her. Lacking the extensive training of official Imperial Assassins, Dairine was still provided with augments to her physical form that took her already gene-crafted body well beyond the limits it might otherwise possess.

How the procedure's contents had been obtained and supplied were unknown to Dairine herself, but she was not really the sort to ask questions she considered unnecessary. Being sculpted to possess the physique of an actual Imperial Assassin and the raw killing potential of one was a gift in her eyes, fulfilling a role she had been designed for, and all that remained was to gain training and experience to match what she had been gifted from birth and prepared for ever since.

To assist in this matter was a seeming Vindicare Assassin by the title Iota who could often be found at the Commandant's side, though never outright revealing herself to outsiders and almost always waiting still beneath a camo-cloak to take action if necessary. Any who might attempt to take action against the Schola's leader would find themselves cut down before they could even move a finger, and it was only thanks to being placed under Iota's employ that Dairine came to know the assassin existed at all. Thanks to her own enhanced physical features Dairine could often figure out where her mentor was now, but whomever Iota was underneath their mask and form-fitting gear was an unknown even to her student.

Dairine began her training eliminating targets set for her by Iota off-world, utilizing the Commandant's connections to travel beyond Kimara and kill for some time on Wostyn. Once beautiful in its own way, what little natural resources the world had to offer were eradicated when Kimara conquered them during the Horus Heresy thanks to the overwhelming firepower utilized to force the desert planet into submission.

This sordid history between the worlds and their mutual enmity born of wounds inflicted upon the other throughout the ages saw the population of Wostyn actually jubilant when they received word of Kimara's current condition from various relatives and friends who were posted there. For Kimara to suffer was to make them reap what they had sewn, and with Kimarans set on a path towards extinction with their lack of men it was seen as a golden opportunity to settle the planet and receive the riches that Kimara had long profited from while leaving nothing for those of Wostyn. It was selfish, but for those who had nothing it was a path forward for them and so they felt no sympathy for the culture they saw as to blame for their own suffering in all of its hubris.

Knowing what their kin were doing and feeling no sympathy for the victims of their actions made it all the easier for Dairine to go hunting, and so she did: targets whose removal would diminish the Wostyn mercenaries' hold on Kimara were targeted one after another, their deaths always arranged such that other culprits would be expected such as pirates or even other mercenaries. True to her Kimaran heritage Dairine saw herself as better than them, and the fact that her targets believed the opposite to be true made it a contest of which prideful world would survive. Each planet was not wrong for detesting the other, but that was all above Dairine's consideration: what mattered was killing those who might endanger those she cared about, just as they had caused the circumstances behind Umida's untimely death.

After completing a half-dozen missions Dairine was brought back to Kimara, her killing instinct having been honed further by her time in the harsh deserts of Wostyn. She had much to learn, and potential yet to meet, but Dairine was a dangerous tool that was growing sharper by the day, and with her loyalty unquestioning towards Isolde and the Commandant she would prove pivotal in their operations moving forward as key Conomor officials needed to suffer 'accidents'. Dairine felt certain she could slay the planetary governor himself, but the Commandant held her back from such an undertaking while citing caution and a need to strike when the time was right.

Verita was officially being trained to become a member of the Imperial Diurnarius, for her talent for gathering and disseminating information was unparalleled among her peers at the Schola. The Diurnarius was an institution of some Imperial worlds to share pertinent news and information to the population, being heavily regulated like many Imperial bureaucracies so as to prevent 'heretical' materials from spreading. Her truthful nature made Verita not well suited for what was essentially propaganda, but being trained in how to properly investigate and research subjects while filtering out certain details was useful for what she was actually being prepared for: to become a member of the Inquisition.

While the purpose of the studies was to remove information the Imperium did not wish to be spread such training also lent itself to properly filtering out truth from fiction instead, a vital quality in someone the Commandant was subtly preparing for Inquisitorial duties. If he directly appointed her to an Inquisitor by recommendation or gave Verita overt training for such tasks it would make it appear as if the Commandant was seeking to have a pet Inquisitor, at least to the Conomor regime, who would take it as a threat and likely result in backlash. If she was trained instead in skills useful for an Inquisitor and recruited by one by happenstance then it would not tie back to the Commandant and the regime would have no recourse or reason to retaliate, as it would be an outside entity's decision and to question an Inquisitor's will was to invite disaster. They would instead be poised to try and please whatever Inquisitor had come to the world, and thus Verita would gain their blessing rather than scrutiny.

As an extension of her training at the Schola Verita was allowed to serve as a reporter and investigative journalist for local Kimaran media. At first she carried out lowly, grunt-like tasks thanks to her inexperience being mixed with elitism among the existing staff members. They had risen to power during the Conomor's rise thanks to their sympathies and had assisted them in maintaining a superior public image than what their actions might typically entail, so an outsider to their social niche would already be looked down upon even before considering how Verita's family had been convicted as heretics. Verita took it all in stride however thanks to eventually being assigned to an elderly associate of her father named Stawski who did not believe the accusations levied against her kin, and under his guidance she gained a foothold that allowed her to circumvent the obstacles arbitrarily placed in her path.

Reporting on local matters was a simple task for Verita as by appealing to Kimaran bluntness she could convey the exact facts of various subjects without delving into subjective opinions and editorializing like the Kimaran media had grown to do in the past century. This straightforward attitude resulted in Verita gaining a following among viewers in the Fortress City, in turn earning her a position as the 'weather girl' which was seen as unimportant by the higher ups yet was their most viewed program due to the dire impact of weather conditions on Kimaran activities and life. It was dangerous enough to mine valuable ore from the world given the wildlife, but a storm could be just as harmful and so to prepare oneself for their duties many citizens of the world would listen to the forecasts. While not as skilled as Isolde when it came to understanding mathematics and science involved in the process Verita still was knowledgeable from her training in the field, and so was able to state the exact readings and conditions that were necessary for those venturing into Kimara's frigid wastes.

Some time in this role eventually led Verita to gain an opportunity to tackle other types of reporting, taking the assignments that were deemed beneath the 'elite' who served as propagandists for both the Conomor regime and the Imperium. Heavy investigation was often called for in these tasks and so Verita's skillset was further honed one story to another, eventually culminating in the opportunity to do a high profile look into the world's self-sufficient agriculture practices. Little glory was to be found in such a job, but someone needed to do it as decreed by the Conomor family who wished to show off their thriving industries where possible and with how excess produce was shipped off-world now there was quite a profit being turned from farming. Rather than focus the report on the financial windfall and boon they now faced Verita instead chose to give a historical overview to convey as much detail and information as was needed to fully inform viewers about the subject matter.
With the lack of natural arable land to farm it was an important part of every Fortress City upon Kimara that they ensure their own food production that could more than account for their population. This was done by having an inner sanctum of the Fortress Cities be set aside for agriculture, cultivating through technology conditions that could produce sustenance for them all. For the sake of security these production facilities were among the most heavily guarded upon Kimara, as damage to them in the wrong circumstances could lead to mass starvation and mitigate the enduring nature of the fortresses.

For the average Kimaran the vegetables, fruit, meat, milk, and so forth created were perfectly fine to live off of day after day, as their reserved natures carried over to their food palate. Other Imperial citizens might grow tired of the same meals again and again but such a trivial matter was well beyond a Kimaran's day to day concerns when the planet itself was actively trying to kill any who dared encounter its natural environment. They were used to having many aspects of their lives engineered and so their consumption of sustenance was no different, with many of the planet's population actually disliking new or otherwise different cuisines. Dietary needs were met by the daily rations and while repetitive were still of high quality, so to them there was no need or desire to change things.

The workers at these facilities were typically Kimaran women not of optimal child bearing age, be it those too young or too old as the population growth programs instituted by Jarn himself had continued until this most recent generation. The brutal nature of Kimara meant that for the population to remain stable it required a much greater number of offspring per couple than was typical upon other worlds, and to actually increase and eventually garrison the entire world's Fortress Cities would require even greater quantities.

As penance for their rebellion Kimara had been given large tithes to fill including supplying personnel to the Imperial Guard and other Imperial entities, perhaps deliberately taking advantage of the social programs already in place to support mass population growth for the Imperium's own needs. The cult of personality surrounding the Jarn family was an acceptable drawback to the Imperials who used that very nature to manipulate the world into compliance by keeping the Jarn family on a tight leash, for to the people of Kimara the Jarns were the only thing keeping them from complete subservience to the Imperium and were to credit for all of their planet's past glories. So long as the Jarns stayed in line the Imperium would keep them in power, an arrangement that had lasted thousands of years until the return of the Conomors and the accusations of malfeasance on the part of the Jarns saw the Imperium install the Conomors in their place.

A lack of male counterparts had led many women that would otherwise be married to become a part of the agriculture workforce, ironically resulting in greater production of food despite the massive decrease in the native population thanks to the mass conscription of its men. This deluge of food had not gone to waste however as it was funneled towards the supporters of Governor Conomor including the increasing number of mercenaries garrisoning the planet, as well as traded off-world to further enrich those with access to the excess.

While it had always been the case that the upper echelons of Kimaran culture had access to more food by proxy of actually being able to afford it from other worlds, it was not something often utilized by them as the Jarn family and their supporting noble houses had the same general personalities and culture as their people and so lacked a desire for more than what Kimara itself produced. This changed under the Conomors, for their members and their supporters largely hailed from off-world or had ties elsewhere that diluted their Kimaran heritage if they were in fact native. The Jarns had largely eaten like commoners without intending to appear noble for doing so it made them by proxy appear so after the father of the current governor took power. It was not with popular support that the Conomors rose but rather a hidden coup by a select few as backed by the Imperium itself, so it was only by the stubborn loyalty of Kimarans that they accepted their new leaders who had allegedly ousted a corrupt regime that had been in fact beloved by many.

As a part of her historical report Verita had partaken briefly in the agricultural practices to get a better feel for them all and to better relay them to those viewing the broadcast, including live-broadcasting the various routines and labor required which was the first time for many that they personally got to peer beyond the veil of mystery surrounding their food production. In truth it was a simple operation which only possessed one real complex facet, that being how it utilized some older technology that could be replicated but was mostly beyond the comprehension of even the local Mechanicus. These technologies from ages past made the production more efficient in terms of space used, thus allowing them to produce all they would need and more for emergencies or relief aid to another Fortress City that was in need of it. While efficient the work was still difficult and physically taxing like agriculture upon other worlds thus requiring new workers over time, with those retiring from service being honored for doing so, much like those who worked in similarly difficult civilian fields such as manufacturing.

However mundane, Verita's hands-on reporting on Kimara's agriculture proved her capability to research important information as well as share it effectively in an objective manner beyond simple day to day trivia. This in turn had caught the eye of an Inquisitor attached to the local Deathwatch forces, Inquisitor Kravin, who had been observing Schola members at the time for possible Acolytes to assist him. As a specialist in rooting out conspiracies, corruption, and internal threats to the Imperium he had come to the sector due to seeming irregularities in its governance. His presence was welcomed by the Conomor family rather than spurned, for they gave him seeming full access to their records which were meticulously kept and they provided him every amenity he might require to fulfill his tasks.

Their seeming willingness to assist the Inquisitor in his duties made it appear as if they expected for such an arrival to come at one point or another, but being prepared for Imperial authorities was not a crime in and of itself and so initial investigations revealed nothing out of place in the primary government. Instead information damning the prior Jarn government was uncovered, showing hints that they had hoarded resources and not properly paid their tithes which was why the Conomors explained they have done all within their power to properly repay the Imperium. The evidence was not particularly solid, but without evidence to the contrary it did help affirm their position as replacements to the Jarns while pinning any irregularities on their predecessors.

This was why the Inquisitor sought out Acolytes to assist him in his time upon Kimara, as whatever flaws had resulted in the irregularities noticed off-world were apparently laid deep and the Conomors were prepared to react to him each step of the way. While typically the Deathwatch served as allies to the Ordo Xenos in this instance they were an available resource which Kravin called upon with his unquestionable authority, the Deathwatch making their presence known upon Kimara wherever he went as enforcers to his will. To assist in the actual research and investigation others would be needed though, for a century of records had piled up one after another and somewhere within Human error would reveal the truth if it all was a house of cards.

Inquisitors were known to take particularly loyal and effective Schola students as their Acolytes, guiding them along a path where they served as an extension of the Inquisitor's will while also learning from their methods. While possessing no Inquisitorial Seal themselves they could act on the Inquisitor's behalf in various tasks, making opposing them possess dire consequences for within the Imperium Inquisitors possessed incredible power and influence with their only true oversight coming from their peers within the Inquisition. To face them was to oppose the Imperium itself, as well as to invite the ever present threat of Exterminatus upon one's world should there be no other solution in their eyes to a problem faced.

Five acolytes were chosen from within the Schola, with Verita being the most notable among them and thus the one entrusted with more responsibilities than her peers. Kravin was a straightforward and brusque man whose personality reminded her of her Drill Abbot Gull, though whereas Gull was known for his unique charisma Kravin instead possessed a paranoia that kept others at bay. To him there were plots and threats always lurking beneath the surface, and to trust others was to invite disaster. Schola students under his direct control were to be used, but even they were treated with intense scrutiny.

As the Schola students each prepared themselves for their coming roles the Commandant was taking action of his own: while careful to act through proxies for most matters there was one thing he made certain to do in-person, and that was meet with those who sought his aid and refuge at the Schola. For years those persecuted by the regime in one way or another had sought aid from him in the local community, and while stoic the Commandant was not a man who could turn away those in need. It was in his nature as a Kimaran, as for countless years the only thing ensuring their collective survival was the willingness to assist others through hardship where possible. Instances where such aid would not prove effective or necessary would be handled accordingly, but where aid could be granted on this unforgiving world it was without selfish intent.

This had been a staunch position of the Jarn family fostered through millennia that saw to the planet's success, and like the court of kingdoms throughout the galaxy audiences would be granted with the ruling family for those who required not just the aid of an individual or local community but that of the world's sovereign. Such practices saw the ruling family's continued popularity and loyalty amongst their people despite their position as autocratic rulers, for any citizen of the world could seek an audience and be met by their lord should their need require his judgement and decree.

A perhaps obvious danger of such meetings with the public was that it allowed for the possibility of royal assassination, but the security on Kimara and near fanatical loyalty of its population had left such occasions incredibly rare throughout the long practice of such meetings. The last Jarn to have ruled had been one of the few to even face such an attempt thanks to a spy, their hidden weapon managing to pierce his personal shielding numerous times at close range until Sovereign bare-handed swiftly beat his would-be killer to death. The Sovereign had survived the affair thanks to his nigh-abhuman physiology, and while that day would be a prelude to the coup years later, it had deterred such direct methods of ousting the Jarns for some time since it appeared futile. His guards had offered their lives for their failure, but he had magnanimously forgiven them and instead asked that they would learn from the attempt and redouble their efforts for the future. Come the day of the Conomor-led coup those very soldiers would lay their lives down on the line to protect their lord and his family, and their sacrifice then had valiantly almost overcome the impossible odds they had been faced with.

In much the same vein the Commandant granted his fellow citizens an audience within the depths of the Schola, allegedly meeting with them concerning the enrollment of their Ixolotls in the facility's programs or other such related matters when in truth they sought his aid in more severe matters. To maintain the illusion their Ixolotls were brought and enrolled all the while their owners sought an audience with the Imperial servant whose authority lay outside of the grips of the Conomor regime.

Many times the aid asked of him was entirely mundane, such as assistance in acquiring sustenance for a family in need after tragedy befell them, lending manpower to assist in patrols of a region, and often taking in the orphans of deceased mining staff members who perished either from Kimara's environment or wildlife. Whereas before their own community within their Fortress City could handle such tasks the breakdown of Kimaran society and the apathy shown to their plights by government officials meant that they required aid elsewhere, and after years of local service the Commandant had earned trust that was growing rarer and rarer by the day. As an orphan himself the Commandant was most generous in bringing those who had lost their kin under his wing, providing them whatever aid or comfort they required so far as it was within his ability at the Schola while also instilling in them the very same ethics and responsibility he himself felt so that they too may one day assist others.

It was uniquely Kimaran to be willing to accept aid when necessary for despite their overwhelming pride their utilitarian and pragmatic natures meant that survival often took precedence over pride, something that kept them from delving into outright arrogance though to those outside their culture they still would appear haughty and elitist. Corollary to this was the lack of concern Kimarans held towards how others perceived them, as the opinions of those they saw as lesser were irrelevant to their self-image which only emboldened such beliefs concerning them.

Then there were matters such as the one the Commandant was faced with on this day where what was asked was not just aid, but justice. An elderly man who had been off-planet when the conscription occurred came to plead on behalf of his missing daughter who had been kidnapped by a group of mercenaries earlier that day. A child who ventured on behalf of their family who had their property seized for the purposes of the government without explanation, their older kin imprisoned when they protested against this sudden action. Both of these matters saw the Commandant promise to intervene however he could, for arranging quietly to have a prison convoy hijacked and left in a state that would implicate Yormungaros was within his means. The dangers of Kimara saw plenty of Wostyn mercenaries perish from their daily duties, their ranks constantly swelled by new recruits from Wostyn that often formed the bulk of local patrols as compared to the more veteran and controlled elites kept in the Conomors' upper echelons, and so the 'disappearance' of a few fiends was simple to cover up so long as it was within the expected casualty range.

The final audience sought of the Commandant that day was from a widow seeking the freedom of her daughter, a political prisoner who was but a child in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"My lord...my daughter was taken by Nonss and his animals under the pretext of breaking Imperial law, when she did no such thing...she is young, barely an adult, and all I have left now that her father is gone."

Her voice was shaking as she spoke, her eyes red from countless tears shed even before she came to the Schola, leaving marks from where their remnants froze to her skin.
"It is my shame and dishonor that I could not protect her myself, nor make them pay for what they had done to her since...one after another they..." the widow's head hung down low as she knelt before the Commandant in his office, too ashamed to continue speaking what it was that happened, "They filmed it, they shared it with me and threatened to do the same to me if I dared speak up. They vandalized my home, took our family's precious heirlooms, and in their place they left photos and recordings of their barbarism. My neighbors reported the break-in, but despite having the criminals on camera the officials found no wrong-doing and let them go. Now they question me, claiming that my daughter was a Heretic who opposed the Emperor's will, that I must have taught her to possess such terrible beliefs..."

Now bowing to the ground to genuflect before Kohlenstoff the Widow pleaded with desperation wholly overtaken her voice.
"I failed in my duty as a mother, and I will carry that mark for as long as I live, but please, I beg of you, please help her..."

Even before her arrival the Commandant knew of the incident she spoke of, it being the fallout of a high-profile public execution of numerous Kimarans. Nonss was an individual under the Commandant's watch already and so his instigation of such things came as no surprise and he was already a person of interest to be dealt with, only ignored until now due to more pressing matters coming first.

Given the harsh climate of Kimara presenting identification cards and such documents while in full gear was a cumbersome and difficult task, for whatever important objects were kept on one's person were almost certainly to be protected from outside exposure and damage. To get around this it was thus determined that simple yet resilient bands to be added to one's gear were to designate various key details such as rank or civilian status. Further documents could still be carried as usual, but this simple method provided a way for identification to be handled swiftly and efficiently. The creation or distribution of such armbands was limited to the planetary government and violating the rules set in place would be met with severe punishment, up to and including execution.

The average Kimaran civilian was made to wear a soft blue as their band, differentiating them from Conomor officials and soldiers who instead wore bands ranging from red to purple based on their status. For the members of the Schola, while they were outside of its premises they were to wear a band of their own to show them as being Imperial servants that conveyed them some minor privileges compared to the masses of the planet whose activities were heavily restricted by the recent legislation. Determined by the Commandant himself, the members of the Schola wore armbands reminiscent of dulled mithril with a grey-blue hue that while similar to those possessed by civilians were still able to be differentiated at a glance.

While rarely seen, the governor himself wore a royal purple band at the implementation of the practice to give a public face to the institution of the apparel. The Conomors had possessed red as a primary part of their heraldry in the past, and when mixed with the blue common upon Kimara it resulted in the present day purple that could be seen across the planet wherever the government possessed a presence. Despite none of the planet's population supporting this forced apparel that limited their everyday activities and which carried with it massive consequences if not heeded the program still went off successfully, for while strong-willed Kimarans also were obedient to a fault regarding their power structures. Their original leaders the Conomors had returned after millennia and while a tyranny had been formed by their regime the Kimarans still grit their teeth and accepted what they were told to do.

After all, compared to losing nearly half of their population to a mass-conscription wearing an armband was a trivial matter, simply one more indignity to endure as a point of virtue and principle. It was only when a public execution of civilians, some minors in age, was carried out for those who dared 'endanger public safety' that backlash truly sparked. While only a small handful had been slain to demonstrate the seriousness of this edict moving forward it resulted in further outcry thanks to the families of those who had been killed to make a point.

Those protesting were rounded up and taken away for their demonstration, not a single soul among them to be seen among the living thereafter.

Far be it from Kimarans to mind the cold, the chilling effect of this still kept others from repeating the folly of those lost. It was now a part of life and like with all else in the Conomor regime questioning or opposing it was to be met with beatings, imprisonment, and, if one was particularly unfortunate, far worse.

The one responsible for the public execution was a low level member of the government by the name of Nonss who had only risen to where he was thanks to the unfortunate deaths of various superior officers necessitating someone fill their shoes. Whereas most Wostyn officers at least acted under a pretense of civility and nobility towards their duties for the public there was no such mask with Nonss, who even before his rise had been known among locals for his blatant abuse of power and for his deviant nature. Such were his perversions that those executed were reportedly provided to him after the fact, and their seeming accidental breaking of the new guidelines was found only thanks to his visiting a public education facility without official reason. It was a subsequent visit there that saw him arrest this widow's daughter, a girl in her teens, and whisk her away despite the protestations of the staff there who countered the claims of her having violated the law.

Such was his behavior and reputation that even other members of the regime seemed to want to rid their hands of him, as it was more difficult to control a population when one of their own was not even willing to shroud his actions in the slightest. The actions of individual Wostyn soldiers or Conomor officials could be covered up or deflected given the near open secret nature of their abuse, but Nonss was unable to feign the slightest hint of humanity to cover his tracks.

If one of their own were to allegedly kill him not a single soul would mourn his loss nor raise any questions, for a publicly repugnant liability was not something even the most corrupt members of the regime could abide if their rule was to maintain any grip over the population.

Olym comforted the widow as the Commandant stood up to approach her, helping her to her feet and expressing his deepest condolences for her suffering for given Nonss' previous activities it was almost certain that the woman's daughter was dead. That did not mean there was no justice to be meted out however, and the icy gaze soon fixed upon Eisen's face offered no flexibility in what he thought about the monster involved who at that very moment was likely celebrating his depravity at a pleasure den of his own making.

Hearing what she already feared to be true led the widow to weep into Eisen's chest, the Commandant supporting her how he could with a kind but professional gesture. Despite the valuable nature of his time he made no effort to hurry her through her grief, and it was only when she had worn herself out from her tears that he finally spoke.

"The amnesty granted to the servants of the Conomor family has no bearing on the actions of those in service to the Emperor of Mankind and his will. You will have your justice, and by the time you wake tomorrow those who tormented your family will know the Emperor's Grace."

This was why the Eisen Kohlenstoff commanded the respect of those who knew him, for not only was he a kind man at heart but so was he a man dedicated to carrying out the vows he made to others. For years the only justice to be found in this region of Kimara was that which he inflicted through his agents upon those otherwise untouchable, and while others would consider it a criminal enterprise with him as the leader it was instead seen by those who knew him as a refuge of Kimara's past in a world changed so heavily in the past century. They could no longer visit the Sovereign's palace and seek an audience with him to aid in dire matters of import, but they could ask by the Commandant's grace here for a return to how things once were.

He asked nothing of them in return for such services, but through them he gained the eternal gratitude of the people whose lives he influenced. More and more of them flocked to his cause, blue bands upon their arms signifying their allegiance towards the Commandant himself and his protection in increasing numbers by the day. To spread rapidly in rank would be to invite military backlash, but to win the hearts and minds of their population piece by piece and day by day meant that as a grassroots movement their influence spread far beyond what it may appear on the surface. Those freed from captivity often had to go into hiding, something which saw them become valuable members of the resistance who could dedicate their lives to the cause that they owed their continued existence to.

While influencing a sole Fortress City among countless many it was still a start, and they stood united under the goal of ousting the Conomors and restoring their world to how it once was. No Jarns existed to take up the mantle when that day came, but that did not deter those loyal to the Commandant from pressing forward all the same.

The distraught widow knelt down once again, speaking words once used in the days of her grandfather and his ancestors far beyond him dating back thousands of years. Considered subversive and heretical by some of the Imperium, it nonetheless had been allowed given the strict leash Kimara was held under all of this time so long as no lines were crossed.

"Iron in ice."

Gone as they may be, the creed of the Jarn family endured much like the rest of their legacy despite a century of propaganda villainizing them for their people were intractable and steadfast to the last. What was one hundred years of misinformation against ten thousand of zealous loyalty and servitude fostered by savvy rulers?

At first the Commandant said nothing in return, instead closing his eyes as if to reminisce for but a moment. Then came a small nod of acceptance as he opened his eyes again, the words of his people repeating now from his own mouth.

"Iron in ice."

A reckoning was coming, and he would lay everything on the line to see the day that true justice was restored to his world. Kimarans need not fear the judgment to be meted out, for it would be reserved for those with hearts shrouded in darkness, the vile ones who preyed upon the innocent. Of that the Commandant could promise. The guilty could not hide forever nor remain without retribution for their sins, and it was by the will of the people that they would be hunted down like the animals they were and pulled into the bowels of hell itself.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

Dairine had to pass through the Fortress City on her way to its exit, and along the path she found herself enjoying the everyday normalcy of its citizens as they carried out their business. Night had fallen, but there were duties all day and night to carry out upon Kimara and so there was always some form of activity to be found. Curfews and street violence deterred individuals from going out when it was not necessary to do so, but for those busy carrying out their livelihoods it was just another night under the blue moon of Kimara. Some would be bringing supplies to where they were needed, others would be preparing in their shops for the morning, and despite all of these people being around there was a general silence to be found despite what ambient noises were made by the city itself.

Many of the local Wostyn mercenaries who were on duty instead were shirking it in favor of visiting a new nightclub opened by Nonss, meaning the tranquility that Kimara once was known for had returned for but a night as its stoic populace were able to just live their lives unimpeded. Things were not the same as they once were, but this moment of peace was still found welcome by Dairine as she passed through the city's streets one after another. Despite officially being dead she was dressed in full winter clothing and wearing an armband labeling her as a part of the Schola, so when she reached the gates not only would she be unquestioned so too would she be allowed to exit without explaining herself given how often Schola students traveled to and from the outer and inner Progenium facilities.

A Wostyn quartermaster who had supplied her with the best Wostyn gear he could manage now had suffered from a heart attack in his old age, at least that was how the poison used would make it seem. She had been out when Iota contacted her about another task to be done before returning that night, and so Dairine was off to go prepare for the execution of Nonss when she found herself briefly distracted by the city's simple beauty. Far be Dairine from a romanticist, she still found herself able to admire the flat, angular shapes of Kimaran structures that were meant to be functional and efficient above all else so as to best facilitate life on the world. Many of them looked quite the same, but it was to be expected of a planet which had cities spread across it all using the same design philosophy and who had possessed the same building planners ages ago. Like its people the planet's architecture was built to last, and so the very buildings once erected by Jarn and his Iron Warriors still stood mostly all across the world.

Once beyond the city Dairine approached where she had hidden her assassination gear before her arrival, having killed her most recent target without needing much of it at all and casual clothing blending in better for such an occasion. Now though she needed her actual gear and so slipped on the form fitting outfit given to her by Iota, adding to it her Power Dagger, a pistol, a grenade launcher, smoke grenades, a M36 Pattern Lasgun, and a rifle of a make and design unfamiliar to her but given to her by Iota upon her return to Kimara. Tests using it revealed it was powerful enough to obliterate targets struck by it from well beyond typical ranges guns were accurate at, and so Dairine accepted the gift without complaint especially since it was not as if her taciturn handler would explain anything unnecessary even if asked.

The lasgun and grenades were all Wostyn in make which would help deter investigations should things come to that, but since Dairine was going to be setting her target location ablaze and destroying everything present after the assassination it was really just an extra step of caution. She felt ready for it even if the orders for the assignment were sudden, growing more and more into her role as an assassin by the day with the amount of bodies she had been piling up since Umida's death. It irked Dairine somewhat that her achievements would only be known to her and a handful of others, but she was being granted jobs that no others could accomplish and that satiated her pride all the same.

Others in her shoes might question how she came to be, how her life had all shaped her for this very profession, or what it meant that she was gene-crafted and thus her natural skill was in fact unnatural...but those thoughts were beyond Dairine. While intelligent she just was not the sort to agonize over such details, and so she just focused on what was before her so that she might continue protecting those she cared about. The surrogate family she had grown up with was what mattered, and now that members of the government and Wostyn had taken one of her kin from her Dairine had little reservation about returning the favor.

Reaching the abandoned outpost that Nonss had converted into a secret den of his pleasure and excess was simple enough for Dairine, as was gunning down the guards who stood guard outside of its confines. The noise within meant that the deaths of those outside went completely unnoticed, and with the semi-professional nature of the establishment there were none who were going to look for them either. Setting her thermal reading on allowed Dairine to peek inside the facility as she approached its entrance and prepared her entrance, the opening to this outpost possessing a brief hallway leading into the actual base which greatly expanded beneath the frozen ground it rest upon.

A thorough check revealed that there were forty-two in total, twenty-seven of which were off-duty Wostyn mercenaries and fifteen Kimarans who were in some way collaborating with the Conomor regime at the expense of their fellow kin. While Kimara itself possessed a very insular culture and the presence of the Imperium meant small pockets of those born on Kimara were actually just kin belonging to off-worlders, being considered Kimaran in name only and possessing no true roots or heritage with those who had been there for ten thousand years. Almost all of those working for the Conomors came from such families, siding with the newly backed Imperial ruling family rather than the Jarn family whose significance were lost upon them.

Be they born to Wostyn or Kimara it did not matter: they were the ones to blame for the suffering of so many, the loss of countless lives, and the severe repression of those who remained to the point any rights they once had were in practice null and void. An enemy was an enemy, a threat was a threat, and they would be dealt with accordingly. The Wostyn soldiers were identified by their differing physiques compared to those of Kimarans, and from body language Dairine could tell that the soldiers had come directly from where they were supposed to be since they were armed or at least possessed their weapons nearby so that they could return before their supervisors were ever the wiser still in full gear.

The blaring music of the former outpost would diminish Dairine's sense of hearing and thus her situational awareness if not for the mask she wore filtering out the excess noise, and so rather than having her enhanced hearing cripple her Dairine was able to hear individual conversations and even footsteps within. No longer a military base, it now possessed open expanses for patrons to dance, a series of booths for higher profile members to be seated and waited upon, and most notably a stage at the far back where Wostyn performers provided the excess of music while enslaved Kimaran women were forced to dance for the delight of the crowd. They were dosed with so many illicit drugs that it was unlikely the girls would survive the night as Nonss cared only for his immediate gratification, and so Dairine resigned herself to putting them out of their misery before the chemicals racing through them led to agonizing death.

"The Iron Warriors desecrated our world beyond restoration. Wostyn was once a beautiful sea of sand with oases as far as the eye could see, but now? They left us with nothing—"

Metal clanked against the floor as numerous grenades rolled into place at the entrance, their sudden detonations rapidly forming a thick fog of smoke in the enclosed space. So severe was it that those closest to the sources choked on the dirtied air as they simultaneously lost any ability to survey their surroundings, any sense of their bearings lost when a second round of grenades went off, those being frag grenades that Dairine had fired into the crowds as she dashed into the smoke and entered the fray. Bodies were thrown into tables and furniture, skulls cracked against walls for those close to them, and panic quickly set into place as it dawned upon the crowd just what was happening.

Those present at the private facility beyond the city limits had taken to drugs and alcohol to enhance their experience, something which granted them euphoria at the cost of dulling their senses. While the guards Dairine had already eliminated were fully cognizant their guests were anything but, and so by the time the man closest to Dairine could reach for his firearm his throat had already been carved through by a Power Dagger, Dairine rapidly moving onto the next threat with her grenade launcher readied.

Forty-one.

The only grenade left in the weapon immediately found its way into the next man's forehead, concussing him and knocking his head back. The grenade's trajectory shifted such that it hung in the air just above him the moment before its explosion. A hail of shrapnel tore him and the woman beside him to pieces while also embedding in the leg of another patron in the vicinity, Dairine having already discarded the empty grenade launcher to raise her lasgun and tear through the injured foe.

Thirty-eight.

Nearby remained the woman who had been conversing with the first target, thrown aside by the initial frag grenades and fumbling about in an attempt to pull herself back up. What made this a difficult endeavor were the awkwardly large heels adorning her feet along with one of her ankles having been twisted upon her fall, so she grabbed and groped around her to try and find something to rise up and run from whatever was happening.

Instead she grabbed at Dairine, feeling the smooth texture of the assassin's outfit and realization dawning on her just in time to scream before Dairine silenced her permanently.

Thirty-seven.

Two patrons whose minds were so lost in the fog of euphoria did not react to the sudden assault at all, continuing to dance in the flashing lights as the Wostyn soldier among them stood above an Imperial working for the Conomors. They were engaging in some dance wholly unfamiliar to Dairine who had never witnessed a woman thrust her rear end towards a man like that before while bending halfway over as the man did the reverse sensually, both of them too lost in the flashing neon lights and music to notice the approach of an assassin.

Dairine noted the man's personal arsenal nearby them left wholly unattended thanks to his distraction and so grabbed the shotgun he would use on duty to swiftly turn it on its owner. Due to the numbing chemicals in him the soldier screamed in pain a moment after the blast of the shotgun tore through his lower abdomen and his thighs, completely obliterating his flesh down to his knees as what remained of him fell to the floor. The blast had carried through to tear into his female companion as well, the force of the blast pushing her forward and knocking her off balance. By the time she hit the floor Dairine had already twisted around another soldier who stumbled past wildly to lower the shotgun and fire again to leave a red mist where the collaborator's face had been.

Thirty-five.

The mercenary who had stumbled past her had managed to arm himself with one of the many weapons laying about, something Dairine could tell the others present were beginning to do as well by this point as they came to their (relative) senses. The lasgun held in his hands by his hip was modified to possess a high rate of fire, something that would be used against him when Dairine moved in close to him and grabbed hold of the man's torso while leaping above where the weapon rest. While he had been about to fire where he believed her to have been a moment ago he instead felt his trigger finger gripped and made to fire as Dairine twisted around him to manipulate his body into a full spin, leading him to fire into the crowd dispersed around them.

Thanks to the wild nature of his firing only two others were cut down by the lasgun before someone else opened fire on what they believed to be the intruder, instead catching the mercenary held by Dairine in the throat as she twisted him into the incoming flash of light. The men present possessed more raw might than her but they were unable to properly utilize it with their various levels of intoxication, allowing Dairine to twist this man so adeptly as if he were a ragdoll. Using the momentum of her spin Dairine hurled the corpse in her hands towards the one firing at them and twisted away from a blade yet another mercenary drove towards her, quickly snapping the man's arm at the elbow before taking his now dropped weapon from the air to thrust into his gut where it was used to rip upwards into where his heart lay.

Thirty-one.

As his heart beat its last the mercenary was kicked back to wrench his blade out of his chest as Dairine simultaneously twisted herself around to hurl the knife at the one who had fired upon her moments prior. The knife embedded itself in the man's shoulder and his pained reaction actually assisted him by making his aim move slightly to the side, making his next shot graze Dairine's side rather than miss when she moved to avoid it.

"Someone kill this bitch!"

Dairine recognized the voice of Nonss as he roared above the noise of his personal club, though he lay in the far back of the former outpost and many more still remained between her and him. During the flashes and chaos he had managed to make out the form of the assailant and see that it was some woman, though anything beyond that eluded him and his fury made him reckless as he began to fire into the club himself despite the chances he would hit his own companions. Even intoxicated he was a dangerous man which allowed him to hit Dairine with a glancing shot just as she drew the lasgun she brought to finish off the other soldier who struck her.

Thirty.

Dairine lifted her acquired shotgun up to blow the upper body off of a man who charged her with a blade in his hand before she then kicked her lasgun up into the air to catch it with her free hand and fire it at another approaching soldier whose own lasgun began to fire ineffectually up into the ceiling above them. This damaged the lighting system rather than Dairine, though it did stop the flashing that was actually making it harder for the other survivors to focus so it came as a mixed blessing and curse. As both men fell dead Dairine had to throw herself out of the way of a hail of lasgun shots from across the room, ducking into a booth to cover her after her roll.

Twenty-eight.

With her helmet's thermal vision granting her vision of the four men Dairine noticed that one had for some reason brought a grenade to the club, likely too mentally addled by drugs to consider not bringing something so risky with him but it did grant him the opportunity to throw it at her...if not for the fact she could see it coming. Dashing upwards Dairine fired her shotgun at the man and the spray of pellets tore through his body but in particular shredded his arm, his muscles failing him and dropping the grenade he just armed at his feet.

The resulting explosion erupted through what was left of him, the man beside him, and a pair of cowering collaborators who had taken cover nearby them. The other men firing were blown to the side and barely were able to keep their footing from the sudden force, granting Dairine the time to leap over her cover and roll past where Nonss had been aiming to shoot her to instead hurl her shotgun at one of the stunned men to knock his lasgun away.

The other grabbed a laspistol and fired it wildly towards Dairine as she snapped the neck of the disarmed target, and given their random nature it was impossible for Dairine to fully predict the incoming projectiles even if her enhanced senses made the movements of these men appear so slow. Two shots tore through part of the man she had just killed to catch Dairine in the leg and shoulder, her suit protecting her from much of the damage but her flesh still burning from the impact all the same. The pain caused Dairine to grit her teeth as she made the corpse in her hands into a shield that she manipulated into shooting the other foe, then kicked it into a third man who was running in with Power Sword in hand.

Twenty-two.

Without pause this foe slashed through the dead man thrown at him and lunged at Dairine who only avoided the stabbing strike at the last moment, bending backwards such that her body was held up only by her knees down. As he moved to slash downwards at her Dairine used her flexibility to twist one leg upwards and kick the blade mid-arc before following her momentum to roll over and grab the fallen shotgun. Now in a crouched position she unloaded the weapon's remaining ammo into the Power Sword's wielder, blasting a hole through his gargantuan chest as his blade rested in a booth where he had been diverted to strike.

Dairine sensed the movement of a different kind of projectile moving her way just in time to avoid a flurry of knives hurled at her, another soldier having used them as makeshift weapons and revealed himself to be a knife expert in the process. Despite missing with all but the first that blade had cut into Dairine's side since she was merely an augmented Human who had training, not a master of her craft who no longer made mistakes. She took it in stride however while revealing her own finesse with knives, having in fact caught one of the ones thrown at her and returned it to its sender where it burrowed into the man's eye socket.

Twenty.

She twisted to hurl the empty shotgun again towards a traitorous Kimaran fleeing from her, taking out the woman's legs from beneath her and quickly shooting her with Dairine's own lasgun the moment thereafter. The last of the able-bodied soldiers were gathering their wits and grabbing whatever weapons they could from their surroundings to fight, those being a pile of blades the men had 'liberated' from their own armory for their own possession and the black market. Five in total, they possessed burly builds that Dairine knew she could not overpower and so she was forced to rely upon skill when they charged forth.

Even under the influence these five proved to be well-trained soldiers to the last, as they split apart to approach Dairine from different vectors so as to divide her attention and hopefully disorientate her. Their speed was quite notable as well, as Dairine only managed to gun one of the five down by the time the others reached her. The strikes of the other four made her throw herself to the side to avoid them, still getting nicked by their flurry of attacks but avoiding any critical damage as she opened fire on one of their backs. The shots tore through the man's clothes to reveal a series of tattoos that too were blown away by her lasgun, each seemingly in the shape of the Imperial eagle, but Dairine ignored that to instead focus on the others who still were threats.

Seventeen.

The gun in Dairine's hands had overheated and so she dropped it to instead take her own personal Power Dagger in hand, first slashing at a wrist outstretched to stab at her and severing the man's hand in one move. As he howled in pain she stabbed her dagger into his gargantuan gut, also kicking out to catch one of the other two in the kneecap. As large as they were compared to her Dairine still possessed enough raw force to make a strike directly into a knee enough to briefly disable it, so he fell down on that leg while Dairine twisted her body into the air to move above a Power Sword thrust at her. As she did this Dairine used her twisting momentum to strike the back of the sword and divert its arc into the man's comrade whose hand had been severed.

Landing gracefully at first, Dairine was struck by a lasgun shot that brought her arm to bleed thanks to Nonss who had been content to use the others as distractions from his position atop the stage where he had even shot through his unwilling concubines dancing there to try and hit the rapidly moving form of Dairine. Still pressured by the men nearby her, Dairine ignored Nonss for the moment and leapt back to avoid another lunge from the Power Sword's wielder. This done she slipped past him to slit the throat of the man who had been brought down to one knee, then kicked his falling body towards the only assailant left to stumble the man. As he tripped Dairine opened fire on him, killing him before his body even touched the floor.

It was a simple matter to eliminate the wounded in the room who had been struck at the beginning by the frag grenades, and once they were dealt with it was time to end things.

Six.

"I don't know who the hell you are, or what Emperor's damned reason you're here, but I won't let you get away with this! You killed my men, and now I can't even enjoy the dancers I spent days collecting and whipping into shape! You're dead, you hear me!?"

Nonss remained atop the stage as if the height it afforded him would protect him, but after Dairine had finished off the last of his men Nonss had begun to panic. His slaves were the only other living beings in the room, and those not already in the throes of death from overdosing on the drugs he forced them to take were instead bleeding out from the erratic shots he had taken to whittle down Dairine earlier. Dairine however was unperturbed by the hostage being held out towards her, jumping up atop the stage in a single bound despite its height and her injuries slowing her down. If Nonss opened fire on her he would no longer have his gun trained on the Kimaran in his other hand, so like the coward he was at heart he continued to hold the half-dead girl no older than twenty out towards Dairine without noticing it had no effect on her approach.

"Stay back if you don't want me to shoot this whore! I'm warning you, you damn Eld—"

Dressed in dancer's garb only that amounted to what could be considered underwear, the soft flesh of the hostage was not enough to stop the high powered rifle Dairine had been saving for Nonss. A large rifle was not as effective in close quarters as smaller weapons such as lasguns or shotguns, but now that she had cleared out the room there was no reason to hold back. She wanted to make this vile cretin hurt, and so she had not aimed for his heart with the first shot but rather purposefully shot through his stomach after piercing through his target to put her out of her misery.

"Y-you..."

The dancer dropped to the ground as he let go, instead using both of his hands to wield his lasgun and levy it at where Dairine stood across from him on the stage. His gunshots were still quite accurate, uncannily so, but Dairine still avoided them while taking dramatic steps from one place to another as if in a dance. One foot after the other she avoided the gunfire with reflexes honed since she was born to do this very task, surpassing even the gift that Nonss appeared to possess through some means. Every few steps she would fire again as an extension of another movement, each shot clipping a limb and crippling it, until by the time she reached him Nonss could barely stand and his arms hung uselessly at his side.

"So it was a dance you wanted? Allow me to oblige."

Nonss screamed in terror as Dairine dropped her rifle to instead take her dagger in hand to carve across him with a shallow cut, her form slipping past him still as if participating in a skillful ballet routine. Gliding from one spot to another she disemboweled her target piece by piece, taking care to not inflict any lethal strikes as he wailed and screamed while his body was stripped away without a single thing he could still do to stop it.

Dairine was no sadist, but the amount of lives he had taken or ruined were beyond the pale especially given that his preferred targets were children. An example needed to be made, and so it was.

"P-please don'-don...k-kill me..."

In disgust Dairine lifted her rifle and opened fire into Nonss' skull, the shot erupting it completely and leaving nothing above the neck but a splatter across the stage. Elsewhere the women who had laid strewn where their bodies had been gunned down by Nonss finally expired, leaving Dairine with nothing but silence since the music appeared to have been controlled manually by Nonss himself.

Zero.

"Targets eliminated, Iota. Returning now."

Taking inventory of her own wounds, Dairine cursed herself for letting such dirt even scratch her form, but the indignance was quickly lost as her eyes came to the innocents whose blood had been spilled across the stage. She had won in spite of the horde of foes she had been tasked with eliminating, something Dairine would typically find herself quite proud of, but instead she felt an unfamiliar feeling of emptiness as she looked upon the bodies of women her age who would never return to their families if they still even had them. Something just felt missing, and Dairine was not introspective enough to properly understand the feeling.

Instead she paid her respects and moved on, for there was more work to be done.

May the Emperor guide your spirits and protect your souls.

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A/N: Both Kimara and the Iron Warriors are having some action segments so I figured I would alternate between them right now, as the next update will be a continuation of Tristan's battle and the one following that will likely be a follow-up to what is happening on Kimara while showing the perspectives of Isolde and Verita like how this one showed off the Commandant and Dairine.

I hope you all enjoyed, and that you will share your thoughts with me in the comments below!​

 

[Thunderscourge]

To live in the wretched hive of cutthroats and excessive debauchery known as Commorragh was to constantly be on a blade's edge. Riches, pleasure, and fame were all within one's grasp, but so too were the dire consequences of failure in striving for these very things. The home of the Drukhari, known to some as the 'Dark Eldar', was unforgiving to even the highest echelons of its society and betrayal was always lurking around the corner for the depraved members of its citizenry.

Within Commorragh few were known as harsher than the Kabal of the Obsidian Rose as led by Archon Aestra Khromys. The slightest failure was not to be tolerated, any perceived imperfection to be met with punishment that would see the victim wish for the release of death, and it was by this measure that it possessed the finest craftsmen in all of the dark city. Obsessing over every minute detail and aspect of their weapons and armor had allowed the Obsidian Rose to gain a fierce grip upon the Drukhari arms trade, and their weapon shops could be found throughout Commorragh.

It was the curse of the Drukhari race that they each must perpetually stave off the damnation and consumption of their soul by the Chaos God Slaanesh, known amongst the Eldar as "She Who Thirsts" and other such epithets. To do this they had to leech off the suffering and souls of others, and while required for their survival this cruelty was relished by many Drukhari rather than seen as a necessary evil. Many Drukhari would seek out ever greater ways to torture and kill, reveling in acts of slaughter and other such vile acts that would disgust even some servants of the Ruinous Powers.

Less beholden to this affliction were the Trueborn, Drukhari who had been born of their mother naturally rather than grown in vats like most. The treacherous nature of Commorragh meant the many years of pregnancy possessed by the Eldar race were a liability that one's enemies would exploit like any other. To propagate their race they thus would have Drukhari born rapidly in vats rather than more typical means, while Trueborn were often born to those with the wealth and resources to survive such a handicap or so poor as to be beneath notice.

Trueborn thus could be considered a status symbol for the elite who so wished to possess them, though in return those children born were protected and coveted like a valuable possession might be. Mentored by either parents or professionals, guided towards success, and typically possessing greater wealth than their Halfborn counterparts they were a common fixture in the upper ranks of many Kabals throughout Commorragh. Their lesser affliction meant that Trueborn were not so beholden to the cruelty cherished by other members of their race, allowing them to better pursue exploits beyond the constant need to siphon the souls and suffering of others. This made them particularly valuable for the Obsidian Rose as their superior discipline, training, and a lesser need for debauchery meant that they were reliable in their craft. Those who would thrive in this merciless environment were those less prone to making mistakes, though those Trueborn who earned the ire of their Archon still would meet grisly fates like any other.

"You are late."

It was hardly the first time, but it was still a gripe that Skadus would voice just about every time he was to meet with his personal guard Rotto. His fellow Drukhari possessed the skills expected of a Klaivex of the Incubi Shrines, but his personality did not quite befit the often solemn and grim ways the Incubi were known to carry out their tasks.

Rotto bowed before Skadus in the latter's arms dealership, the Incubus warsuit he wore having been honed in this very workshop by his lifetime companion, "Some urgent business arose beforehand. My apologies, my Lord."

Skadus grimaced at the title and the wry voice it was delivered with, quite used to the teasing of his loyal servant but still remembering when they were once equals, "Spare me your games, Rotto. You may not have a drop of it on you, but I can tell you were surrounded by blood."

If his Incubi guard was engaged in combat it would explain his late arrival, but it seemed as if the man was incapable of not finding some kind of trouble when left to his own devices. He had always been this way, but it had grown worse over the years, and there was only so much risk one could take before inviting one's own demise.

Rotto shrugged as he watched his friend work, not considering it something to be concerned over, "There are only so many ways to skin a cat as the Humans say."

Skadus paused his work to look over at the Incubi more warily, not even flinching at the Human expression used thanks to having met his fellow Drukhari's enslaved Human caretaker when they were children, "How many 'cats' are we speaking of?"

"Fifty, give or take. Someone said something or another about eliminating a certain charge of mine so as to acquire the exquisite skyboards and hellglaives he crafts free of charge. Others spoke poorly of his other realms of craftsmanship, while one even mentioned unkind stories of his poor father and mother...so I started with my drinking glass in his eye and worked my way from there," Rotto commented nonchalantly, as if he was describing an everyday occurrence that was completely trivial.

The reason Skadus gave his friend, a rare commodity within their realm, the benefit of the doubt in such instances was that he almost always did have a reason for his actions...sometimes they just happened to be juvenile such as 'it amused me', while others were like this where he was carrying out his duties as a guard.

After the passing of his father and the death of the elderly Human tasked with looking after him Rotto had been taken in by Skadus' own family thanks to their close familial ties. What might have simply been a few slain for daring to suggest assassinating Skadus had instead ended in a massacre because those slain dared insult the very beings to whom Rotto owed his survival after the fall of his family.

Drukhari were not above such emotions and concepts as love, loyalty, and friendship, they just had their own perverse versions of them that made the concepts in their purest form feel alien to them. Whereas their Craftworld kin had to repress their emotions to avoid being lost in them, the Drukhari indulged themselves constantly to escape She Who Thirsts.

Then again, neither Skadus or Rotto were particularly 'normal' Drukhari in the first place: Skadus' parents had seen to that when they had the boys' souls bound to Eldar Spirit Stones to better protect them from Slaanesh. While difficult to arrange and dangerous to carry out it had freed them of the constant soul withering other Drukhari suffered through, provided their eternal souls protection should they perish some day, and afforded the boys more time to hone their crafts rather than need to spend time indulging in the depravities of others. Others thought they wore the Spirit Stones as trophies, but the truth was far more complex.

Patient as he was Skadus still had to fight from letting his daily exasperation slip into his voice as he furrowed his brow and massaged his temple, "Survivors?"

"I was thorough. None of those Hellion ruffians slain will be missed dearly from what I can tell."

Thorough Rotto was: the Incubi were among the deadliest of the Drukhari civilization, something demonstrated by the lack of a single trace of blood upon his warsuit despite having just engaged in a slaughter. It was telling of his experience in taking life and his general disposition that Rotto appeared wholly calm after it all, not seeming to care if he lived or died and instead focusing on those around him. It made him a lethally effective bodyguard, but it also meant he needed someone else to look out for him, something growing increasingly difficult for Skadus to do as he slowly rose in notoriety within the Obsidian Rose and his duties expanded.

"While I appreciate the sentiment, I ask that you be less reckless in the future. If not for your own safety then for mine: we never know what alliances others hold behind closed doors, and killing the wrong target might spark conflict we have no way of surviving."

Rotto leaned against the counter used for selling their weapons and armor, mirth evident in his voice as he brought a hand to touch his Spirit Stone, "I could swear upon my soul, but we both know I would be lying."

"Lying can be a useful tool. You ought try it one of these days," Skadus shot back, possessing little hope that his friend would change but holding out hope regardless that the day would come when he did.

After all, Skadus aspired to one day become an Archon himself like his father before him, and when he did having one of Commorragh's most skilled swordsmen at his side would be quite beneficial. Rotto possessed the mind required to lead others, but seemed to lack any long-term aspirations of his own, preferring short-term gratification to keep him going until the next day.

"Lies are a poison, and poison is a woman's tool," Rotto stated in jest, earning a dry and blunt response in return from Skadus.

"I create and sell poisoned weapons."

"And yet you and I use Darklight ones. Why resort to poison when you can remove your foe from existence entirely?"

"One of these days I will have to teach you the fine art of subtlety. Our guest appears to know it well, so you may ask him for suggestions."

Commorragh existed in a hidden pocket outside of Realspace and was difficult to infiltrate by outsiders, but that did not keep Asier from finding his ways into and through the wretched hive to meet with the two Drukhari. As if coming to life from the shadows he emerged and greeted the others present, catching neither of them by surprise but then again that had not been his intention: Asier had taken precaution after precaution to ensure that none would be any the wiser about his presence in Commorragh, and that included not entering a public facing business through the front door.

"I have brought what you asked for, Skadus Zufrieren," Asier stated as he retrieved a bag from his side, its form seeming small beside his suit of modified Power Armor and previously hidden thanks to his cameleoline cloak.

Rotto appeared calm and uncaring about the sudden arrival of Asier, but despite his seeming laxity he was poised to strike at the slightest hint of danger. This was not their first time dealing with this particular Human, but trust was not something to be extended without reason in Commorragh and so Asier was treated with the suspicion any outsider might be.

While being far more cautious than his companion, Skadus had intuited that it would be pointless for this Human to cross them here or now, and while this did not convey unflinching trust it did allow him to retrieve the bag offered without fear. He did not pretend to understand the mentality of a Human, especially not one as divergent from standard Humanity as this. Even so, Skadus had an eye for people that had allowed him to survive until now in Commorragh and it told him that, as secretive as this client and broker was, Asier was actually quite forthright.

Opening the bag, he was proven correct: within his hands Skadus now possessed a collection of pure Aeldari Spirit Stones. It would be difficult to properly employ them in their intended purpose, but it was a necessary step all the same to cultivating a group of loyal Trueborn like Skadus envisioned. One that answered to him and would do as they were bid so that when the day came that Archon Khromys meant to dispose of them they might stand united and survive what otherwise would be their execution.

Power was never stable within Commorragh and its balance was ever shifting in their deadly games of intrigue, and while Skadus had no personal intentions of overthrowing the Lady Archon of his Kabal that did not mean he would remain unprepared for when she would one day act against him for some perceived failure.

The sight of the Spirit Stones gave Skadus some pause not from doubt or suspicion, but rather of memories of what felt like a lifetime ago: of his childhood when a slave captured by his parents had shown her Spirit Stone to him, of how it inspired his parents to set him on the path he now tread. Years had passed by with Nasterea as his personal servant and companion, helping him learn the secrets of Craftworld technology and use it to further his own studies into the art of crafting weapons.

If not for the downfall of his family and his releasing of Nasterea to prevent her from being taken perhaps she would still be here at his side, uptight and reserved as her Craftworld kin tended to be but far more useful for working on weapons than the times Rotto could be convinced to assist his friend.

Inyon lama-quanon, to make another person one's prized property or subservient, was about as close to the Human concept of 'love' as the Drukhari were capable of conceiving but it did describe how Skadus felt. He had only grown surrounded by his family, their servants and allies, and Rotto, thus making the absence of them all except Rotto particularly heavy upon his mind. While Rotto lived on in his serendipitous manner thriving on what moments and opportunities lay directly before him one moment to another there was no trace of what became of Nasterea, and the thought that someone had taken what was once his irked him to no end.

Once he had been meant to inherit an entire Kabal of his own, and now he was a lowly shopkeeper for those far more influential than him. If that was to change he would need to continue climbing their social hierarchy without making any missteps, and to do that he would need any help he could get: even that of a mysterious Human who had in fact first sought him out rather than the other way around.
Skadus put away the Spirit Stones in a secure location and returned with the monetary compensation he had arranged to give in return despite the hefty sum commanded for such rare items, "The payment promised."

Asier took it and inspected the payment granted to him briefly before handing it back with a Human dataslate now added to it all.

"Invest it in your operations. Included now is the location of a former Aeldari outpost you can use as you wish. While it lays in Imperial territory it remains secure, for they are oblivious to its existence and will remain so."

Returning the payment and adding something to it crossed the suspicions of the Drukhari present instantly, for such a magnanimous act was nigh unheard of among their kind and what his intentions were for such a thing were unknown.

Rather than have Rotto cut down the man with his Klaives for such a seeming insult Skadus held his temper and instead sought to investigate this oddity, leering carefully at the hulking form of the Human before him.

"You would support us to what end?"

Asier chose his words carefully, sensing their apprehension and adjusting accordingly with his typical logical rather than emotional outlook, "The very existence of life across the known universe forms a game board with a quintillion pieces upon it, each moving of its own accord and in games of their own which influence not only those around them but countless other pieces well beyond their vision."

His words resonated with the Drukhari given that the art of manipulation and controlling outcomes was the bread and butter of their society, and while it made it sound as if he was pulling their strings he had given them no command or orders: he seemed content with the path they were on and wanted to see it to fruition, and so rather than deprive them of resources he was contributing towards them.

"If I can advance the position of specific pieces that will benefit my goals then I shall...be they Aeldari, Human, or otherwise. What matters in our lives is what we have accomplished, for anything else is to become a page in another's history book and allow events to run their course unimpeded," Asier finished, his voice having grown solemn as if reminiscing over his own past.

Skadus accepted this as an explanation for it both preserved his pride and helped him understand this peculiar benefactor, "A wise outlook."

Asier nodded once, his tone shifting to one of warmth preserved for speaking of one's closest companions while still possessing a tinge of bittersweet loss, "The words of a brother of mine, one forged by our choices rather than by circumstance of birth."

Without saying as much it was evident to both Skadus and Rotto that Asier had just alluded to them, two Drukhari not bound by blood but unquestioningly loyal to the other regardless. They were two pieces of a greater whole and that was what allowed them to function seamlessly together, and the indication that Asier possessed such a deep friendship with another helped color their opinion of him in a positive fashion even if neither said as much.

"Should we ever cross paths I would know the name of this individual that I ought not carve apart," Rotto spoke up, typically content allowing Skadus to do the business talk but in this instance he sought a method by which to avoid a future schism.

"If you encounter the Iron Warriors of the Warsmith Trahaearn Jarn it would be to your benefit that you withhold your fire."

Having heard of the Iron Warriors yet knowing little of them it struck Skadus as odd that Asier was so specific given how many must exist, "And only those under his command?"

Asier confirmed his inquiry, "Should you encounter others they are to be dealt with as any other foe. Do as you please, for they are no kin or ally of mine. Those who serve the Ruinous Powers ought be removed whenever possible."

The chances they would cross paths with this group were quite low given that neither Skadus nor Rotto tended to enter Realspace, but it was good to know just in case for killing members of your benefactor's faction was a good way to lose their favor.

"As you wish," Skadus affirmed softly, his nature as reserved as Asier's own.

The next words spoken by Asier would put that very calm to the test however.

"Before I depart, I would inform you that your Craftworld companion Nasterea still lives among the Biel-Tan. A meeting could be arranged."

Having never spoken nor mentioned his former servant to Asier it came as a shock that Asier knew of her at all, but he maintained his composure regardless so as to not appear weak. The news that one of two living beings he cared at all for was in fact alive was a pleasant shock, but despite himself Skadus had no intention of pursuing this lead at the present moment. Even if he somehow managed to bring Nasterea back to Commorragh there was no way he could properly keep her from the influence of those above him, and so he kept his emotions in check and instead gave a rare bow of his head to Asier.

"That knowledge alone is enough."

Someday things could be different, but not now: now was the time for other more important and necessary actions to be taken, and so Skadus would bide his time just as he had for many years already.

Even so he refused to come out of this conversation as the only one to have received something, and so he went to a special vault he kept for a weapon not intended for any but him. Removing the heavily customized Dark Lance from its casing Skadus handed it over to Asier, offering it as a sign of gratitude even if there was no expectation for him to hand it over. He had sold Asier Dark Lances and Blasters in the past, but this tool put even those skillfully crafted arms to shame with the effort placed into it.

Asier accepted the weapon into his hands and began to look it over, noting signs of Craftworld technology woven into its construction.

Skadus explained the Dark Lance he had not decided upon a name for yet to his guest, believing that this man perhaps could use it better than a glorified shopkeeper, "It is a weapon I constructed with the knowledge I gained from Nasterea combined with the technologies found here in Commorragh. Power enough to rip apart a vehicle, the precision required to eliminate a specific target among many, and the option to change to rapid-fire for larger crowds, it should serve you well."

It would prove useful Skadus felt towards ensuring the continued survival of this benefactor, and that was something that would be to their mutual profit if their current and past meetings were any indication.

"I will not be taken as ungrateful, so I hope that you will take this," he continued.

While it took a moment of consideration Asier eventually gave another nod and hid the large weapon behind his cloak like it was a typical firearm, "Very well."

Their business concluded, Asier departed and returned to the shadows of Commorragh, leaving Skadus alone with Rotto in their store.

There was work to be done, endless days toiling as a thrall of Khromys, but even so Skadus found himself wearing a rare smile as he opened his shop up for business once again. So enthused was he that flickers of blue flame flicked around him that despite their size would still send chills down the spine of other Drukhari, the traces of his family's ancient Mandrake heritage evident for the briefest moment. That very bloodline that he carried saw to his relative isolation in many Trueborn circles, but there were those with more open minds that could be convinced to one day stand as allies.

A talent for creating weapons, armor, and other such wargear was not enough to rise in this society, and despite being able to call forth frigid flames at will Skadus had little else to his name. In looking at the information passed along by Asier perhaps that could change, as none would expect him to be able to horde the excesses of his craftsmanship in such a location so long as he properly hid the creation of his finest work. He would have to be careful not to craft and sell anything perceived as subpar by the Obsidian Rose's standards, but biding his time across decades and keeping his head down and beneath suspicion could certainly pay off come any future conflict.

Skadus hid away the dataslate and its image of a blue moon as he opened the doors to his workshop once again, politely greeting the upper-class clientele he had established in his years as a merchant and rekindling old bonds with fellow Trueborn acquaintances from his youth by offering them the tools and weapons they would need to eliminate their rivals or survive such attempts themselves. Few others sold the warsuits of Incubi disguised as typical Kabalite armor, but such was the benefit of having a wholly loyal and lackadaisical Klaivex at their side who stood as the sole survivor of their shrine with no others to overlook their actions.

Such was the way of life in Commorragh, and any advantage possessed ought be leveraged lest one fall prey to those more willing to cross the line.

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A/N: While I work on the next update I managed to come up with this more supplementary one to flesh out the world a bit more in a different realm, focusing on an arms dealer whose business partners include a familiar face. Next update will continue the story of Tristan and his first real battle as an Iron Warrior, and I hope you all will enjoy that as well! In the meantime please share your thoughts in the comments below, and thank you for reading!​

 

[Thunderscourge]

SLAVES OF DARKNESS

It was not long before Brechung rejoined the other members of Urkamus Squad, having cut down whatever foes he deemed necessary it would seem by the blood splattered across his armor. Similarly it was not long after this regrouping that Urkamus smashed his gun across the taller Brechung's face and upper torso in one swift movement, knocking his barbaric subordinate back and forcing him down onto the ground.

"This shall be your only warning: disobey orders again and I will put you down. I have no place for a rabid dog that goes off its leash."


Brechung's prior bloodlust was absent as he returned to his typical quietness, nodding once rather than retaliating.

"Understood."

"Prove it with your actions," Urkamus nearly spit as he walked past Brechung and made his way back to the others, "Our objective here is complete, so we have orders to return to the fleet immediately. A small force of Word Bearers have used their foul sorcery to board one of our vessels and they must be forced back."

What their purpose was for assaulting the far larger Iron Warrior warband, their origins, or anything else about them was left unsaid by Urkamus if he knew the answers to these things at all: all that mattered was that they had a new situation on their hands and that time was of the essence in reacting to it.

"What of the others?" Tristan asked, ignoring Brechung as the brute rose back to his feet since while Tristan would typically offer a fellow soldier a hand up he did not quite feel the aid was warranted here. What interested him more was that other Iron Warriors in the current engagement were already departing the battlefield to defend the fleet while others were noticeably remaining behind, splitting their number and possibly endangering their objectives in the siege.

It would seem that the Word Bearers had chosen the worst time for the Iron Warriors to react to their presence, but then again perhaps that was the point and why they felt bold enough to launch such an assault. While the Iron Warriors were busy ending a siege and deploying their full might to defeat the cities and forces in their way their vessels maintaining orbital support for them were open to board and perhaps conquer with a proper usage of their own force at hand. It was all speculative, but it made some degree of sense, though it still felt off given Tristan's studying of the history and operations of the Word Bearers during his training. They were using the powers of the Warp to their aid as was typical, but the Word Bearers were known for their overwhelming numbers: was this some scouting force that was pressing its luck and seeking glory, or was there a deeper meaning to it all? If they were but one part of a greater whole then where were the others, and how had they come into contact with the Iron Legion?

Tristan's mental pondering was interrupted near immediately by Urkamus' blunt response, "They have their own orders. Khyr's forces will remain here to finish the campaign while we deal with the enemies at our back."

While Urkamus squad unofficially fell under the direct command of the Warsmith himself as his personal squad it truly belonged to the Grand Battalion of Triarch Archimedes given his longstanding history with Urkamus. Archimedes served as an advisor to the Warsmith along with fellow Trident members Khyr and Didumoi Drakon, each of them providing their differing skillsets to discussions on how to best handle a given conflict. Of them Archimedes was known for his gifted mind concerning calculations and all matters related to mathematics, making him a gifted siege engineer whose talent for the tedium and minutiae of drawn out sieges was unparalleled by any in their ranks other than the Warsmith himself. His brilliant mind made him an invaluable member in the Dodekatheon as well, with various inventions to improve their war machine stemming from him, though he could often be found pondering his calculations even if he ought to have his mind elsewhere.

Khyr was a veteran of many battles just like Archimedes, but whereas Archimedes was most well known for his talents in prolonged sieges Khyr was the one called upon to help end them. With considerable combat skill that had seen him cut down more Astartes during the Horus Heresy than any member of the Iron Legion barring Asier, Khyr possessed a mind to match his physical capabilities and knew when to best exert pressure to break his foes in body and spirit. It was for this reason that Levente had been assigned to a squad under his command, as there the fledgling Astarte could best put his own skills to use while learning from those more experienced in the field.

The last member of the Trident, an institution mirrored by Jarn from Perturabo's own command structure, was Drakon whose presence was less noticeable and mostly felt on paper due to his Grand Battalion being the one which Jarn would personally oversee during battles. The Warsmith was no longer content with standing by as others took action like he once had been, and so unlike the Iron Warriors belonging to the Chaos aligned Falk he would personally lead them and not simply leave matters to his advisers to carry out. Drakon would assist him in administering his orders and served as a near shadow to Jarn in battle, having been chosen to lead one third of their forces specifically because his personality was one of deference to Jarn and he could almost always be found in agreement with him.

Each Grand Battalion possessed a thousand Astartes under their command with the remaining thousand stationed in various support roles within the fleet, though the true number of combat-ready soldiers was far less: through attrition many of their number had grown crippled and been worn down to the point that the only reason they still lived was their Astartes physiology, and it was of these that the most capable were employed in the Grand Battalions as operators of artillery, Techmarines, and such vital roles that did not require able bodies. Those unable to carry out even this degree of combat were not discarded given the Warsmith's oath of protection to each of them, and so they made themselves useful however they could with their talents with enduring loyalty and dedication. For each team ready for combat such as Urkamus Squad there were three others that were relegated to support roles, but this did little to deter the efforts of the Iron Legion: they always had use for Basilisk operators to unleash wrack and ruination upon their foes.

It was a facet of most Astartes legions that they possessed a near zealous obedience to their Primarch and his will, though as shown by the opening stages of the Horus Heresy this loyalty was not absolute. They may each be the sons of their respective Primarch, but each individual Astarte had unique qualities of their own that set them apart from their kin even if in becoming Astartes they grew to possess similar traits. This saw many of the traitor legions remain loyal and necessitate their purging by their treacherous brethren, though in the case of Jarn's forces who parted ways before Perturabo joined Horus they were spared such ignoble ends as faced by the sons of Mortarion, Angron, and Horus who were slain at Istvaan by their own kin.

Perhaps more than most the Iron Warriors were dutiful sons of Perturabo who considered his word as law, for while some scattered across garrisons throughout the galaxy would remain loyal such as Dantioch or the Iron Warriors slaughtered by the traitorous Alpha Legion member Skorr it was quite the exception and not the rule. Feeding into this was the bitterness of centuries leading up to the Horus Heresy which saw the spirit and bodies of the Iron Warriors ground down without relent, and it was through Perturabo that they were offered a form of salvation in laying waste to those who had used them. For many Iron Warriors there was little loyalty paid to their dark masters of Chaos, for to them Chaos was a tool to be used and it was Perturabo who they truly venerated and placed their faith within. Thousands of years and bitter rivalries had seen a schism in the forces of the Fourth, but if called upon all those who had stood alongside Perturabo at the Heresy would rejoin his side to wage war against their hated foes once again.

Those who had turned their backs on Perturabo however lacked their Primarch to worship, and so in this way Jarn had found a near fanatical loyalty within his Iron Legion from many of his men. They had nowhere to return, no home or refuge to be found, and so all they could do was move forward and it was through Jarn's strength and mind that they saw the path forward. Possessing a visage akin to their Primarch and carrying out the will that Perturabo and the Iron Warriors once sought helped him replace their Primarch in the eyes of his soldiers, as while lesser than Perturabo in nearly every way Jarn had remained firm in his goals and dedication. The persevering spirit of one born on Kimara had melded with the nigh unbreakable spirit of the Iron Warriors and had so created a man many found worthy of calling Warsmith.

Just as Perturabo possessed those who doubted him and did not follow him into damnation so too did Jarn, as in the days of the Horus Heresy out of necessity Jarn had joined forces with other wayward Iron Warriors who for one reason or another did not wish to join Perturabo nor the Imperium. Careful to not recruit any agents of Chaos or spies for the Imperium into his ranks as he had been, Jarn could not entirely pass over aid from Iron Warriors he did not particularly see eye to eye with if they met the general criteria and loyalties he sought.

A former Warsmith by the name of Constantine was one such individual, a native of Olympia whose underhanded nature was a reflection of many of those who hailed from the former Iron Warrior world. With him came a retinue of Iron Warriors into the Iron Legion that had all since perished through a combination of grueling assignments given to them by Jarn and through Constantine's own command which followed the typical Iron Warrior ethos of using lives like bullets. Their sacrifices had helped achieve various victories and objectives for the Iron Legion which was why they were brought into the fold to begin with, but the politics involved had seen Constantine placed into a high ranking position underneath Archimedes who in turn reported directly to Jarn.

While serving Khyr would perhaps benefit Constantine's style of command better Jarn placed the former Warsmith under the control of a more methodical and reserved officer to keep Constantine in check, wanting to both make certain that his own forces were not wasted and that Constantine would be deprived of the more rapid opportunities for advancement frontline command would often entail. Constantine was a snake that was currently tamed, someone who joined Jarn because he had been the best option at that moment contrasted with returing to an uncertain fate within the Imperium or fall to the corruption of Chaos, and so cautionary measures had to be taken to prevent such an individual from causing damage to them all. Jarn was too honest to simply have Constantine killed since he had made a sworn agreement to take him under his wing and protect him, but that only remained true so long as Constantine remained loyal which he presently was if begrudging of no longer being the one in control.

In much the same way as Constantine it was Levente who would prosper under the command of Khyr, but unlike Constantine the young Astarte had been assigned in such a capacity and thus would be among the many remaining on Forescien to complete the siege. Those belonging to Archimedes and Drakon would be returning to secure their fleet that was the only thing keeping them a step ahead of their many foes in this dreadful galaxy, so a glory-seeking Astarte might see garrisoning their ships as inferior to holding the honor of ending a siege and claiming the spoils of war. That by being recalled they were being denied the rewards they might be due after months of preparation, but such thoughts were lost upon Tristan and Urkamus: as Levente's opposite in so many ways Tristan lacked a deeper desire for glory and instead was wholly focused upon duty, while for Urkamus all that mattered was what he was bid to do whatever that might be.

In the end the Grand Battalions had been split up largely by personalities and dispositions, and so there was no disgruntlement to be found among those retreating from the siege of Forescien: they had their orders and so would see to it that they would be carried out. It might perhaps be an honor to repel the Word Bearers if not for the reports citing there being relatively few of them, but caution still was to be heeded and there was no telling if more of their ilk would appear from out of the Warp to reinforce their present number.

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So often was it that Tristan was aboard the Eisernen that he scarcely could remember viewing it from outside the leviathan vessel nor any of its fellow Victory-class Battleships within the Iron Legion's fleet, for as was standard of Iron Warrior vessels of their era sensors took the place of windows into the void of space with armor and armaments in their place. Whereas other Legions might possess a poetic or spiritual desire to stare out into the expanse of space beyond the Iron Warriors had felt such things unimportant compared to efficiency and survival, rather having their lives saved by an additional layer of armor plating than having experienced a longing view of distant stars. Such romanticist actions could be taken after they had conquered those very stars and achieved the utopia they sought.

In this way Tristan found himself truly looking at the Eisernen for the first time as he stood in the cockpit of the Stormbird taking them back to their fleet. The vessel they were to board was the Ironclad Knight, another Victory class Battleship, but to reach it they would have to pass by their flagship first given their relative positioning. The Eisernen was not adorned with the more typical regalia Imperial vessels possessed that made them appear as if voidborn cathedral fortresses drifting through space, trading the near religious appearance of other such Battleships for one of pure functionality: in the place of heraldry was additional armor, where an emblem of an Imperial eagle might be instead possessed rows of defense turrets, and wherever possible the ship's hull was further reinforced with ablative armor that could be readily repaired or replaced as needed to better protect its inhabitants.

At over fourteen kilometers in length and five at its greatest width the Eisernen was notably larger than other Victory class Battleships of its ilk, something it shared with its owner compared to Jarn's own peers, and this size was not just in excess: it allowed for the Eisernen to mount far more weapons than a similar craft while not sacrificing anything but speed, being also far more enduring than other such craft. Its ability to turn was a natural sacrifice, but it was designed to eliminate its enemies before they could ever come close enough to abuse this vulnerability, as at sufficient range even a slow-turning craft such as it could keep up with the movements of other vessels.

The exterior possessed a dull and uniform coloration, being marked similarly to the armor of the Iron Warriors and lacking any effort to make it appear as if it was anything more. Its weapons spoke for them, not their appearance, and that philosophy was carried over to their vessels. Whereas the Tribune Victory class Battleship of the Imperial Fists used in the Battle of Phall had been compact and modified to hold an entirely different set of armaments the Eisernen was long and proudly carried an expanded armory of lances to whittle down anything it was pointed at. While simple in its design it was a work of art to Tristan whose own ascetic tastes were a preference towards the simple and mundane, caring about function over form almost in totality unlike the more artistry minded Emperor's Children.

As he observed it the Eisernen was in motion thanks to the fittingly named captain at its helm, Turner, whose family had long served the Jarns and were known for their expert piloting capabilities. Flight was something which intrigued Tristan, but given his inability to fit inside of most standard vehicle stations it was not something he had particular experience with outside of contemplating the mathematical side of such things. Following suit with the Eisernen's movements were those of its sister ships, reacting to the possibility of a larger Word Bearer force appearing to assist those already engaged aboard the Ironclad Knight.

Fifty Iron Warriors recalled for this assignment stood in the back of the Stormbird's massive form while towards the front Tristan stood with other members of Urkamus Squad awaiting their deployment, the members of their team having arrived first at this Stormbird and in essence forced to make room for those who came after them. Perhaps because of the Kimaran roots of some of Jarn's forces his Iron Warriors tended to be larger than average and so it created occasional issues when it came to transportation, though in this instance being made to stand by the pilots in the cockpit had afforded Tristan a look at his home of over half his life now that he otherwise would not have gotten.

Armor and gear was checked over by the Astartes silently awaiting their rapid deployment, reports having confirmed there to be no more than a few hundred Word Bearers present for the incoming Iron Warriors to root out. Perhaps it was overkill to deploy two Grand Companies against them, but Jarn was not going to allow those worshippers of Chaos to fight their way through one of his vessels and take control of it, not when he could deploy in force and kill them in one fell swoop. The ruination the Word Bearers had sewn within the Astartes Legions in the past was unacceptable here and so before their foul magics could inflict untold damage they were to be eliminated to the last.

With the Word Bearers were mortal servants of their own according to the reports of those engaged already on the Ironclad Knight, but they were trivial compared to the might of an actual Astarte. Unlike the mortal servants within the Iron Legion those belonging to Chaos were typically poorly trained and used solely as fodder by their dark masters, and so their rags and primitive firearms would not save them from the incoming wave of Perturabo's sons.

"I know your history with these cretins, but you will follow orders and do as told," Urkamus stated as he went over his own gear, not even paying a glance towards Tristan to let Bertrand know that he was specifically talking to him.

Tristan could intuit that Urkamus meant him though and so nodded as he readied his autocannon and a bolt pistol for when the former was at an ineffective range. Firing his autocannon down a hallway would certainly clear out the rabble in their way, and so Tristan did not mind that the heavy weapon would prove less useful once they closed in: so long as he could kill the enemy before they reached him and his squad members did their own roles this should be an easy engagement, Astartes or not. Beside him Grund was readying a boltgun for closer quarters firing while Brechung readied a lance he had acquired in place of his former gear during their deployment on Forescien. Lastly Helash was handing over ammunition to Tristan silently, any animosity he might have for his fellow Astarte quelled as they prepared for a far more dangerous battle than the one they had just redeployed from.

Whereas the Word Bearers had opened their way onto the Ironclad Knight with sorcery the returning Iron Warriors found entrance through a hangar that the ship's garrison had fought to hold while other sections were overrun, the Stormbirds sent to retrieve those tasked with exterminating vermin landing one after another right into a warzone as cultists of Chaos fought tooth and nail to disrupt the incoming reinforcements. Their autoguns and grenades made no impact upon the Stormbirds thanks to their thick armor and void shields working in tandem to deter nearly anything thrown at them, and so once the Stormbirds set down the battle commenced: Astartes rushed out of their transports and opened fire on those cultists desperately fighting past the garrison, blood splaying across the deck and hallways as the Iron Warriors secured the area.

By the time Tristan had disembarked the immediate threat had already been quelled, if these cultists could even be considered a threat. The heavy steps of fully armored Astartes thundered across the hangar as mortals cried out, their lives were snuffed out without consideration or mercy as the Iron Warriors leapt into action.

The Astartes around Tristan all moved about with purpose as if they inherently knew what to do while he simply followed behind Urkamus and the others, intent on learning from them and carrying out whatever was asked of him rather than think for himself. A moment thereafter they had already sprinted to reach a hallway which still was being secured now that the landing zone was, mortal servants descended from Kimaran warriors exchanging fire with the cultists who while more numerous than the Word Bearers still possessed less raw manpower than a Battleship capable of housing tens of thousands of soldiers. These mortal servants of Chaos were simply being used to divert attention away from their dark masters, and so even as they died in droves they were fulfilling their purpose.

Around them the dull metal lined the hallways crafted for the passage of Astartes, their sheen that of the iron its owners were known for and lacking in much the ascetic adornment other vessels might come to possess. It was made for pure functionality and efficiency, each section fortified as necessary and replaceable for when the time came that repairs were needed. With their acquisition of a shipyard more intensive repairs could be completed, but this allowed for the Jarn's forces to hastily fix sections of their vessels and mitigate any damage inflicted by their foes in an actual battle rather than after. Much like Jarn and the Iron Warriors themselves their Victory class battleships were made to unleash intense long range barrages while enduring any return fire that may come their way via their reinforced armor, and by having repairs simplified it meant that in battles of attrition their fleet could outlast a comparable force.

The lack of ceremony and elitism within Jarn's forces towards their loyal mortal servants meant that many of their number were trained in the basics required to repair parts of the ship they had been born and raised upon, for knowledge was power and with their limited manpower Jarn could not afford to squander what he did possess. Unlike the Mechanicus which hoarded knowledge or the Imperium which censured it Jarn made certain that his men possessed what they needed to succeed and benefit their overall goals, even seeing to it that the mortals within his fleet received proper combat training so that when the time came they would be ready for conflict.

The Iron Warriors had been known for throwing away the lives of those who served them and even the lives of their fellow Astartes if it meant victory, but when one could not afford to suffer losses it necessitated a change in one's methods. Attrition would naturally occur during prolonged conflict, but by making sure every loss netted them more than what was sacrificed it allowed for his relatively small fleet in the grand scheme of things to continue moving forward. Iron Warriors too crippled by wounds to continue battle were put to use in their forges, assigned tasks aboard their battleships which did not require combat readiness, and even used to teach other Astartes as well as mortal servants what they could to improve their usefulness. Other Astartes would entomb their fallen in the chassis of a Dreadnought to continue fighting, but Jarn's own distaste for and the lack of access to them saw that such methods were ignored.

Standing resolute were the displaced sons of Kimara still outwardly wore the uniforms of their homeworld, their heavy greatcoats replaced with similar garb that afforded their user protection from the void of space rather than the blizzards of Kimara. When combined with their helmets and other gear they could operate for a limited time even in a depressurized environment, their boots tailored so as to allow them to lock onto the hull of their ship if need be. In totality one might compare them to the ranks of the forlorn sons of Krieg in not just appearance but their grim demeanor, the only ascetic differences being those to allow void combat and the trading Death Korp's gasmasks for the faceless silver masks of Kimara. While Krieg manufactured much of its own gear the production facilities upon Kimara had contributed to its armory which helped the similarities be born, tying the two formerly renegade Imperial worlds together in more than just their status as onetime traitors.

Beside the Kimaran Kraken defenders stood another force of mortal servants, this being the Mithril Dragoons whose origins allegedly stemmed from Kimara but whose records were dubious compared to their Kraken counterparts. Clad in silver-blue armor akin to that of Kimara's natural resource or mixtures of blue and silver these soldiers were far fewer in number, but their performance was superb and indicative of stellar training and selective recruitment.

Their armor was modified and reinforced carapace variants of that worn by Palanite Enforcers on the Imperial world of Necromunda, a possible origin for many of their number given what little could be observed of them. Rumor told of an entire force of Palanites who disappeared one day without warning or trace, descending their precinct into anarchy given the absence of the peacekeepers and allowing the Imperial Fist recruitment world to become an even greater nest of criminals.

The nearby Astartes deployed from the Spear of Dorn outpost would see to putting down the resulting anarchy, but if the Mithril Dragoons were in fact those very same Palanites how they came into service of an Iron Warrior warband was puzzling. This then was further shrouded by the fact that the rumors for the secretive force not agreeing whether they were a part of Jarn's forces during the Horus Heresy or if they were a more recent addition. Wherever the truth lay, there was once such a force upon Kimara, so if it had simply been reinforced by them or if this group solely drew their name from it was hard to tell.

It was the first time Tristan had ever laid eyes upon them himself so few were their number compared to even the Astartes within the fleet, though it was hard to tell just how many of these quiet operatives existed with how they answered to Jarn directly and did not possess their own facilities and quarters like others. It was obvious they had to rest and coordinate from somewhere, but just where within the leviathan metal beasts was just another mystery surrounding them.

"Press them back!"

At Urkamus' command Tristan stepped into the hall and opened fire with his autocannon, the rags worn by the cultists providing no protection against the weapon's heavy shells as it tore through their tide and dispersed them. The ship's hallways could sustain fire from the cannon and so little caution was needed to be paid to what lay behind the crowd, and while those who were not ripped apart opened fire in return their bullets harmlessly deflected off of Tristan's Power Armor. This opening was seized by the other members of Urkamus Squad with Urkamus himself unleashing a burst of boltgun fire to slay those still firing, Grund doing the same while Helash gave covering fire for Brechung to dart down the hallway with inhuman speed and carve his way through what remained.

In mere moments thirty cultists had their lives stripped away, and while on Forescien Tristan had found some degree of tragedy in the lives he took there was not an ounce of regret to be found in him now. These Humans, if they could even be considered as such anymore with their allegiances and their bodies mutated by the Warp, uncannily resembled those who had brought the corruption and ruination of his homeworld. For how many days had he witnessed their barbarism as they killed each and every member of his village with sadistic glee, starving and suffering as he holed himself away awaiting his own demise?

The various Astartes teams had been assigned routes to clear out the entire vessel of any intruders, the Word Bearers aiming to reach the bridge to control the ship but having sent smaller teams to other sections of the ship that would prove useful to have under their control such as armories. The Ironclad Knight was like many Victory class Battleships on the inside and thus veterans of the Great Crusade and the Horus Heresy familiar with the schematics of one could easily navigate through the behemoth mazes within, something which these Word Bearers seemed capable of doing given their rapid deployment and breaching of numerous locked down areas thus far.

Urkamus Squad was assigned by Constantine to take a longer route to the bridge while Constantine's own unit was heading straight to it with support from some others, effectively sidelining Urkamus Squad without officially doing so. Even still Urkamus followed the orders given to him and relayed them to his team, intent on making absolutely certain that the hallways and regions assigned to his men were cleansed of any traitorous filth. To him the followers of Chaos were traitors to Humanity itself, and so they were to be treated as animals might be albeit intelligent ones at that: he made certain to set a steady pace so as to prevent any ambush given that his team was only a handful of Astartes and there was no telling how many Word Bearers they would come across.

Tristan fell in behind Brechung whose preference for melee combat had the large Astarte leading their pack, Urkamus in the center while Grund and Helash took up the rear. Silence reigned between them all as they swept one room after the next, finding for quite some time not a single trace of the intruders as they engaged in the same methodical surveillance as they had carried out on Forescien. If there were enemy Astartes to be found the five did not wish to announce themselves, and so all communication between them was carried out over their internal comms or physical gestures. Rather than cultists or Word Bearers they found various crew of the Ironclad Knight who had been defending their own specific regions and reported no sight of the enemy, though to be certain their rooms and workstations were thoroughly searched as well.
The lack of conflict was unnerving in its own way, as each corner might hold a foe waiting to cut them down or it might be devoid of anything at all: an increasing sense of tense anxiety arose the squad not out of fear but rather the simple knowledge that there were enemies to be fought, so where were they?

With the efficiency expected of Astartes they were nearing the bridge despite their constant searching and the longer route they had been assigned through dark hallways, it appearing that the Word Bearers managed to take out the power of this section either intentionally or unintentionally. This darkness helped shroud the lurking shadow of a Possessed Astarte who lunged out of a connecting hallway at Brechung right as they reached the intersection, but the Daemon-infused Astarte had chosen a poor target: they harmlessly crashed past where Brechung had moved out of the way, his Power Lance shining as in a single movement he had literally disarmed the vicious claws of the beast.

Half-mad thanks to its possession, the Word Bearer leapt back into action despite its lack of arms to try and retaliate for the damage inflicted to it: instead it found an autocannon levied straight at its head as it rose, and in the next moment its upper torso erupted as its piecemeal armor failed to protect the Daemon-Astarte from the resulting blast. Tristan's mind had blanked at the sight of the creature and he had killed it purely on instinct, his mind having rushed back to when he first saw such 'Beasts' in the past. More of its kind were now assaulting his team and so he continued to pelt the Possessed without wasting a single thought on what or how he was doing it, just firing again and again as the other members of Urkamus Squad began their counterattack.

"No mercy for the Slaves of Darkness!"

With that as their rallying cry Urkamus Squad opened fire into Astartes of all forms and shapes, their bodies horribly twisted and corrupted by the Daemons possessing them. Some had arms so large that not even Terminator armor would have properly contained them, while others yet had eyes sprouting out of random parts of their body or extra limbs to supplement those they already possessed. Whatever their deformity might be they were faster than even Levente and from the distance Grund was knocked aside when struck they possessed incredible strength as well, though they were not particularly more durable than the average Astartes: an autocannon worked on them just as fine, and so the one who had knocked Grund into a metal bulkhead found their gut removed in retaliation a moment thereafter by Tristan.

Their shrieks of pain and excitement were utterly inhuman and Tristan would readily admit to feeling unnerved by them if not for how his mind had gone blank as prior trauma flooded into him, the fight or flight instinct that saw him prepare to fight as a child now repaying the Word Bearers for that incident tenfold. His mind only snapped out of it when he realized that the group who assaulted them all of a sudden lay dead, having fallen right before their vicious daemonic weapons could be brought to bear. It was a close call, and Grund was injured, but they had survived thanks to Brechung's instant reaction and retaliation at the beginning cluing the others in on the situation.

Then out of the darkness swept another Word Bearer, this one standing as tall as Tristan and thrice as wide thanks to their heavy mutations, mutations which included a massive pair of wings that had allowed them to dart into the battle just as its brothers fell and collide into Brechung. Brechung was slammed with such force that he was forced halfway through a nearby wall, his armor chipping and breaking around where he had been struck thanks to the massive fist which collided with it.

Urkamus twisted from where he had been double-tapping the fallen Word Bearers and immediately opened fire on this Greater Possessed, noting the severe danger it posed immediately and refusing to allow it to exist a moment longer.
"Concentrate fire!"

Tristan did as told and opened fire alongside Grund and Helash to drive the creature away from Brechung, his autocannon round slamming into it and making the creature shift its footing but not otherwise seeming to bring it harm. Instead it appeared amused by the shot, twisting its jagged-toothed maw towards Tristan to let out a far more Human chuckle than what its companions had been able to emit.

The second autocannon shell smashing into its teeth was likely not as well received, but it was hard for Tristan to tell with how the Daemon's head twisted to one side as the impact slugged it like a fist to the jaw. Tristan had to prepare another set of ammunition to fire when he noticed Helash already helping finish that exact thing, the other rookie on the team revealing himself to be quite the team player if it meant victory: no snide comments, no infighting, just what was needed to be done to survive.

Once finished Helash found himself surprised to notice that Urkamus was busy both firing at the Daemon and barking into his communicator, apparently arguing with Constantine over their being called to reach the bridge immediately. A firefight had broken out there and Constantine sought the glory of commanding the force that put down the major Word Bearer threat, and to succeed before others could share the credit he was calling all of the squads under his command to rush forward and group up. There was some merit in the idea of rushing to stop the Word Bearers who were laying siege to the Battleship's bridge, as should the minions of Chaos succeed then they would have command over the ship's most important systems.

This being the case, it was still obvious to Urkamus why Constantine was making the tactical decision he was, and so it was with a growl that he ordered the others to fall back from the Daemon and head for the bridge. If it gave chase then they would fight it on the way, but if it stayed to finish off Brechung it would buy them the time they needed to reach the bridge and fulfill their redefined mission.

"Damnit, head to the bridge, that's an order!"

Grund followed right behind Urkamus without question, having lapsed into complete silence during the skirmish and ignored his broken arm to instead keep firing with his functional one. Helash paused before doing as told, shooting a glance back at where their gunfire had driven the Possessed back against a wall...all without seeming to have caused it any lasting harm. They were merely keeping it at bay for now and so it appeared to be a losing battle, one which he did not wish to needlessly perish in.

Brechung had torn himself out of the wall and stood again, seemingly no worse for the wear as he stabbed the Daemon-Astarte in the back and distracted it from the others. Perhaps he was trying to buy them time to retreat, perhaps he did it out of anger from having been put through a wall, but for whatever the reason within his mind he had landed the first true damaging blow against it. Bolter shells and even the autocannon shots had trouble damaging its somewhat ethereal form, but a calculated stab of a Power Lance right where mutated flesh could be seen between cracked armor did the job.

The Possessed twisted around to grab the Astarte who dared to actually harm its form, only for an autocannon shot to rip through the flesh Brechung had opened up: unlike the three others in their team Tristan had remained where he stood, using his newly reloaded autocannon to continue firing away at the Daemon. The damage now done slowed the beast and allowed for Brechung to reposition himself so he could hack away at its more vulnerable parts, twisting his spear around with the precision expected of a melee expert so that each revolution struck and hit another seemingly random yet actually calculated spot on the Possessed's body. It thrashed at him but it could not properly land a strike thanks to Brechung having targeted its joints which saw its movements grow further and further disorientated as it flailed around, all the while its foes continued to wear down its highly durable form with an unrelenting barrage.

Utterly concussed and brought to its knees, the Possessed was nearly defeated when bolter fire struck Brechung's armor and interrupted his coup de grace on it. The intersection they had been fighting in now had cultists and Word Bearers both flooding down one of the hallways, having apparently heard the commotion and howls and reacted accordingly. Brechung lurched to one side to put himself out of the line of fire by taking advantage of a hallway perpendicular to the one where enemy reinforcements had appeared, now standing across from where Tristan had been firing.

While he did so Tristan wasted no time in finishing off the Greater Possessed with an autocannon round to its softened skull, its hulking body crumbling over as allied gunfire collided with it and filled the hallway with bolter rounds and autogun bullets. Tristan dropped his autocannon at this point as the little ammunition he had left would not assist him with the Cultists that were rushing ahead and almost were upon them, instead drawing his bolt pistol to gun down two that lunged for him while Brechung cut down another three with one sweep of his lance. Their numbers were quite thin and existing injuries were apparent on the poorly protected servants, but still they charged forth with mindless zeal.

"Claim their skulls for Khorne!" shouted one of the Word Bearers, there appearing to be six of them in this group approaching behind their mortal fodder. Their bolters were not particularly threatening to Tristan's reinforced armor but still capable of tearing through an Astarte's flesh if given the opportunity, forcing Tristan to maintain his current position ducked around a corner as he took what shots he could at approaching cultists.

Despite their primitive nature the brutal assault weapons wielded by the cultists still could leave a bit of a mark on Tristan's armor once they made contact, and so as one cultist became three which became five which became ten Tristan found himself being pressed back under the volume of their wild swings. At nearly twice their height their strikes ere largely against his legs and lower abdomen, but in return for these attacks Tristan used his size to his advantage and swept them away with an arc of his arm followed by a drawn back kick of his leg that crushed the malnourished ribs of a cultist about to stab him. Even with this though they seemed to just be growing in number, as if the Word Bearers had called forth additional aid during their attack, and while Tristan did not know their origin it did not matter: for every one he could beat down another took its place, and they were already surrounding him. Astarte or not, these fools could tear him apart through sheer numbers as his armor grew more and more damaged.
As this occurred Brechung leapt out of his cover to tear apart those headed for him, nearly dancing through their corpses as his blade found each and every neck, heart, or head it was swung towards with a deadly flourish. This had the effect of lessening the nearby crowd that could have overrun Tristan, though it also left Brechung out in the open for the now closer Word Bearers to open fire at his exposed torso. Brechung braced himself for the impact, but it never came.

Instead Tristan stood before him having forced past the cultists to intercept the boltgun fire, his armor having torn and broken at parts where struck while his left arm bled from where a round had impacted it and shattered the armor and damaged the limb beneath. Gritting his teeth and powering through the pain, Tristan fired back with his pistol and struck the boltgun that had injured his arm, only to then receive another set of rounds in return that he had to brace himself for with his other arm to protect his more exposed flesh. Cultists were cut down by friendly gunfire as they continued their assault, though what remained of them did not last for long as Brechung stepped out from behind Tristan and killed them with a set of sweeping movements that saw his lance lash out as far as it could reach before he planted a foot, twisted, and hurled it straight through one of the Word Bearers.

The other five drew their own melee weapons in response to this, seeming to believe him disarmed and vulnerable now at what was now barely any distance at all, but what they did not expect was for Tristan to hurl the crumpled body of a cultist at them, then another, and another, disrupting their charge with both bodies and bullets from his bolt pistol while Brechung grabbed the first of them by the neck and slammed the Word Bearer face-first into a wall, snapping their neck in the process. Knowing that Tristan would have difficulty reloading his weapon with his wounded arm, Brechung took the now deceased Word Bearer's firearm and tossed the boltgun to Tristan who traded his pistol for it instantly so as to fire upon a Word Bearer approaching Brechung.

One advantage the Iron Warriors possessed over their foes was that Power Armor was harder to maintain for those in the Warp without access to the same facilities they once possessed in the material realm, and so it was common for Chaos aligned Astartes to possess incomplete or otherwise patchwork Power Armor that while functional was not optimal. Compared to mastercrafted gear like what Jarn gifted Tristan and it was no comparison at all, being more akin to the Carapace Armor of the Tempestus Scions than real Power Armor. This meant that while their shots would wound and strip away the armor of Tristan, those very same shots back at the Word Bearers was punching well into their flesh and penetrating their armor completely when a round found the right spot.

Brechung ripped his spear out of the Word Bearer he slew with it to slash into the back of a foe charging at Tristan to stop his gunfire, then moved out of the way so Tristan could then shoot one of the others who sought to impale Brechung through the breach on his armor. Both Word Bearers still stood, but their injuries inhibited them as they both turned upon Brechung who parried both of their Power Mauls with his lance before twisting it in a spiral and diverting their attacks so he could kick one of their legs from out under them. Brought to a kneel, the Word Bearer caught the Power Lance's blade to their throat and was beheaded in the very same movement.

Tristan meanwhile opened fire into the back of the other disorientated Word Bearer, ripping open his flesh and felling him just before running out of ammunition again and swapping to yet another tool in his arsenal: hurling dead cultists whose weight compared to his own was like lifting rocks, their bodies like ragdolls as they hurtled through the air to crash into the remaining two Word Bearers. One of them barreled through the dead to tackle Tristan off of his feet, knocking him down onto the ground where they began to savagely beat down with their Power Maul one swing after another without relent. Tristan could barely hold them back as he used his one good arm to grab the Word Bearer by the face and try and create distance, only for their beating to continue as Tristan felt the bones beneath his skin begin to break as his body bled from where his armor was being caved in.

In desperation Tristan reached out with his injured arm to grab for something which fell from one of his projectile cultists, soon finding a loaded autogun and twisting it to fire into the Word Bearer's gut. The bullets barely did anything, but as Tristan shoved the gun into a crack in their armor the Word Bearer was forced to react. They shifted to knock aside the weapon, but so too did Tristan move his body in this window of time: he might not be capable of beating this foe in typical melee combat, but he could try something else.

Gripping his arms around the Word Bearer in spite of the incredible pangs of abject agony his left arm released, Tristan hoisted himself and the Word Bearer upwards until he could slam the other Astarte's skull into the ceiling, something Tristan just barely stood beneath typically and so could readily force another into. This concussive blow startled the Word Bearer enough that Tristan was able to twist his body around and hurl him into a wall, at which point Tristan attempted to stomp down upon them only to instead stagger back as the Word Bearer fought back with a bolt pistol shot to Tristan's stomach. While it did not strike flesh it did still knock the wind out of the already wounded Tristan, who fell back and collapsed as the grievous injuries inflicted by the Word Bearer's maul made themselves known.

Now standing over Tristan with their pistol drawn, the Word Bearer aimed it down with vile glee...glee that was only evident for but a moment before Brechung's lance penetrated his abdomen and carved through the Word Bearer enough that it reached out towards and cut the man's wrist off. Bolt pistol and Word Bearer fell to the ground dead, joining the other one which Tristan's fellow member of Urkamus Squad had felled moments prior.

No Word Bearers or their cretin servants remained there or elsewhere aboard the Ironclad Knight, the last of their ilk having been put down by the bridge in part thanks to the efforts of Urkamus, Grund, and Helash along with Constantine's other subordinate units. The sudden silence was odd to the dizzied Tristan, who after some fumbling managed to drag himself back up onto his knees at least, soon finding as his vision cleared that Brechung was offering him a hand up.
"You risked your life to save someone you barely know. Why?"

Tristan accepted the hand granted to him even as Brechung's words sounded like criticism, content with his decision to stay and assist his fellow soldier. While typically Tristan would just do as told it had not felt right to do so in this instance and so he had not, though he was certain he would hear an earful about it later.

"Why do any of us do anything?" Tristan asked back as he fully stood, brushing pieces of the Word Bearer who perished over him off of his armor, "Because I felt like it was the correct course of action, the fundamental root of all our decisions."

While that was enough of an answer for Tristan he could sense that Brechung still questioned him, and so he continued to explain himself reluctantly to the member of their squad even more taciturn than himself. Lifting a hand, Tristan offered it to shake while using his other to nurse his wounded abdomen.

"We are Battle Brothers now, members of the Adeptus Astartes, and that fraternity means something. We are the defenders of Humanity, so it falls upon us to not only protect our mortal kin but also one another. It is when we forget that and pursue our selfish desires that conflict is born and tragedy follows."

This appeared to satiate Brechung's curiosity, as he gave a sole nod before accepting the hand offered him.

"The Warsmith has taught you well regarding philosophy, both of bloodshed and brotherhood. Many of our kin have lost sight of what we all strived towards, lost in the base violence necessary to enact the change we sought."

With that said Brechung let go before stepping past the corpses surrounding them so as to continue on towards the bridge, intent on grouping up with the others now that they were done here.

"Even still, there is much more for you to learn."

Of that Tristan had little doubt, as his victory here largely amounted to a degree of fortune by his approximation: if his foes had been fully armed and properly armored there was no realistic way he could have found success in such a scenario, and so he would not let this go to his head. Levente would no doubt do enough of that for the two of them given that he was a part of the group that remained to end the siege, and with his bold nature Levente likely pressed forward and was one of the ones to secure their objectives planetside.

Even so, with blood spilling from countless wounds and his bones aching all over, Tristan found himself content as he followed behind Brechung and passed by members of the Mithril Dragoons to reach the bridge.

He was alive, and for now that was enough.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A/N: I was going to post this yesterday but my internet died while I was putting on the final touches, so here it is now! I hope you enjoyed, and that you will leave me your thoughts in the comments below!​

 

[Thunderscourge]

UNBROKEN SONS

True to his nature Richter was the first to voice his opinion when he felt something was wrong, and so as he sat in the Apothecary office of Ossus he found himself wondering why they were painting. Ossus had taken him under his wing years ago to train him to one day become an Apothecary of the Iron Warriors, having noted some potential Richter himself did not particularly understand but far was he from questioning given that it meant he would learn some of the most valuable skills an Astarte could gain access to.

This being the case, the fact he was holding a brush instead of a scalpel this particular day left him perplexed and disgruntled. Such an activity was for Tristan and those scale replicas of Basilisks he meticulously crafted.

"What does artistry have to do with the work of an Apothecary?" Richter spoke with barely restrained irritation, feeling as if his time could be better spent actually engaging in the duties of an Apothecary.

Despite Richter's typically negative attitude Ossus never responded in kind, knowing that Richter had good intentions behind each statement or question he would levy. Richter had served the Iron Warriors for years by this point and he always sought to improve not only himself but also those around him, so learning to accept that and instead help further inform his critical thinking capabilities made him an effective member of their ranks. Richter could only be expected to properly critique and help improve what he properly understood after all, and so Ossus took it upon himself to teach him not only in how to properly carry out medical procedures but also in the way a mentor ought to.

"I could speak platitudes as to the finer details of surgery and medical work, though in truth it is much simpler than that," was Ossus' initial response as he finished his current series of brushstrokes that were beginning to make his piece resemble their 'model' of the day, Arien, who appeared to be unaware of this fact and was simply content looking up at the lustrous objects adorning Ossus' wall.

With his hands now free Ossus gestured to that very wall where trophies, baubles, relics, and other things of significance and/or beauty lay gathered unlike the rest of their vessel with its sparse decorations. Over the years bit by bit the art of Ossus had begun to spill out elsewhere within the Iron Legion's fleet, it not being his primary focus or concern but still something he dabbled in when time permitted. As Richter focused on depictions or trophies from past victories and conflicts Ossus spoke again, his voice that of a worldly veteran who had gained the experience to speak on such subjects through innumerable battles and the resulting wisdom they granted.

"The Iron Warriors as led by our Primarch Perturabo lost their way when our ideals and dreams of crafting a greater future were crushed beneath the harsh realities of war. While his possession of greater resources is undeniable it remains true that Roboute Guilliman of the Ultramarines did what we sought to, first conquering or otherwise subjugating worlds before rebuilding them to match his ideals, but what of the worlds we were tasked with?"

Ossus showed his Apothecary tools strapped to his forearm in all their threatening visage, as capable of treating the injured as they were of inflicting death.

"Our Legion would tackle the assignments our peers were unwilling to, the grueling sieges and unforgiving conflicts that would see both our forces and those against us ground to dust before we would then be ordered to do so again on another world, and then another, and so on and so forth without ever accounting for the effects it had on us."

His statements gave Richter pause, as it reminded him much of their present-day situation: they did not have the ability to 'waste' time rebuilding the worlds they visited and extracted resources from, as there always appeared to be another foe to face, another Imperial armada to avoid, and so staying still after an operation would invite disaster.

The only time Richter could remember anything resembling rebuilding what they destroyed was Forescien where he was first officially deployed as a rookie Iron Warrior alongside other members of Alpha Squad. After defeating both the defense forces of the Mechanicus and the Chaos infiltrators who struck their fleet the Warsmith had set aside some time and effort in preparing the world they just conquered for any future attacks by the forces of Chaos, much to the confusion of the forces they just trampled upon with endless artillery.

It was an easy event to remember, as in his first deployment Levente had the honor of securing the mission objectives by breaking through the enemy's warriors one after another and had been promoted to Sergeant by Khyr of the Triarch afterwards. While the Mechanicus had tried to push back when many of the Iron Warriors returned to the fleet to face the Word Bearers the servants of the Omnissiah had found themselves surprised by their own push being countered by a rapid strike that saw Levente break through their lines and go on a rampage they could not properly redeploy to confront.

On that very same occasion Tristan had been admonished for disobeying orders, though his defeat of numerous Daemon-possessed Astartes alongside members of Urkamus Squad had seen to it that he only received a warning for doing so. Notably Urkamus was not the one who took issue with it, but rather Constantine who reported the issue to their Grand Battalion leader Archimedes. Even though Tristan's aid would have proven unnecessary in the battle and he saved a fellow Astarte's life by remaining where he was Constantine saw it as egregious and balked that a student of the Warsmith himself would be so disloyal.

If Richter had any guess though it was likely that Tristan's first encounter with Daemons since his childhood had simply blanked the giant's mind, as Tristan typically did as told to a fault while possessing no real ambitions of his own. Even in their encounter with Beastmen he only stood against Levente because of overriding orders from the Warsmith, such was his personality. Typically Tristan thought too much and it slowed him down in battle, something Richter knew as the one who would have to tend to his wounds afterwards, so the mission report submitted showing that Tristan had quickly and efficiently gunned down Possessed after Possessed showed that he simply was not thinking straight.

Ossus lowered his arm and took his brush into his palm softly, his hand capable of such extreme dexterity despite wearing Power Armor thanks to his Black Carapace, "It is little wonder then that we did not rebuild what we destroyed, even if we envisioned such a bright future. We would destroy, bring untold ruination to our foes with callous indifference, and then continue onward without once looking back. For a Legion which sought utopia was it any wonder that we would eventually break under such circumstances, never possessing the proper time or energy to actually build when the dust had settled? Our warfare may be industrialized and like a well-oiled machine, but beneath the armor and augmentation we are Humans like any other."

By pretending that they were unbreakable machines that did not relent the Iron Warriors had condemned themselves to a slow death of their spirits, trying hard to continue forward even when their Humanity dictated that they need rest, and that very determination and drive that made them so enduring in battle also meant that they would refuse to recognize the growing cracks in their proverbial armor until they were too deep to repair. This insight gave Richter a better understanding not only of the history of his Legion but also of why Ossus seemed to possess such an interest in 'trivial' matters, for by pursuing them he was engaging in the very behaviors that his peers had shed across centuries of warfare.

When Ossus spoke next his tone was hiding amusement, for during the lecture he was giving to his student their painting model had wandered away, Arien still completely oblivious to why Ossus had told him to stand there and so not thinking at all about just leaving now that he was done looking at shiny jewels and war trophies.

"While my art possesses little in the way of practical purpose it helps remind me and those who experience it that there is more to our cause than just conquest and numbers. That when we reach our goals we will be able to engage in such rejuvenating personal pursuits, and that while we work towards our shared future we may still nourish our souls along the path so that we do not lose sight of what is important. What might appear to be a waste of resources or irrelevant to our vision instead is an investment to stave off the worst "

With that Ossus returned to his painting, able to recall enough about the Ixolotl to finish his piece while leaving Richter to try and do the same. The greater understanding Richter now possessed on the subject saw him remain quiet and not criticize his mentor's chosen activity of the day further, instead dedicating his thoughts internally to further contemplate the subject as he continued his work. It was certainly calming and restrained compared to the life-saving surgeries and medical procedures they carried out in their everyday duties.

Now, if only their chosen subject had not wandered off...the Eisernen would be docking with the Iron Citadel soon and there would be plenty actual work to do then, so it was going to prove difficult to finish this without Arien.

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Formerly known as the Black Citadel, the reclaimed and replicated shipyards known now as the Iron Citadel was first obtained from the Black Judges and now served as the only 'base' for the Iron Legion's operations in its hidden sector of space. A veritable fortress in its own right it could protect itself to a fair degree but its primary purpose was to facilitate the creation of Battleships. If they were to protect their interests in the future they would need a fleet, and so the Iron Citadel was a vital component to their future operations and success. While their present fleet was formidable it was only formidable when compared to smaller entities such as the ships possessed individual planets, as if faced with the might of the Imperial Navy in full it would be annihilated without question.

Archimedes was the one placed in control over the Iron Citadel itself as the leader of their Kheledakos, being the master of their fleet on paper even if it was presently unified such that Jarn was always the one actually giving the orders. For the construction-minded Archimedes being tasked with the creation of new vessels to support their endeavors was an honor, and the resources possessed by the Iron Citadel upon its rediscovery allowed him to begin setting their plans into motion even if it was not enough to completely develop a new Battleship.

The sturdiness of Imperial vessels meant that even if they were rendered to inoperable hulks that their 'skeleton' would often remain intact, allowing them to be refitted and fixed for combat again if not reformed completely into a new ship. This gave the Warsmith's forces some flexibility when it came to acquiring the necessary materials for their future fleet, as a defeated Imperial ship or one left adrift could be put to use easily enough.

There was great risk when it came to engaging Imperial ships in combat however as if they were to escape they would reveal the existence of the Iron Legion to the greater Imperium which would result in untold hordes of Astartes and Astra Militarum forces being deployed to eliminate them, so rather than plan to hunt down Imperial ships the Iron Legion instead only took what they could at any given opportunity rather than invite total annihilation.

While not originally meant for the task the Iron Citadel's status as the only recurring location other than the fleet for the Iron Warriors serving Jarn meant that it became a temporary home for them, housing those soldiers not currently deployed or who were recovering from injuries too severe to be properly fielded in battle. In this way the Iron Citadel became a counterpart to the Imperial Fist's Phalanx in a sense, though it existed for a separate purpose and was in no way capable of standing against it. One was a production facility turned makeshift base, the other a veritable fortress that stood as a bulwark against Humanity's foes who might try to conquer Holy Terra.

This status however did make the Iron Citadel possess the closest thing the Iron Legion had to a proper dining hall, as those aboard their Battleships were designed to be efficient places to consume necessary nutrients before returning to duty with little comfort to be found in their brutal confines. Those aboard the Iron Citadel were replicated from the initial dockyards taken from the Black Judges however whose affluence saw them fit even their shipyards with some degree of frivolity and pomp, something lessened by the stern Iron Warriors who replicated it in a time of constant warfare but not wholly abandoned.

Tables were grand like a feasting hall, seats and benches meant for Astartes constructed to best see to their comfort. While they did not possess a great wealth of dishes and meals beyond the basics necessary for their nutritional needs the ability to lay out all their food in a less cramped manner than on the Battleships saw those resting Astartes able to better enjoy their time spent there without brushing against one another.

It was under these conditions that the members of training squad Alpha would often gather when the fleet was docked at the Iron Citadel, their years of training alongside one another forming a lasting camaraderie between many of them even after they were assigned to different squads to best make usage of their talents. They were the most talented Neophytes back then and had since gone on to become valued members of the Iron Legion, each of them possessing a wealth of accomplishments thanks to their mixture of skills and physical capabilities. The dining hall was a way for them to share stories with one another of their individual exploits and accomplishments as well as deepen their bonds as a group, something encouraged by Levente who had grown up in such a warrior culture on his homeworld.

"Bertrand appears not to be joining us once again," Urban spoke quietly after the other members of Alpha Squad had all taken a seat, his statement one of observing the obvious so that it would be out of the way.

Truth be told Tristan had only ever come to a few such meetings, considering them a waste of his time when he could just eat at his workshop and continue working instead. His absence was not particularly cared about by any except Urban and Quidel on most occasions, and it was just the status quo that their largest member was almost always busy tinkering elsewhere rather than socializing with his peers.

Levente scoffed at the mention of his rival, being able to count the amount of times Tristan had bothered to join them over the years on his hands, "Leave him be: he knows nothing of camaraderie, nor of valor. Leave him to his trinkets, for we shall be the ones to secure our future with our might and will!"

Bringing an arm around the taciturn Urban, Levente tried to rouse the spirits of his cohorts with an exuberant grin with boasting to match.

"After all, who was it who brought a Champion of Chaos to his knees single-handedly? Who beat the savage fool so bloody that the Xenos thinking themselves to be gods stripped him of his power and reduced him to a writhing mass of mutation?"

Aldred nodded over to Levente proudly, intent on appealing to his ego while not overselling it, "You as usual, boss."

In a single bound Levente was standing atop their table, his arms twisting to recreate the motion they made when he quelled the Chaos Champion. Right after he brought a hand down to gesture to one of the Astartes he now stood above, his typically small stature appearing less so with the table's added height.

"What of when Dominicus broke through the barricades and locks of those dreaded Tyranid slaves to decapitate their uprising which threatened our operations? Who was it who stood beside him upon the breach, ready to slay all who stood in our way no matter how many of their disgusting hybrids set upon us?"

"We did, somehow..." Faustus replied, gingerly touching at his food as he recalled his harrowing scouting mission into the Genestealer den.

"Genestealer Cults are only matched by Cadians and Kimarans when it comes to reproduction. There were innumerable of them," Richter commented dryly, having assisted Ossus in enough mortal births upon the Eisernen from its Kimaran descendants to comment on the similarity to Genestealer Cultists. Fortunately it was a cultural thing, not a result of actual Genestealer infestation, but it still stood out to him given how it increased his workload at times.

Levente continued to re-enact some of his strikes and slashes of his weapons, eagerly reliving the thrill of battle while effortlessly stepping around the plates adorning the table so as to not ruin their meals. With both hands outstretched down towards his kin Levente turned around to get a look at all of them and also gesture to each one of them individually, his face beaming with a warrior's pride.

"And yet we survived through it all, drowning their filth in their own putrid blood! When we were tasked with infiltrating a Necron Tomb for the valuable resources they possessed, was it not Gunnar who stood at my side as we purged their metal hides such that they could not reconstruct themselves? Gunnar, who cut down one of their mighty Lychguard as I handled their dreaded Lord? Why, that Lich's spindly form reminded me of Bertrand himself!"

That brought about chuckles from most of the table, for it was not at all difficult to compare Tristan's frame to that of a lean Necron just as Levente's was more like that of an Ork Warboss. Richter remained silent however, instead finding that despite coming here for nourishment before he got back to his duties that he had lost his appetite. Gunnar was presently in the medical bay recovering from injuries sustained from following Levente into battle, and while Levente had a perfect success rate for his assignments it was others who often paid the price.

That was why, after all, with Tristan and Gunnar missing there were only seven at the table, not eight as there ought to be.

Levente continued to feed off the growing excitement and energy of the others present, with even the meek Faustus growing more jovial throughout. To Levente such performative aspects of rallying others came naturally, and so he spoke boldly and proudly to them all.

"From Iron cometh Strength! From Strength cometh Will! From Will Cometh Faith, both in our cause and in one another! It is together that we are strong, one unified force of Iron Warriors the likes of which has not been witnessed since the Great Crusade! Under the Warsmith's rule we shall carve our way through the cosmos, bringing all to heel who deny our rule!"

"If we survive long enough to establish it."

Levente was brought pause as he looked over down towards Richter, who had spoken with his typical lack of self-censorship. Only when he looked to Richter their eyes did not meet, for Richter was instead focused on the empty seat of Kastor.

"Do you doubt our victory, Richter?" Aldred commented as if in disbelief following all of their personal and collective successes, prompting Richter to shake his head no and explain himself further.

"Just stating a basic observation as the one who has to piece you all back together when a battle comes to its conclusion, lest we forget that there used to be ten of us at this table."

Of the ten of them Kastor had been the lowest performing, but he had still been well above the typical Neophyte recruit and held a promising future given his penchant for increasing team cohesion through discussion and understanding. Having fallen under Levente's command after Levente was made a Sergeant however meant that Kastor had been right alongside the far more melee-adept Gunnar and Levente in dangerous battles, and it had ultimately cost him his life in a skirmish against the Word Bearers warband they had been avoiding for years now.

Rather than shed a tear over the loss of Kastor it was better in Levente's mind to continue forward and continue fighting, with this remembrance appearing to inspire him further as he spoke with both warmth and vigor, "There are sacrifices in war, and Kastor would no doubt be at peace knowing that his ensured our victory over those damnable Chaos dogs nipping at our heels. What greater end can one ask for than to fall in the glory of combat, crushing all who stand in your way until your last breath escapes you? Rather than mourn we should celebrate him now as we did then, for to fall in battle is the fate of every one of us one day!"

Besides Richter both Urban and Quidel were quiet as well in response, the others all seemingly more swayed by Levente's proclamations. This did not stop Levente from leveraging his talent for rallying though, instead helping the other members of Alpha Squad move past their loss with fiery rhetoric.

"In Kastor's memory I swear to cut down a thousand of those vile servants of Chaos at fault, the last of which shall be their Daemon Prince who dares inflict insult and injury upon our cause! With one strike of my tools I shall obliterate everything above their necks, denying their forsaken benefactor of his beloved skulls!" "Will you join me in this just cause of vengeance and help eradicate their blight in the name of Kastor? Who will join me in paving the way forward to our inevitable future with the bodies of the cretins who oppose us?"

The chorus of cheers which followed was not only from Alpha Squad, but from other Astartes nearby them as well. Levente's reputation was growing with every battle, and his willingness to show off his vibrant successes had won him increasing respect from the veterans of Khyr's company. If there was anything that could unite the common soldier in their Legion it was the prospect of making the forces of Chaos bleed for their damnation, and so while the crowd began to grow more and more enthused with Levente it was a perfect opportunity for Richter to slip out of it all and go about his business.

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Aboard the Iron Citadel Tristan's personal quarters were as one might expect of an Iron Warrior, being sparsely furnished and lacking entirely in the way of decoration. What he did possess within it were practical necessities such as a bed designed to allow his abnormally large body to rest, a workstation for his mechanical tinkering and smaller projects, textual resources, datapads, diagrams and schematics to study, a structure for DOTS to receive nutrients and rest upon, and to-scale models of Basilisks and Predator tanks to observe.

Some might question the importance of such models, but Tristan felt it important for his creative process. He felt he could think more clearly on how to improve upon their designs as well as others while in the presence of the scaled replicas and his 'pet' that did not bother him the way some other creatures might. When he was unable to use the Dodekatheon's larger workshops it was here that he privately tinkered with things and engaged in the work he could get done without access to industrial tools.

Almost all of Tristan's time not deployed in the field was however spent in the Dodekatheon, either within the Eisernen or aboard its place within the orbital docks of the Iron Citadel. So long as he could continue his work the location mattered little and it was not uncommon for Tristan to use the capability of an Astarte to function for weeks without complete rest to continue working on a project that was nearing completion. When his unconscious form would be found later he would not be reprimanded for such behavior however, as he might possess little reputation or glory on the battlefield compared to his peers but he was a growing star in the Dodekatheon who respected his drive and the results his experimentation brought to their pursuits of knowledge.

While some might possess the inherent genius to theorize and discover new concepts to better understand the universe around them Tristan's specialty came from intuitively understanding how various things worked, thus allowing him to replicate and gain a deeper understanding of them. He might be copying existing designs when he engaged in his work, but he was improving upon them by working in his understanding of other technologies he had dissected and recreated as well, thus gradually improving them all bit by bit rather than making sporadic and giant leaps.

Some of these improvements were to his own body, though they differed greatly from what could be considered the bionics or other such modifications done by various Astartes and Humans. It was common practice for members of the Adeptus Mechanicus and their followers to replace pieces of their physical form replaced with mechanical counterparts, a practice which Tristan personally was not drawn towards given that he did not wish to cede his body born of his ancestors and of his Iron Warriors Gene-Seed unless he had to medically. He did not detest such cybernetic changes to the Human form as he did the horrific mutations of Chaos, and so he found it acceptable to augment and reinforce his body mechanically instead of replacing his flesh.

With Tristan's method of combat being to suffer through an enemy's firepower and return it until he won it was natural that he would incur injuries, some particularly nasty and lingering ranging from broken bones to dislodged joints. True to his stoic nature Tristan did not complain about these injuries, for instead once Ossus or Richter was done patching him up and telling him to stop catching bullets he would go to his workstation and begin drafting methods of reinforcing the part of his body that had proven vulnerable. Be it subdermal implants or reinforcements to joints, if a weakness was discovered it was to be diminished or removed by adding to his body rather than subtracting from it.

Such augmentation was not uncommon within the Iron Warriors, with even their Chaos-serving kin replacing corrupted pieces of their bodies with mechanical counterparts, and it was this general practice that helped contribute to the enduring nature of their Legion. "Iron Within, Iron Without" was both figurative and literal with how they would alter their forms and so despite handling it in a separate manner Tristan was living up to the traditions of his Iron brethren.

Battle by battle, wound by wound, year by year, Tristan would continue his constant reinforcement of his body until the point that his inherent durability was enhanced enough that he could be rest assured that he would not bend and break beneath whatever armor he might create. Even with how well his armor had served him until then he was aware of how even blows that did not penetrate could batter an Astarte within, but now with his enhanced physical constitution he could help mitigate such effects even if he could not completely remove them.

Much like the Imperial Fist who would go on to become the founding leader of the Crimson Fists and the so-called hero of Phall, Alexis Polux, Tristan possessed a particularly uncommon height for a member of the Adeptus Astartes which would have to be factored into his creations and armor. In the case of Polux he was observed as being around the height of the Primarch Roboute Guilliman himself and with the physique of a bear like Jarn it left him capable of crushing the skulls of Astartes in his palms. For Tristan his height was beyond that of Polux or Jarn but his form was notably lacking in the same breadth and bulk that afforded them such raw strength even while possessing similar levels of overall mass thanks to how tall he had grown to be.

Whereas Jarn was a man who would have grown to be incredibly tall, broad, and capable of immense physical labor as a mortal Human like his father before him, Tristan was someone who would have likely exceeded the average height of an Astartes and likely excelled at sporting events which relied on such height while lacking other types of physique. This overwhelming size had cost Tristan the speed he once possessed as an even younger man, but at the same time it helped spread out damage incurred since there simply was more of him necessary to harm. It made him incur more damage and be struck more often than an average Astartes might be, but it meant that if he began moving he was a nigh unstoppable force for most to contend with.

An Astartes beating down a mortal Human would break their bones and crush them already, but for Tristan who towered over them the same way that they did over such mortals it meant that a swing of his leg (as his arms were often well above them) would break a man and send him hurling back into his comrades who now had a colossal creature looming before them. Should Tristan instead choose to remain still his very same attributes would make him difficult to shift, whatever armor he was wearing at the time helping anchor him down thanks to its scaled-up size and resulting mass.

Even with such notable traits to his name, Tristan just was not particularly talented at charging across a battlefield the way Levente might. Tristan could not keep pace with his fellow Astartes on the charge and so he was naturally poor at the shock tactics common to Astartes operations. This said it did not particularly trouble Tristan that this often saw him relegated to guard duty and such tasks where his enemy had to come to him. He already possessed a natural tolerance for pain demonstrated by his survival on his homeworld where he staved off starvation for weeks just to prepare for the moment he might retaliate against the Beasts of Chaos, and so when matched with his fully grown form and augmentations it left him as a shield to Levente's proverbial sword.

Among the first of Tristan's experiments was creating his own set of Mechatendrils by using blueprints provided to him by Jarn and the Dodekatheon, beginning with this endeavor to best utilize his time moving forward. Additional arms would mean he could carry out tasks faster and handle multiple matters at once, so it was only logical to begin his career of craftsmanship with such a tool. While servo-arms tended towards being large and unwieldly with blocky segments to them Tristan instead opted for a sturdy series of linked pieces to possess greater range of movement and so the moniker of 'tendril' was quite well suited to the limbs he built.

To utilize them he created a harness to fit to his abdomen and interact with his Black Carapace as well as Power Armor when it was worn, for which he would need to make his own modified suit but that was for later. Through the harness Tristan could control the Mechatendrils attached directly and use them like another set of limbs once he trained with them, occasionally modifying the Mechatendrils as necessary to better improve them in future iterations. As a part of the process Tristan experimented with a horde of Mechatendrils attached to his harness to see just how many he could reliably control, eventually learning to control many of their number but finding that his preferred set was four that he could control with greater precision alongside his own two hands.

For tasks involving heavier loads he would modify the harness to also house two servo-arms meant solely for crafting and not for combat, resulting in him possessing the appearance of a ten-limbed creature that saw some natives of Kimara liken him to their infamous Krakens. This would then inspire Tristan's naming for his creation with the 'inspired' title of 'Iron Kraken', even if typically it lacked the two servo arms that would make it a full ten limbs.

The testing procedure for the Iron Kraken included a variety of metrics Tristan made sure to precisely record to the most minute detail, initially beginning with the raw control over the limbs so that all other tests might be done more conclusively. Tristan would come to train himself so well with them that he could pick up objects the size of a hair with their grasping maniples, as well as properly lift and carry other objects like he would his actual limbs. To do this Tristan had bound his arms to his body and only worked with the mechatendrils until he could use them without thinking, making them like true extensions to himself. Once they reacted promptly, accurately, and their foundation was set he moved onto testing other aspects of them to better enhance them.

To carry out the work necessary for a member of the Dodekatheon one required tools that could at times withstand great heat or not break under intense pressure or weight. For this Tristan made certain to reinforce the outer linked pieces to the mechatendrils as much as he could without detracting from their function, granting them both resistance to extreme temperatures as well as protection from both stress and external threats. The 'skeleton' of each limb was now covered in thick plating to protect them from damage, and they could carry weight comparable to what an Astartes might while the servo-arms he included at times could far exceed that.

Tristan was only satisfied with their durability however after testing them in live-fire exercises where he subjected them to bolter rounds, plasma shots, chemical fires, blunt force, precision weaponry, armor piercing rounds, collected Xenos weapons, and even artillery. When they broke he would remake them and use the data collected to lessen their vulnerability to whatever cracked through their thick hides, and then the testing would be repeated again, and again, until there no longer existed such vulnerabilities.

Following the creation, testing, and many iterations of Mechatendrils necessary to streamline future work Tristan moved right onto experimenting with Power Armor to properly implement the Iron Kraken as well as provide a sufficient degree of protection. It was not lost upon Tristan that his continued existence could be explained by the Mark III Power Armor gifted to him by Jarn being of artificer quality and far above that worn by their enemies, and since living was his preferred state of being he invested himself deeply in the pursuit of how to best ensure his sustained being.

What's more, if Tristan ever hoped to defeat the Daemon who laid his world asunder he would need armor capable of enduring such a threat, and so he worked tirelessly to ensure that when the day came that they met that Tristan would not be immediately torn through.

If there was a simple way to improve Power Armor to some optimal state for Astartes it would have been done eons before, and so Tristan's experimentation largely saw him optimizing smaller details of Mark III armor while also seeking to incorporate external methods of protection into it. Inspired by the Karceri Battle Shield of the Iron Circle machines of Perturabo, Tristan sought to include numerous power fields in one suit of armor to overlap fields of protection though this proved difficult given the power drain it imposed along with the logistics of making them work together rather than conflict and cause issues for their bearer.

With the Karceri shield project shelved until he could work out solutions to it Tristan went back to the drawing board regarding upgrading his Mark III. Testing it against every form of ammunition and weapon possible in their armory let him optimize its minute details and reshape it such that the Power Armor's physical limits were reached with the materials on hand. While expensive to do so it was something Jarn was willing to set aside the resources necessary to do so as not only did the work assist Tristan's knowledge in expanding it also could result in breakthroughs that would better keep their fellow Astartes alive.

This rigorous testing saw Tristan begin to add ablative armor to it to reduce the incoming damage at only the cost of easily replaced external plating. Pleased by the results of this, Tristan expanded his research to include not only salvaged Centurion armor but also information provided by Jarn for the Logos and the Warsmith's own iteration of it.

Taking whatever worked best of each of them allowed Tristan to further his experiments like how the Primarch Guilliman once had been inspired by the work of Mars, Perturabo, and Vulkan to create the Armor of Reason. Knowing that it could be done by being aware of history and Jarn's own work on the Logos emboldened Tristan's efforts, and while he knew he did not possess the raw capability of a Primarch he still believed that repeated tests like those done by Guilliman would allow him to create something befitting of his own needs.

Included in this experimentation was research on the armor used by various Xenos races in addition to those used by Humanity, Tristan's interests particularly drawn to the restorative nature of Necron Living Metal as well as that utilized by Tau Battlesuits given their effective yet lightweight nature. A lack of test subjects in the case of the latter did deter some of his studies, but the Iron Legion's defeat of Necrons from decades past did see the confiscation of some of their wargear which Tristan was content with going over. Jarn's own incorporation of a Phylactery into his iteration of the Logos was at the top of Tristan's interest regarding the subject matter, and so when granted permission he poured over all of the Warsmith's schematics and collected data concerning its functionality.

While wholly unlikely to mass produce self-repairing armor it still was something Tristan naturally wanted to possess for his own suit of it, as if he could create a suit with proper external shielding and force fields, ablative plating, resilient Power Armor beneath, and have the Power Armor reconstruct damaged pieces then the act of dying would prove most difficult barring the usage of foul sorcery. Tristan did not possess a way to mathematically handle that particular threat however, and so he was content preparing for every danger he could mitigate by building as many redundancies into his suit as possible.

Tristan's typically rearline and artillery duties saw him rarely be on the frontline where he could obtain further Xenos specimens to study, but to his fortune there was a source for such materials within the Iron Legion: the so-called Mithril Dragoons of Kimara.

Far be they from a uniform taskforce the Mithril Dragoons possessed a myriad of technologies not utilized by other members of the Iron Legion, a particular quirk which helped set them apart from the more standardized members of the Kimaran Krakens. Sniper rifles, shotguns, bolters, flamers, and even outright Xenos technology such as Drukhari Dark Lances were just a handful of the multitude of weapons they would bring to bear against their foes. The origins for where they even were obtaining such arms was unclear, but with their demonstrated loyalty and unquestioning servitude towards the Warsmith few cared to ask.

After all, the Warsmith was known to take under his wing those who would pledge themselves to the Iron Legion's vision of utopia so long as they denounced Chaos and the Imperium, so what was one more force of renegades within a sea of such souls? The Mithril Dragoons as an organization reportedly possessed history with and ties to the Jarn dynasty on Kimara, but if this was true or just another fabrication was another part of their mystery.

Their history was mostly irrelevant to Tristan for what mattered to him was the wide array of technology they appeared to have access to: most common amongst the gear they would bring with them were the personal energy fields of the Van Saar on Necromunda, devices which could be attached to one's wrist and activated at will to provide the user with night instantaneous protection from incoming fire. Not only that, but they excelled at negating strikes in melee where they functioned just like shields of ages past to keep an enemy at bay.

The shield was small, it was effective, and it worked consistently at diminishing incoming fire and even deter melee weapons. In this way it was an automatic inclusion to Tristan's designs for a suit of armor to wear, for if he could just call forth a shield as he willed it would improve his chances of surviving a battle while costing him almost nothing. To this end he traded resources from his allotment in the Dodekatheon with a member of the Mithril Dragoons to obtain a set of the rare wargear, only mildly wondering why the Dragoons might need equipment necessary for mining. Perhaps it would prove vital to some future mission of theirs?

After obtaining the Van Saar energy shields the difficult part was studying the technology and replicating it as he did not have access to the STCs of the technocratic noble family, though due to the radiation emitted by those very STCs that was perhaps a blessing in disguise. Recreating something by hand took much longer than if he had all the information before him, but through dedicated study and testing Tristan was able to replicate the defensive tool. It may take years to get it just right, and many existing shields may be broken in the meantime, but if it meant progress towards his goal it was worth it to Tristan. Intuitive understanding tempered by hard work was how he had recreated an autocannon once upon a time and it was the exact method he applied to all of his work even years later.

The one who assisted most often in Tristan's testing was none other than Brechung, who appeared to have gained respect for Tristan following the younger Astarte saving his life. Tristan, lacking a particularly social nature, did not seek out such a bond himself but still regularly engaged in ways which built trust between him and his fellow member of Urkamus Squad.

Being the reliable sort, Tristan would always do what he said he would and followed directions to the letter, shown by his methodical sticking to procedure during the Forescien invasion until extenuating circumstances saw him unable to comply. When he was not capable of something Tristan would note it and instead offer solutions based on what skills he did possess, always working to assist his allies where possible without overselling himself. On the battlefield knowing that the man next to you would do their job relieved burdens on you, and in this way Tristan stoically carrying out orders without question made him a well-known factor in the constant chaos and variability of a battlefield.

When the occasion came that Tristan made an error in his actions he was the first to recognize it as well, being very self-critical and prone to overthinking but also being capable of growth because of this very nature. Whereas friction in other squads may form over the mistakes of one Astarte or another that they collectively did not own up to, in Urkamus Squad blame was assigned squarely with whomever was at fault, no obfuscation or hurt feelings permitted. Given that Tristan was methodically testing tactics, firing patterns, and such the amount of apologies he had to make were quite grand, but with every battle the number was diminishing more and more as he came to better realize his skills.

Perhaps most important to Brechung and why Brechung chose to be around Tristan was the fact that Tristan respected his boundaries and did not press the typically quiet Astarte to talk. If anything Brechung was the more talkative of the two when together, as Tristan would often be lost in some schematic or in the middle of construction which limited his focus on 'trivial' matters such as socialization.

Brechung did not often say much about himself and that was just fine for Tristan, who in turn trusted him and saw Brechung as flawed but more capable than Levente in that they possessed seemingly similar talents for melee combat while Brechung could also engage in thought-provoking discussion thanks to his years of experience. Rather than the mutual enmity with Levente it felt like Tristan could benefit from Brechung and that Brechung in turn would benefit from Tristan's presence on the team, and so ironically became the two closest members of the team in part by being the two least disposed towards social endeavors.

Whereas Levente was once the one responsible for nearly all injuries suffered by Tristan outside of warzones that honor now belonged to Brechung, who after handily beating Tristan down in training or testing would only give a terse statement after.

"Again."

That phrase would be used until it was clear that no further combat could take place, and each time Tristan found himself on the losing end thanks to the chasm of experience between him and Brechung. Even so he continued to spar with the taciturn Astarte because few others could match Tristan's endurance and be so willing to assist for hours if not days in testing every permutation possible of how something performed in battle.

After one particularly grueling combat session Tristan lay on his back, too battered to rise under his own power and his mechanical limbs laying beside him in various states of disarray from where they had been carved apart by a Power Lance. In his head Tristan was already going over ways to better protect them from various Power weapons since his efforts thus far had not immunized them, but his calculations were put on hold when he noticed Brechung sit down beside him upon the workshop's floor.

"Survival is important, but something tells me you have more than it on your mind," Brechung noted the continued testing of armor done by Tristan without judgment but rather curiosity.

Tristan was exhausted but able to speak, and so he continued to lay where he was as he envisioned the ghastly form of a Daemon Prince, "There is a man I must kill."

"Levente likely shares such a sentiment."

Brechung surprisingly possessed a fair sense of humor, and so Tristan merely rolled his eyes beneath his newest iteration of helmet. By adding material between his shoulder and neck Tristan's neck no longer was as vulnerable to enemy attacks, preventing possibly lethal hits that could take him out immediately despite his general durability. It restricted his head movement somewhat that his head morphed into the shoulders of his Power Armor, but Tristan could barely turn his head in his armor to look as it was so it did little to alter the situation.

"If I told you I knew how it felt would you believe me?"

That caught Tristan's attention, and so the younger Astarte turned his head to Brechung to show his interest. With his newfound confidante now listening Brechung continued on, able to tell even without seeing Tristan's face beyond his helm that the young Astarte would be listening.

"Do you know what saw us through the Great Crusade?" it was more of a rhetorical question than a genuine one, as Brechung followed up almost immediately afterward, "Brotherhood. Loyalty...for together we were able to overcome seemingly impossible foes and were capable of bringing the known galaxy to heel under one banner. We each had our place, and while not all could obtain the glory of the likes of Kharn or Abaddon we could rest assured that our sacrifices and the turmoil we faced were for a greater cause. That through it all our brothers were at our side, and that even if you should fall they would carry on fighting for your behalf."

Brechung paused so he could let out a soft breath, pausing as he mulled over his own history.

"Then Horus enacted his folly. Brother against brother, Astarte against Astarte, and so there are few of us from then without some degree of personal tragedy," he stated in his typical flat, soft-spoken tone that hid his emotions well, "I was betrayed, lost everything I thought I knew, and despite every wish in my being I know I can never recover what was taken because of one man."

Tristan said nothing, not wishing to disrupt his fellow Astarte while he was still speaking and gathering his thoughts both, instead waiting until Brechung would be finished.
"Time does not heal all wounds, but it can give one perspective," Brechung eventually continued with a wry, bittersweet voice born of remembering an ancient grudge, "I hated that viper for taking something so irreplaceable from me, for helping dim the future we had all sought to realize, and for replacing the Emperor's ambitions and will with narrow-sighted arrogance."

Finally he turned back to Tristan, his voice growing flat once again as he dialed back his emotions.

"I could spend every moment left of my existence repaying their injuries and slights tenfold, seek to destroy all that they had built, but that will not change what has happened. Those pursuits alone will not accomplish what needs to be done. There are countless battles to be won, innumerable foes to cut down, on the path to what we seek. The path to reclaim all that has been taken from us can ill afford such personal pursuits and vendettas if we are to achieve true victory."

Despite how reserved Brechung was at the moment despite his inner-turmoil it was the most emotive that Tristan had ever seen him, and that vulnerability was an unfamiliar experience to him. His years of eschewing most forms of social contact meant that he did not particularly know how to respond, resulting in his continuing silence. Eventually Brechung mustered the words he meant to speak again and did so, his voice that of a tired soldier who still knew what they were talking about.

"But righteous hatred can play its role like many others, and so I wait for when the time comes that I may serve our cause and repay those who betrayed our Emperor in a single stroke," he gave a nod to Tristan, "I have never once seen you lose your composure in the years I have known you, not outside of when you are faced with the horrors of Chaos. You should nurse that hatred for them, but do not let it control you."

Brechung regained a bit of his humorous wry tone again, as if to mock himself as he spoke, "In spite of everything I believe in the value of loyalty. To oneself, to one's brothers, and to one's cause, even after witnessing a turbulent era of betrayal layered upon betrayal. Perhaps I am a fool for placing my trust in others even now, but I do truly believe in our Warsmith."

Tristan finally found an avenue to talk through and so nodded, "The Warsmith is a good man."

Brechung nodded back softly, "In this uncertain age there are precious few who are what they seem, and the Warsmith is one of those few. An honest man with a steadfast and tested devotion to what we once all sought in the Great Crusade. To steer Humanity back upon the course it was meant to take. So long as he survives he will work towards that end even if it means he must face personal hardship or loss, and he has the talents necessary in a man to enact great change: intelligence, strength, and the charisma to command the loyalty of other such men."

There was little argument to be found in Tristan given his own experiences and his firsthand knowledge of the Warsmith's nobility, but before he could properly respond the voice of the Warsmith himself rang out over the base's speakers and his visage appeared on various terminals as Jarn occasionally did to send out a message to all of his men at once.

Quieting down alongside Brechung, Tristan wondered just what the announcement was this time as he stared at a nearby screen at his workstation he used for such occasions.

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The Warsmith stood with an Imperial Battleship at his back, the golden cathedral of a vessel having been captured in a recent albeit unintended conflict, and his face was not covered at all as his rigid face spoke with the directness one could expect of a Kimaran.

"I address all members of the Iron Legion as your Warsmith, Trahaearn Jarn. Today begins the official construction of our fleet, and the beginning of our future empire. In the years since the Great Crusade and what is now known as the Horus Heresy it is no exaggeration to say that Humanity has fallen, now standing on the very precipice of complete annihilation. The Imperium of Mankind has had its title appropriated by a splinter faction that is comprised of ignorant traitors to the very ideals the Emperor once held."

Jarn shifted to gesture towards the camera as if to signal each and every man watching the broadcast, his figure imposing yet not threatening as he did so. If anything his voice possessed within it a righteous fury that his men could channel as well, Jarn speaking as if the sole voice of reason in the raving asylum of the galactic stage.

"We, the unbroken sons of Perturabo, have not lost sight of the Great Crusade's purpose and objective. Unlike others of our kin we have not fallen to become slaves of the Ruinous Powers, nor begged for forgiveness and rejoined the bastardized Imperium that once used us. For centuries I have never forgotten those who have sacrificed for our cause, for not only the prosperity and survival of Humanity, but for our vision of Utopia. So many with their hearts pouring all that they can into the outcome that we know is just, a future which they might not see but which they would build a bridge towards for others to possess."

With indignance the Warsmith threw a hand back at the ship visible in the dockyard behind him, its frivolous heraldry and religious overtones an affront to someone who had fought for the enlightenment of Humanity as envisioned by the Emperor himself.

"In direct defiance of the Emperor of Mankind's desire this false Imperium has turned our noble leader into the very thing he once decried, a figure of devout worship and religious fervor. None can be faulted for venerating him as the apex of Humanity, a symbol of its potential, but the God Emperor of Mankind he is not. We may pledge our eternal souls to him to be free of the grips of Chaos upon death, but it is by his very wish and desire that we do not feed the Ruinous Powers of Chaos through false worship, even of him."

It was obvious to all witnessing him speak across the station and within their fleet that their Warsmith's outrage was genuine, not blind hatred but rather a reasoned disgust that called them to action. While dour as a culture the Iron Warriors were not without the ability to be inspired, and it was by a similarly cold man rallying them that they could properly have their spirits lifted. Just as a soldier needed time off to recover between battles so too did they need reminders of why they fought, of the righteousness of their cause and the error of one's foes, and so it was that Jarn stood confidently before them to give their spirits the boost they needed after years of fighting small engagements to build towards those that they truly sought after.

"The Imperium would trample all beneath their heel who recognize this contradiction in their society's foundation, and we know this to be true, for rather than punish those who cross the line as the Emperor once did his son Lorgar the Imperium exists as the antithesis: they slay any and all who dare question their dogma, driving many of their citizens right into the arms of Chaos. They both fight and feed the beast, dragging the civil war we once fought within out across millennia, and the proof of their hypocrisy lays behind me."

"It is obvious that this vessel of their Ecclesiarchy was created in direct defiance to the wishes of the man it claims to honor and worship. It serves not as an efficient combat vessel, but rather a blinding beacon of faith and opulence. What more do you need to know of their vile intentions than to witness where they would allocate their resources even as billions fall in endless war to Xenos, Chaos, or even decadent infighting like we once experienced? They would appeal to virtue while possessing none!"

Calming himself even as the energy of his forces in their various stations, rooms, and halls rose to deafening levels thanks to a surge of rallying cries, Jarn continued.

"The journey ahead of us is long, and for years we have waited, but we are not the reckless sons of Jaghatai Khan who act with unrestrained haste. No, we are the Iron Warriors, and we act with slow purpose to achieve our ends without fail. We stand united, for not one of our cause who will turn from their duty, as it is together that we shall find victory. The day we declare war against all who would turn their backs on the Emperor's vision is approaching, and on that day we shall do whatever is in our power to bring our dreams into reality!"

Jarn clenched one of his fists before raising it and his tone along with it.

"We may bide our time for now, but each day our cause grows stronger thanks to it, and when we have reclaimed the unconquerable world of Kimara never again shall we fall. This vessel shall be stripped of all its treasonous visage and one day be remade as the flagship of our fleet using our accrued Standard Template Constructs and the ingenuity of our Dodekatheon. We shall ignore the whispers of false prophets and their gods, and instead stand true to the cause we have fought for all this time. For the Emperor! For Utopia!"

By all approximations it would take them decades to accrue the necessary tools for the retaking of Kimara, but after waiting so long it was naught but a small frame of time for one as unmoved by time as Jarn. For his men they had heard what they needed to hear and their spirits would be high for quite some time to come, and by the time they needed further inspiration they would hopefully have more victories under their belts.

Concluding his transmission, Jarn sent out a second and more selective message, this one going out only to certain members of the Mithril Dragoons.

File: (XX-XX-XXXXX-XX:XX)
Taskforce: β-Ω-Indigo (β-990 Blackout, β-190 Barricade, β-205 Blight, β-186 Breakdown, β-985 Bombshell)
Operation: PRIDE'S FALL
Status: Commence
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A/N: Thank you for reading, Happy New Year, and I hope you all enjoyed and will leave your thoughts in the comments below!​

 

[Thunderscourge]

TENSIONS OF WAR

Production facilities were an important piece to any military operation, something which held true even on Kimara where no official conflict was taking place. Kimara's civilian population had been harshly depleted by the Imperial tithe paid by their present planetary governor and was set to total decline thanks to the lack of men to procreate, but even then the native Kimarans numbered in the millions. It meant that they could not properly protect each and every Fortress City, and so a consolidation had taken place in the proceeding decades over certain more financially viable cities to the planet where the Fortress Cities unable to maintain a proper garrison and defend themselves had their City left nigh abandoned by decree of the Governor. As many of Kimara's fortresses were solely in existence for military purpose it was considered natural that these 'outpost' cities be left unattended while moving their workforce to a more beneficial section of the planet rather than continue to upkeep allegedly unnecessary facilities.

This did not however completely solve the issues faced by the population collapse, as while Kimaran women were able to take up many of the roles of their husbands, brothers, and fathers they were unable to be in two places at once and carry out their own original tasks as well as those of fully trained soldiers. For this role the Planetary Governor had begun to import greater and greater numbers of soldiers from the nearby planet of Wostyn, with whom he had served in the Imperial Guard and achieved military honors with such that many of them were granted honorable discharges from their service. By utilizing trained soldiers to fill in for the lack of men it on paper solved the problems faced, and given the poverty of Wostyn after its complete ruination by the Iron Warriors and Kimarans in ages past hiring them came cheaply to Governor Conomor.

At first it was just some thousands recruited from those men originally serving under his command, then tens of thousands, and more recently their numbers had swelled to reach the millions as recruitment expanded to include untrained men barely older than children, pirates who saw greater opportunity for wealth within the law than outside of it, and convicted criminals who could serve their sentence under the watchful eye of penal officers. Wostyn had little to offer but its people themselves given the present day status of its world, and since they had so little before they grew fanatically loyal to the kind governor who solved their economic woes and Kimara's population decline in one fell swoop. That they were tasked with violently upholding his rule came as little issue as they had no love for the Kimarans, who showed none in kind to their ancient rivals.

Despite his allowance for the brutality required to demoralize the population into subservience the Planetary Governor did keep the mercenaries hired on a leash, for until he had complete and total control over the world an uprising born of shared mistreatment would be a brutal affair for all involved. Each Fortress City could fire upon numerous others with their Earthshaker cannons, their variants, and other forms of artillery and so while individual crimes could be overlooked the mercenaries were kept from pushing the envelope too far. Those who did tended to be from the ranks of the lesser trained or criminal aspects of the mercenary force, granting the Governor some public goodwill when he would see to their punishment for public and egregious crimes, but ultimately it was him who set loose soldiers and criminals with generations of anger at Kimara's population.

With the presence of the Wostyn military a civilian uprising would be nigh impossible as things stood, for while Kimaran women were not averse or untrained to deal with the dangers of their Death World many of them lacked experience in such matters. Before they had been primarily involved in homemaking and civilian endeavors such as agriculture, and to send mothers and farmers out to battle against veteran soldiers would be to invite disaster. The lack of a newer generation also meant that they as a population were aging and less capable naturally of combat as the ravages of time took their toll, further weakening any possible uprising's chances of success. Right after the Conomor coup against the Jarns the world was looked after by the watchful eyes of the Imperium and so the chance to overturn things in their youth had been squandered by the threat of full Imperial invasion, and so now they were forced to suffer through their undignified situation all the while possessing natures too stubborn and prideful to admit to it.

That they were loyal to what they believed to be the legitimate ruler of their world was of course the most restricting factor of why an uprising was unlikely, especially since the governor spent a great deal of resources building up his image with the public as a war hero from his time in the Imperial Guard. The lack of military training was another, but perhaps most inhibiting was the lack of tools to wage armed conflict in any way other than artillery. A civilian uprising could hypothetically arm itself with the few weapons they could salvage from any defeated soldiers and would have access to their city's own artillery, but unless they sought to kill their fellow Kimarans they could not rely on artillery alone to free themselves. It was in this manner that modern Kimara was well guarded against external foes, but lacked a proper defense mechanism to deal with ones allowed through the front door by their leaders.

For a proper set of weapons to wage war they would need to have them produced, and to have them produced in such a way that would not draw attention. That Kimara had a great deal of mining done across its frigid landscape meant that the industrial mining tools sometimes utilized by Genestealer Cultists could prove useful, but to have them produced for nonexistent mining operations would require allies within the local Mechanicus that the Commandant did not yet possess. If enough production capabilities could be set aside for their needs then they could be ready for open conflict if things came to that, and in time they more than likely would as the Governor and his cronies grew ever bolder in their depraved actions.

To try and kill him would just result in some other Conomor stepping forward to fill the vacuum, and in the time that took his soldiers would have their leashes cut off and the pain and suffering they inflicted until now would be made paltry compared to what they might do then. In this way conventional warfare was the option left on the table to them, and while it would no doubt cost many lives the Kimarans held the homefield advantage by knowing their planet far better than their adversaries. Wostyn soldiers were skilled at hit and run tactics rather than defending static stations, while Kimarans were not the most suited to shock tactics and rapid assaults while proficient at sieges, so neither side was in a position to play to their strengths.

Tension was rising, and while the idea of rebelling against an Imperial-backed force once again was far from the mind of the average Kimaran the necessary sparks leading to such an event were rising with each passing day. An uprising now would mean the death of Kimara as a world and culture, its remaining population receiving the final blow necessary to finish their proud people's legacy of suffering and the world free to be repopulated by the Imperium as it once did Cadia. Even those longing for their freedom from the Conomor regime knew better than to openly oppose it, and those hidden from its ever watchful surveillance would prepare quietly until either the day came that revolution was at hand or that the Planetary Governor and his men came cracking down their doors.

With the bloodshed spilled in wonton acts of cruelty over the years it was only too easy to find and target those with growing anti-government sentiments as those who mourned their loved ones or who survived the brutality harbored their resentment with eyes open to the propaganda surrounding them. For their justified beliefs they were routinely purged under the veil of protecting the peace and security of Kimara, when in truth it was the lack of peace that was being covered up.

Perhaps sensing the growing animosity towards his regime, Governor Conomor had begun to raise his public profile gradually to appear as present and forthright a leader as those of ages past on Kimara. With soft blonde hair lighter than his tanned skin he was a natural spectacle to witness upon Kimara, his family's history dating back to its founding when the population's typical appearance was not yet established and so always having stood apart from them. Their ties to other worlds that the Conomors would travel to meant that he was not so starved of natural daylight as those on Kimara as to appear ghastly like them, and despite having retired from active service he remained fit and thin even after years of hedonism enjoyed behind closed doors.

While being around a century in age the Governor appeared like a much younger man, extensive work having been done to retain a vibrant and youthful appearance. Dressed in tailored military garb that exuded regality with a flowing fuchsia cape and brilliant golden trim across it his already unique appearance was made all the more eye-catching, something which made his public marches through the streets surrounded by a sea of personal guards an even greater spectacle. On occasion a mournful survivor would try and fire upon his pristine visage, but never would a bullet find its mark: not only did he proudly use a personal energy field taken from the Jarns' own vaults that could deflect a great deal of incoming fire, so too did he possess a seeming unnatural speed and grace that made him all the more exotic to witness in the flesh.

Whatever he might not be able to protect from an assassin would be blocked by his guard retinue who were possessed by a deep Imperium-driven religious loyalty to the Governor, for he was the chosen leader of this world by the God Emperor of Mankind's own servants. Not only that almost all of the men under his direct command were former comrades of his on the battlefield, and he warmly showed them his favor and benevolence which further drove their dedication. That the Governor was widely hailed by their homeworld as the savior, a Kimaran who had finally apologized for the actions of his people's ancestors (while also bringing attention to the fact that his own family, the Conomors, were 'victims' of the Jarn dynasty as well and not complicit) and provided aid and effort to the financially unstable world of Wostyn to help alleviate their suffering. Their families could prosper under the relief provided to them by his policies, and for all of these reasons those directly surrounding the Governor were unquestioning in their loyalties.

So when told to crack open the door of a suspected family of rebels they did so with righteous purpose, the governor marching with his comrades proudly through the streets of whatever Fortress City was being swept of alleged terrorists. With their raid's commencement their overwhelming retinue would burst into the homes of these traitors to Imperial rule and gun down whatever armed resistance they might face, ruthlessly cutting down the Jarn dynasty revolutionaries who dared to oppose the Conomor and thus Imperial rule. These renegades would dare to hold themselves above their Imperial kin, and in striking them without mercy they were forced to face the consequences of their actions. The Governor himself would be present at most of these sweeping operations, making certain that no dissidents remained and that all in connection to the criminals were eliminated for their heresy.

The young, the elderly, the infirm, and the healthy, it did not matter what they were, if they were believed to harbor unsanctioned beliefs they were to be dealt with the same. The Conomors had been brought to power under the will of the people or so they claimed, and so those that opposed them opposed Kimara as a whole. To question that was to invite such a visit to your own home, and so silence reigned. Those who were without a doubt guilty might be then paraded before Kimara's population as extremists before being executed after an alleged trial that was wholly a political practice rather than a judicial one dedicated to justice.

On such occasions Governor Conomor would speak to all across Kimara in broadcasts of the execution, using his uncanny charisma and sway over others to make those who might question the events believe in the narrative his regime was putting forth.

"Oh how it pains me to do this, for these are our kin we have toiled beside in protecting our dear world, and yet they have turned their backs upon us. My dear comrades and I are merciful to our very core, but the law is the law and as abiding members of the Imperium we must see to it that those who question His majesty and threaten our security meet swift justice," he would say as if with a heavy heart for the consequences of his own actions that would go wholly unaddressed as firing squads formed behind him and took aim at the political prisoners.

"This is for the good of our people, and let it be known that I will not tolerate any such heretics who would seek to impose the tyrannical jingoist ways of the Jarn family upon us again! Through their expulsion from our society we may yet save ourselves from falling to the folly of our past, and so while we as the children and worshippers of the one true Emperor may mourn their straying from our path we should feel no regret for their divine punishment!"

Such proclamations would then be followed by the executions of those rounded up, and so another day upon Kimara would pass 'peacefully' and 'without incident'. After all, if you questioned the circumstances of any of this you might be perceived to be a heretic and renegade, so it was best to keep your head down and accept that those obviously guilty insurgents brought their fates upon themselves.

That very loyalty and trust in authority practiced by the Kimaran people safely for millennia beforehand had become the very chains by which they now were enslaved to an uncaring and brutal regime.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

There were numerous Mechanicus facilities upon Kimara spread throughout its various Fortress Cities to prevent any one region from becoming a priority target for invasion, for capturing or otherwise incapacitating the world's production of war materials would mean crippling it in the long run and leaving it vulnerable to a siege. It was for this purpose that even the primary Mechanicus stronghold, known as Fakultat colloquially despite possessing a more technical designation like other Fortress Cities, was not surrounded by other such Mechanicus facilities but rather by particularly reinforced civilian cities. From them it drew its workforce in addition to its own population, and by keeping the Mechanicus separate across the world it helped restrain their influence and power since while a natural consequence of defending them from all directions so too were they threatened on all sides.

Fakultat might possess deeper meaning and purpose to the Mechanicus and the world's military production but it held little value to the Conomors due to its lack of export and financial gain. It was the oldest and most advanced of the Mechanicus' holdings on Kimara, but with its focus entirely on keeping the world's defenses replenished from wildlife, pirate, and Xenos incursions along with the personal pursuits of their Magos Biologis (known also as Genetors) it meant their forges provided no excess goods or services to trade with the greater Imperium. They had developed many of Kimara's unique variants of their wargear ranging from Basilisk cannons to Tauros all terrain vehicles meant for extreme cold, but their most notable contribution to Kimaran society was overseeing its thousands upon thousands of years of gene-crafting in pursuit of improving upon Humanity through biological albeit technologically manipulated means.

This tendency to push the limits of their technology and Humanity itself saw the local Mechanicus as outcasts and barely tolerated within the ranks of the greater Mechanicum, only staying within their graces due to the slow and cautious approach to their developments the Kimaran Mechanicus undertook rather than engaging in completely revolutionary experimentation. This gradual improvement and methodology was both a result of their Kimaran temperaments as well as a necessity given that to try anything greater could result in censure, thus eliminating any purpose and gains of the research done. It was better to gradually improve upon the Human form by removing things such as genetic flaws bit by bit than to try hopelessly to match the genius of the God Emperor's own genetic machinations where in short order he advanced Humanity's understanding of such technology by leaps and bounds.

If Kimara was to ever see the end of the Conomor regime its loyal sons and daughters would need access to not only civilian factories but the mighty forges of the Mechanicum, and for that reason Isolde had been sent by her father to visit Fakultat under the official purpose of overseeing and reviewing its defenses given recent migratory patterns of Yormungaros in the region. Due to the Conomors lack of favor the surrounding Fortress Cities in its grid had been left undermanned thus leaving the members of Fakultat more vulnerable to attacks from a variety of sources, and while the Mechanicus was adept at protecting itself that did not mean they could withstand a horde of Kimara's dangerous beasts setting upon them without sustaining major casualties. For this purpose sending a Commissar to oversee things was nothing out of the ordinary, with Isolde's presence merely being on paper to facilitate the restructuring of local forces to best prepare for the Yormungaros while maintaining cohesion and order.

Beyond that was of course Isolde's true motivation, her visitation being to facilitate connections with scouted influential and sympathetic personnel within the Adeptus Mechanicus. Their members upon Kimara were primarily drawn from the ranks of the planet and so shared in its burdens, with there being a deep rift growing between them and the regime in recent years due to the growing political strife on the planet. By being separate in leadership from the Planetary Governor and his forces the Kimaran Mechanicus had grown to house those with ill-will towards the direction their planet was heading, though this did not fully comprise their members. Those who had held grievances for whatever reason with the Jarn family or its regime had been granted enough support by the Conomors to rise above their peers, and in this way the main figurehead for the Mechanicus presence on Kimara was a direct crony of the Planetary Governor by the name of Shetth.

While not the top ranking member or the one with the greatest seniority Shetth possessed a great deal of influence and so in effect was their leading member, capable of making others bend to his will through authority rather than any form of charisma or loyalty. His arrogance was second to few throughout the Imperium, believing himself to possess greater intellect and insight than even the ruling lords and Archmagos of Mars, all the while possessing little talent that only was able to facilitate his rise through outside intervention born of his loyalty to certain influential elites upon Kimara such as the Conomors.

Much akin to Governor Conomor it was a rare sight to see Shetth out among his people, and while the ruling Conomor was making efforts to combat his seemingly out-of-touch persona Shetth was wholly unaware of such opinions held towards himself. On the occasion he might make a public appearance Shetth would likely spout some random trivial mechanical nonsense at length akin to a grandparent speaking of how things were in their day before departing without a response, as if he had been monologuing to himself. This repeated behavior had many members question if his systems were fully operational as he would often repeat the same topics in these rants, and snap violently if questioned at all while possessing no seeming capability for the logic the Mechanicus was known for.

If not for his connections it was unlikely such an individual would have ever risen to any position of power, but with his volatile personality and lack of deep thought it made him a useful tool for those who would benefit from seeing the Mechanicus' presence diminished and eventually brought entirely to heel. The Magos officially was both a member of the regime and the Mechanicus, and that was noteworthy as it made him allegedly twice as important and possess a greater deal of political protection, when in reality it just drew him ire from both groups since his actions permeated through both sections of Kimaran life.

That Shetth desired to spend his time with his fellow upper-crust socialites suited Isolde just fine, for it made coming across him less likely and it was well known that he held no respect or love for her father or any member of Kimara's Schola. Instead she went about her duties without seeking the attention of those who would impede her, carrying out routine inspections and meeting with the local defense forces to prepare them in case the Yormungaros did stray onto their territory. With a skeleton crew manning each of the nearby Fortress Cities the Yormungaros could appear at a moment's notice completely untouched by gunfire, for while a fully manned set of defenses would eradicate them at range there were holes in what they could cover at the present time.

From Isolde's initial inspection of the defensive capabilities present there was a heavy emphasis placed on civilian and Skitarii forces, for while there were members of the Wostyn garrison they were assigned to protect the innermost sections of the Fortress City and protect Shetth himself rather than the surrounding area. This meant that on paper enough support had been lent to the city to defend it, but in actuality they were capable of utilizing half their artillery at best while the rest was left to untrained or otherwise rookie militia members who were being drafted upon Isolde's suggestion after reviewing the local database for any individuals non-essential to the operation of the city that could still assist militarily.

With her authority as a Commissar Isolde was able to force even those who would typically grant orders to obey her will, and the hegemonic power structure on Kimara saw those local Mechanicus and militia forces submit without further question given her identifying characteristics. Upon her initial arrival Isolde had been asked about her business within the holy halls of the Omnissiah, at which point she was granted immediate entry when she showed them not only her documents identifying her as an official Commissar now but also a ring given to her by her father that had belonged to him as a personal mark. The Commissar had dealt with the Mechanicus in the past and so the iron and sapphire ring immediately identified her as a part of his circle with her armband and identification aiding the connection.

The only difficulty with the local Mechanicus came with Isolde attempting to bring Bo with her inside their facilities as she inspected them and arranged for their defense, as there was a longstanding ban of Ixolotls entering the Mechanicus except to undergo scientific study. This was done in ages past due to the absent-minded nature of the creatures leaving them vulnerable to causing accidents in their factories and forges, causing injury to not only the creatures but also staff and whatever it was they were creating. It was not done out of spite like more recent laws meant to cater to the distaste held for the salamander-like creatures by those from Wostyn, but rather for the safety of all.

Isolde had brought Bo with her due to her desire to have him learn from the various locales they visited, as while simple creatures Ixolotls could learn a great deal even if they did not properly understand what they were doing or why. If Bo was to be a helpful companion in her future he would need experience, and Isolde had no intention of leaving that to later, so he rode beside her on her modified Dirtcycle in a sidecar variant meant for Ixolotls widely distributed throughout Kimara to facilitate their transportation. Bo enjoyed sitting backwards on it for reasons known only to him, but he was perfectly content riding for however long was necessary to reach their next destination so long as he was with his owner.

To get around this ban, and certain that she could keep Bo from doing anything particularly unwise, Isolde stated her intention to have him subjected to a scientific study. This saw Bo through the entrance into the Mechanicus buildings she visited, the juvenile Ixolotl just happy to follow along even if he was not doing anything else at the time. Isolde made certain he was present when the Basilisks were being loaded, for while his arms had not developed enough yet to properly help rearm the artillery Bo still would begin forming the connection between the actions involved.

While Ixolotls were barred from entry into Mechanicus facilities on Kimara they did possess a counterpart in the form of Gudrus, a species of slug-like creatures that had adapted to live off of the industrial waste produced by the local Mechanicus. Their somewhat amorphous shape allowed them to thrive in otherwise difficult to reach spaces and their consumption of otherwise toxic or harmful substances made them quite at home wherever a factorum could be located. While young they would often find their home in smaller devices which led to the Mechanicus providing them specific objects to inhabit, and given their flexible bodies they would eventually be provided mechanized suits akin to those of Necromunda's Ambots to serve as assistants as the Gudrus grew large enough to inhabit them. Taming the creatures was simple enough given their fascination with certain types of technology that the tech-priests had ready access to, the creatures sharing a natural curiosity that was shared by their eventual masters that saw them drawn to recreational equipment such as skis and snowboards for reasons unknown but hypothesized to be a result of their amorphous and near liquid forms naturally being poor at travel over Kimara's frozen tundra.

Bo was particularly fascinated by the sluglike beings that only thrived within the factories and forges of Kimara, never having seen them before and so drawn to their metal golems they inhabited. It was a sign of the particularly biological bent to the research done on Kimara that their Mechanicus was able to create such contraptions, and while not particularly large they possessed the prerequisite strength to handle the roles often left to Servitors with servo-arms. Unlike other Imperial planets Kimara was almost wholly lacking in the usage of Servitors, their culture's nature being such that they were considered cruel abominations of flesh and steel that had no place among their ranks. Kimarans were expected to have the self-sufficiency to handle the more menial tasks of Servitors were tasked with rather than rely on a Servitor to take their notes for them or open doors or other such trivial matters.

It is almost certain that the longstanding bond between Kimarans and Ixolotls factored into their usage of Gudrus in the factories where Ixolotls were not permitted, as while an Ixolotl might get in the way without knowing Gudrus were so malleable in structure that they were unlikely to suffer harm should they get caught in a machine's inner workings. If not for the attachment between Kimarans and another semi-intelligent creature throughout the years it was likely these servants of the Omnissiah would have simply exterminated the slimy creatures feeding off their industrial waste as other members of the Imperium might. Instead they cultivated the creatures in such a way that they would mitigate the environmental effects of their work while also contributing to the required manual labor to streamline production, thus proving superior to the Servitors they had replaced albeit requiring the presence of a factory to thrive and thus limited in their presence across the world.

Bo's interest in the Gudrus would help facilitate Isolde's meeting with one of the scouted Mechanicus members who could become a potential ally within their organization by the name of Mahla, a young member who had survived battles against the Yormungaros in recent months after being deployed on the frontlines to fend them off due to the lack of defense personnel. Witnessing their destruction firsthand and the slaughter the beasts carried out among her peers also forced to engage them directly had left a mark on Mahla, knowing that lives could have been saved had the self-named 'Sons of the Emperor' from Wostyn been deployed to assist them.

Not only had she been granted reason to become jaded with the status quo, Mahla was also among the ranks of those tech-priests on Kimara dedicated to scientific discovery and progress rather than the stagnation the Imperium was now defined by. With a desire for knowledge and capable talent in her fields Mahla was exactly the type of individual that could be better served by a more supportive political structure. Her youth did not prevent her from finding success in her technological pursuits, even possessing her own hand-crafted augments that assisted her in her work. The tech-priests of Kimara were less likely than their counterparts elsewhere to replace parts of their bodies such was their pride in their physical form, but that did not prevent them from adding to their bodies mechatendrils and similar devices that could assist them in their work.

In a turn of fortune Isolde's interest in recruiting Mahla to their cause was matched by Mahla's curiosity with Isolde herself, for while Mahla possessed the well-sculpted physique one could expect of a Kimaran woman Isolde was a complete anomaly in form which thus drew the curiosity of a member of the Magos Biologis. Isolde was a puzzle to be inspected and solved, and it was not difficult to see why.

That Isolde drew the attention of a particularly curious member of the Mechanicus was not surprising to her, as turning heads was something Isolde had grown quite used to while she grew into a young adult. At just under seven feet in height Isolde possessed a striking figure now that she was fully grown, towering over even many of her male compatriots at the Schola in particular those who came from off-world and lacked more typical Kimaran features. That around half of her height went to her athletically sculpted legs only made her appear more striking, balancing lithe muscles with a distinctly female curvature that made her height not simply give her the appearance of a flagpole.

Perhaps most grabbing in terms of Isolde's figure was that while retaining her thin figure it was proportional to her size and not seemingly anorexic, best exemplified with her distinctly gene-crafted hourglass features that saw her waist narrow, her hips wide with thighs to complement, and possessing breasts that each were larger than her head in seeming tandem with her overall height. At nearly the height of an Astarte it was only natural that Isolde's features would be so far beyond the norm, appearing more like a particularly tall woman rather than a spindly one whose height was not matched by other physical traits she possessed.

Whatever methods have been utilized to gene-craft her had left Isolde as a wholly imposing figure wherever she would go, drawing not only attention but the natural awe Humanity was hardwired to associate with particularly tall individuals. Her paleness matched with her flowing mane of jet black hair and icy blue eyes instantly labeled her as distinctly Kimaran, and the mixture of height, beauty, and general appearance was evocative of female Kimaran rulers from ages past. Perhaps that was the intention of whomever created her to be the way she was, but such matters were not discussed with Isolde herself and were beyond her focus: to the Commandant's daughter there was always more work to be done, training to be repeated or expanded upon, and so such idle thoughts were to be left to those who bore witness to her near mythical and eerily crafted beauty.

After exchanging greetings at the tech-priest's personal laboratory Isolde offered Mahla a bag she had brought with her, the contents of which were revealed to be raw currency once Mahla opened it. This surprised the tech-priest, who despite wearing a mask which concealed her face still managed to convey her confusion through a small tilt of the head.

"Statement: explanation required," was Mahla's response, her voice even and robotic and demonstrating a particular quirk that differentiated her from the other tech-priests Isolde had encountered so far.

Isolde nodded back to reaffirm Mahla that this was not just some gift or some form of payment, but rather a donation, "The Commandant is sympathetic to the losses your people have suffered without recompense. Civilian, Imperial servant, or otherwise we all are daughters of Kimara and if we do not look after one another then who will?"

Her words seemed to have the intended effect upon Mahla, who looked down to the small fortune just handed over to her as Isolde continued in a solemn yet reassuring tone.

"It will not bring back those you have lost, but the missing incomes of families can doom their prospects or even survival. Please pass this along to them so that they may get through these difficult times."

Mahla furthered her line of questioning to ascertain the remaining issue she held with accepting a large sum of their world's currency, that being the origins it possessed and whether it would have ramifications should she take it.

"Addendum: purpose understood, source of fund appropriation left unknown and within question."

Isolde grinned, finding the thought to be well-meaning even if it was implying there might be something dark hidden about the donation, as it was a smart thing to inquire about if only to claim later that it was accepted under the express statement that it was clean money, "The funds are not stolen if that is what you are concerned over. Every credit comes from the Commandant's own personal account."

This finished Mahla's curiosity about the subject, finally accepting the funds in full and placing them away where they would be safe until she could grant it to those in need of it, "Statement: explanation acceptable. Compensation for losses shall be distributed."

With the matter handled Isolde found herself asked to have her 'perplexing physical form' studied with some basic scans and tests, to which Isolde acceded to help ingratiate herself to Mahla. If the Genetor desired to learn about her body then Isolde had little objection so long as the tests were not particularly invasive, and it could always help Isolde understand her own body better. All of her medical tests in the past had been handled by a specialist arranged by her father, so this would be her first time having her body inspected in a scientific manner outside of that.

As Mahla put Isolde through a battery of tests she spoke, proving to be quite talkative when given the opportunity even if no-one in particular asked about the subject at hand. In one such instance she explained what set Kimarans apart from other types of Humans in regards to their musculature, explaining that, "Statement: Typical Kimaran constitution range greatly exceeds homo-sapien average, only falling short of Astartes range and distinct Abhuman strains. Type one muscle fibers standard quantity vastly outnumber type two counterparts, resulting in immense natural endurance at the expense of bursts of force and agility."

Her explanations and statements could largely be boiled down to the fact that while a Kimaran would not be winning footrace competitions with the fastest members of other worlds they would outlast physically almost any not-Abhuman peer in raw endurance. While not particularly fast runners they still possessed the necessary components in their bodies to react rapidly which was most noticeable in their marksmanship, but possessing such hand-eye coordination to properly hit a target at range did not enable them to perform particularly well in closer engagements where the sudden twist of a knife would matter more than how well you could angle and finesse that knife to stab. They possessed precision above initiative in such matters and that was a strength they played to in their defenses where properly aimed artillery would matter more than rapid-fire instruments.

Isolde did not mind that it took over half an hour to properly survey her body with all of Mahla's various scanning technologies for right now the Yormungaros were estimated to be hours from appearing and the Fortress City's defenses were currently rearranging themselves as per her instructions. It would take time for them to accede to her demands and so Isolde would have to wait for them anyways, so spending this time gaining a possible ally was a worthwhile endeavor in her mind.

Upon Mahla's completion she gave a long list of basic information about Isolde ranging from her height to her eye color, largely covering things Isolde was obviously well aware of until she began to speak about Isolde's internal composition. First was a comment about her suspected reproductive health to which Isolde did not comment, but did listen intently to given that she had always wished for a family that she never could have given the social circumstances on Kimara.

"Conjecture: projected fertility of subject highly divergent. Optimal gynecoid pelvis and musculature for parturition and carriage beyond baseline Kimaran structure."

To hear that she was equipped for motherhood yet knowing she would be unable to attain it due to the lack of suitable partners struck Isolde in a way she had not expected, it dealing a blow to her typically prideful nature via her personal softness regarding family.

While rattling off other information gathered Mahla mentioned another anomaly and irregularity she observed in Isolde's body, quickly drawing Isolde's attention away from her woes to instead focus on the somewhat worrying details being raised.

"Observation: a myriad of abnormal organs of unknown origin located within abdominal region. Integration comprehensive and natural given excess organs possessing Human genetic strain. Subject should not possess averse side-effects, pending further research."

In less complex terms Isolde possessed supplemental organs in her body atypical to the Human form, but not only were they seemingly natural parts of her they were distinctly Human in their genetic formation. This seeming contradiction drew Isolde's attention and caused her to press Mahla further on the issue.
"I would appreciate if you would explain further."

"Addendum: preliminary inspection reveals organs to be inherent to body without sign of tampering or implantation. Genetic inheritance or gene-crafting likely explanation. Replication in offspring possible."

Whatever these unknown organs were they not implants placed into her, rather they were genetically formed within her by all indications and might pass down to her own hypothetical children. Further information on their purpose was unknown, though the proximity of one to her chest and the seeming link between it and her well endowed bosom seemed to inspire Mahla to further test the subject.
"Assessment: results incomplete. Biopsy required, full amputation for functionality recommended."

Isolde brushed Mahla's instruments away while casting a bemused glance, sensing that Mahla was stating that Isolde's chest was impeding her and was unnecessary and so should be sacrificed for scientific study. Whether there truly was a link between one of the organs and Isolde's enhanced form was certainly an interesting scientific question, but Isolde was unwilling to be someone else's test subject in such a way. She was proud of her body and had worked hard to maintain it at the peak of fitness, and so to dare subject it to mutilation would betray her efforts in maintaining it. Mahla might be correct that having a pair of breasts so large that they would be an encumbrance to a typical woman was a drawback, but they posed no burden to Isolde and she did not suffer from any of the typical health issues associated with such a physical feature. That itself might be a result of her different physical structure perhaps influenced by these organs, but Isolde was not going to begin having others poke around her and prod her like some lab rat.

"I am as I am meant to be. I would threaten to remove tenfold anything you take from me, but such an arrangement may be considered optimal to a member of the Mechanicus."

Mahla nodded, accepting this even if she was still curious about the subject given that this was her first experience with such a unique circumstance, "Supplication: biopsy option available in perpetuity for scientific inquiry."

"While your scientific endeavors and progress possess my support, I am afraid I must firmly decline any personal experimentation. If you must hack away at a body I notice you possess similar attributes to first test," Isolde replied with a nod over at Mahla's own curvaceous body that was the baseline for their planet.

Without missing a beat Mahla responded back while gesturing to her mechanical harness on her body, "Answer: encumbrance negligible. Augments supplement physical form sufficiently to counterbalance possible complications inherent to standard Kimaran female form."

Before the subject could continue further it was interrupted by the noise of something crashing onto the floor, drawing both women's attention over to where Bo was climbing atop a workbench. He was inspecting various tools while Mahla's personal Gudru attempted to stop him, only managing to make matters worse in the process by knocking over other objects with its less than precise servo-arms built into its suit. Bo's tail wagging back and forth and thumping up and down was hitting things he was unaware about, and so the reason for Ixolotls being banned was demonstrated all in one short display.

"Upa."

Mahla repressed a sigh as she watched the young Ixolotl begin running around without seeming purpose on top of her station, "Observation: signage concerning beryl toned salamanders is visible upon entry."

Isolde was used to Bo's antics by now and so just left him be, able to see that there was nothing he could actually damage where he was and thus the only thing that could come to harm was Bo himself.

"Consider it a learning experience for him."

Mahla did not share this lax attitude on the matter, "Cautionary: Mechanicus facility possesses various hazards."

Bo managed to trip off of the workstation and tumbled onto the floor, shocked for a moment about his sudden tumble but ultimately unharmed and thus unperturbed about it. Instead he found himself fascinated by the scanner he fell onto, it being one meant to study brain activity in Humans and animals to help facilitate the Genetor's research.

Perhaps unsurprisingly when it automatically scanned Bo little brain activity was to be found.

"Then it is all that more important of a learning experience," Isolde stated as she too repressed a sigh, looking forward to the day that Bo's youthful energy was expended and that he would be as reserved as his father Olym.

Despite Mahla's reservations about Bo's presence in her laboratory she would moments later find herself looking after him, for in the distance the rumblings of an oncoming horde of Yormungaros made itself known. Isolde reacted swiftly and grabbed her gear, rushing outside to confront the beasts head-on with the forces she had spent the past hours organizing.

The Yormungaros were approaching faster than anticipated and in greater number if their noises were any indication, and so there was not a moment to lose.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

Verita had a part to play in the machinations of the Commandant just like Isolde and Dairine did, though hers were in an entirely different arena. Where Isolde was rallying others to their cause and Dairine was eliminating those in their way, Verita was the one gathering information and learning the truth about various subjects that would prove beneficial to them. Becoming the acolyte of Inquisitor Kravin had brought additional duties to her, but they were things she likely would have undertaken even without his instruction due to their importance.

The Inquisitor had tasked Verita with investigating specific irregularities in the Conomor regime which saw her interacting with and ciphering through their mountains of bureaucracy, for despite any other failings it was a strength of the Conomor regime to make all their paperwork, laws, regulations, and related material all look exactly as it ought to be under Imperial rule. This made it an arduous task that would bring most to their heels but to Verita it was something she could sort through as if placing pieces of a puzzle together bit by bit, and that was why she had been chosen by the Inquisitor in the first place. She possessed a straightforward clarity that allowed her to cut straight through to the heart of things and understand them, and that was an invaluable trait when dealing with a nest of corruption, lies, and falsification.

How Verita decided to go about her investigation was largely left up to her by the Inquisitor perhaps as a test, for so long as she achieved results and brought him more pertinent information on the Conomor regime it was enough to satiate him. His own work kept him busy as he met with officials, traveled to see to Imperial documents held off-world related to Kimara, and otherwise approached the subject from all angles to ensure that a once traitor world was indeed still loyal. This left him with little time to meet with Isolde in person, and she instead often was passing along her reports to the local Deathwatch forces that served as his personal enforcers in this matter.

Due to her parents' possession of it the enigmatic box Verita had acquire some time ago remained a focal part of her investigations, for not only did their historical studies seem to involve it somehow the box had led Verita to numerous places of importance upon Kimara. If all of its destinations were so significant then continuing to follow it might shed greater light on their situation, and so Verita followed its lead when it revealed itself occasionally upon the full blue moon of Kimara. First had been the site of the Iron Warriors' arrival to Kimara, and second had been an abandoned outpost used by a pair of young political refugees whose family had been persecuted by the Conomor regime.

There Verita had found a diary kept by the younger sister up until her passing, having died of starvation waiting for her elder sister to return with food and supplies while unaware that her sister had been caught and been disappeared by the Sons of the Emperor. Only by fully going through the log detailing the horrors endured by the two had the box shown the next letter in its seeming code, as if the only way it found the bearer worthy of possessing its information was by possessing the empathy to fully listen to the tragic story told.

-O----E-

While this could have been overlooked as a simple method of siphoning out those who would take the effort to inspect the abandoned facility and demonstrate personal care for those who suffered, it also told Verita something else: the box was relatively new, for it had been made in the time between the arrival of the Wostyn garrison around two decades ago and her own family's deaths when she was quite young. Whomever made it had put it together for a purpose in the present day of Kimara, and what that meant was unknown as of yet to her but it did at least help her understand its context better.

Outside the base Verita had noticed that someone had buried the deceased sisters, something that would require no small amount of effort given that it meant retrieving the body of the elder while also digging into the hard ground of Kimara frozen solid a thousand times over. Whomever had found them was likely also whomever made the box, and they displayed an altruistic side in doing so by seeing the two victims of the regime laid to rest despite whatever difficulties lay in accomplishing it. While not entirely conclusive it did make Verita believe that perhaps whomever made the box had similarly positive and well meaning reasons for doing so, further strengthening her resolve to discover what secrets lay within it.

This quest for knowledge brought Verita to the next location indicated by its coordinates, that being the current capital city of Kimara as ruled by the Conomors. In years past the city had been named after the Conomors in honor of their memory as a part of Kimaran history, making the aptly titled 'Conomor City' a natural location for the Conomors to reaffirm their claim to rulership over the planet. The Fortress City had been reinforced as had those around it to mirror how the Jarn's own palace and its city had been deeply fortified, for while the Conomors might despise the Jarns there was still plenty the former rulers had done that would be foolish to not mimic. To take the city would be nigh impossible, especially given that the most accomplished and veteran soldiers from Wostyn served directly there to protect their benefactor while the more expendable trash were left to deal with more peripheral cities where casualties were inevitable no matter your training or discipline given the sudden onslaughts Yormungaros could wage.

It was thus here that the Conomors dictated the course of Kimaran society as well as its discourse, for Kimara's many defenses included those against external subversion. The Imperium had worried that the Iron Warriors might return one day to lay claim to the world with all of its resources, and so they had set the world's communications in such a way that no unwanted messages would pass through to the population. The rulers of Kimara and its Imperial oversight were the ones to determine what could be broadcast, and this had helped over the years shift Kimara to being a loyal member of the Imperium despite never forgetting its grudges and history. Through the Jarn family the populace had grown to respect the Emperor and his ideals even while holding disdain for their personal treatment by his servants, and so Kimara had refrained from rebellion for thousands of years.

Under the Conomors this focus had shifted instead to venerating the Imperium as a whole and also the Conomors themselves, for while the Jarns did their part to instill a cult of personality among their people they were humble by nature despite it all with it being a trait passed down through the generations seemingly by choice given their gene-crafting. The Conomors however took it to another level, utilizing outright propaganda, lying or omitting facts about situations broadcast to taint the views of their citizens in a particular way, poisoning the well of their ideological opponents, and outright ignoring pressing issues that ought be reported because it would detract from their image. This practice of misinformation was disgusting to Verita who valued the truth above all else, and so upon seeing the capital city she readied herself for whatever she was going to witness within it.

Getting through its security was a simple matter for Verita given her ties to the Schola and an Inquisitor, the latter of which was nigh unquestionable and so even those who might deny her entry were forced to allow her in. The coordinates given to Verita by the box were specific enough that she knew she had to visit the Conomors' personal palace and so she wasted no time in making her way to it, passing through numerous checkpoints on the way and being waved through each of them. The city was beautiful from a glance, though a closer look revealed the signs that not all was as fine as it would appear to be: podiums to carry out executions, slums, and other such signs of societal degradation were evident throughout despite the beauty of its buildings and even military fortifications.

Upon her arrival at the palace there was a single word in Verita's mind to describe it and all she had seen thus far, and that was 'excessive'. Atypical was the architecture on Kimara that was complex and not designed for function and military purpose, and the Conomor palace was one such location. Possessing architecture on its outside best described as sinuous and organic, its colorful curvature and asymmetrical design possessed a unique flair at every given point that set it far apart from the simplistic designs to be found in other Fortress Cities. Gates were not simple slabs of reinforced metal but rather spiraling designs with bright heraldry and openings as if to grant the viewer a glimpse at what lay beyond without truly revealing it in full.

Compared to the spartan living style of the Schola it was extravagant just to behold, and the near organic appearance to everything was uncanny with archways possessing details evocative of ribcages. Elsewhere one could witness stained glass like one would find in a cathedral lining the walls in complex patterns while walls being made of sculpted stone rather than hard metal to show off innumerable forms of artistry in each fine detail. All throughout one could view Imperial eagles either as statues embedded within the architecture, edges and towers emblazoned with golden wings or beaks, and entire sections of the palace shaped to evoke the very same imagery when looked at from afar.

Such wealth and opulence being visibly displayed was fairly new even to the Conomor family itself, as historically their members while affluent still possessed a degree of the financial humility shared by others of their world. Such considerations were apparently lost on the current Planetary Governor, but with armed guards posted in excess throughout the palace and its exterior it was just as likely that he was aware and simply did not care as to the opinions of those outside.

Even if the palace itself was not built specifically to withstand a military attack the city around it was, as each Fortress City upon Kimara was designed with the same philosophy which saw them segmented and reinforced such that even if part of the city's structure fell others could reinforce and be closed off. This was important given the constant threat of Yormungaros upon the world since if they dealt damage to one section of a city the rest would not be condemned to the harsh elements of Kimara, and if a military invasion were to take place one block of the city falling would then be partitioned off from the others by the very same rapidly deploying walls and structures to prevent further incursion. This then would leave the invading force vulnerable to artillery fire from other nearby Fortress Cities that could bombard the specific segment of the city and eliminate the attackers without causing further harm to the city's other areas.

With each Fortress City possessing similar designs and architecture as envisioned by Trahaearn Jarn himself it made repairing and reconstructing fallen sections far easier than a more organic city might. Nearly every part of a city had its blueprints well documented and replicated all throughout the planet with only specific Fortress Cities possessing more unique designs, while most only possessed unique flairs in their innermost cores where their most civilian endeavors took place. The Conomor palace was itself a complete aversion to this and its sprawling nature saw it unlike any other building throughout the world, perhaps throughout the Imperium, and so it stood structurally more vulnerable than the militaristic and brutalist structures found elsewhere.

As a display of their alleged openness the Conomors had allowed public tours to take place within the halls of their palace to better appear as if they were leaders of the people, when in reality witnessing their personal abode only made native-born Kimarans uncomfortable with how extravagant it all was. The ones who truly enjoyed such displays were the tourists that the Conomors would invite from off-world, typically from Wostyn but sometimes from other more distant worlds as well, to draw them in and show them their vision of Kimara's future rather than having them witness the more native culture of the world as practiced by its people for the past ten thousand years.

Due to this skewed target demographic Verita found herself as the only native-Kimaran on the tour she was able to freely sign up to join, being surrounded instead by a small fleet of mothers and their children from Wostyn. Very few of their number had come over to Kimara as of yet since almost all members of Wostyn on Kimara were those hired for military service, which Wostyn did not permit its women to join, but more recently the Conomors had made overtures towards inviting civilian members of Wostyn over as well to be with their families. Despite official proclamation by the regime that they were not engaging in the age-old Imperial practice of replacing less trustworthy populations with devout loyalist ones to run a world more securely it certainly felt like this was the beginning stages of such a move, setting the stage for the eventual migration of Wostyn's long aggrieved population to a world with greater potential while phasing out the bitter and cold Kimarans who would never truly possess complete loyalty to the Imperium given their eternal grudges they held.

The guide of the tour, an offworlder turned Kimaran man by the name of Psittac Iformes according to his nametag, however proudly proclaimed that the Governor proudly welcomed these prospective members of Kimara and that such loyal members of the Imperium would be accepted with arms open. After all, anyone who did not want loyalist members of the Imperium upon their world must not properly pledge allegiance to the God Emperor of Mankind, and that such thoughts were heretical and worthy of censure. He seemed unaware that within the crowd he had an actual Kimaran despite Verita standing taller than all of those around her, the tour guide's focus instead being on the first row of the crowd since he was shorter than them and could not see up over them at where Verita's own head was well above the others.

Perhaps unsurprisingly the tour was uninspired in terms of content, being a basic historical overview of Kimara, the Conomors, and the palace itself which were basic information for a Kimaran but fascinating to those from offworld. The historical tale told was one of years of tyranny ending with the liberation from the Jarns, something that even from the most objective of standpoints was egregiously inaccurate, and so while the tour guide rattled off facts and information Verita used it as an opportunity to think about the subject herself from all of the myriad of sources she had studied until now. The tour would take awhile since it was moving at a glacial pace, the natures of Kimarans and Wostyns opposed once again with the need for efficiency causing Kimarans to move along at a brisk pace to go from one task to another while the lack of almost anything on Wostyn left its populace free to take their time engaging in travel. This relaxed attitude towards punctuality and efficiency made planning around Wostyn patrols difficult at times, but in this instance it left Verita time to think over the subjects at hand.

The Conomor coup took place with the promise of reformation, of changing the current social paradigm and freeing the planet from thousands of years of dictators. By removing the current nobility common citizens could be lifted up, their rights could be expanded, and their overall wealth and prosperity improved. Under their rule all would be equal, all would prosper through the reformation of the state, and the eradication of the social classes of old. According to all the records these claims had proven accurate, though what was laid upon paper did not always convey the full truth.

The Conomor family had instituted public elections for their offices, but any verification of the results was obfuscated or outright refused by the political entity. Thus while the people had more power invested in them it was stolen away as the cronies of the Conomors continuously found themselves brought into power as if they were appointed rather than elected. Restrictions on public behavior had been lifted after millennia of strictly enforced laws had kept order, but such expanded freedoms were largely enjoyed by the wealthy elite while they ultimately had little impact on the day to day lives of the average Kimaran. With the Conomors opening trade with Wostyn and other Imperial planets far beyond what Kimara had ever done previously it had resulted in massive growth for their planetary economy, but the spoils of this growth almost exclusively rested in the hands of those running such enterprises while local businesses suffered from the competition thrust upon them all at once.

Life was not perfect under the Jarn family's rule, but their leadership had proven consistent and reliable throughout the ages in a way atypical for dynasties. This longevity could perhaps be explained by the planet's almost homogeneous personality and set of values which they themselves shared, and with the same sets of genetics from one generation to the next thanks to specific gene-crafting each successive Jarn leader was similar to the last or even a superior iteration.

The last reigning sovereign had been named Trahaearn as had all of the firstborn sons before him, and while lacking the Astartes physique of their predecessor he still greatly resembled how Trahaearn the First might have looked if not for his transformation into an Angel of Death. At over seven feet of height, possessing a broad musculature, and with jet black hair upon a rugged face he stood as a model for all other Kimaran men physically while his mind was shrewd and quite capable of the expectations placed upon him. His execution had been carried out the same night as the coup took place, for so long as he and his kin lived then so did the hope of restoring his dynasty. What's more, it was fully expected that a public execution would have caused even more of an uproar than what was faced in the immediate aftermath, making his death for allegedly undermining the Imperium all the more important to carry out far from the public eye.

What truth may lie in the accusations levied against the second to last Trahaearn was well shrouded almost a century after his passing, and so discovering the truths of that turbulent era was all the more important for one dedicated to deciphering reality from fiction. Even the records of what happened specifically with Trahaearn's son of the same name were vague and at times conflicting, all of them ending with the boy's unfortunate yet almost certain death given how his body was found, but details concerning it were where they differed. There were still those alive who had witnessed his corpse which lent credence to the outcome, though a full investigation would need to be done to properly determine which story was true. Other stories yet told of numerous sons that official records had removed from documents to cover either their existence and their execution, and such was the myriad of tales caused by a century of disinformation and conflicting narratives forced upon the population.

During the tour Verita noticed an opportunity to slip into the palace's personal library, and so she did so when no-one was any the wiser. To enhance the leisurely feelings of those within guards were only posted to prevent entry to the upper sections of the palace as well as at the entrances and exits, with no seeming care given to a library of all places. Listening to the propaganda spewed by the guide had left quite the bad taste in her mouth, and given her authority granted through Inquisitor Kravin she had a right to inspect whatever documents lay within the library. Her location was known and recorded in a multitude of methods, and so should anything happen the Inquisitor would be aware and be able to take retaliatory action which left her with a degree of security here within the Conomor's own halls.

Verita would ironically possess less attention away from their government buildings, for out in the wastes of Kimara accidents could happen that could not be tied back to any particular party while here in this public section of the building there were enough watchful eyes that they could not act with impunity towards someone as untouchable as an Inquisitor's acolyte and proxy.

Most of the books and documents within the library were entirely for show, being there to make the Conomors appear well-read and knowledgeable about a wide variety of subjects but it was evident that many of the books present were too well maintained to have ever been properly read through. They were properly dusted and kept from appearing untouched, but a lack of any personal touches to the texts that would come of accidentally bending one page, staining a cover, or otherwise warping them was quite noticeable as was the crisp sensation of touching their pages that had never been cracked open before.

It was obvious that this was not the personal study of the Conomor family and just was here for appearances, though that did not preclude it from having anything worth paying attention to: in their hubris front and center among various displays within the library was a historical text concerning the Conomors, and so Verita decided to take a look after she went through a few of the other books present. After all while the Conomors were prone to being generous with their own motivations and history seeing how their history was told in a book by an external party that they favored enough to feature would prove illuminating, as it might shed light into their mindsets at the least that this text was chosen over however many others existed on the subject.

So nominally used was the library in favor of the Conomor's personal study that some hours passed by without interruption as Verita deciphered what valuable information lay within the texts she had chosen. While not particularly groundbreaking she did come across one piece of information that caught her attention, that being that there was a member of the Conomor family from the time of the Great Crusade who was conspicuously absent in most books concerning the family. All of the ones she had referenced thus far had made no mention of him, but in this one book as if by oversight or by discovery on the hand of the author the name 'Phrixus Conomor' was mentioned.

Unlike other members whose lives had paragraphs or pages dedicated to them his took up little space besides how he was the son of the onetime ruling member of the Conomors and a mistress, as any records referenced in this text regarding him only reached up to around the age of ten. After that Phrixus was completely unmentioned as if he had disappeared or perished, and given the downfall of the Conomor family in the time period it was possible that these events were related. There were copious statements and theories about how the Jarns had eliminated the other Conomors with poisons and such underhanded means to usurp their power, but no such explanation was provided in this instance.

Instead it appeared as if Phrixus was some source of shame that had been mostly hidden away from history until now, and so Verita took note of the cited texts so she could look more deeply into them moving forward. While a child disappearing ten-thousand years ago was not likely important on its own it could shed further light into the survival of the Conomors and their inter-family politics in the present day if any of those alive now were his descendants or from a rival branch.

Timing it so that she joined a subsequent tour through the palace, Verita slipped out of the library without anyone seemingly being the wiser.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

After departing the palace and going through numerous security checks again Verita was left free to roam the capital, and she still had plenty to do while there. The obsidian box had not reacted to the palace the way it had other landmarks she traveled to, instead granting her a second set of coordinates to travel to as if in addition to where she had just been. These new ones would require travel, but first she had a contact she had made before within the Wostyn government that she had arranged to meet with.

It would have been simple enough to arrange the meeting with the informant through a vox communicator but Verita instead chose a more complicated method that would accomplish the same goal albeit with additional steps. A vox communication could and almost certainly would be intercepted by the regime's intelligence agencies, but a roaming Ixolotl would be overlooked as one in a sea of such creatures. Their actions were typically meandering and slow with Ixolotls often able to be found staring at a reflective surface, collecting or inspecting metal objects, or just standing around content with life rather than engaging in any meaningful activity.

For this reason even if one knew to inspect them for hidden messages or such materials the amount of manpower invested in such an endeavor would be largely wasted, as there were more Ixolotls than Kimarans in the cities after the mass exodus of their masters and any one of them could hypothetically be a secret courier of information. It was common for Ixolotls owned by someone to possess accessories or clothing to assist the creatures in their everyday lives or see to their comfort, so it would not even be as simple as narrowing it down to those wearing backpacks or other such methods of transporting goods. To ascertain what they were carrying within their various accessories would be a constant matter given their predilection of picking things up and keeping them in the various bags and pouches granted to them by their owners, and despite the tens of thousands of Wostyn soldiers recruited over the years to police Kimara's fortress cities the Ixolotl population outnumbered them.

Juvenile Ixolotls such as Seta went about their business with even less notice than their mature counterparts, as their smaller size meant that they were literally beneath the notice of certain cameras and guards who might otherwise see them. Despite their typically absent-minded nature Ixolotls were quite capable of being trained, it just was a relatively slow process even if it did mean they could engage in somewhat complex tasks other animals could not be expected to. In this way Seta had been trained to not only act as a courier for Verita, but the young Ixolotl had also learned to go about their business by backtracking and constantly changing directions so that on no two days were its movements the same. This kept patterns from being recognized in Seta's routes to deliver things as well as helped shake off any who might track her by continually joining and leaving other groups of Ixolotls standing around in the various cities they visited.

There was only so long a surveillance agent could watch Ixolotls standing still or moving around in seeming circles or other random patterns for hours before such an endeavor was to be called into question, and few Humans possessed the patience to match that of a simple-minded creature that was wholly unaware that it was being observed and would not care even if it did. Sending messages in secret through such means did take time, but given the reliability of Ixolotls to carry out their given tasks it was one Verita used without reservation.

Perhaps such methods were excessive and complex, but their success spoke for itself and never once had Verita's correspondence with various external parties been discovered. Her straightforward nature meant that she preferred keeping things simple, but that also meant that if the pathway to success involved complexity then she would engage in it without reservation.

The end result of this endeavor was a meeting with her informant in a back alley bar within the capital city's slums where displaced Kimarans had ended up for one reason or another over the years. Despite how seedy and dangerous it felt to be within the area there was little actual danger from the population as Kimarans were too proud typically to resort to things such as crime to make a living, leaving any danger posed in the area to patrolling Sons of the Emperor who would regularly harass and abuse those inhabiting the area as if they were prey ensnared in a trap waiting to be feasted upon.

It was not lost on Verita that the only consideration that her informant had was his personal wealth and financial well-being, and that if he had not crossed the wrong man higher on the totem pole than him he would have remained a part of the grisly regime now in place. He wanted a payout so he could get off-world, and he would get what he was looking for...so long as his information proved truthful and reliable. Verita was not above paying for information when necessary, and in fact had been granted a generous budget by the Inquisitor for such instances, so she would send her informant his dues when she verified whatever he had to say.

From their meeting Verita learned that the overtures of the Planetary Governor were in the process of being made real: that the regime's distaste for the native population was so severe that they would rather recolonize it with a population forever indebted to them, and that they were trying to rise tensions enough that they could speed up the time table regarding replacing the Kimarans. If the Kimarans were to engage in a large enough revolt that they had to be put down with the military then they could use it as justification to 'pacify' the remainder and sweep them out. They could not take direct action to see to this however as the risk involved was great, and so they were slowly grating on the Kimaran population to make them too broken and fragmented to wage a unified rebellion when things came to that. Once they were dealt with the planet's resources would remain, fit to be mined by a new population far more dedicated to the Emperor and without past loyalties to a traitor Legion like the Iron Warriors.

It was a shifting and amorphous plan centered around evolving dynamics and situations, but it was hard to say it was not on track to completion: Kimara's collective spirit had been battered down in the past two decades, and with the majority of their fighting forces drafted into the Imperial Guard it would be difficult to properly rebel against an unjust regime's actions. According to her informant Verita learned that this plan was seemingly hatched in the Governor's many years fighting alongside the Wostyn soldiers in the Imperial Guard, having learned how deeply loyal they could be to their cause no matter what came between them and it, something he allegedly did not feel from the Kimarans he served alongside as well. He saw Kimarans as horribly flawed while the people of Wostyn as near perfect, and for that he brought them into his inner circle.

As a part of the tensions they were rising the regime had also seen fit to begin focusing on whatever grievances might arise between their civilians towards the Wostyn soldiers, igniting further resentment from the soldiers towards those they were meant to protect. A riot had been set to occur in the Schola's very own Fortress City until the armaments and supplies that had been funneled to help facilitate such an uprising mysteriously disappeared, though the propaganda to raise those tensions remained and so it would only take a small match to cause a much larger catastrophe. The lack of proper weapons in the immediate area would not stop the Sons of the Emperor from rioting against believed heretics to their beloved Emperor, and if the Kimaran civilians responded with their own force it would grant their government the excuse they need to step in officially. Everyone was being used by those in charge for their own benefits and goals, and the ones who would suffer would be all those caught up in the flames of a manufactured riot.

Following their conversation Verita obtained from the former official various plans and documents to confirm his statements, agreeing to his payment once she verified it all before departing to see to the box's second location: the former palace of the Jarn family, now long since abandoned.

By the time she reached a security checkpoint to depart her informant was laying in a pool of his own blood and that of the other bar patrons, the incident to later be broadcasted as a drive-by shooting done by disgruntled Kimarans.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Within his office in the capital the hefty man known as Wost sat up in his seat to reach over and take the incoming call pestering his ears, his attention having been focused on the feed of information being sent to him to filter through and determine what would be allowed to be known by the public and what would be censored. Elevating one story over another and downplaying other events impossible to cover up was just the everyday task of the regime's Public Intelligence and Information Bureau, and so it was an endless endeavor that he took pleasure in despite the long hours he worked. It was through him that power was held and expanded, and it was through him that men rose or fell in the public eye.

"What is it?" he grumbled into his personal communicator his beard now was intertwined with.

"The target has been eliminated, but I noticed that rat is scurrying around still. Would you like me to take care of her as well?"

Wost grimaced as he thought of that growing pain in his side Inquisitor Kravin had forced upon him, the propagandist irritated that she dared to continually question him or what his agencies stated. Such behavior had already been outlawed thanks to his work, but the Inquisitor's presence meant that to take direct action against her would result in severe consequences. He could always blame his agents or others, but the risk still remained that it could backfire on him and so he reluctantly allowed her safe passage...for now at least.

"Leave her be for now. Keep me updated on her whereabouts and what she is doing, and make certain you handle the traitor's body with caution. One man disappearing means little on a Death World, so do what you must to take care of the matter. And if the rat crosses any lines...well, she can join her dear informant for one final meeting in the snow. If it comes to that I want her here first, so we may learn what they know."

"Understood."

The line went silent, and Wost reclined in his seat with a puff of his cigar blowing from his mouth. For him there was no such thing as ethics, or truth, only power, for it was through power that you could dictate what the truth was even if it was directly contrary to the facts. Power was all that mattered, and those who believed otherwise were simply fooling themselves.

It was not yet time to fully bring Kimara to the truth they so denied, but that day was drawing ever closer, and if they refused to partake...well then they had their chance, just as he once did. It would be a shame if that annoying yet beautiful acolyte was among those to be sacrificed for the future, but if that was the cost then it would be paid, just as it had in the blood of thousands of other so-called innocents.

They were the chosen, the sons of the Emperor himself, and they would bring death to his foes.

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A/N: I am highly appreciative of your support on the last update, as it allowed me to write this one despite being severely ill recently. Expect more in the days to come because I have a lot more on the way, and so I hope you'll continue to lend your support as I work on it all!

Hope you all enjoyed and that you will let me know what you think in the comments below!​

 

[Thunderscourge]

THE DIGNITY OF LORDS

From the first view of it one could tell that the Jarn family palace known as Krakengard was wholly different than the more modern Conomor facility with close to nothing was shared between them despite both at one time being the capital building of their world. Raw and unadulterated symmetry was to be found in every aspect Krakengard, with meticulous detail and craftsmanship employed to ensure that the building possessed no blemish or flaw inherent to its exterior. Rather than artistry it was architectural and engineering precision that was prioritized in the behemoth structure that possessed bold and sharp edges in contrast with the Conomor's rounded ones. Wherein one you could find beauty and wonder, in the other you would find naught but awe and intimidation through sheer size.

It was indicative of the Iron Warriors who had once contributed to its construction that the structure had survived throughout the ages with minimal need for upkeep and repair, having been built to last like the Astartes themselves as they expanded upon and refined the designs of the Kimarans. This could largely be attributed to its lack of complexity and decor, as all that the structure possessed was what was necessary for its function and that function was to house the ruling family, allow for their governance to be carried out, and to provide military refuge in the case of a siege from which the entire city's defenses could be coordinated as well as all of those of the Fortress City grid it found itself within. Designs existed to allow the structure to be expanded to possess additional segments such as gardens and other such amenities, but these ideas had been shelved and left unexplored since the fall of Kimara to the Imperial Fists millennia ago.

To possess such displays of opulence on a barren and frigid world was considered by the remaining Jarns to be disrespectful of other Kimarans who knew no such comforts, and so those very grounds had instead been dedicated to government facilities that would see to the prosperity of their people. Rather than wholly selfless this was done out of a mixture of pragmatism and their direct nature, as directness was a Kimaran trait and even more so one possessed by Jarn's descendants. They were placed in power by their people to rule their world fairly and see to its survival and success, and so even under the Imperium's bootheel they would see to those very tasks to the exclusion of all else. Personal agendas did not factor into rulership, and so in this way despite the rebellion of their kin the Imperium came to accept the Jarn family as overseers of Kimara throughout the ages. They did as they were told and met their quotas while also remaining in the high graces of their taciturn population who sought determination and willpower in their leadership rather than raw charisma.

As a natural consequence of making a stalwart palace that could withstand enemy fire Krakengard possessed reinforced windows that were one way, only allowing those inside to view outwards rather than those without to view those within. Their reinforcement was akin to that of many Battleships in that materials one could view through were typically more fragile than those they may be surrounded by, yet to defy this they were crafted and embedded in such a way that they would not break until the structure surrounding them would. It was difficult work solidifying the necessary view outwards from strategic locations of the palace, but so seamless was the craftsmanship that if not for their differing color to the palace's walls the windows would be nigh indistinguishable. Just as the bridge of a Battleship might endure weapons that could lay waste to a planet, so too could Krakengard both from the ground and from orbit. It was this stalwart nature of the palace that saw it withstand the test of time as well as the coup, appearing no different after a violent revolution took place within it than it had beforehand.

The only complexity to be found in Krakengard was its military considerations with sloped segments, reinforced walls, and a series of sectioned parts to the palace that each could hold back countless more assailants. It was fitting perhaps then that the downfall of the Jarn family came from a sudden coup that saw their building infiltrated, as a more conventional army would have stood little chance of quickly decapitating the royal family before being surrounded by reinforcements or being bombarded into nothingness. The palace itself could withstand the very same artillery bombardments Kimarans were known for, with the defenses of Krakengard externally being based on those that could be found throughout the strongest edifices in the Imperium such as the Imperial Palace itself.

How the Jarn family came into possession of such detailed blueprints to enhance their defenses was unknown especially since many of the Imperial Palace's structural reinforcements came in the time leading up to and during the Horus Heresy, but it was assumed that the service of the Astartes on Kimara had in some way resulted in this, or that mortal defenders and veterans of the invasion of Terra later would influence its construction after the conflict. The truth could be simple or it could be complex, but the initial designs penned by Jarn himself were no doubt at some point further developed during his absence and few would complain about a Fortress City properly living up to its moniker, especially when few who would even travel to Kimara knew the Imperial Palace so well as to compare them.

Regardless it left a fingerprint, a trace of suspicion, on the mind of Verita whose very purpose now was to observe such irregularities and take note of them. Just as she had long since noted the gene-crafted nature of her fellow Schola students Isolde and Dairine well before the other girls at the Schola had, so too did she now notice an oddity that could not help but make her wonder if there was more to this seemingly unimportant detail. The Iron Warriors involved in the Siege of Terra had been those belonging to Perturabo and his Chaos corrupted kin, not the company kept by the first Trahaearn Jarn fighting their own way through the stars. The Imperial Fists who came to Kimara would no doubt never reveal such details, so then who else would have had access and supplied it willingly to Kimara?

There was no way to truly know at the present time so many thousands of years later, especially not after the Conomors did their best to obscure documents from what came before them to better control the minds and will of their people. It was an effective means to do so, of that there was no doubt, but it was still deplorable and held Verita's deepest scorn. Deception and truth were two sides of the same coin, for sometimes to reveal the truth you might have to deceive some to obtain it. Verita had to play on the trust and words of both her informants and her enemies, for it was by penetrating the weakness of individuals that cracks could be formed in a grander narrative shrouding the truth. If she had to lie to a few about her intentions or beliefs and betray those who had already betrayed the entire planet then that was a burden she would carry to enlighten the rest of the world as to whatever secrets they had kept or falsehoods they perpetuated in the name of their own power and benefit.

Perhaps it made her a hypocrite to lie to deceivers and unscrupulous foes when she sought truth, but the only alternative was to inform them of her true intentions and draw no information from their well. Then countless more would be lied to by those very enemies of truth itself, and so Verita cloaked her loyalties to the Schola, Commandant, and her adoptive 'sisters' in the veil of service to the Imperium. The Imperium would benefit from her actions as far as Verita was concerned, and so that was not even a lie on its own: it was just that it was a vehicle by which to see to her more personal motivations. Of discovering the truth of her family's circumstances, of helping her people both in escaping propaganda and in surviving their ordeals, and in ensuring that senseless bloodshed could be avoided and that victims like Umida could be prevented moving forward.

It was through this line of thinking that Verita had no issue misleading the Sons of the Emperor stationed at the Fortress City housing the now derelict palace of the Jarns that she was one of their peers by dressing in their clothing and using her height to pass off as a man. She had left most of her personal belongings in a similarly abandoned outpost nearby that she had reassigned the security codes to ones only she and her fellow Schola members knew, ensuring that any possible interlopers would not be able to readily access them. It was a gut feeling she had that she had been followed after departing the Governor's own city and so Verita had taken further measures to lose any possible trackers in the snowstorms raging across their world as she traveled to the relatively close location the box had led her.

The Fortress City itself had been among those evacuated over the years to move Kimara's population to certain more 'productive' locations, a questionable decision if one were to believe their stated reasons given the city's ideal placement within Kimara's defensive grid and access to resources. Rather than for efficiency, a core tenant of Kimaran life, it was almost certainly to prevent Kimarans from having an everyday reminder of their former leaders in the form of their palace. It had not been destroyed for historical preservation and was of peculiar interest to the Conomors, but as ever their personal motivations were shrouded behind rhetoric and platitudes meant to placate the masses they held under their yoke.

Verita had set aside various caches of useful items in the forgotten outposts spread throughout Kimara's wastelands, allowing her to easily locate this one in particular even as a blizzard swept around it. Obtaining a spare uniform was easy given Dairine's activities, with Verita having no false illusions about what her adoptive sister did whenever she disappeared for days or weeks at a time. All Verita had done was ask that some unbloodied and fitting uniforms be acquired, and one day she returned to her room to find a pile of them tossed over it haphazardly. That Dairine's ability to properly fold clothes or engage in other more domestic pursuits would be an issue to most Kimarans, but Verita instead accepted that everyone had their weak points. Dairine's was seemingly laundry (or more seriously her martial pride), just as Isolde's was her inability to forgive or compromise with those against her, and Verita's own weakness was her stubborn and relentless pursuit of the truth.

Some might call that a strength, but Verita knew that she was playing a dangerous game and that without the Inquisitor's backing she would have been 'disappeared' by now for turning over as many stones as she had. Even so she could not help but do so, it being her driving purpose since her earliest memories, always having been more curious than her peers and trying to figure out whatever puzzles were presented to her. When she was young this had led her to be fascinated by picture puzzles, such as the one Isolde had once interrupted her doing by accident as their first 'meeting', and as a young adult now she was drawn to more theoretical ones. It was near an obsession for her, and that was what had her chasing after such a mysterious artifact as the obsidian cube left behind upon her biological family's passing. So long as there was truth and knowledge to be found she would continue looking, and for those that controlled those secrets and would deny others information that made her a liability to be dealt with at their earliest convenience.

If not for Kimara's frigid temperatures it would be more difficult to pass off as one of the guards, but the soldiers from Wostyn were far from immune to the cold and so they had to bundle up even more than the Kimarans themselves. Kimarans would face similar issues on Wostyn given its intense heat but fortunately only Dairine had to suffer through such conditions so far, as Verita would find it unbearable. By wearing a uniform that concealed her figure and padding it out with equipment she brought with her to further hide her form Verita was almost indistinguishable from her 'fellow' Sons of the Emperor members even under a fair degree of scrutiny. If she was forced to speak with them she would have issues, but by feigning a hangover she avoided such a need.

It was regrettable that she could not just walk into the old palace without drawing unnecessary attention to her true motivations, as it would be difficult to explain why she would have to visit Krakengard while serving as a representative for the Inquisitor. If she did obtain permission it would be under the watchful eyes of the regime, limiting what she could do without possibly revealing secrets or information about the box to them. She had stolen it from them to begin with even if she saw it as reclaiming her family's property, and to use it in their presence could make matters complicated.

Even with all of this in mind she still found herself experiencing the natural awe that Krakengard instilled upon those standing before it as if they were insignificant specks, intimidating those beholding it rather than pleasing them. It was a remnant of an age long since past, as for all its magnificence it was nothing but an abandoned building at this point without a single soul inhabiting its walls. Security systems had been put in place to warn the local garrison of trespassers, but feeding them archived footage was a simple task for Verita who regularly had to go through recordings in her line of work. Disabling the alarms was another thing she had been forced to learn as a child to slip past guards and fortunately nothing fancy had been done with those placed at Krakengard after its fall since they were just there to dissuade Kimarans from touching this piece of their heritage.

Too much equipment would have made Verita appear suspicious for a member of this local garrison and so she had only brought a few tools, some of which she wore within her permanently borrowed uniform strapped around her stomach to balance its size out compared to her chest. The obsidian box was unable to fit and had to be carried in a satchel, with Verita utilizing one from Wostyn to match her outward appearance. The second most important item she carried with her was a handheld scanner meant to pick up on details not visible to the Human eye, allowing her to see fingerprints, stains, minor imperfections, and other such data that allowed her to possess increased understanding of surveyed locations. A flashlight was brought for visibility while for access to locked or otherwise inaccessible rooms Verita had the tools she utilized to fiddle with the video feeds and alarms earlier. A lasgun and helmet completed her ensemble, and while the lasgun would hopefully not be called for it could if necessary be utilized for defense or to shoot through something.

Actually entering Krakengard was simple as the gates had been left ajar since its fall, with vandalism, arson, and theft all prevented by an external energy shield that ran off the power grid of the Fortress City. Normally such a defense for the palace would be done internally, but as its own generators were offline it required external support. Getting through the guards protecting the power generators would be difficult and require direct interaction that would give away Verita's disguise, but tinkering with some wires that traveled to the palace to create a hole in the shield was simple since the Fortress City was so large that not every piece of it could be covered by the guard retinue present.

Drawing closer to the palace was an effort in and of itself given the long entrance to it that was consistent in its construction being designed to evoke the feeling of being puny compared to the looming structure beyond, Krakengard appearing even larger as Verita quietly made her way over. Just because she had taken precautions to mitigate the chance anyone would see her here did not mean something unexpected could not throw her into danger at the drop of a hat, and so she crept silently towards the palace steps. All along she checked the status of the black box to see if there was any reaction, but it gave no indication of unlocking its next piece yet and so she continued on toward whatever it meant her to see.

What lurked just beyond Krakengard's entrance was a surprise even though Verita was well aware of the building's history. Typically an urban battlefield would be somewhat cleaned up afterwards by the victors who sought to conquer a location, but Krakengard's innards remained instead as a monument to the slaughter that had been carried out there. While the bodies had been removed nothing else had been, and from the very first step inside Verita could tell she was standing atop blood-soaked tile. It was dark, but enough light crept into the palace that Verita did not require her flashlight to see yet, though it was inevitable that it would be needed the further she delved into its forgotten halls. The historical significance of the location drew her natural curiosity forward, desiring to uncover whatever secrets lay here whether the box meant for her to or not. To do that she would have to begin exploring, and so Verita ventured forward.

Pillars lined across the palace's primary atrium led to a single point, their repetition and height making their corridor appear to stretch on well beyond its actual length. At the end one would find the relatively narrow entrance to the throne room where the Jarn family once held court, the design of the opening one which would funnel any approaching force and make forced entry difficult beyond the deterrence posed by guards and the reinforced gate that could be deployed to completely seal the throne room off. At the present it remained open, appearing as if a dark void at a distance as one peered down the series of pillars. The foreboding sensation it instilled even now spoke to the success of its architects, further making any who approached feel small and insignificant before their destination.

If not for the fact the mithril gateway that led to the throne room was already open entering it would prove nigh impossible, but it remained as it had been the day of the dynasty's fall and so was untouched both by mortal hands and time itself. The construction throughout the palace spoke to the enduring mindset of its crafters, as here it stood a century after its complete abandonment without malfunction or decay. That it was open rather than destroyed spoke to the underhanded nature of the coup, as with every facet functioning properly it meant that someone had allowed the conspirators through to the throne room without the loyalists having the opportunity to rectify the issue.

The throne room itself was a grand hall that placed a great distance between its entrance and the steps of the mithril throne Kimara's rulers had led from for much of its history, the distance itself lending further to the feeling of one's own diminutive form. The throne itself possessed the natural hue of silver-blue mithril was known for and was crafted to seat not only the king but his queen and other select members of the Jarn family and its supporters as necessary, even accommodating the presence of advisers to lend their thoughts to their lord without outsiders hearing them speak across the court. While possessing a massive width and height both the throne lacked much in regards to decoration, instead possessing the same simple design and flat angular nature as the rest of the palace.

Stylistically the only flourish rather than functional form was the trident-like visage at its top, the throne's mithril having been shaped to come together before then rising from that single point in the shape of a three-pronged trident. Given the history of the Iron Warriors and their Trident and its Triarch members this was perhaps a deliberate design choice, though appeared little more than a source of intimidation for outsiders gazing upon it. Other design choices were purely for their value as a throne, such as heraldry and coats of arms belonging to the Jarns being on prominent display to feed into the cult of personality cultivated over the millennia towards them.

That the Jarns were known for their massive size meant that the thrones were built in such a way that they could be adjusted to the needs of those seated, be it a young man or be it someone who could tower over the average Astarte. While comfort itself was of little consideration soft materials lined the actual seats to prevent those atop them for long periods of time from unnecessary injury from the metal they rested upon, for while the mithril throne having been crafted as a symbol of power and Kimara's near unique material rather than for luxury that did not mean those upon it had to suffer.

Room also was present for Ixolotls to be seated by their masters, something that while soft to an off-worlder would command greater respect from the intended Kimaran audiences who would appreciate the sight of Ixolotls wearing a degree of regalia befitting of their status. While the Jarns might be disinclined towards displays of their wealth on their own person except as necessary, they were fine granting their pets shiny baubles to wear and be contented by and so various gem-encrusted crowns had been constructed over the years for royal Ixolotls. Kimarans did not tend to care about the opinions of those outside their culture and so remained the practice that might cause foreign audiences to balk without a single Kimaran raising a brow at such a display.

That places had been set aside for them to sit was perhaps why it was unsurprising for Verita to find some of the creatures lounging in the spots catering to their comfort, these wild Ixolotls having come to inhabit the palace during its abandonment and that of the Fortress City. Their low dietary needs were met by what they could find within the confines of the palace, and it appeared that many of the alarms set in place had been disabled in this location where they seemed drawn lest it always be set off by their wandering. Had they been domesticated Ixolotls perhaps they could prove useful for guiding Verita, but while no doubt amenable to interacting with her they would have little idea about anything she was saying. The palace was one giant shiny object to them with a shining throne and so they came here when no-one else was there to claim it, and so they sat contently despite not doing much of anything.

Verita decided to leave the wild creatures to their rest, instead focusing on deciphering how things played out in the throne room's conflict. An official story existed, but there were so many mysteries and rumors surrounding the subject that the investigative part of her could not resist the opportunity presented. To this end Verita retrieved the scanner from her equipment and began to use it upon the floor that was so discolored that it was obvious there was a major battle here. To begin she returned to the hallway leading to the throne room, approaching it like the assailants must have done to better get into the event she sought to recreate in her mind.

The faded stains and such remnants of the blood spilled drowned the floor, walls, and ceiling of the corridor leading to the throne room such that if not for minor specks untouched one would think that to be its natural color. Such was the concentration of the bloodshed that it was nigh impossible to make out any one splatter, instead it was as if a river of blood had flowed through with how brutally bodies had been cut down one after another. For the blood to have reached as much of the ceiling as it had meant that the dead had stacked up quite high, and with such a narrow width to the entrance they had no way forward but over or through the dead.

To hold back whatever hundreds of foes perished in that long hallway meant that the palace's defenders had stood their ground within that very zone and the immediate space after, as a ranged conflict would have spilled blood beyond the entrance of it as well rather than specifically within. The infiltrators had been able to open the mithril gateway to the throne, but blood against the gate's structure and the surrounding area made it appear that they had been pushed back to it after first breaching it. The royal guard of the Jarn family had reacted to the sudden intrusion swiftly, but they could not seemingly predict that there would be a betrayal that night that saw them besieged by a small army within the palace.

From that point the sea of blood began, Verita seeing through her scanner the relative patterns in which it was spilled and thus fairly certain that almost all of those who perished here had been the invaders. That meant that the blood within the throne room at least in part belonged to the royal guards, as Verita did not believe they would have surrendered under such circumstances. The loyalists were being butchered anyways and they had been betrayed, so of course they would fight to the end to secure not only their lives but that of their monarch.

At the mouth of the throne room the traces of blood were even more concentrated, with it appearing that a defensive semi-circle of defenders had held their ground against the oncoming tide of enemy forces. It was difficult to tell a century after the fact, but by the data given to her by scanning the location Verita felt it was safe to say that the defenders had been outnumbered by at least four to one. Holding a defensive position and possessing likely superior armaments meant that they would trade favorably perhaps well exceeding her conservative estimate, but so little direct evidence remained that it was impossible to be certain. She could approximate who stood where based on the patterns of the splattered blood and occasional partial outlines which formed around the fallen, but time had worn away most of what evidence had remained after the conflict.

With the same calculations in her piecing together of the series of events Verita found herself proud of the defenders, as where the blood splattered back into the throne room it was evident that not a single member of the guard had given an inch, dying on their feet and not retreating as that would grant the enemy the advantage of their greater numbers. It was the intelligent, honorable, and loyal move all at once without ceding any of these qualities she would expect of her planet's finest. They stood and fought until the end right where they had stationed at the entrance, their bodies forming distinctive traces that the assailants were unlikely to have left. The royal guard of the Jarns were known for bearing mithril armor and blades, spears to be precise, and so by thrusting, slashing, and beating back the invaders they would have fallen back, not forward more than not, so the bodies fallen laying towards the throne were almost certainly the defenders instead.

There was a brief gap in the bloodshed until where more Conomor servants had fallen, and given the messy spread that trailed into the rest of the throne room Verita hypothesized that this was where their Sovereign had personally engaged those coming for his head. That the blood stains touched the walls well above the average Human's height told a story of its own: someone particularly large had been beating them aside with such brute force that their bodies had cracked against the walls as they struggled throughout a tide of foes. As massive a man as Jarns were bred to be, there was ample evidence that the final Jarn to rule Kimara had beaten his attackers to death with his bare hands in addition to weapons.

Verita was not someone who enjoyed violence the way Dairine did, finding it a sadly necessary thing rather than a thrilling activity, but even still she could not help but smirk at the thought that the pinnacle of Kimaran society had quite literally struck and thrown his foes so hard that they were no better than ragdolls. That they cracked against the wall enough to splatter blood against it through their armor made the massive bio-engineered and gene-crafted size of the Jarn family was not for show, for while they were not Astartes having a physique reminiscent of them was nothing to sneer at. A normal man would be snapped like a twig by such a behemoth, and Verita would almost feel bad for them if not for their being assassins sent on behalf of eventual tyrants.

Some of the bodies that hit the walls were by the entrance, showing that the king had fought alongside his men and only was driven back when he was the last one standing and thus no longer could maintain the formation to stem the tide. Instead he had fought a retreating battle that continued across the entirety of the throne room, blood spilled all around in sporadic bursts as wounds were inflicted and bodies hit the floor. Every body would have been an insurgent, but the random, smaller splatters of blood were more difficult to discern the owners of which muddied the mental sketch she was drawing of the conflict. With mithril armor and powerful personal shielding the last of the Jarn dynasty had the defenses to survive perhaps a hundred men in close combat, something perhaps the splashes of blood would support even if they did not confirm after all this time with a bare minimum being twenty distinguishable body locations, but inevitably the desperate battle for survival would find its conclusion.

What was evident was that the Sovereign had met his end before the throne itself, his massive form and the weight of the mithril armor he wore having actually left an impact on the floor in addition to the blood that spilled around it. From what Verita could tell he had not gone gently, as four other bodies had fallen around him in ways that made it seem that he had killed them while knocked on his back. Those closing in around him had met the same ends as their peers before them, though a deep hole in the floor showed where a blade had impaled Jarn and ended his reign. That it drove so deep into the reinforced floor meant that it penetrated the thick torso of the Sovereign and his armor and then continued further, indicating a sword by its shape well beyond the normal height of a Human.

Either another Kimaran had dealt the final blow, an Ogryn had done so, or most likely an Astarte called to assist in the assignment dealt that final strike. Given that the Imperium granted them the manpower to launch the invasion the presence of an Astarte was unsurprising, but it did call into question if there was any connection to the local Deathwatch forces. Had he been fighting only unaugmented Humans it was likely the Sovereign could have lasted much longer, but the moment an Astarte entered the field of battle the already worn and wounded Jarn had no chance of victory. That he was able to resist long enough to still kill four more of his attackers was impressive to Verita, and she found herself respecting the last legitimate ruler of her home. He had fought to the end like his men before him, and to perish in battle to an Astarte was nothing to be ashamed by.

With her inspection of the throne room completed and no reaction from the cube Verita decided to search elsewhere, continuing her canvass of the palace, though not before noticing that the wild Ixolotls had taken notice of her finally. They did not do anything, instead choosing to remain in their comfortable seats, but their perpetually 'smiling' faces all looking at her lifted Verita's mood all the same after her somber investigation. The creatures might not care about her existence at all, but the sight was a welcome one after inspecting the stains left behind by blood for the better part of an hour.

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Curiosity about the other Jarns who perished in the attack led Verita to the portion of the palace dedicated to their living quarters, a section which comprised a large portion of the palace given the propensity of Kimarans and especially the Jarns to possess large families. Further traces of battle were evident as she explored the palace to locate the royal family's quarters, guards throughout the palace having died for their duty nobly albeit pointlessly given the eventual outcome. Their sacrifice was carried out to preserve those that now were wiped out in seeming totality, and that weighed heavily on Verita's conscience as she passed by what seemed to be where a guard had been impaled into a wall.

Upon finding their former residence Verita braced herself, for outside were more traces of battle which indicated that the other Jarns had been in their rooms when the raid struck during the night. Unlike the Sovereign who was a warrior to the end, this would be his Queen and children who were not in the throne room handling some official business but rather resting in their beds.

After steeling her resolve Verita stepped in and was met by the sight of more stained floors, this time having the blood's remaining traces splattered and coated over furniture, rugs, and more while everything around her was in shambles. Whereas the throne room had been bloodied it had mostly remained intact, but this location instead had drawers scattered from the dressers they belonged to, chairs overturned, tables flipped, and so on the chaos ensued. Rather than pristine and orderly like Krakengard's exterior this area had been rummaged through after the battle no doubt, as nothing remained untouched or unopened, but whatever they had been looking for was not easily found it they had been so thorough as this.

Sections of the palace Verita had passed by held similar appearances to this, but the living quarters were far more unkempt than any of the others she had seen thus far. It made reading the situation more difficult, but by working her way inward Verita tried to create a working hypothesis of how events played out. At first the guards held back the infiltrators, the assailants having invested most of their manpower into slaying the Sovereign and his forces swiftly to prevent his escape as a rallying figure. They dedicated a fair portion of their strength to this location as well but it was nowhere comparable, likely perceiving a Queen and her children too low a physical threat to warrant more focus than necessary to break through their guards.

Once they did force their way through the guards posted they were met by a sole defender, as the trails of blood all were too narrow and concentrated to be from numerous combatants on both sides. Small pieces of ripped cloth could be found throughout the wreckage with bloodstains marring them with their beginning forming at around where the rooms set aside for children lay, the master chambers of the King and Queen at the far end of the hallway opposite the entrance to the palace's subsection. If Verita had to guess the Queen had taken up arms to protect her children before falling as well, noting at least the presence of four assailants through the hall before coming to what likely was the Queen's own death.

From how she fell and where the blood flowed Verita had the feeling that she had been impaled in the upper abdomen, slain instantly more than likely given the evidence present. She fell forward onto a piece of furniture later overturned which Verita brought back into place, the Queen's blood having not primarily spilled outward like a stab upward would have caused but rather downward exclusively like a blade piercing down into her would. Whomever slew her was tall enough to stand well above the Queen, a feat given that according to historical records she was incredibly tall herself. Perhaps not as tall as Isolde, but possessing a height that proportionally matched her husband's by most accounts given the average heights of men and women.

Verita paused and mulled over the fact that both monarchs had been slain by someone of considerable height, wondering if by chance it was coincidence or if they shared a common killer. If it was an Astarte then impaling her from the back would be quite underhanded for their kind, but perhaps it had not been an intentional stab through the back? If she had turned to face another foe she could have caught whatever blade struck her in an unfortunate moment of misfortune, thus explaining the seeming break from typical Astarte combat behavior that saw them obsessed with their personal honor.

Ultimately the killer was secondary to the overall events, but it did still stand out to her and make Verita uneasy about the exact circumstances surrounding the Queen's death. More unnerving was the fact that Verita knew she would have to check each of the rooms around her to try and see just what it was that was so viciously sought after that saw the halls and rooms tossed like a criminal's hideout might be, and in visiting the rooms she would no doubt witness the remains of whatever happened to the younger Jarns.

Being uncomfortable did not outweigh her curiosity however and desire to find out for herself just what happened here, not what the censors and propagandists would have everyone believe. With this determination she pressed forward and stepped into the chambers of the King and Queen first, saving their children's rooms for after she first saw their own.

To say that the room had been eviscerated would be an understatement, the only things remaining untouched being what hung from the walls, and even those showed signs of having been shifted and replaced to check behind them. Anything of note had been destroyed in whatever mad search had taken place or had been removed thereafter, the Jarns' personal belongings confiscated for reasons unknown. Any attempt at a forensic analysis like elsewhere would be nigh pointless, as anything sought after could have been within the items removed from the room's discord.

The only thing that gave Verita pause was when she turned during her search and found herself face-to-face with a portrait of the Sovereign, a man whose face was as stern as any Kimaran's yet possessed the icy calm that had seen the Jarns rule remain strong throughout the ages. He resembled some accounts of what the original Trahaearn was said to look like, but a direct comparison was impossible after the disappearance of the original and the Conomors' removal of depictions of their family. As she expected the Sovereign had almost certainly been gene-crafted, something common on Kimara compared to elsewhere in the Imperium thanks to their Mechanicus and the personal beliefs of the planet's population, but given their power they likely had far greater access to technology of superior quality. What had become of it was anyone's guess at this point, but that investment in ensuring their leaders were mentally stable, intelligent, and physically imposing had allowed them to reign as unquestioned monarchs far longer than most dynasties lasted.

Still, to suddenly come face to face with the powerful stare of her world's last true leader made the typically headstrong Verita meek, bowing both her head and body before his piercing blue eyes.

"My apologies for intruding, my Lord..."

Once she recovered enough from the temporary moment of embarrassment for trespassing upon his personal quarters Verita noticed that beside his portrait was one of him, his wife, and the crown prince from when the latter could not have been more than three or four years old. The boy had the same icy blue eyes as his parents and shared their raven hair, but he seemed perhaps a bit smaller than one would expect a Jarn at his age to be, something that likely would have sorted itself out in time had he been able to have such a thing. Sitting upon his mother's lap, he held the innocence of youth even as he mirrored his parents' stoicism, giving him a precocious appearance that was endearing in a way.

His mother was visibly pregnant, showing that the rumors of there only being one heir to be false, though given what Verita had passed by it was unlikely that such a thing mattered now. The Queen was a beauty befitting of her role, no doubt having benefitted from similar gene-crafting as her husband had, and she possessed an appearance that demonstrated all of the typical Kimaran traits one would expect to see from how her cheeks were set to the shape of her nose. In that way she reminded Verita of Isolde, who had likely been engineered to possess those exact Kimaran features.

Beside that family portrait was where another ought to be hanging given the wall's fixture, but whatever had been there was missing. If it had been removed, destroyed, or was simply never filled in was unknown, though Verita felt that there was a present absence in that spot. Maybe a Jarn before them had used it and they had not yet been able to, perhaps it was something else mundane, but Verita noticed it all the same.

After the torn bedroom came those of the children, the closest belonging to the crown prince and resembling his parents' the most out of them all. Almost all personal touches and traces had been destroyed or removed, though Verita did find a damaged set of books and materials concerning the raising of Ixolotls. Given that his approximate age when he passed away was eight it was likely he had received one on Ixolotl Day and was like a child eagerly interested in their first pet. To support this was the presence of a small, albeit now destroyed, pool a juvenile Ixolotl could rest within.

Despite how many rumors surrounded the crown prince little remained to shed light on him, something Verita was disgruntled by but accepted begrudgingly as she could not wind back the hands of time to restore the room to its visual prime. With his room inspected she looked into those other rooms set aside for their family, finding two of them furnished as if for young children around the ages of 4-6, and another which was a nursery which possessed three beds in it that had been used. Verita could tell they had been used as their royal cribs had been stabbed through by something incredibly sharp and the blood of the infants which once rested on them having stained the surrounding spaces, just as the beds in the second and third royal children's rooms had been.

Verita fought the nausea that struck her immediately after witnessing the grisly sights, having expected as much but still shocked to witness it firsthand. That one detail and the fact each room had been searched through were the only details in common concerning the incident, and by staying focused it allowed her to piece together the next step in the series of events.

After the death of the Queen there had been no-one capable of fighting back against the assassins, and so they executed the children where they had laid in bed. One of the older children had tried hiding to no avail, and the others had been too young to understand what was happening or protect themselves in any way. Each of them had died in bed...but for one.
The crown prince.

Verita could not locate any traces of blood in his own room, nor could she find more than what one would expect of infants and young children in the others. The state of the hallway made it difficult to be certain, but it was likely that the blood there had belonged to the Queen and her opponents only as where it stained it did so in greater quantity than one would think an eight year old boy capable of. He could have been taken and slain elsewhere, or run and been cut down in the process, but from the faint evidence Verita possessed it seemed that the crown prince had not perished alongside his family. That would explain the area being torn apart, with the assassins desperately searching for him, but there were still many unknowns.

Where was he if not in bed? If he had been present at the time he would have died almost certainly with the alleged presence of an Astarte and however many other assassins remained in the area. He might be expected to be studying at his age, but would he not have been doing that in his room?

It struck Verita as she returned to his room and laid eyes on the discarded books and pool just where he would have been: going to play with his new pet and then bring it back with him to bed. He was not present because he was a young boy who loved the sweet and innocent creature that had just been given to him. Those searching for him overlooked the Ixolotl equipment and materials because they likely did not share the personal bond with the creatures Kimarans did and thus underestimated the mutual love shared between pet and owner.

While it made sense, it was a theory that hinged on there being a place for the crown prince to play with his Ixolotl while remaining within the palace, as Verita doubted he would have been allowed outside at such a late hour in the night. The Queen would not have likely disallowed her son from picking up his newborn Ixolotl however, and so inadvertently spared her son the same immediate fate as the others...but Verita still had to locate somewhere that could have been his destination if she was to determine any possibility of him surviving as rumors had whispered ever since.

For the first time in a century there might be conclusive proof located that the crown prince of the Jarn family was alive, and while it was still a longshot it redoubled Verita's efforts even after the disheartening scenes she had just witnessed.

If only she knew she would end up here today, Verita would have brought a schematic of the palace. Instead she would have to check the massive structure's many rooms on her own, and so she began her new search for further evidence of the palace coup's events room by room.

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It took hours to traverse the entire structure and locate what she sought, but eventually Verita came across a room dedicated entirely to Ixolotls that mirrored the cave beneath the Schola. It was self-sustaining to a degree and so still had certain simple systems running thanks to the engineering put into them such as water filters and hygiene devices for Ixolotls, the lack of complexity likely due to the fascination the creatures had with peculiar objects that they could take. This helped explain how the wild Ixolotls were able to thrive in the abandoned structure, as they had as much water as they needed and given the signs of their recent usage were intelligent enough to use these systems that made them feel 'clean'.

The room possessed a playground-like quality to it for children and their Ixolotls to interact with while elsewhere were 'igloos' for Ixolotls not belonging to any one particular person to reside within. It was a very simple and relaxed environment but it fulfilled its purpose, though that did not immediately solve Verita's search. She could be wrong in her theory after all and she had no actual evidence, only her gut feeling based on what details stuck out to her in their personal quarters, and so she needed to find something more concrete if she was to substantiate this hypothesis.

Unfortunately for her there did not seem to be any cameras present in the room to access old footage from, nor were there signs of the same conflict as elsewhere, as in this environment some things being knocked over was to be expected given the absentminded nature of the animals residing within. A tail knocking over a chair or other object would go completely unnoticed by an Ixolotl, but it could also be due to another search for the prince, and so Verita wracked her brain for how to read the room like she had the others thus far.

With her other point of reference being the cave at the Schola where Ixolotls gathered and had their 'school', Verita tried to think of any similarities that could benefit her. Going through the features of them bit by bit took some time, but eventually she came to a simple idea: Ixolotl Cam. The love Kimarans had for their pets meant that even when separated from them they enjoyed being able to check on them, and so cameras had been put in place in the Ixolotl school to allow owners to witness their pets throughout the day without having to travel to do so. The video feed was projected openly for anyone on Kimara to witness, and careful attention was paid to camera placement that it would not reveal their actual subversive activities within the Schola.

To do this the cameras had to be hidden, as Ixolotls still learning might not possess the same appreciation for property that older Ixolotls possessed and notice markings on them. Having an Ixolotl disconnect a camera and run away with it happily would cause unnecessary problems, so a set fixture was put in place in the walls to view the classes and allow for them to be unnoticed by the animals present.

How likely was it that a palace engineered by Kimarans that went out of its way to have a large room set aside for such creatures would possess something similar? The security cameras elsewhere in the palace had been since removed along with their footage, but such a hidden camera could have been ignored without anyone knowing.

It took a fair amount of searching, but Verita eventually came to locate a tile on the wall that was slightly different from the others to account for the fact that it was masking a camera's lens as a part of it. Verita sighed a breath of relief as her idea paid off, not knowing what else she would have done if not for this as the room was so sparse that there was little to work with. Whether the camera would have what she wanted revealed on it, if it functioned, if its footage could be properly played, all of these things were unknown still but she began working on unearthing the camera from its fixture while taking care to not damage anything but the wall itself.

Her knack for noticing important details was paying off, and soon Verita held the camera in hand along with its related equipment. Checking it all for recordings took some moments more, but certainly enough it held a native database of recordings similar to those they used elsewhere for security cameras on Kimara. A surveillance tool used to look after simple-minded pets was perhaps odd, but it made sense for them and so Verita continued forward.

The camera itself was dead, but by locating equipment from abandoned rooms in the palace Verita was able to splice together a working monitor to connect the database to. To power it required another search for electronic devices with energy stores that were still held, though the technologically favoring Jarns had plenty of devices throughout the palace for Verita to pilfer. What the objects she was grabbing she did not quite know, but they were cannibalized for parts she did recognize and so eventually she was able to fit an external battery to the system she made as well.

Fiddling here and there was necessary to ignore all the many, many, many days of recorded Ixolotl material that was not relevant but fortunately the appropriated security camera had a timestamp on its footage which allowed Verita to match the footage she was viewing to the date of the coup. At first events seemed normal with nominal sightings of Humans in the room throughout the day, most notably the King and Queen visiting to see their son's Ixolotl when they had a free moment, and then finally the prince himself late at night came to stay for some time as his pet mimicked just about everything he did even if it did not quite understand what it was doing.

There was an easy to read moment of when exactly the coup broke out, as both the prince and the Ixolotls present reacted to something elsewhere within the palace. The prince appeared concerned while his Ixolotl appeared concerned that he stopped patting its head, prompting it to push its forehead into his palm as the prince remained frozen where he was in apt attention. He seemed to be listening to whatever was going on to try and make out what it was, but his fears were confirmed when the conflict's noise began to reach deeper and deeper into the palace's structure.

True to their nature the Ixolotls present in the room did not properly understand the conflict waging elsewhere within the palace, but the sounds of gunfire and cries of pain clued them in that it was time to hide and wait out the storm. The prince did the same, following them into their igloos since he did not know what was happening but likely trusted that he would be safe if he just waited it out while remaining out of sight.

Only a minute later some of the noises died down and so the prince silently crawled over to the edge of the igloo he was within to see if everything was okay now, his face showing the pride one would expect of his people. He likely thought some terrorists had attacked and been taken out by their guards in that moment, only to see and hear a gunfight break out further down the hall. That it was so close scared him as one would expect, though he remained where he was as he noticed a shimmer before him that was difficult to notice on the camera but became obvious a moment after.

Appearing as if from thin air was a new figure, this one standing at what seemed to be twice the prince's height and many times his overall size. That they were an Astarte was obvious by their Power Armor and form, though it remained unadorned with any discernable markings and their face was covered by an old mark of armor likely from the Great Crusade. Attached to their armor was a cameleoline cloak that had allowed for his sudden appearance, and still mostly covered by it was a Power Lance that had blood splattered across the visible portion of its shaft. With the weapon and the Astartes' height it seemed unlikely that it was the one who slew the other Jarns, and so as she watched Verita felt confident that this newcomer was not a threat to the last remaining Jarn.

From the prince's reaction to seeing the figure it was obvious that this was not their first meeting, as rather than recoil he accepted their aid in being lifted up and held. Showing familiarity perhaps with the native culture, the Astarte bent down to also retrieve the prince's own Ixolotl from where it sat on the ground happily thumping its tail up and down. The Prince held his pet while the Astarte in turn held him, and a moment thereafter they disappeared from sight as the cameleoline cloak was brought back into place covering them entirely. There were a few moments where it was possible words were being passed between them throughout the encounter, but the positioning of the camera made it difficult to tell.

From there the camera's recording would continue until its personal power supply would run out some days after the coup, showing in the process the soldiers of the Conomors searching for the prince within and failing to find anything despite overturning everything in their way. The Ixolotls present avoided the soldiers during their hours long search, and it would only be some days after when the room was visited again by what presumably were local Jarn loyalists by their uniforms who would then escort the Ixolotls out and to safety now that the palace had been abandoned. Perhaps they or their offspring had been the ones to return to this place, but Verita pushed that trivia aside to focus on the matter at hand.

Who the Astarte was, what he was doing there, or how the prince knew him were all unknown to Verita, but this discovery was important all the same for it reaffirmed the trail she was on. The absence of bloodshed within the first prince's room could have been considered a coincidence, the boy having been slain in some other place, but this recording proved that he was not with his kin at the time of the attack. A boy's affection and fascination with his new pet had inadvertently spared him the immediate fate of his mother, father, and siblings by pure circumstance.

It did not confirm that the prince escaped, or that his recorded fate did not happen at some later point in the turbulent series of events surrounding the palace coup, but it did mean that Verita's suspicion was confirmed. Prince Trahaearn was evacuated from this location by an unknown Astarte, and given that they would have almost certainly been discovered through the main entrance which saw a flood of conspirators rush inward there would have had to have been another route for them to try and avoid discovery. It was all a theory on Verita's part, but through further observation she felt she could perhaps find the truth hidden in plain sight.

"Ihh."

Verita looked down to see that one of the feral Ixolotls had approached her, it being a juvenile only up to about her thigh. From what she could tell by its gesturing was that it wanted the shiny camera she held, and so without a second thought she handed it over while pocketing the data for herself. This pleased the creature as it sat down and began to use its developing arms to hold its shiny object before it, giving Verita no mind as she once again began to search for a needle in an avalanche...but she had an idea of where to go.

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One room that stood out to Verita in her search for the Ixolotl center was a room for prayer, it seemingly being meant for the royal family to pray to the Emperor within given the great mithril monument dedicated to him and the artwork showing his once handsome appearance and flowing black hair as he stood triumphantly in golden armor.

The Jarns were not known to be particularly large adherents to the Emperor's cult, for while they worshipped him they did so in an almost secular manner most records showed. Perhaps the room was just for appearances, but in her hours of searching this was the one room which Verita felt had barely been used. Sure the Jarns would pray to the Emperor, but that was because of his proven power over the Immaterium, not because they thought he was a god that he so vehemently denied he was. So why a typical Imperial styled prayer chamber when something more spartan would fit their sensibilities better? The Imperium accepted many forms of worship for the Emperor since to force a strict interpretation on every world would be difficult, so why the scriptures and dogma?

To a typical Imperial this room would be normal, like any other, but to Verita who was more like the Jarns in her worship of the Emperor it stuck out like a sore thumb. Clausura would have knelt down and immediately begun praying had she been here and not training directly with the Sisters of Battle these days, not that Verita felt her fellow Schola student would side against the Imperial regime on Kimara.

It would be heresy to any Imperial servant who witnessed it, but Verita began fiddling around with the statue of the Emperor that was so conspicuous in the room. It seemed that her suspicion of this out-of-place room was unfounded as she failed to locate anything of note, frustrating her as she tried in vain to find anything to explain this object made to scale of the Emperor.

Then Isolde noticed that the creator, whomever he or she was, had granted the statue a very Kimaran touch: an Ixolotl stood beside the Emperor in as dignified a manner as the creature could muster.

An Ixolotl, the creature some members of the Imperium wished to purge due to the belief that they were despicable Xenos, was placed next to the Emperor of Mankind in all his glory.

Verita reached out to touch the Ixolotl, running her soft hand over its dusty form until she finished fishing out her scanner to better observe it. As one might expect it was most worn on its head where the facsimile of the creature received gentle pats from visitors, but the most recent evidence of being touched was on its tail in a specific spot. From its placement one would have to go out of their way to reach and touch the tail making it not an obvious thing to do, but Verita reached over and did so with her lanky arm.

Sliding her hand around the tail, Verita soon came to find a small button beneath it which when touched caused the entire statue to shift its place to reveal a set of stairs leading down to some unknown location. After observing the process Verita traded her scanner for the black box from where it sat in the satchel at her side, and as expected it was finally reacting unlike everywhere else she had checked within Krakengard.

-OR---E-

The message remained cryptic, but another piece was unveiled and that was what mattered to Verita.

First it brought Verita to the location of a statue dedicated to Trahaearn Jarn and the other Kimarans who became Iron Warriors at the site of their first contact with the Astartes, then it brought her to a location showing the victims of the Conomor regime in grisly detail, and now today it had Verita traverse both the Conomor and Jarn palaces until she came to find this.

The first prince of Kimara, son of the final Jarn to rule the world, might just have survived the purge of his family.

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A/N: Wait you mean Ixolotls were important all along? Always were. (Astronaut blam meme here)

I will be releasing more updates this week, but please share your thoughts on this one in the meantime! Figure it has a fair bit for you to chew on, so go ahead and sink your teeth in!​

 

[Thunderscourge]

IRON WITHIN

It was by a mixture of misfortune and merit that Tristan found himself promoted to the rank of Sergeant and filling in for Urkamus within their squad after years of serving on it. Despite being the rookie member of the team Tristan was evaluated higher than Grund and Helash by Urkamus' superior Constantine when a stray artillery round had struck their team during a forward deployment. Urkamus bore the brunt of the impact and had been removed from active duty after the mission's completion, having carried on to the end in spite of his injuries before collapsing. According to Ossus the Sergeant would be fine in time, though had to be restrained to prevent the stalwart Astarte from just forcing his way back onto the battlefield prior to his recovery.

In the meantime however someone had to fill in, and for that purpose Tristan had been chosen.

On paper Tristan's tutelage from the Warsmith, noted intelligence, scientific contributions to the Dodekatheon, and decades of service were all reason for him to be granted a squad of his own to lead as he had proven himself enough. That Grund had more experience and was quite capable in his own right was overshadowed despite being the unofficial second in command of the team, and Brechung's own long history of service was negated by his particular nature that was not believed to be conducive to leadership despite his own intelligence. Jarn himself had pulled no strings, causing Tristan to consider the motivations of Constantine as Grund rightfully should have been chosen before him.

The particular issue he held in Constantine's decision making process was that he cited Tristan's development of a modified Mark-III helmet and armor that would better protect the user from poisons and disease. Tristan had developed it as a byproduct of his own armor research and production for the purpose of refitting his armor for occasions where they would be within toxic environments and engaged with foes such as the followers of Nurgle. Seeing that some of the optimizations and additions were capable of mass production if altered to a more standard Astartes frame, Grund was the one who tailored it for the adoption throughout their ranks and had been working on other such means of making Tristan's innovation made reality within their limited means for more than just Tristan himself.

In this way Tristan felt the credit of that lay in Grund, for while Tristan had created the initial blueprints and models it was Grund who modified them for their brethren, and in Tristan's mind those were separate subjects worthy of different praise. That Constantine wholly ignored Grund's part in the process and hailed it solely as an achievement of Tristan showed that their superior was merely looking for an excuse to choose one over the other, citing this instance along with Tristan's other qualities not because Constantine truly believed him to be better than Grund for leading Urkamus Squad but rather for some as of yet unexplained purpose.

Was it nepotism, an attempt to win over the Warsmith? That would be foolish if true, for Tristan did not believe that Jarn would think kindly of Constantine in such circumstances, for while the Warsmith had pulled strings for Tristan it was only in accordance with meeting Tristan's needs for growth within their ranks. Jarn would give Tristan resources to best make use of his mind and personal strengths, but he did not make any effort to advance Tristan beyond his existing station within their ranks and instead was fine letting Tristan rise or fall by his own merit.

The other alternative Tristan could imagine was that Constantine saw that Tristan was the most rookie member of the team and had a notoriously cold personality, meaning that through inexperience and poor personal relations he would likely fail in his role as Sergeant. To Tristan's suspicious mind this felt far more likely as a reason, as by pretending that Tristan was chosen for his merits and then setting him up for failure Constantine could diminish not only Tristan's future prospects but also have it reflect harshly on his mentor, the Warsmith. Constantine was ambitious and was being held in check by Jarn, so this might be a way for Constantine to attempt to form a crack in the foundation of Jarn's leadership.

It was only a theory, but Tristan would rather prepare for the worst and be ready than expect the best and be surprised when it inevitably did not come to pass.

To this end Tristan's leadership of Urkamus Squad was handled with as much care and caution as he could muster, carrying out the orders given to them while also mitigating risk wherever possible. Grund fortunately did not mind being passed over while Brechung did not appear to care about the subject at all, leaving only Helash dissatisfied.

For Helash it was a simple matter of Tristan informing him of his own suspicions, casting Helash's nature against Constantine instead of cause further division within the squad. In this matter Helash did not hold it against Tristan that Constantine had an ulterior motive, and since the presumption was that Constantine was planning against their success it directly endangered them all. That meant undercutting anyone else on the team further diminished any chances of success, and so despite his scheming inclination to always come out on top Helash was unwilling to sink the ship they all rode upon. Helash would not betray his comrades or principles, but he was inclined towards his own success and right now that success meant surviving through whatever it was that Constantine intended for them. If it was benevolent, then all would be well, but if it was malicious he was in agreement with Tristan that it would be best to plan for the worst.

To fill the vacancy on their team Tristan had Quidel transferred to their unit, trusting him the most out of their training squad and knowing he possessed a wide array of skills to benefit them. Quidel might not be the best at any one particular thing barring his skill in the usage of flamers and meltaguns, but being able to do just about any task proficiently was a strength of its own especially when Tristan himself was lacking in numerous fields. Quidel would prove to be a reliable ally once again as he carried out his orders as told, having come to trust Tristan's judgment from their time as Neophytes and not doubting him even now.

The needs of the Iron Legion's future operations and development of their fleet were seen to by deployments on whatever worlds they were able to visit without interference or could depart from before the Imperium or other interlopers could arrive. Visitation to their orbital dockyard was kept to a minimum to lessen the chance of its discovery, especially since its capture by the Imperium or by the forces of Chaos would bolster their foes. The latter were of particular concern as the very same warband of Word Bearers had been sporadically appearing before the Iron Legion and forcing them to cut short operations thanks to the sons of Lorgar possessing greater numbers that would make any direct conflict too costly to the Iron Warriors to ever be worth it unless forced.

While the Word Bearers possessed greater overall strength they were not fools and had been keeping a modicum of distance despite nipping at the Iron Legion's heels, for their previous engagements with Jarn's forces had cost the Word Bearers already despite only being skirmishes. By threatening a full-blown engagement the Word Bearers could force the Iron Warriors to depart while then reaping whatever remained of the spoils of war left behind, though such acquisition of resources was seemingly secondary to whatever their true goal was: it was as if they were aggrieved by their defeat twice at the hands of the Iron Legion and were waiting for the right moment to pounce when they were at their weakest, and by harrying their efforts to build their forces the Iron Legion had its intended operations delayed time and time again. Neither side would benefit from a direct war between them, but this fact was known to both parties and so they remained in a stalemate cold war.

Despite its massive size and forces at its disposal the Imperium of Mankind remained blind to the operations and true motivations of the Iron Legion thanks to the very same Word Bearers seeking revenge, as the presence of Chaos forces at certain worlds struck by Jarn's forces shifted the believed blame onto Iron Warrior warbands dedicated tot he Ruinous Powers and saw the Imperium striking out at parties innocent to these specific crimes. That the Imperium's behemoth bureaucracy and administration was perhaps being sent down the wrong paths by Asier was something Tristan pondered to himself, as one would think that even the faith-blinded Imperial servants would catch on eventually and yet they remained chasing after shadows and remained oblivious to the fact that their warband was in fact a separate entity to those they were blaming.

This was not to say that the Imperium did not ever strike at them, and in fact their elite members of the Officio Assassinorum had been encountered on occasion during Tristan's deployments both before and after Urkamus' injury. Those encountered were Vindicare Assassins, the Imperium's most elite snipers and assassins at range, and their intensely lethal Exitus Rifles could fell numerous foes in a single shot. A variety of rounds were at their disposal to take out whatever their target might be, but it was their turbo-penetrator rounds and shield-breaker rounds that were most deadly to an Astarte. The former could rip even through the reinforced Adamantium of a Storm Shield, while the latter could disrupt the shielding an Astarte might possess to mitigate such dangerous threats.

Unfortunately for the first Vindicare they encountered they had taken aim at Tristan, likely believing from his size and armor derived from schematics of the Iron Warriors' Primarch that he was the Warsmith of their deployed forces on a moon they were extracting resources from. An Astarte less obsessed with adding every form of redundancy to their personal armor would have had a turbo-penetrator round rip through their torso or skull before they even knew they were under attack, but for Tristan his overlapping fields of energy shielding halted the round and dulled its velocity such that when it struck his armor it only scratched the surface.

Before a second round could be fired Tristan was able to further protect his vitals with his wrist-mounted shields reverse-engineered from those of the Van Saar, and even in spite of their protection offered the shield-breaker round fired still nearly forced its way through them, his armor's own shielding, and the armor itself before finally stopping after striking the exact same spot the first bullet had impacted. Brechung's reaction time had been the quickest and allowed the brutish Astarte to react by taking this time to charge forth through the mountain's forest they were extracting minerals from to dash right at the source of the sniper fire. Tristan had no way of keeping pace with him and so instead used his personal defenses to protect Grund, Helash, and Urkamus while the giant form of Brechung took its long strides faster than the now fleeing Vindicare could hope to run.

Despite the long distance at which the assassin had fired Brechung managed to hunt them down and avoid their gunfire while doing so, eventually cornering and slaying the Vindicare. When he returned with their detached head he stated that it was not an offering to Khorne, but rather something he intended to keep as a trophy given the severity of the threat such a foe posed. Tristan was uncertain if he believed the reasoning, but he did believe that it was not out of any desire to grant a skull to the skull throne of Khorne as the regular scans and inspections of the Iron Legion for Chaos corruption meant there was little to no risk of any of their ranks being covert servants of the Ruinous Powers.

The Vindicare had not been alone however, as a few others would take their opportunity to strike at Tristan himself, Jarn, and even Brechung perhaps given his brutal slaughter of one of their ranks. Each time they failed in their mission not because of a failing on their part but rather due to the preparation of their targets, with Jarn's Logos Secundus reforming around where it was struck thanks to its Necrodermis the Imperial Assassin had been unaware of due to how rarely the self-repairing function was called upon. Brechung had taken a hit to the abdomen that was not lethal even if it did knock him back, surviving the ordeal before eventually paying back the one who shot him by tearing them apart in close ranged combat the Vindicare could not match despite their own superhuman traits.

What had caused them to be deployed was unknown, but it was fortunate that they had lacked the necessary intel to slay their targets, perhaps having been misled by their superiors who believed their targets to be far more vulnerable than they were. The Vindicares had waited for ideal moments for the perfect shots and fired specific rounds to counter their targets' expected strengths, but Jarn's armor proving more resilient than one could know before directly testing it, Tristan having a multitude of redundant defenses that were rarely called upon when he was assigned to just gather resources, and Brechung possessing a surprising resilience were all things that even a careful eye would have been unable to discern until the moment came to test them.

The Iron Legion's focus on armor and durability paid off, and over the span of years a handful of Vindicares had their talent utterly wasted on foes they were a poor match against. Some regular Iron Warriors had been slain covertly around the same time as these conflicts, though why these seemingly random Astartes had been targeted was unknown and it was believed that perhaps they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time with the only seeming link being that they shared similar physical features. Of those features were above average height and long, jet black hair which raised interesting implications as to the attempt on Tristan's own life, though as the Vindicares responsible had been slain in combat on these separate occasions it was difficult to ascertain the truth.

Despite these wrinkles the members of Urkamus Squad had managed to survive their deployments as led by Tristan, even with Constantine assigning them frontline duties and assignments that carried greater risk than other similar groups possessed. Whereas some soldiers had their talents squandered as they moved up in station and they shifted from their successful role to a command position, the opposite was true for Tristan given his disposition: he was least effective when he had negligible impact on the overall picture of a conflict, but now that he was in charge of four other Astartes he could properly utilize the intelligence he had been recruited for at least in comparison to serving at the bottom rung of their hierarchy.

Whereas Levente was talented at using his fellow soldiers to the greatest effect to obtain stellar results Tristan quickly proved himself to be an efficient administrator of his fellow Astartes even on the small scale in which he was granted control, making certain through managing their direct actions that his fellow soldiers did not come to harm and that their missions were always completed without sacrificing their objectives in the name of anything resembling glory, honor, or other such considerations most Astartes heeded. If the correct method for victory was to call in an artillery strike until the enemy no longer existed to pose a threat then he would relay the necessary data and coordinates to their forces, completely eschewing direct combat in favor of what brought results. He gave orders with the sole purpose of accomplishing the missions assigned without depleting the Iron Legion's irrecoverable resources such as manpower while utilizing all of the expendable ones at his disposal such as ammunition, embracing the typical Iron Warrior mathematical approach to warfare that suited his personality so well.

That certain veteran soldiers considered it cowardly to minimize any and all risks was dismissed by Tristan as the gripes and entrenched beliefs of soldiers who had the lives of their brethren thrown away across centuries by uncaring commanders. Results were what mattered, and his methodology was proven to work, and so he continued without hesitation in this approach to leading Urkamus Squad. While he would assign tasks to his four fellow Astartes as befitting the situation and their skillsets Tristan was able to remove himself mostly from where he was a liability, that being close combat against actually dangerous foes who could overwhelm him even in spite of his defenses. Instead he would direct his allies while providing covering fire, only rarely having to engage in melee situations where something unexpected threw off his calculations for the battlefield. These errors would then be analyzed and used to better prepare for future encounters with such foes, and so Tristan adapted his personal model of command based on the data he experienced firsthand.

What made close combat so dangerous for Tristan was a coalescence of traits possessed by him, most notably his colossal size, poor natural talent for engaging in melee, and his tendency to overthink. He only had been able to function in the hand-to-hand Chaos engagement during his first mission alongside Urkamus Squad because his mind had blanked upon seeing the source of his childhood trauma, the lingering impacts on his psyche stripping away his thoughts in favor of acting on instinct thanks to his blinding hatred. To best calculate the optimal action to take at any given moment left Tristan slow to react on the battlefield, and thanks to his awareness of this fact he often avoided situations that would allow his foes to benefit from it. Wondering what was the best move to make would often prevent him from carrying it out, or even actions nearly as optimal, but combat did not wait for someone indecisive to make a firm decision and it had led to many of his injuries over the years that saw him reinforcing his body.

This particular flaw would prove dangerous upon one of the many world throughout the galaxy that had not been colonized by Humanity, having been deployed upon a nameless ice planet with similar conditions to Kimara to train and prepare for the eventual retaking of the Warsmith's homeworld. The lack of Human population in the system did not mean other forms of life were absent with reports of a native Xenos species known as Coryza being involved in conflict with Tau auxiliary forces known as Kroot, though the relative backwards nature of Coryzan technology meant they posed no true threat to the Iron Warriors while the Kroot were too busy in their conflict to care that the Astartes were present at all.

Kroot were a highly adaptable species that possessed a vestigial avian appearance to them that could shift greatly based on their consumption of other species, with some appearing more reptilian, others fully avian and capable of flight, and yet others having taken on the traits of Humans even including social and societal behaviors. This was done by their unique ability to obtain specific traits from what they consumed, with Kroot leaders called Shapers guiding their brethren to consume advantageous species to bolster their own capabilities while avoiding traits they found undesirable. While powerful this effect was not foolproof, and instances of Kroot consuming certain species and being changed for the worse were noted by those familiar with their kind, and so it was with care and caution that they engaged in such predation.

The typically savage and technologically backwards nature of Kroot meant that they were once dearly threatened by an Ork invasion of their homeworld Pech and only managed to fend it off with the intervention of the Tau, fostering a deep and lasting bond in the years since between their species which saw Kroot often act as mercenaries and soldiers on behalf of the Tau's so-called 'Greater Good'. While he did not possess access to documents to study it in any great depth the concept of a 'Greater Good' reminded Tristan of the Iron Warrior's desire for 'Utopia' that he had pledged himself towards, and the possibility of recruiting the fledgling species to their own cause through such concepts was one he contemplated. That they had access to technology that surpassed a lot of what he had access to was only one consideration on the matter, but it was an important one to Tristan's scientific curiosity.

While their species possessed their own form of alliance this did not mean that all Kroot directly served the Tau, and it appeared in this instance that the Kroot present on the nameless ice world were there for their own reasons. Reports seemed to show that it was some religious endeavor for the Kroot, though the lack of understanding between the Iron Warriors and the Kroot's motivations made this an approximate estimation of their goals rather than a definitive one. In addition to whatever religious needs they were fulfilling the Kroot appeared intent on consuming the native Coryza population as the Xenos were called, having had minor encounters with Humanity in the past yet until now lacked a known homeworld.

Coryza possessed roughly Humanoid figures with a head, torso, two arms, and two legs but they were quite different beyond that. Ranging from around four to five feet tall the Coryza possessed thick forearms and shins with their upper arms and thighs appearing relatively undeveloped comparatively. Possessing a physiology akin to both crabs and mammals they were capable of breathing both in water and on land, though to breathe on land required them to keep their breathing nodes moist which was fortunately easy for them given the Coryzan's homeworld possessed constant snowfall and thus abundant sources of water.

In terms of capability the Coryzans were on par with the Beastmen once encountered by the Iron Legion's Neophytes, possessing similar strength that could threaten an Astarte while lacking the technology to actually properly do so. This lack of technological innovation appeared to be due to the lack of focus and willpower possessed by the Coryzans, being easily distracted and possessing difficulty focusing as a species which inhibited their ability to innovate on an already desolate wasteland of a planet. This would have led to their extinction if not for their relatively fast (at least for mammal-like creatures) reproduction rate which saw their species replenish itself constantly despite the conditions of their world.

The Coryzans were a cowardly and mentally feeble lot comparable to Ork Gretchin, though given the opportunity they possessed the potential to be dangerous. With considerable strength, a hard exoskeleton, and an uncanny knack for learning from what they saw the Coryzans would be able to adapt to a more modern civilization rather than tribal existence if not for their lack of will. Their present unworthiness as foes saw them safely ignored, a boon for the Iron Warriors who had only come to their world for the purpose of military training exercises to ensure that their takeover of Kimara would be flawless and rehearsed.

Astartes might be superhuman in their nature but an environment as vicious as Kimara's would still tax their capabilities, thus necessitating this endeavor. Granting those who had never fought a winter war before an opportunity to better comprehend their ultimate objective was invaluable, especially as they very well might be facing the garrisons of Kimara who would already be prepared for the conditions they would be engaged within. How to maintain equipment through blizzards, how to minimize one's tracks in the snow, and how to best keep one's footing upon ice were just the beginning of the talents they would be made to develop over the course of the months dedicated to this one planet by Jarn. Possessing the background he did meant that the Warsmith could personally lead many of the drills and could instill optimal ways for them to handle such conditions, his time upon Kimara as both a mere mortal and as an Astarte granting him deeper insight into the perspectives of both.

Deployments and formations of their Predator tanks and Basilisks were another primary focus, as to counter the defenses of the Kimaran Fortress Cities would require even greater firepower than the cities could bring to bear themselves. Ideally the Iron Warriors would only have to capture the capital city and re-establish Jarn's heritage and former rule, though the specifics would have to be determined when they were actually undergoing the operation to better account for how the situation would unfold. It was possible that the Kimarans would accept them with open arms, but it was also quite possible that they would fight to the death against outsiders seeking to conquer their planet.

On occasion the Coryzans would interfere with the military exercises used to train the Iron Warriors, the local population lacking the knowledge to stay out of the Astartes' way until suddenly coming across them. These incidents would almost all result in the cowardly Xenos fleeing for their lives, though in his own experience Tristan noted that the Coryzans were curious about the Iron Warriors' equipment and some of their members were even attempting to interact with or take it. Such thievery was met with violent reprimands from the Iron Warriors, but the "Tactical runaway" as the Coryzans called it caught Tristan's further interest as the Xenos appeared to be learning from the Iron Warriors presence. When first encountered the Xenos did not speak Gothic like the Iron Warriors did, but now they knew of the concept of a "Tactical withdrawal" as practiced by the Astartes in their preparations, but also had managed to link it to the derisive way the Iron Warriors referred to the fleeing Coryzans as "running away".

While there was no denying that they were foolish to a fault, Tristan did recognize the quick learning of these neutral entities, and if he was not busy having every possible tactical and strategic engagement drilled into him he might have bothered to test their capabilities further. It would likely be best that these Xenos were left on a world that inhibited their ability to advance, as their quick adaptation to knowledge reminded Tristan of how Jarn described Tristan's own nature. If Humanity was to thrive Xenos that posed a threat to it would need to be dealt with, though he did not particularly abhor them the way other Humans did. Whatever hatred Tristan held in his heart was saved for traitors like those who gave his homeworld to the Word Bearers, and of course the servants of Chaos who had instigated the issue in the first place.

True to his nature however Tristan made no verbal statement or remark about his studies concerning the Coryza, and he instead eventually dismissed the diminutive beings much like his Iron Warrior brethren had. It would be better to leave the Xenos to fight one another and weaken one of the Tau's ancillary races than to engage them simply for not being Human, and so if the Kroot wished to consume this other species that was adaptable albeit in a different fashion than the Kroot then so be it.

It would be on the day of the Iron Warriors' departure from the icy planet that the Coryzans would inadvertently play a greater role in their operations, with Urkamus Squad being assigned to investigate a reported disturbance at one flank of their deployment where hundreds of the dimwitted Xenos were found slain without Kroot involvement.

Constantine had gained interest in the issue and so assigned Urkamus Squad to investigate it further while others finished loading their Legion's equipment and vehicles onto ships. While seemingly a pointless endeavor it was accepted by Tristan dutifully, not wishing to give Constantine a method by which to criticize him and thus the Warsmith. Soon enough Urkamus would be back from his (forced) medical leave and so all he had to do was keep things steady and not rock the boat, and all would be well. Sure Constantine had been granting them the most difficult or dangerous jobs he could under the guise of making use of their talents, but all that did was further establish the effectiveness of Urkamus Squad and its members since they had yet to fail whatever tasks he could muster.

They had a mission, one that was to be carried out carefully and with the caution Tristan always utilized for his deployments. Had he not done so then it would have very likely meant his death, as when he next awoke it was aboard a transport vessel heading back to their fleet with his body teetering on the brink of death.

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"You must be the one known as Bertrand...I was told of you, of an Astarte nearly my height who was once naught but a small child who slipped through my grasp. I was wondering when you would show yourselves...I must apologize for my poor hospitality of your kin, but they were most uncooperative. Four squads of the Fourth Legion perishing in vain is poetic, is it not?"

"I must admit I was curious what your forces were doing upon such an insignificant rock, but fate shines brightest on those prepared to seize it. Constantine understood that, and that is why once Khyr, Archimedes, and the Warsmith fall he will be in a position to assume leadership. All it took was granting us information to act upon, and by the time your fleet knows better we will have left your rotting corpses upon this worthless world. To fight and die for nothing is your purpose as Iron Warriors, so you should be grateful I am granting you the ignoble deaths you deserve."

"In case it crossed your minds, attempting to flee will only prolong the inevitable. My forces are now engaging your kin, but I am here for only you. That Warsmith of yours is presently walking into a trap laid by one of your own, and so today this world will run red with the blood of all who remain."

"Do you know what fate awaits those who perish in this mortal realm? To have one's very spirit tortured and flayed by the very personifications of their every vice, extinguished from existence only once nothing remains of them to further torment and use. Your father, your mother, your family, even your unborn brother...how does it feel to know that your weakness, your inability to save them has condemned all of those you loved to such an existence?"

"Of course such a fate could be considered a mercy compared to what pain and misery was invited upon them in life...oh how I wish I had been there to watch as their blood spilled, for the mortal followers we gained upon your world were quite thorough in their violence. It was almost a pity that they were sacrificed to Blood God to further fuel my ascension, but I possess echoes of their memories...their very souls granted me this power, and so the slaughter they indulged in remains a part of me to this very day. So long as blood flows so too shall those who thrive off it persist, and I look forward to tasting yours."

"I can feel the rage permeating through you, all the better to feast upon because I can tell it is not something that comes naturally to you. Yet even now you remain still, uncertain, weak...is that what your father taught you to be? A coward who when facing the one responsible for their family's ruination can do nothing but be shocked into silence, inaction?"

"Maybe you have forgotten them in these decades you have dedicated yourself to a doomed cause. After all, what are a few mortal souls compared to the ideals of utopia and conquering the stars? I understand completely, for I too would cast aside such shackles if it meant gaining the power to create the world I desire...a world of endless war and bloodshed, of everlasting torment like what your bygone family now suffers, screaming for mercy that will never come, all thanks to you—"

"STAY YOUR TONGUE, HELLSPAWN! YOU WILL SUFFER A THOUSAND DEATHS BY THE TIME I AM THROUGH WITH YOU!"

Tristan collapsed forward as his consciousness returned to him, his body reacting to the thrashing he had barely survived by moving right as he gained the ability to do so which only served to jostle him out of the seat he had been laid upon. Nearby him was the Warsmith himself who stood in full armor, his worn facial features hidden behind his helmet and his weapons prepared to be utilized at a moment's notice. Opposite the Warsmith was Grund, Quidel, and Helash who all were seated and readying themselves for battle as well, though the solemn nature in which they did so implied that this was not some glorious operation to be undergone but rather a regrettable one. Brechung was presently piloting the vessel from what Tristan could hear from the cockpit, though how he got volunteered for that would be something Tristan would have to ask him later.

The aching of his head made Tristan instinctively try and touch his face, only to collapse down further as he came to realize he had been on his hands and knees with all four limbs having been required to keep him from falling down to the floor of the vessel. From his new vantage point Tristan struggled to rise, coming to realize that the bones in his forearms were broken in various places along with the armor and energy shield gauntlets above them. All that was keeping Tristan's arms from being a mangled mess of blood and bone were the subdermal reinforcements he incorporated into his body, and while his bones would require medical care he could still at least control his hands as he discovered in his attempt to brace his fall. It hurt, but so did everything else so Tristan endured it.

A hand was offered to him to help him up and Tristan weakly accepted it, only to realize as he was pulled to his feet that even hunched over he towered over the Astarte granting him aid.

Levente...

"So the Warhound Titan rejoins the land of the living," Levente jeered, though he refrained from most of his typical criticism of Tristan given the presence of the Warsmith.

It was difficult to recall the specifics after the beating he endured but Tristan was certain Levente had been there...that the two of them fought side by side against Palamedes with Tristan serving as the shield to Levente's blade. Even in his pride and anger Tristan had accepted the aid of his rival if it meant slaying that monster, but it had not been enough as evidenced by the fact Tristan had to be dragged off the blood-soaked snow they fought upon.

Tristan was quite certain that little had changed between them, but he also was certain that Levente at least considered him a soldier now and not just a 'gearhead' as he had been called in the past. Tristan in turn did not think differently of Levente, as he would have done the same in Levente's position and considered it their duty to assist their fellow Iron Legionnaires against that which threatened them. Perhaps it could serve as a seed of begrudging respect between them, something shown by Levente bothering to help Tristan stand up, but in a week, a month, or even a year's time the two would be back at one another's throats given their widely divergent personalities.

That the two fought and survived against a Daemon Prince of Khorne together showed that the Warsmith was right when he cited their potential together, though such collaboration just was not something that was tenable without such a severe outside force to unite them.

Levente had not emerged unscathed from the battle, his nose broken and a deep gash running across his cheek from his lack of helmet in the battle. Unlike Tristan who always wore his full set of armor when deployed Levente favored the removal of his helmet when he did not believe himself to be in danger, meaning that he had not had it readily available when he shifted from facilitating the departure of his encampment and the Astartes under his control to instead fighting a sudden Daemonic incursion. He was Perturabo's temperamental wrath and emotion, lacking the at times emotionless disposition Perturabo could also exhibit that Tristan now embodied.

Sitting back down, Tristan mulled over that distinction again and remembered painfully what followed from when his calm broke in the battle. From the moment he laid eyes upon Palamedes he had felt an anger well within him that he had never quite experienced before, not even when his family had been slain so many years ago. At the time he had been a frightened child, albeit one whose determination to survive and to fight had allowed him to linger on until Jarn found him, never truly having gotten to confront the ones responsible for his family's dismemberment.

Palamedes stood at nearly twice the height of a common Astarte, his Daemonic flesh blood red as if it was comprised of blood itself and his arms burgeoning with raw muscle. Carved into his chest and plainly visible to all given his lack of garb was the symbol of Chaos, its marking proudly worn by its so-called Prince. His face possessed a hideous maw that was accentuated by his relatively small, glowing eyes that heightened the sinister countenance his razor sharp teeth gave off even when his mouth was shut. His small, almost flat nose only made him all the more hideous while the horns atop his head were so long as to appear as weapons themselves, rivalling the length of his skull and tapering off to a fine point.

Ever since the Warsmith had shown Tristan the visage of Palamedes he had been unable to forget it, for while the Daemon Prince's features might be shared by other of his kind there was no confusing this vile individual for another in the Astarte's mind. It came almost as a surprise that Palamedes was so soft-spoken, demonstrating a degree of restraint and intellect one would not expect of a Khornate Daemon, but the entrails splattered across him showed that for as eloquently as he could speak as a former Dark Apostle he was still a servant of the Blood God and a willing participant in wonton slaughter.

Levente was always the one quick to anger while Tristan was colder in his reactions to things he disliked, being tranquil even when he confronted Levente about his disagreements upon the Beastmen planet when Levente's recklessness could cost them all their lives. In this instance though he had allowed his deep-seated emotions to get the better of him, and while Tristan knew he could not excise those feelings from himself he realized that they had nearly cost him his life. If he had not spent years and years honing the armor he now wore in tattered pieces this confrontation would not have ended with merely his collapse, but with his life forfeit and subject to the very same suffering Palamedes boasted about his family enduring.

It had not been a fight truly, it had been a prolonged execution that only did not come to pass thanks to Tristan's armor and desperate bid to survive. Levente's intervention had played a role as well, helping delay the encounter's final outcome long enough for the Warsmith to arrive and drive back the Daemon. That Levente interceded in the matter was only partially to do with loyalty, as had he claimed victory over this champion of Chaos it would have afforded Levente even greater recognition than he already possessed as the right hand of Khyr. That he had even survived the encounter was praiseworthy on its own, though much of that was due to Tristan being the primary focus of Palamedes who if he had focused Levente instead could have torn him apart.

On the flipside Tristan had no way of truly harming the Daemon Prince in melee combat whereas Levente had been able to force Palamedes to defend himself at points, so their respective capabilities had been well demonstrated. Levente was likely to receive praise and commendations from Khyr, while Constantine...

Constantine.

That worm had sold them out to Palamedes and his Word Bearers in an attempt to have Jarn's entire command staff wiped out in one fell swoop, thus allowing Constantine to angle for his position in the subsequent power vacuum. While Tristan had collapsed a short while after the Warsmith arrived to drive off the Chaos forces from what he could tell Jarn had caught onto the subterfuge and did not blindly walk into the trap set for him, thus allowing him to intervene on behalf of his students and also explaining the presence of both Khyr and Archimedes with them on the transport.

While Tristan had fought Palamedes the other members of Urkamus Squad had fended off the Daemon Prince's followers, mostly remaining unscathed in the process but having been unable to assist Tristan as they were forced to fend off Bloodletters of Khorne who had been summoned by the blood sacrifice of the Astartes and Coryza in the area. Their armor bore signs of the battle but the weeks spent training in the snow had left them well prepared for engaging Daemons who had never experienced such conditions before, their advances slowed by the raging weather that had nearly whited out the area completely while the Iron Warriors methodically gunned down their targets based on what would best slow their charge.

If Tristan had to hazard a guess the reason the others were preparing for combat was the possibility of Constantine and any who might side with his attempted coup attacking them as soon as they landed upon the Eisernen, but Tristan doubted that the loyal crew aboard the vessel would dare turn on Jarn. Rather upon the reveal of his survival Tristan would be surprised if they did not instead lynch Constantine for his actions, as while they might be willing to at least hear him out about who was in charge if Jarn and the others perished they would not choose a former outsider Iron Warrior over their Warsmith who had united them all to this cause.

Considering the status of the warband's leadership made Tristan wonder if Drakon had survived as well, as he did not see him aboard the vessel. Whether he perished or was simply elsewhere made little difference to Tristan as Drakon was merely Jarn's shadow, doing as told and lending his own company to Jarn's direct command whenever they were deployed. Khyr at least was bold and was willing to offer contrary opinions while Archimedes was often concerned with leading the fleet and organizing both troop deployments and Dodekatheon matters. Drakon was the least notable of the three Triarchs and likely would be wholly ignored in any discussion as to who might one day replace Jarn should he fall.

That was something Tristan was quite certain would not happen however, as the Warsmith was a larger than life figure of the kind you would read in historical tales and fantasy. He had the traits exactly needed to lead his warband and he was effective in most fields even if he was not the best at any one particular thing beyond strength, and for that reason Tristan felt his future was secure so long as he just continued following the trail blazed by Jarn. Tristan was comfortable where he was even if he had the talent for leadership, and in truth enjoyed the time he spent in the Dodekatheon more than his time on the battlefield. War was a means to an end, while crafting armor, weapons, and his machines were what Tristan took his own form of joy from.

Perhaps secondary to the satisfaction of tinkering with his schematics and metal was when the Warsmith acknowledged his work, such as now as Tristan felt the Warsmith place a hand down against his shoulder. In his dazed state Tristan had been contemplating the fact he was nearly as tall as Levente while seated when he noticed the Warsmith's gesture, a sense of pride being passed through the simple action in recognition of Tristan's survival of an ambush that had claimed the lives of four full squads of Astartes.

It was helped perhaps by Tristan's firing of the deceased Astartes' Basilisk point blank into the Daemon Prince which while barely scratching the monster did serve to show their defiant attitude towards Chaos, especially since Tristan had to climb over the impaled body of one Iron Warrior who had seemingly possessed a similar idea. The departed Astarte had only climbed halfway up before Palamedes forced them through some of the vehicle's hull and ripped their body and armor via the metal of the artillery device, so it was fitting that the weapon then was used even if in desperation to stall for time with the pre-loaded shell.

Palamedes had balked that it would take more than that to fell him, but it did note the only time in the battle Tristan had drawn blood from the creature proclaiming itself divine. Unfortunately Palamedes revealed that he possessed a degree of control over blood itself and knit his wound back together by absorbing his own spilled blood and that of his victims around him, so the wound did not last long, though the Basilisk firing did assist Jarn and others in locating Urkamus Squad even through the severe blizzard raging at the time.

Tristan had failed to find victory, but in Jarn's eyes he had succeeded in what mattered most: surviving. That was praiseworthy in its own right, especially considering the circumstances.

When their vessel landed within the primary hangar of the Eisernen it was obvious to Tristan that some kind of gathering was taking place within the structure, as it took some time for Brechung to land without harming their fellow Iron Warriors and their mortal servants present in the area. Once room was made for their landing the others aboard departed swiftly, the members of Urkamus Squad leaving the ragged Tristan behind after first mimicking the Warsmith's gesture given that not only had he survived, he had prevented the Daemon Prince from cutting them down as well. Even Helash appeared grateful, and in return he was the first to disembark and sweep the area with his bolter drawn to make certain Constantine did not have followers ready to pounce upon them.

For the most part Tristan could only watch as even Brechung got up and left the vessel that Tristan was too dazed to properly identify, though his temporarily reduced mental capability did find it interesting just how much taller Brechung was than Levente since when the former passed by Tristan's seated and slumped form was far from matching his comrade's. Slowly Tristan began to try and rise to his feet, noting the pangs as some of the bones in his lower body rebelled against his decision to stand, but he ignored them as if he felt no pain whatsoever so he could at least limp behind the others and join them for what was no doubt to be an execution.

The crowd gathered had been arguing about the Warsmith's situation as Constantine tried to press his claim to leadership now that the others were allegedly slain by Chaos, and while most had opposed his claim Constantine did receive some rumblings of support given he stated a desire to glass the world beneath them and wipe the Word Bearers there from existence. This all of course quieted down when Jarn emerged from the landing craft seemingly unharmed, his soldiers instantly prostrating themselves and parting a path for Jarn as he walked through the hundreds of Astartes gathered in this one hangar towards Constantine.

"My Warsmith, you return!" Constantine tried to sound relieved but it was obvious to those who suffered from his betrayal that this was nothing but another ploy, for Constantine did not know that Palamedes had casually revealed his treachery in seeming contempt for Constantine's low cunning.

Jarn would display a similar contempt as he finished approaching Constantine only a few steps before the usurper, the Logos Secundus making his form all that much more intimidating as he towered above him, "Do not sound so disappointed, though I am grateful that you have gathered my Astartes together. It makes this simpler."

Constantine took a step back, shifting nervously as he came to the realization that his betrayal had been discovered, "M-my lord, what do you mean?"

"I will now give you what you failed to grant our brethren who perished today: a chance. I will give you one minute to strike me, during which I will take no action to defend myself. A craven fool like you should relish such an opportunity, especially for when that minute ends I will show you how I deal with traitors who throw away the lives of their fellow Warriors. If you desire this power so much you will have to kill me with your own two hands."

The crowd had formed around them now with Urkamus Squad remaining vigilant at the front of it, though now it was to keep the other Astartes contained so Jarn would not be interrupted. Cries of anger were all silenced with the raising of a hand, Jarn refusing to allow whatever pathetic drivel Constantine might utter to be drowned out in a cacophony of yelling to take his head.

Constantine was unarmed and no weapons were offered to him, but he did possess reinforced gauntlets that while not as devastating as Power Fists still helped enhance his strength beyond that of the average Astarte. With no way out of his treachery but forward he yelled as he closed the gap between them and slammed a fist straight into Jarn's torso, striking with enough power to knock an Astarte off his feet.

Unfortunately for him, Jarn's Logos Secundus could not only absorb the blow as befitting of a Primarch's armor, but its boots could lock onto a surface for instances where the user might need to remain perfectly still like adhering to the outside of a spacecraft. The concussive force was not fully mitigated but Jarn could weather that just fine, and so he remained utterly impassive to Constantine's strike.

While the initial blow was a failure it did not deter Constantine for long, as once he took a moment to realize it did not deal the expected damage he resolved himself to throwing fist after fist into the same exact spot to try and break through the metal before him and to brutalize the Warsmith within. Only through such means could he hope to defeat Jarn, as the difference in their respective heights meant Constantine could not properly strike his foe's head and if he could instead break through the Logos Secundus he could prove himself as not only the victor in a contest for leadership but a powerful Astarte capable of battering a Primarch's armor.

Fist after fist crashed into Jarn's abdomen for the full minute afforded to Constantine, but not one made him budge an inch. Damage was inflicted to his body beneath the armor, but it was manageable and Jarn had long since learned to ignore such trivial pain the way Tristan and many Iron Warriors had. In a desperate final strike Constantine brought his fist back before slamming it with all of the might he could muster, throwing the full weight and power of an Astarte into the Warsmith and finally overcoming the Logos Secundus' lock to the hangar floor to dislodge Jarn.

Unfortunately all the impact managed to do was slide Jarn back a short distance, with Jarn giving no indication that it had dealt any lasting damage at all to his actual body. Even the Logos Secundus revealed no external damage, its Necrodermis having reformed where dents or impacts would have been inflicted upon it in the flurry of blows, and so to Constantine and all others around them it fully appeared as if the traitor had not accomplished a single thing in his assault.

Realizing the danger he now was in prompted Constantine to begin pleading for his life, desperate to survive even as the chances of his doing so rapidly diminished.

"Please, have mercy my lord. I was wrong to believe you were weak, I should not have taken such action. Please, spare me Warsmith, and I will pledge myself forever as your instrument—"

While Constantine pled and begged for his life Jarn had simply stared at him in silence, as if waiting for his feeble pleas to finish until suddenly Jarn lunged a hand to Constantine's throat and gripped it tightly. With this hold he proceeded to lift Constantine up off his feet while simultaneously choking him, during which Jarn began to speak in a calm and controlled manner that stood leagues apart from his actions. Constantine clawed at his throat and at the Warsmith's arm to try and free himself, even punching and striking at the limb that now constricted his breathing, but it was to no avail as Jarn demonstrated to all present how he was capable of surviving the Decimation against nine other Astartes when they were tasked with beating him to death.

"Like Olympia my homeworld was harsh. Unforgiving. It did not suffer the weak to survive, and even children such as I partook in that struggle so that maybe we all might live another day. There was no honor, no glory, only what was needed to be done."

Jarn used his hold on Constantine to slam the traitor into an Arvus Lighter, making Constantine gasp as any remaining breath within him was forced out by the impact. In his continued desperation Constantine used his elevated position to begin punching at Jarn's helmet, only for the Warsmith to react by dropping Constantine to his feet and then grabbing him by the torso to slam him into the Lighter. This done Jarn twisted Constantine around and hurled him across the floor, capable of finishing him off but dragging out the 'duel' to make a point.

"Do you know what it is like to go hungry? To be a hair's breadth away from starvation as others die around you? To remain stranded, surrounded by death and the beasts that will visit it upon you? What struggles have you endured that you believe you can stand before those who have lost everything and command them?"

To his credit Constantine was able to force himself back to his feet, his own Iron Warrior physiology leaving him capable of enduring quite the beating and that was exactly what he was in for. The damage Jarn had done to his throat kept him from even attempting to plead further, and so instead he rushed at Jarn in a fury to strike at him again. Having expected as much, Jarn caught Constantine's fist in one hand and grabbed his other by the wrist to prevent the follow-up hit Constantine had intended.

"I still carry the dream of Utopia within me. That we, the Iron Warriors, the Emperor of Mankind's angels of death, will one day control our own destiny rather than serve as the pawns of others!"

Twisting the arm he held harshly allowed Jarn to snap Constantine's forearm and disable it, at which point he released it and Constantine's fist to shift his weight into an uppercut that knocked the Astarte off his feet when Jarn's armored fist connected with his jaw. Constantine stumbled onto his knees, unable to use one arm to steady himself as he attempted to rise again and thus slowed as Jarn approached him and grabbed him by the nape. With the traitor's neck once again in hand Jarn hoisted him back to his feet, forced him to face him, and then slammed his own fist directly into Constantine's gut, cracking the ceramite of his Power Armor around the navel in the process.

"The Imperium, the Warmaster, even our Primarch...they have never once had our interests in their hearts, and that is why for so long our sacrifices have been in vain! If we are going to achieve our ideals it won't be by submitting ourselves to those who only see us as tools to their own ends! Those too short-sighted to see the bigger picture, those who would sacrifice the future for their immediate gratification and benefit, are nothing but anvils weighing us down!"

With a degree of fury Jarn typically kept restrained he struck Constantine again, this time hitting with enough force to knock the traitor completely around in a circle which left Constantine vulnerable to a follow-up where Jarn swung a haymaker right into his ear. The impact crushed the ear into a messy pulp, it being enough to disorient Constantine through sheer force despite his superhuman enhancements and augmentations. As Constantine stumbled away Jarn pursued, landing powerful hit after hit onto his target while the crowd around them was enraptured by the display and observed in complete silence. It was obvious that while Jarn was not pulling his punches he was quite obviously making an example of Constantine, who if the Warsmith so desired could have had his neck snapped at the very beginning with little fanfare.

This was an execution the way Tristan's encounter with Palamedes almost was, and none dared to speak up or intervene. Not only did they respect their leader, they were appalled by Constantine's betrayal that was made evident not only from Jarn's accusation but through Constantine's poor response to being confronted about it.

"Utopia for us is not some idyllic fantasy impossible to achieve through mortal means, but a reality we shape with our own hands! A world where we are free from the shackles others would cast upon us, where we can create the great wonders we have always desired, where through our effort and action we can improve what is flawed and set right what is wrong! We will bring back our right to self-determination, to life itself, no matter whose dead hands we have to pry it from! If peace and prosperity can only be achieved through tyranny then so be it!"

Jarn grabbed Constantine by the face to smash and drag it across a nearby ship, after which he released him to suddenly punch Constantine partially through the vessel. It was obvious that the senseless deaths of his men thanks to Constantine's machinations had enraged Jarn, and as an observer Tristan could not blame him. As Jarn threw fist after fist into where Constantine had been forced through metal the traitor could barely cough in response, only being given a reprieve when Jarn hauled him out of it and tossed him to his feet again to begin beating him in the open space left for them by the gathered crowd. Each hit would double Constantine over or send him spiralling such was the force used, and Jarn showed no signs of growing tired. Others had been gifted by fate to possess psychic powers, others supernatural speed, and yet others could shoot a foe miles away without error: what Jarn had been born with, and what had allowed him to survive all of this time, was the raw physical power to force his way through whatever was in front of him.

And right now all that stood before him was a half-dead fool who killed his men.

"So-called 'Loyalists' who have betrayed their very ideals, slaves of Chaos and Abaddon who have no greater purpose, the ignorant masses of the Imperium, let them all be cast into the flames of perdition and hell itself! If we must rebuild the true Imperium from its very foundation brick by brick atop the corpses of our foes then so be it! We fight for what we believe in, what our kin have sacrificed their lives for, and I will let nothing will stand in our way!"

A wide swing of Jarn's arm knocked Constantine clear off his feet, the Iron Warrior collapsing down and no longer having the strength to properly rise on his own. Even so when Jarn bent down to grab him Constantine did attempt to strike back, his hand having grabbed at a member of the crowd's belt and gripped a bolt pistol that Constantine then unloaded directly into Jarn. The shots mostly harmlessly deflected off the Warsmith's armor, though a lucky one penetrated his lower abdomen and prompted him to bleed...only for this to not slow Jarn down at all as he continued to throttle Constantine with his bare hands.

"It is by my will that I have forged this Legion to do what must be done! When the time comes that we are called to action how we respond to that call is what defines us, whether we become what is needed to enact change or if we allow history to just take its course!"

It was a testament to Constantine's resolve that he could stand at all as Jarn bashed his fists against him one after the other with sufficient strength to continue breaking Constantine's armor beneath his metal gauntlets, though it was clear that little life remained in the traitor's body and so as Jarn continued his assault he prepared also for a coup de grace.

"The Iron Legion will survive, we will be the ones to reshape Humanity and mend the wounds Horus and his ilk inflicted upon it in our moment of triumph! I will not allow the scheming of fools to endanger our people, nor will I let the seeds of Chaos be sewn amongst our ranks! There will be no move to take over my command, there will be no backstabbing and paranoia tearing us apart from the inside, our fates are intertwined now and forever more!"

Jarn reached back to retrieve his Power Maul Eirlithriad from where it sat on his back, ending with one swing his brutal display of strength and why he was the one who led the thousands belonging to the Iron Legion. The connection of Eirlithriad with Constantine's battered body was met with an eruption of blood, metal, and bone as everything above his knees disappeared into a red mist.

Still holding his Power Maul in hand, Jarn turned to the crowd and finally addressed them with a now calm and measured voice in place of his previously enraged one.

"Would anyone care to fill his shoes?"

Unbeknownst to the others gathered Brechung had prepared a bolt pistol at his side in case the confrontation did not end up favoring the Warsmith, ready to eliminate whomever might intercede on behalf of Constantine. Fortunately none stepped forward during or after the duel, and instead cheers of celebration rang out as the brutal warrior culture of Astartes reacted to the execution of a traitor within their ranks. Their faith had not been shaken at all in their service to their Warsmith to whom they owed their very lives after the fall of Olympia, and this display only had strengthened their resolve to continue their fight to achieve Utopia once and for all. Among them stood Urkamus and Ossus, the latter having brought the former to greet his squad at the hangar yet having lacked the opportunity to do so until now. Both had their own weapons ready in hand had things gone sour, but the shared brotherhood between the Astartes present had fortunately been in favor of their Warsmith rather than his would-be usurper.

Jarn nodded to his men gathered in shared respect, though he did not linger on the conflict for long: there was now a hole within his command staff, as Constantine had been one of Archimedes' top officers who oversaw various squads on his behalf such as Urkamus Squad.

"Archimedes will need a new Lieutenant to fill the void left by the deceased. Having survived and properly led his team despite Constantine's efforts to the contrary it is my belief that Tristan Bertrand shall assume this responsibility. Today he fought and survived battle with a Daemon Prince of Khorne who cut down twenty of our ranks, and so I ask if any object to this promotion."

This sudden announcement caught Tristan by surprise, and while the energized masses of Iron Warriors around him offered no complaint to Jarn's decision it was Tristan himself who felt unworthy.

Tristan bowed his head, a difficult display given the pain radiating throughout his body and his joints in particular, "Warsmith, you honor me, but I am uncertain if I am worthy. It was all I could do to survive in the face of such a foe..."

Unfortunately for Tristan his mentor was having none of it, and instead grabbed Tristan's less injured arm to raise it high above the crowd as if in triumph.

"But you did survive, and in doing so you have proven the ethos of our Legion: Iron Within, Iron Without! With your own two hands you created this armor, and through sheer force of will you survived what few others could claim to!"

With such proclamations made Tristan could offer little resistance, and so found himself acceding to the promotion hoisted upon him. He felt shame at his failure to defeat Palamedes, but the Daemon Prince had slipped away and rejoined his forces on the other side of the world. By now they would likely be departing, but now Tristan knew that the Daemon desired to finish what he had started...and perhaps the next time they met a different outcome could emerge. As he slowly began to remember the battle he realized just how damning overthinking things had been, as he had been entirely unable to keep up with Palamedes' movements since he was always two steps behind, but he was determined to work on that flaw in his combat moving forward.

The damage to his armor and body gave Tristan some ideas on how to prepare for such an occasion, and perhaps now with his increased rank he could requisition greater resources to further his development of the Logos Incrementum.

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A/N: It is nearly the one year anniversary of this story, and so this week to celebrate I will be releasing two updates, one to finish the current mini-arc on Kimara and one which will have something I know you've all been waiting for...that's right, Inwit is around the corner! It will be a major update that covers a lot of ground and so I must say I cannot wait to finish it!

As for the unexpected appearance of Palamedes in this update, perhaps as Tristan gets some medical attention we can see more of what happened between them, but for now I felt that a completely beaten and broken Tristan in the aftermath of such an engagement was the best way to show just how damaging it could be. Tristan has endured a lot, and even after all his defensive upgrades only just barely made it out alive here.

I hope you all enjoyed and that you will let me know your thoughts in the comments below!​

 

[Thunderscourge]

ASIER TERMINUS

It was a quiet day upon Inwit that found Torian patrolling his fortress and making certain that each and every detail was as it ought to be. He had been in charge for decades at this point and not a single issue had cropped up in that time, but he was resolute in his desire to keep things that way and ensure that anything that might threaten them or their secrecy was dealt with immediately. Others may grow lax with years of inactivity, but he was a security officer of the Imperial Fists and would make certain to uphold the scrutiny and standards Rogal Dorn himself would expect.

A new recruit to the base named Katus was quite enthusiastic about fending off any possible threats, though given his station he mostly was assigned menial tasks that kept him away from the major locations that Torian was primarily observing in his security sweep. While Torian was firm in his desire to be ready for any possible attack and had security protocols in place to react to such an event in a regimented, orderly fashion Katus on the other hand was convinced they would be attacked and was constantly on-edge about such a possibility. Torian made use of the younger Imperial Fist's concern to have him handle the grunt-work related to maintaining the facility to ensure that any would-be attackers could not force their way in, and fortunately Katus took well to such duties and was grateful to be of use.

Their armory was a primary concern of Torian's since in the event of an attack they would need to access it, and so he made certain it possessed the greatest concentration of forces besides the front gates where they would be fending off any foes. Heavy bolters and such weapons were primarily to be found in these locations as a result, as they were unnecessary and got in the way of other duties that required one's hands to be free. The entire garrison was armed with master-crafted boltguns, and even their mortal servants possessed boltguns and bolt pistols, so they could mow down even Astartes in standard Power Armor if it came to such a situation.

While visiting the armory Torian made certain that Sevald and the others stationed there were vigilant given their important role in the base's protection, and he light-heartedly jested about them not using their assignment there to test out their various weapons against Tempest's Claw, Sevald's personal chainsword modeled after their Primarch's own. Sevald pridefully noted that he had no such need to test it on other weapons in their armory as he knew it could carve through anything, just as its predecessor had disarmed a Primarch and cleaved through their armor according to the records they kept. Torian nodded in approval and left Sevald to take care of his duties there, knowing that while Sevald desired to be a frontline soldier that he was reliable and would not shirk his duties here.

The base's communications had separate components, with one array being in their command center so that their officers could properly contact others outside of the base as needed, and their primary communication systems in an area opposite the armory that had the strength to reach Imperial Fist forces across the galaxy. If anything were to happen they would warn their kin and seek aid in defeating any foe that threatened the secrets of Rogal Dorn. The lack of usage of this system did not mean it did not function, and regular tests were carried out for it with one such test scheduled to occur in another day's time. For the meantime overlooking it was one of the more menial tasks asked of Katus, and so Torian was content that someone so diligent was ensuring its safety.

When all else was finished Torian returned to their command center, its members all standing as was expected on Inwit for its warriors, and he saluted them all before granting them permission to return to their work. Proper discipline and respect was called for even in a garrison deployment such as this, and his men were some of the finest Imperial Fists that Torian had ever known.

"Welcome back, dear leader. Did you enjoy toying with the newblood's rampant paranoia again?" Adon smirked as he greeted his old friend, the apothecary and second-in-command of the base glad to be joined by Torian once again.

"You must be taking a liking to Katus if your japes now extend to him," Torian rebutted as he took his place and began to overlook the recent seismic activity. There had been some earlier and while it was not out of the ordinary it deserved to be taken seriously, since even if they were not attacked a serious seismic event could damage their structure.

Wanzar chuckled as he joined in on their conversation, pounding one mechanical hand into the other, "The boy needs some experience under his belt or he'll continue leaping at shadows! Who in their right mind would attack Inwit of all worlds, and this base of all those upon it! Why, if they did I'd crack their skulls one after another!"

Out of their primary staff it was only the cool-headed Trius who did not partake in the casual dialogue which ensued, it being a way for the Imperial Fists stationed there indefinitely to unwind and ease off some of the tension they felt day to day wondering if that would be the day someone tried their luck at taking the facility. The few lower ranking members present also stayed quiet out of respect for their commanding officers, not desiring to interrupt them as they spoke.

Their conversation only came to an end when suddenly the entire base shook for a moment, nearly dislodging the Imperial Fists from where they each stood before suddenly quieting down. The lack of chairs meant that whenever something like this happened they had forcibly learned to grab onto something, but sometimes it was so sudden that they could not react in time and fallen Fists would be reprimanded for sitting while on duty.

This was one of the most severe seismic disturbances Torian had experienced in all his time stationed here though and so he took another look at the readings, addressing Trius simultaneously, "Damage report and expected activity for the rest of this week's cycles."
"Seismic activity is within calculated projections. It should pass momentarily," just as Trius said this another tremor shook them all, this one even more violent than the last, "I have observed an increased frequency of disturbances over recent decades and this correlates with the data of Inwit's natural tectonic shifts."

Something in his gut told Torian that this was not natural however, as right after Trius spoke the tremors resumed and grew in size.

"I do not believe this is natural..."

Trius' eyes lit up as his sensors revealed new information, though by the time they could be read it was too late.

"Numerous heat signatures from beneath—"

Before the typically cold and reserved officer could report the full readings something none of the Imperial Fists had experienced cut him off: sudden freefall. Within a moment they felt the surface beneath their fortress crumble and the structure plummeted down as one would expect something so heavy to. The Fists slammed into the ceiling as their base raced to collide down into the depths beneath it, its descent so rapid that even though it fell for what must have been miles it soon slammed into another thick layer of ice.

As it collided down so did the Imperial Fists throughout the base, though the impact damaged the structure enough to knock out their primary power generator which left them without vision as they writhed in pain and attempted to climb back up. Within moments their backup generator brought primary systems back to life, and in doing so revealed to the dazed and injured Torian that some of his brethren had not survived the fall. From what he could see his fellow officers had survived the fall, but half of their support staff had perished and the other half were injured as well.

What in the Emperor's name was that?

Just how many of the nearly one hundred Imperial Fists stationed within the base even survived the sudden collapse? It could not have been natural as they strictly monitored the condition of the ice beneath them and it showed no signs of such a breakage, so what had happened? Trius had mentioned heat, so had someone blasted the ice? The amount of explosives to disrupt that much territory and drop them this distance was nigh inconceivable, so how could anyone have accomplished that without anyone on Inwit noticing? This could not have been sanctioned mining operations gone awry, as they would have been informed of such an activity and been able to quash it...

So much remained unknown, and as Torian struggled to get back up his mind would soon be filled with entirely different thoughts. Within moments of their crash their outer wall burst open, having been softened up during the blackout by a concentration of melta-weaponry that even its reinforced hull could not endure.

Wanzar had been the first to recover thanks to his mechanical augments, and in doing so he was able to climb back up to his feet in time to witness an armored pair of hands tearing through the debris, further breaching the gap opened as if tearing apart soft clay. As the behemoth ripping through the wall drew closer Wanzar's eyes widened in shock, as he knew well from history the armor he was looking at: the Logos.

"Perturabo!?" Wanzar spoke dumbfounded as he finished shaking off the impact he had suffered, though the surprise did not halt him from his duties. Wanzar leapt at the wall's breach as his kin all regained their bearings, knowing that if the Primarch of the Iron Warriors was able to finish breaking through and pave a path for his kin that they would be able to rapidly carve their way through his comrades. So that his kin could know what they were facing he yelled out to them in warning.

"Heretics!"

Unfortunately for him the mighty Dwrniâ, the fists of this incarnation of the Logos, were more than capable of finishing off the remains of the wall in short order. By the time Wanzar could close half the distance between them 'Perturabo' already stood within the fortress, his soldiers piling in behind him as he rose his arms to aim the Peleneira wrist cannons he carried at the Imperial Fist charging straight for him.

"Fall, Imperial slaves!"

Had Wanzar been able to strike his foe he could have inflicted severe damage with his enhanced fists, but such an outcome was doomed from the start: a powerful bolt caught Wanzar in the shoulder and upper abdomen with enough force to twist his body back, during which time more of the incoming bullets from the Logos tore into Wanzar's back and ripped what remained of him in half. Wanzar fell to the ground as blood oozed out of his torn body, expiring shortly thereafter with his final thoughts being of how he hoped his action and warning had bought his fellow Fists the time they needed to react.

As Wanzar fell Trius recovered from his own shock, having been able to brace himself better than the others since he was reading the seismic activity at the moment their fortress fell. While somewhat dazed he possessed a resolute will that allowed him to shake it off, his cool and calculating disposition allowing him to draw his plasma gun and aim it immediately as he moved to face the Iron Warriors. From his position he had a clear line of sight to the Iron Warriors filing in behind 'Perturabo', and since he doubted he could scratch the Logos with his gun he decided instead to pin down those entering.

Right behind the believed Primarch of the Iron Warriors was a figure even taller than him, having to lower their head to properly make their way into the breached wall, and since knocking such a foe down would stall further invaders Trius aimed for their head. His shot sailed across the room with surprising accuracy given the shock his body had endured, superheated plasma striking true at the face of the colossal Iron Warrior...only to harmlessly dissipate right before him thanks to a set of shields that could absorb far more damage than what a single plasma shot could accomplish.

In retaliation the Iron Warrior lifted a weapon integrated into his armor's forearm the way Devastator Centurions carried Heavy Bolters and Lascannons, its appearance unfamiliar to Trius but its general design reminiscent of Tau technology. After taking aim for a moment the unknown weapon fired, revealing itself as a railgun via the noise left in its wake being like that of a whip cracking with its projectile breaking the sound barrier. The kinetic force imparted upon its target was such that it tore through Trius' Power Armor without issue and without him being able to react at all to the shot, his upper abdomen reduced to fragments.

Blood spurted from Trius' mouth as his eyes lost focus and his remains fell to the ground, not an ounce of life left within him after a single shot had destroyed much of his superhuman physiology. By now the other Iron Warriors breaking through this part of the fortress had entered and begun to lay down covering fire, heavy bolters and storm bolters both tearing apart the command center without relent. Imperial Fists unable to react thanks to the concussive damage taken previously by their fall were cut down, while those who could took cover behind terminals and even the remains of their kin, evoking a similar image to the Iron Cage where the Imperial Fists led by Rogal Dorn ended up forced to protect themselves with their mountains of dead from the Iron Warriors assailing them.

Among those still capable of battle were Adon and Torian, the former so torn with grief over his fallen comrades he was barely able to restrain himself from lashing out as he took cover. The latter had drawn his plasma pistol and begun firing over the table he now hid behind, the remains of Trius laying nearby him with vacant eyes and the lower half of his face covered in the blood he coughed out upon death. The retaliation by Torian drew enough attention his way for Adon to open fire as well with his pistol and that of another Imperial Fist who had fallen nearby him, slain in the initial fall that had started this invasion.

Where had these heretics come from? Just how had they slipped by their early warning systems and managed to invade Inwit of all places? Foul sorcery? Brute force? If not, then how? Who could have possibly overcame all of the defensive systems and security checkpoints Rogal Dorn himself had arranged for the protection of his home planet?

Such thoughts faded from Adon's mind as Torian caught a glancing blow from a third giant amongst the ranks of the Iron Warriors, one who Adon had not even noticed until the towering Astarte's plasma nearly slew Torian. He tried to cry out to Torian but caught a shot to his chest that knocked the wind out of the apothecary's chest instead.

The Battle of Inwit only just had begun and already it was looking ever more grim for the sons of Dorn.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

Selection for the participants of the Inwit conflict was strict, as only around twenty Astartes would be able to make the journey undetected and so Jarn brought many of his top soldiers after objectively observing their performance. To this end it was little surprise that Levente would end up chosen.

While possessing less than a century of service it was no exaggeration to say that Levente had already obtained more kills than some of his Iron Warrior peers who had fought in both the Great Crusade and the Horus Heresy. In every battle he took part in Levente tore apart his opposition without mercy or hesitation, appearing almost as if he was a force of nature rather than a mere mortal enhanced to possess superhuman might. Strength was part of what carried his efforts, but it was mostly his bursts of speed that allowed him to surprise foes and overwhelm them before they could mount a proper defense that saw so many fall to his blades and hammers.

Upon being assigned to serve under Khyr the Triarch member had taken Levente under his wing and taught him how to best utilize his shock tactics and how to duel foes of all stripes that they might encounter. Weakpoints were highlighted, the most effective ways to disorientate a foe in close combat studied, and the most effective ways to deal crippling or killing blows practiced at length all so that Levente could serve the role he was chosen for: to serve as a champion of the Iron Legion, one who could best whatever foe he was met with. He possessed the skill and speed to match blows with experts in close-quarters engagements that the slower Tristan and Warsmith would struggle with, and so not only was he a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield it also meant that Levente could entangle such threats that would pose danger to the Warsmith.

Almost entirely lacking in subtlety, Levente won his engagements with head-on tactics and swiftly ended them before his foes could mount a proper defense. Few could break their way into a guarded fortress and extract something valuable the way he could with all the dead he would leave in his wake, and so when time was not a resource that could be spared Levente was deployed for whatever the task might be. His blitzkrieg methodology to everything was frighteningly efficient in such instances, and while his near reckless charges would often result in those around him perishing to enemy gunfire or in melee it did not detract from the reality that Levente was always victorious.

Some conflicts had to be ended immediately and without delay, and so while there was a cost upon their personnel Levente never lost more soldiers than what his objectives were worth taking. He might be headstrong, but he was no fool and knew how to best insert himself and his teams where they needed to go in order to obtain the greatest degree of success. It was this form of genius that saw him also within the ranks of the Dodekatheon, as not every battle was one that could be solved in the same way and thus a diversity of viewpoints and tactics had to be brought to the table for all of their members to properly dissect the optimal way to approach a situation.

One mission Levente was assigned to was of the utmost secrecy, with only a small strike team of six Astartes being chosen for the task. Besides Levente they were joined by Brechung, Gunnar, two other Astartes Levente did not know, and Khyr himself. Of them they would be divided into two teams, with Levente following Khyr alongside Gunnar while Brechung led the other team with Khyr holding overall command of their force. From what little information he was given beforehand they would be raiding some kind of Imperial vessel and extracting valuable intel it was carrying before escaping under the guise of having failed their objective. Khyr's team would obtain the data while Brechung's would steal a separate and useless set of data to keep attention from them, thus facilitating the process and hiding their true intentions if any of them were discovered.

To board the vessel in question the Iron Warriors first infiltrated a Mechanicus facility that would be providing it with resources, using the shipments in question to hide themselves and escape attention. To mask their vitals they entered a temporary state of hibernation thanks to their Sus-an Membranes that they would be aroused from upon their arrival by medical patches procured by Ossus and sit beneath their armor to kickstart their systems again with the proper chemical solutions. Chameoline cloaks provided for the mission would shroud their actions once they emerged from hiding, at which point it would be a simple matter of carefully evading their security systems and obtaining the data.

Hiding and staying quiet went against Levente's nature, but the knowledge that they would have to likely fight their way out after taking the data helped ease him. Using codes granted to him by the Warsmith Khyr was able to get them where they needed to go and slip past a myriad of security terminals without issue, after which they found what appeared to be a laboratory where various organs sat in tubes for study and observation while elsewhere the bodies of Astartes could be seen. Their deceased nature meant they were next to irrelevant to their mission, but Levente could not help but notice that they were all particularly large for Astartes: they might not possess the height of the Warsmith or that fool Tristan, but they were each approximately eight feet or taller from what he could estimate.

Actually obtaining all of the data without leaving a trace was more difficult than it might sound, for it required Khyr to have brought special tools with him to extract the data held within the console he was interacting with while also not interfering with the native system whatsoever lest he leave a digital fingerprint that someone had tampered with it. As he did this Levente and Gunnar kept watch and made certain no-one interrupted him, though to Levente's irritation not a single soul came their way thus depriving him of a battle. As he was idle Levente noted that the data they were taking had the title of 'Magna Mater', whatever that meant, and he was left to wonder just why it was so important to the Warsmith.

Destroying the original might be preferable in Levente's eyes once they got their own copy, but he understood that if it truly was of importance the Imperium might go to lengths to get it back. This way at least they would not draw the ire of a force they could not overcome, but Levente would be damned if he did not crave for the chance to prove his martial might.

Once Khyr finished the Triarch gave the other two the signal to begin heading out wordlessly, not even risking the chance that a private communication might be intercepted and heard onboard this enemy ship. Just as quietly as they slipped in they escaped back to where they would then depart, meeting with Brechung's team and boarding a vessel carrying seemingly prototype vehicles from the look of things, as they did not seem to be Predator tanks yet shared in some design to them. From what Levente could see they were not treaded, but rather seemed to possess some form of hovering capability that would grant them smoother movement so long as their equipment remained undamaged.

From Brechung's report he had stolen the files for such vehicles and so any who discovered their actions on board would be led to believe that they had meant to steal the schematics, not the Magna Mater. Using the Imperium's own weapons against them was something Levente could get behind, though he remained uneasy on the way back to the world they would then depart to meet back up with their own fleet. Not only had he not yet gotten the opportunity to distinguish himself in this expedition, he also got the feeling that something was suspicious about the Warsmith being able to so accurately plan out this operation. Had he obtained some kind of vital intel to inform their proposed actions? Levente did not doubt the Warsmith himself, he just felt that there must be something else at play for such a thing to be carried out as while Iron Warriors were capable of subterfuge and such they were not known for it.

Once they landed Levente indulged in his desire for a battle when on their way to their own ship they were discovered by the planet's garrison, a garrison that would lose hundreds of men by the time the Iron Warriors were able to reach their destination. This made the flight back to the fleet far more bearable for Levente, who was able to boast about the dozens he cut down in mere moments with his favored set of weapons, those being a Thunder Hammer and Chainsword wielded together in tandem with one in each hand thanks to his impressive might. His fluid movements in combat allowed him to utilize one, both, or swap between them in each moment which made his movements difficult to read and made them far more deadly, and while the sword could carve through lighter targets the hammer could bludgeon more resilient ones such as Astartes.

Upon their return from the mission they immediately reported to Ossus to pass along the data they acquired, their chief Apothecary carefully locking it away in a hidden vault within his lab along with a data module labeled 'Raptor', another named 'Bile', and the last titled 'Selenar'. What they were for was beyond Levente, but if he had to guess they were going to be methods of improving Astartes given the size of the ones he saw corpses of.

Perhaps that was why the Warsmith was so interested in it all and would send them on such a mission, but Levente balked at the idea of someone creating Astartes superior to those designed by the Emperor himself. From what Ossus said he had now what he needed to begin putting into development Project Humanity, to which Khyr nodded and appeared to understand what he meant but made no verbal response to that would illuminate Levente.

So long as they continued to crusade throughout the stars there would be plenty more aspiring Astartes they could recruit to their cause, just as Levente himself had been, and so whatever the truth was it was beyond Levente's care: he just needed his next target that stood in the way of their conquest, and that was all that mattered.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Tristan was the unwitting architect of the assault on Inwit and so was almost automatically chosen for inclusion in the raid, though his performance following his promotion certainly helped secure his place amongst the top operatives the Iron Legion possessed.

In his role as one of the officers under Archimedes it was natural that Tristan was inducted into the ranks of the Kheledakos, the Iron Warriors' "Brethren of Cold" who commanded their vessels. Aboard their mighty vessels the strategic forces of Archimedes could achieve their objectives and orchestrate campaigns, and while it took time to acclimate towards Tristan found himself comfortable in the position granted to him. To command a squad of individuals in the field was not something he particularly enjoyed or believed himself skilled at, but aboard the bridge of a vessel he could give orders and have them possess far grander effects than when he was on foot. This also meant that mistakes were compounded and far more disastrous, but Tristan's careful nature helped mitigate such instances.

Whereas many vessels possessed mortal crew members upon their bridges the many injured and otherwise disabled among the ranks of the Iron Legion meant that they had Astartes to fulfill such roles aboard many of their ships. The technical and machine mastery of the Iron Warriors in question meant that they were quite skilled at their tasks and could carry out orders near flawlessly, directly interfacing with their vessels and controlling their every movement and action as if they were extensions of their own being.

The strict adherence to orders and one's superiors within the ranks of the Iron Warriors also meant though many of those aboard the bridge were Tristan's senior they did as they were told, and Tristan made certain to prove himself so that they would not doubt him even within their minds. Operations were carried out in meticulous methods of organization and deployment of their resources, and while they had not yet come to face an equal foe in space itself to properly judge his capabilities in ship-to-ship combat not one of the Astartes deployed from the Eisernen had perished under his watch. Archimedes had left their flagship under Tristan's command since it would allow Jarn to better guide his student, and given that most of their fleet comprised the same model of Battleship it meant little to the rationally minded Archimedes which vessel he commanded the overall fleet from.

That none had fallen in battle might seem impossible given the constant battles of attrition the Iron Warriors waged, but Tristan had been deployed to ensure the maximum and efficient acquisition of resources to build their fleet. While other groups and squads such as those led by Khyr, Levente, and Urkamus might be deployed to a specific location to extract something of importance it was Tristan's assigned duty to ensure that their fleet finished obtaining the materials Jarn asked them to. Many minerals could be mined from worlds without any population present which thus with the proper safety precautions granted to planet's nature and the mining operations themselves meant no casualties would be incurred.

Tristan had learned from Jarn who in turn was a student of Forrix who was a master of deployment and organization, and as Tristan's mind was well suited to data and minutiae he was able to strip these planets of every valuable resource they possessed before leaving the barren worlds behind for others to find rendered worthless to settlement. Everything was analyzed, performance in every field studied, methodology tested and improved upon, and so Tristan made optimal usage of the forces left under his command through iterative improvement like he utilized to improve everything else he worked on. With the Warsmith's guidance this process was even faster, learning from his experience and wisdom, and so Tristan flourished in the administrative role granted to him.

To avoid the Imperium's watchful gaze meant that not every sector or planet was available for their needs, and thus to acquire certain requisite materials Tristan did have to occasionally strike at a world with some form of antagonistic presence. That these encounters did not result in casualties over the course of years would seem implausible as well, if not for the fact that Tristan did not have the compulsion for honorable or direct combat that many Astartes did. He simply lacked the care for it when there were more efficient manners with which to reach the same outcome without sacrificing anything in the process, and so Tristan's particular style for warfare was realized: mass orbital bombardment until not a single foe remained to possibly threaten his forces.

This method was first employed when a beautiful forest world had an abundance of rare minerals required for the construction of the Iron Warriors' fleet with the only thing keeping them from harvesting these resources being a native population of primitive Xenos. Said Xenos had proven their danger by their possession of Eldar technology taken from slain Exodites, and despite possessing vaguely Humanoid forms possessed far greater strength and speed than even the Eldar they slew had.

When attempts were made to open communication with them they scorned the Iron Warriors in orbit, possessing a deep hatred of 'outsiders' that bordered on irrational, and threatened war instead of acquiesce to Tristan's offers of peacefully landing and taking the resources that these Xenos had built their technologically backwards habitats upon yet made no use of. A peaceful solution was not possible even if the Iron Warriors would not disturb their way of life, and so these Xenos previously undiscovered by Humanity instead used the technology left behind by the fallen Eldar Exodites to send grandiose speeches of how they would repel these new invaders just as they had slain those of the past.

It was while listening to their screeds about communing with nature and the evils of those who would dare trespass upon it that Tristan gave the order to begin orbital bombardment. He was there for resources, not lectures by some Xenos too unintelligent to realize that the offers of peace were a mercy, not begging for it. They mocked technology and yet used that of a conquered force of Eldar far smaller than their own thriving tribe, and what did these Xenos who claimed to date back tens of thousands of years have to show for any of it? They were still stuck on a single world without any noteworthy technology born from their own hands, an entire civilization that could not find its way forward while countless others had.

Tristan could invade and subjugate these Xenos, but what point was there in doing so? Honor? Glory? Those would detract from efficiency, and the resources would still be there once the world's surface was cleansed of threats to the Iron Warriors. It was cold and calculating, lacking sympathy and heart, but Tristan prioritized his survival and that of his fellow Iron Legion members over some random species of Xenos who would meet peaceful overtures with threats of violence. If he could find some manner to respect them, even in a minor sense as he had the Coryza, perhaps he would have had a compelling reason to spare them but no, they possessed nothing worthy of a second glance to his technical mind. No marvels of engineering, no discoveries from the stars, no wonders of technological engineering, they had chosen to remain shackled to the past and their world and so they would be left behind by a galaxy at war that had no use or place for them.

If they were not in the way Tristan would have been fine leaving them to their rock for they were no threat in the long-term, content to leave them to wither away until their world no longer could sustain them. Humanity, or more specifically the Iron Warriors, would be conquering new stars and new worlds throughout the cosmos under the Warsmith's vision and so such insignificant specks were unimportant.

An unintended side-effect of the orbital bombardment that Tristan came to appreciate was that it cut off the Xenos attempting to lecture him, replaced instead with silence as in a single military action Tristan opened the path to his objective and secured the lives of any forces sent down to reclaim it. He did not hate Xenos for being Xenos, but that did not mean he was going to accept even a single Iron Warrior casualty when he could just remove the threat from existence. If it was antagonistic Humans in the way he would do the same thing if the situation called for it, and so Tristan's first true 'battle' as a commanding officer was met with complete success. The resources were obtained and nothing had been lost in the process, completely encapsulating Tristan's approach to such endeavors.

If there was a fight that would be too costly he would avoid it entirely in favor of conflicts he was certain would possess a positive outcome by going over all relevant information and data, and so while he saw it only as doing his job properly he came to possess a growing reputation amongst some of the Iron Legion for his pragmatism and rational solutions. That most were veterans of the Great Crusade where Humanity's expansion throughout the stars necessitated brutal wars and the eradication of entire civilizations (Xenos or Human) meant that Tristan's methods were wholly accepted by them, especially those who had lost their kin in otherwise avoidable ways. That the Warsmith gave his own approval helped solidify this reputation, as the fervent support the Warsmith possessed resulted in his views being widely spread and shared amongst their ranks.

So long as they did as they were told Tristan did not particularly care as to the specifics in his current station, and with zero losses to speak of few could argue with his results. Their bombardments that they occasionally would have to undertake cost them nothing in terms of resources except for time, and Tristan was very thorough to ensure that they eliminated every last possible threat before moving onto the mining operations. This process would be far less efficient if they were not informed of vulnerable or useful planets to pillage by the Warsmith, who Tristan presumed was receiving intel from Asier or other such agents under their command. It was beyond Tristan's domain to care about that either as the information was always reliable for their forces across decades, so he would continue entrusting the Warsmith with his life and focusing his efforts not on questioning him but rather in achieving results.

With his increase in rank and station within their forces so too did Tristan's access to resources they acquired, and while he was already given a quite lenient affordance of them before thanks to Jarn desiring to see what Tristan could create now Tristan was capable of actually picking and choosing things from conquests for his own personal usage. This meant that the technically minded Tristan would come over the years to acquire a veritable armory of weapons, armor, technology, and vehicles spanning the various factions and groups they crossed paths with. Mostly he just used Brechung's connections to trade raw materials they possessed excesses of for contraband from Xenos species and the Imperium so he could better inspect and learn from them, and in this manner he came to possess bits and pieces of Tau technology that had particularly fascinated him: most specifically their various models of railguns, intact copies of their drones, and their shield generators.

In the span of a few hundred years the Tau had managed to rapidly improve their technology in a manner akin to how Humanity once did tens of thousands of years ago, and since Tristan's specialty was intuitively understanding how various technologies worked after observing and tinkering with them much of the Tau's handiwork was easy to grasp. The Xenos were quite technologically proficient, but they had not actually yet reached the heights Humanity's technology had reached at its peak and Tristan had already deciphered the functionality of everything in the Dodekatheon's wide array of contraptions and weapons. The notes and research of the Warsmith combined with decades of restless study with a mind suited for such tasks all came together to grant Tristan deep understanding of everything from lasguns to Basilisks to Kastelan machines, and every free moment Tristan was not spending honing his other skills was spent on furthering his grasp on them all.

Tristan's interest in the Tau technology for railguns was born of his studies into effective counters to Astartes, upon which he learned that the Tau's rail weapons were notorious for their ability to not just rip through an Astarte but also to destroy their physical form to such a degree that recovering Gene Seed from them would be nigh impossible. That his armor's form was not that much smaller than a Broadside Battlesuit that could carry two such weapons gave Tristan the idea of incorporating one such weapon into his arsenal to be used as an upgraded form of the autocannons he had been utilizing until then. The concept was the same after all, rapidly firing a projectile such that it could deal considerable damage to a target, the difference primarily was that the railgun was the ultimate form of that idea by propelling the projectile at a pace well past what mortal senses could properly conceive.

If he could properly utilize a railgun in battle Tristan was quite certain his foes would be unable to dodge it, and that whomever was struck no longer would pose a threat. It might even put a dent in Palamedes, though his Warp-infused form might possess some resistance to the weapon. Tristan, until he could test it on a Daemon, would content himself with properly integrating it for the time when he would possess such an opportunity. Ammunition was not particularly an issue, but energy to fire the weapon and maintenance of it would be the primary limitations he would have to overcome. Tau technology was quite powerful and in many ways superior to the mass produced weapons and tools utilized by the Imperium, but it required a lot of power to use properly. An issue with railguns from numerous species was the fact that they tended to wear themselves out faster than other weapons, so they would need proper maintenance to remain operational.

The second issue was something Tristan could handle by his own tinkering between deployments until he could find a more permanent solution, but the former was particularly limiting since Tristan's armor already possessed limitations on its power expenditure. Power Armor typically had long operational times and could recharge itself in the field, but Tristan's bled power far faster than other suits given his redundant systems of shielding and protection. This was made worse when he had integrated easily the Tau Shield Generators he reverse-engineered as it was yet another system for his suit's power to run at the same time, though Tristan considered it worth-it given that the only thing that kept him alive against Palamedes before was his defensive capabilities. As one might expect the Xenos shields functioned by projecting an energy field around their bearer to redirect incoming attacks, dissipating and even absorbing energy based attacks, or halting kinetic energy for weapons utilizing it, and so it provided generalist and powerful coverage that Tristan could not afford to ignore.

With all of his systems accounted for Tristan would only be able to fight for some hours before needing to replenish his suit's supplies, but this was acceptable at the moment given that he rarely was in direct combat for that long and when he was not he did not need each and every subsystem active. In his search for a manner of improving this facet of his suit Tristan decided to incorporate a secondary power generator from reverse-engineered Tau Crisis Suit power supplies, though it would be some time before it could properly be implemented into the rest of his chimeric armor. It was to his fortune that not all Kroot were particularly scrupulous and their members found amongst pirates and smugglers throughout the stars combined with their relations to the Tau meant he could acquire occasional salvaged parts, though it was Brechung who saw to the actual dealings and so the specifics of their acquisition were often unknown to Tristan: he just made lists of things necessary for his study and experimentation and he let Brechung work out the details.

While his armor was not yet finalized in many regards it was fieldable and surpassed the iteration which Palamedes had carved apart, and to match its improvements Tristan made certain to improve his own capabilities as well. Further reinforcements to his physical form had been made including Tristan dabbling in the usage of mithril in place of the metal subdermal implants he had already incorporated, having been granted some access to their limited supplies within the fleet by the Warsmith. Jarn said that when Tristan perfected his armor he would grant him enough of their mithril stores to fashion a version made out of the resilient substance, but for now Tristan only had enough to reinforce his body itself.

Ossus assisted in the implementation of this upgrade to ensure that the implants would possess no ill side effects upon Tristan, and after ensuring that the necessary surgeries were carried out to implant the mithril directly into him. The weight of the metal was severe and it took Tristan time to get used to the new weight he carried, but he was fine sacrificing agility if it meant a blade that might penetrate his armor could be turned away by implants just beneath his skin. It had the side-effect of making his strikes carry more weight as well, balanced by the fact that they were slower now, but his physical strength was still not in the same league as that of the Warsmith: he just possessed greater overall mass now that could be thrown around as a weapon in its own right.

Tristan knew that he never would be invulnerable to harm entirely, but that did not mean he could not take every single possible precaution to minimize incoming damage. With his size it was not as if he would be able to avoid most incoming strikes anyways, so shrugging them off was far preferable to the alternative. Thus the next step of ensuring he would be ready for a threat such as Palamedes was training with and against a wide variety of weapons and fighting styles, as once he understood what it was like to use them he also had to possess experience encountering them.

While he would never be capable of mastering them the way Brechung, Levente, or Khyr might be able it was still within Tristan's capability to go through the motions and experience various weapons and how they felt to be wielded. This, in addition to observing them when wielded by Brechung in a variety of styles he had learned from various Legions and factions during the Great Crusade and Horus Heresy, built up a sizable library of information for Tristan to utilize in his defensive endeavors by knowing how to best block, parry, or otherwise mitigate their attacks. With that understanding he could then begin to work on how to best utilize his shielding to better intercept strikes, and so he relentlessly practiced and honed his reactive skillset so that even if he could not best his opponent in battle they would find it difficult to take him down.

Integrated into all of these exercises were Tristan's mechatendrils, now able to treat them like natural limbs attached to him with great precision without particularly focusing on them. He could always improve further like training a nondominant hand to do a specific task, but for general usage they were just like using his left hand instead of his dominant right. With six extra limbs with which to block, four mechatendrils and two servo-arms, it gave Tristan far more ways to block incoming strikes, and by attaching his modified Karceri shields to the mechatendrils he was capable of redirecting them at a moment's notice and shift their positioning to protect him at any angle. To facilitate this and to better block attacks from the sides or behind him Tristan incorporated cameras into the mechatendrils as well, training to see through them in addition to his natural eyes taking time but being worth it by allowing him to have 'eyes in the back of his head' figuratively.

It was only natural for Techmarines to heavily augment their physical form with all sorts of contraptions and tools, Tristan merely did so with the singular goal of 'survival'. His armor would naturally block most of his vision so gaining vision all around him was the logical solution in his view. With his mechatendrils capable now of firing Heavy Bolter rounds, shielding him, and granting vision they became a threat entirely on their own in addition to the armor he made.

For every weapon and technique shown to him Tristan devised counters and ways to at least lower the damage they would inflict while retaliating in turn, using his analytical mind to create countless scenarios that he gained experience of and could call upon later to properly handle any given attack. To master such a system would be difficult and take time, but his uncertainty in battle that had allowed Palamedes to eviscerate him by always being two steps behind would prove the most difficult challenge to such a type of battle. He was not as skilled as Levente but that did not mean he could not try and find ways to shore up his severe weaknesses. Tristan just would have to find a way to make up his mind faster in actual battle so he would be two steps ahead, not behind, as if he was not reacting properly he would be opening himself up rather than protecting his vulnerable areas. To that end practice was the manner by which he decided to see to bridging the gap, but his results were minimal so far.

At the end of one day's sparring Brechung sat down beside Tristan in a relaxed manner, not appearing exhausted in the slightest even after he spent eight straight hours picking apart and dismantling Tristan's defenses to help him further improve his reactive capabilities. Tristan lay defeated as he usually did, content at no longer having to stand after enduring such a beating since now gravity was no longer fighting his injured legs.

"You remind me of the Imperial Fist Alexis Polux, an Astarte of humble beginnings who was thrust into a position of leadership in a turbulent era. Records inform us he stood equal to the Primarchs, that he was capable of crushing an Astarte's skull within his palm, and that he possessed the skill and intellect to defeat the vastly more numerous Iron Warrior force at Phall as led by Perturabo himself," Brechung noted as if he knew Polux himself, and while Tristan did not like being compared to a Fist from what Brechung said the comparison sounded apt.

Tristan turned his head over as much as he could manage with his stiff neck to face Brechung, "I may now lead to some degree, but I am no leader: I am merely an Iron Warrior who serves his Warsmith, nothing more. I could never hope to match him."

Brechung could at least agree that the Warsmith was worth following, "Trahaearn Jarn is a man meant to lead others, but that does not mean he will be the only one to ever have such impact upon our ranks. Some day you might find that you can increase the impact you possess on your fate if you take charge and seize the opportunities that lay before you. It is the place of some to stand in the sunlight, others to remain in the shadows, and contrary to your nature I believe you to be the former."

For some time the two spoke of ways for Tristan to continue improving upon his defensive skillset until eventually Brechung rose and prepared to leave, though not before mentioning that the Warsmith was going to be assigning Tristan and Brechung both to a high priority assignment along with Urkamus Squad, Khyr, Archimedes, Levente, and other handpicked members of their ranks. Within that group Tristan and Brechung were being assigned to the securing of valuable items from a vault, and that they would be carrying out this endeavor alone while the others all handled their own tasks before meeting up together after. Tristan accepted this with a nod, not able to deny Jarn anything after the debt he owed the Warsmith for saving him numerous times already. Each time Tristan felt even more indebted to the Warsmith and his Legion, and Tristan hoped that when the day came that the Warsmith might need saving that he could do so in return.

With Brechung's departure Tristan got up sluggishly given his injuries and sat down on his bench in the Dodekatheon, understanding for all his pride that sitting was sometimes necessary, and while he began tinkering with his armor's damage he came to pause. Something was off now that he was alone, but what and why confused him as he looked at his tools and inventions before him.

Tristan had created his own version of the workstation his father once possessed at their forge, yet something felt missing. He could not quite grasp what it was for the longest time, but he could feel that something was different. It was only while watering DOTS that day that Tristan realized that his father would sometimes take a moment from his work to show Tristan a quiet method of affection like giving Tristan something to toy with, or running a hand through his hair. He did not always work in complete solitude the way Tristan had been these past decades, and Tristan vividly remembered times when his mother would sit atop his father's workstation just to watch him work.

It was a weird sensation, as while Tristan did not particularly care for or even seek out conversation with others he did still feel the lack of companionship from time to time. While Tristan was deeply loyal to his fellow Iron Warriors, Brechung and Quidel were two of the only Astartes he could consider 'friends', and they often had duties of their own to attend to. It was not a particularly crippling loneliness given who Tristan was, but it was one that now that he noticed he could not particularly shake. He was skilled at technical matters to the point that he had been able to create a nearly perfect replica of his father's workstation from memory albeit scaled up for his own needs, yet he struggled to even understand his own emotions and feelings at times.

Perhaps, he contemplated, beneath the augmentations and superhuman enhancements he was still Human at the end of the day, and Humans were social creatures even if Tristan himself was far less so.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

Getting past the defenses on Inwit was surprisingly easy, for while they were limited to only bringing a handful of Astartes on a specific ship they were able to pretend to be a civilian shuttle transporting cargo to be traded on Inwit. Apparently this ship had been used for that very purpose for decades like many of its kind, and so with the right connections they were able to be completely unnoticed. After that was more difficult as they had to hide within cargo containers that were brought by mortal servants to outside the spaceport in which they landed, though with the right individuals in place in the right organizations and certain favors acquired over time they escaped to the wilderness where they were far freer to act.

The longer they remained on Inwit the greater the chances of their discovery, and so they instantly set about following the Warsmith's decrees and traveled covertly across the world's frigid landscape. The training on the now-named planet of Coryza left the Iron Warriors quite prepared for such an excursion across Inwit, and so thanks to preparations set in motion decades beforehand they continued uncontested to where their destination was.

To prevent any possible leak of their plans to the enemy the specifics of their missions were kept from the Astartes brought along on the mission, a group which included Ossus and Richter as well as top soldiers from both Khyr and Archimedes' forces. From what Tristan was beginning to piece together however this world was the one Jarn asked him about when he was still a Neophyte, as the conditions matched those of the base schematic he asked about then.

This suspicion would prove correct when they entered a well-maintained tunnel passageway that after a long journey through snow and ice brought them to a wide expanse of hollowed out ice. Mithril Dragoons were present and working on various tasks, while above one could see far up was a fortress that rested upon miles and miles of ice...ice that now possessed strategically placed explosives and had been hollowed out at specific sections that while beneath notice would help the damage to the glacier the explosives were primed for.

Now that they were present the Warsmith explained their operation's true nature: they were to invade a hidden base upon the Imperial Fist world of Inwit, where Rogal Dorn hailed from, and to do this they would split into three groups to attack the facility from numerous angles and keep their enemy off-guard. By focusing fire on the sides of the facility rather than its gateway where it was most reinforced they could breach the base and wipe out its defenders swiftly while also ensuring they would not have access to their heavy weaponry immediately and that the Fists would have their communications taken offline.

Within the fortress Jarn explained was a vault with valuable items within that they were here to retrieve and bring off-world, as shown by the presence of transportation vehicles present within this section of the hollowed glacier. The three teams would stand approximately where their designated targets within the base were located and would secure their sections before moving on to support the others, the multi-pronged attack hinging on creating mass confusion and chaos within the fortress given that the Fists would still possess greater numbers. The fall would disable or kill many of them, but the current estimated count was 100 Imperial Fists to 20 Iron Warriors, so the element of surprise was crucial here.

The areas the Astartes would stand were protected by deployable shield generators that would mitigate the seismic force of the base crashing down as well as prevent ice and debris from crushing them, so once everyone was in place and knew their role they activated the explosives and Tristan watched in amazement as his plan from so long ago was put into action. The rapid chain of explosions was a sight in and of itself to behold, but so too was the calculated and controlled fall of the facility that took decades to properly set up without raising suspicion. The sudden impact was severe and would have killed everyone present outside the base if not for their shielding, but every variable had been accounted for and so instead of perishing the Iron Warriors leapt to action.

Tristan and Brechung stood behind Jarn as the other three members of their team used multi-meltas to tear through the wall before them and all of its supplemental armor. Tristan had to admire how hardy the base was made to be, though he did not let that feeling shift to mercy as Jarn broke down the remainder of the wall before them by tearing and bashing his way through it. The Warsmith would be the first through the breach, and what a terrifying sight that would prove to be for the Imperial Fists within.

A short volley of fire was traded thereafter which saw Jarn eliminate one Imperial Fist while Tristan returned fire against another with his newly acquired railgun, utterly evaporating the Fist's chest with his shot. The weapon was not capable of rapid fire and so he switched to using his mechatendrils to lay suppressing fire while the other Iron Warriors filed in behind him, Brechung soon taking a shot with his plasma gun that would have slain most foes it was fired at yet only grazed this one thanks to Torian's intuition leading him to avoid most of it. Striking that Fist, who appeared by his Terminator armor to be highly ranked, distracted one of the others which Jarn immediately took advantage of.

Adon's momentary distraction proved costly when his attention diverted to Torian saw the Apothecary struck by Jarn's gunfire, knocking Adon back for a moment before he could stabilize himself and take aim to fire with both pistols again. His bullets harmlessly impacted the Logos Secundus despite their power, and in return Jarn his full firepower onto the Apothecary with far superior effect against Adon's Power Armor.

As well-crafted as Adon's armor was it was still not even in the same league of armor copied from a Primarch's own, and his pistols lacked the same stopping power that the accurately described cannons upon Jarn's wrists possessed. The end result was that the Apothecary was riddled with shots that tore through him one after the other until he slammed into the wall behind him and slumped down, unable to withstand the onslaught that the Warsmith unleashed. It was telling that most of the forces in the command center had all targeted Jarn and yet the Warsmith stood as if he was unharmed, though much of that could be accounted for by the fact they were just dropped miles and their response to the ambush was uncoordinated and inaccurate.

With Adon's fall came the retreat of the remainder of the Imperial Fists present in the command room, realizing that they could not hold off the Iron Warriors present there and that falling back to regroup with their surviving comrades was more intelligent. It would sting at their pride, but they had no other choice when they were seemingly faced with Perturabo himself, Jarn's helmet preventing them from seeing just who wore the Primarch's armor and their relative isolation from the conflicts of the Imperium meaning that those within the Inwit base did not know that Perturabo's Daemon Primarch form had long since morphed from being capable of even wearing the Logos as it once was.

Jarn was fine preying upon their misunderstanding however and gunned down those fleeing from them while also giving his orders to the Iron Warriors beside him, "You have your objectives, and I expect you to fulfill them swiftly: leave none alive, and confirm it with your gunfire for any whom you come across no matter their condition."

Brechung retrieved from Adon's limp body his credentials and nodded to the Warsmith, departing the command center with Tristan following behind him so they could carry out their own role assigned to them.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

From a different angle Khyr launched a simultaneous attack with Levente and their other forces to breach the Imperial Fists' armory and deny them their stronger weapons that they would not naturally be carrying around with them while at ease. Levente was the first into the opening made and tanked a shot from a bolter against his Terminator armor as he leapt at the Fist who shot him and crushed their torso beneath his Thunder Hammer, reveling in the battle already as they attacked their bitter rivals.

"He may be an unruly upstart, but that brat had a good idea for once! Kill them all!" Levente commented about Tristan's plan of attack that now was seeing this seemingly untouchable location completely swept and cleansed by their relatively smaller forces, being prideful but not outright delusional concerning his personal rival's capabilities.

Within the armory the Imperial Fist Sevald reacted to the invasion by drawing Tempest's Claw and counter-charging them, quickly engaging Khyr and tying him up as the other members of their squad finished entering and began to engage the other Imperial Fists present. It was obvious to Sevald that to fail here would mean to sacrifice the base entirely, and so he would put his life on the line and the skills he had honed all this time to ensure that such a fate did not come to pass.

"What a fine blade you have there, it reminds me of when I once saw Storm's Teeth...I look forward to taking it," Khyr spoke to Sevald, a grin beneath his helm as he swung his Power Sword swiftly at Sevald and forced the Fist back.

The infiltrators each had their parts to play, and while Khyr's team took care of this location Archimedes would be neutralizing the Fists' ability to call for help while the Warsmith locked down their command center to prevent coordination and eliminate their leadership. This fortress would fall, and now it just remained to see how much of a fight the Imperial Fists could mount in response.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

(Part 1 thanks to arbitrary space limitations)​

 

[Thunderscourge]

Verita collapsed as she stumbled her way towards the entrance of the next location the black cube brought her, blood seeping from her side as her wound continued to act up. She knew she was leaving a trail behind for her pursuers, but there was no avoiding them at this point: she had been ambushed in her pursuit of information about the Conomors, with the prior locations she visited all filling in more and more of the picture of what had happened upon Kimara piece by piece.

The Iron Warriors' arrival, a site serving as a testament to the suffering of the Kimaran people under the current planetary governor, the palaces of both the Conomors and the Jarns with the latter revealing that the eldest prince had survived while the former revealed a previously unknown Conomor, the locations continued on and each held historical significance to the planet, even the one Verita now found herself crawling towards as she slowly fought her way back to her feet. Her head was spinning from the pain she was in, and the blood loss she had suffered was not helping.

Twin Falls, a set of underground waterfalls that started from the same mouth and ended up pooling together at the same point. Located by the Sapphire mountain range that was once Kimara's top tourist attraction for the brilliant blue crystals which rose towards the sky, Twin Falls held the misfortune of resting beneath the Fortress City that had been reduced to ashes by the Imperial Fists upon their invasion. The Iron Warriors loyal to Jarn who remained on Kimara fought to the end there, though official records concerning the matter were sealed and so much was left to mystery.

If one were to believe the narrative given by the Imperium the traitor force was wiped out entirely by the overwhelming might of the Imperial Fists deployment as a Legion before the Fists would then deploy to face Perturabo at the Iron Cage, but such records were questionable at best. What was known was that the Jarn family escaped persecution as one of their elder members took full responsibility for the rebellion and perished fighting alongside the Iron Warriors and some mortal supporters, and it was somewhat questioned if the Iron Warrior death count which followed had conflated their mortal servants into the overall number.

The Fortress City which lay atop Twin Falls had never been rebuilt, and this entire area was in fact forbidden to visitation by Imperial decree, but that was irrelevant to Verita at this point. She was so close to finding the truth, for only two spaces remained on the cube to be filled in and she could not turn back and face her pursuers at this point. They had cut her off from anyone who could assist her, and now all she had left was the path forward...the path leading to the truth, where she could string the facts before her together and find out just what the purpose of this cube has been. Perhaps she could even find out why her parents had possessed it and were studying it, as well as why they were slain...but perhaps that would be asking too much.

Very little remained after so long of the Fortress City that once stood proudly here, the wicked conditions on Kimara erasing whatever had remained aboveground and many of the passageways leading down to the famous waterfalls that glimmered blue from the stones set in the cavern as an extension of the Sapphire mountains. It was truly a tragedy that none were allowed to visit this area anymore, for Verita had seen photos of the region when she was younger and always wished to see it firsthand some day...little did she know she would come here for an entirely different purpose. A hidden saving grace in this region being forbidden was that not even the Conomors could make usage of it, and so the Sapphire mountains remained untouched by them just as they had remained throughout the ages. It would be easy to strip the mountains of their brilliant gemstones for profit, but keeping them as they were for their beauty even while surrounded by some of Kimara's worst regional conditions spoke symbolically to its people.

By the time Verita found passage down into the depths of the ruined city she could hear the approaching voices of the regime members sent after her, intent on silencing her before she could pass along the knowledge she had gained in recent months. She had given the Commandant her findings about the surviving Jarn the day she found them, but in the time since she had been mostly investigating the issues on her own since she noticed the increasing scrutiny on her actions. If she traveled or coordinated with others too much it would be easier for her to be found, and so she had gone underground (metaphorically until now) like Dairine had more recently.

It was only when she contacted the Inquisitor to discuss these matters with him that they caught up to her, and Verita was fortunate enough to have escaped that encounter with her life.

Descending into the darkness of the cavern through an emergency ladder system set up ten-thousand years prior was not particularly on Verita's list of preferred activities, but she couldn't very well ascend now that the Conomor lackeys were drawing closer. To reach the bottom took what felt like an hour to do thanks to her disorientated state and weakening body, the blood having finally stopped but it meant little at this point since there would be no escaping this location. Once she was found she was dead, so Verita clung onto the hopes that she could at least fulfill her objective before that came to pass. That way it wouldn't have all been for nothing, and perhaps something down in the darkness she crept towards would allow her to pass her knowledge along to someone else.

As she took one step down at a time Verita focused her mind on the letter the box had revealed thus far, hoping that she had read it coordinates right and that she could reveal more of it here.

-O------

-O----E-

-OR---E-

-OR--IE-

-ORN-IE-

-ORNLIE-​

So far it was mostly nonsense, but filling in at least one more letter would give her a good chance of figuring out the last one contextually. Verita ignored the sounds of the soldiers climbing down above her as she finally reached the bottom, stepping down onto the rugged floor of a cavern with almost no light. If she had her typical equipment with her she could illuminate the area around her, but she had lost or discarded it during her escape so it would not slow her down. All she had now were the clothes on her back and the cube itself inside of a bag, a bag she now opened to see if the cube had reacted at all.

To her surprise across its surface blue lines flashed in a stylized pattern her fading vision was unable to decipher, but the fact that it was letting off blue light allowed her to hold it forward and reveal the surrounding area. The light from the cube was bright enough that it began to reflect off of the gemstones within the cavern, casting everything around Verita in a dim blue light. It was under this filter that she first witnessed the two waterfalls this location was known for, and that before them stood a podium. With nothing left to lose, Verita approached the podium and noticed that it had a place to place the box down, obviously having been made for such a purpose.

Without hesitation Verita slotted the cube into where it fit so nicely, the act of which prompted its code to flare up again as it previously stood...

-ORNLIE-​

And then immediately thereafter fill in the final two letters, which in truth were only one, as befitting of the location where two flows of water combined together. Once done the letters shifted to those of another language with symbolism familiar to Verita thanks to her studies at the Schola.

DORNLIED
ΔΟΡΝΛΙΕΔ​

With this code now showing the box began to shift and reshape itself until it was an open structure from which Verita could reach down and retrieve its contents, those being a book as black as the box itself but with blue engravings and patterns akin to those the box had shown thus far.

Chief among them was the familiar form of a Hydra directly upon its cover. Curious, Verita opened it to its first page and immediately found herself in awe at what she had found.

"I have been expecting you."

Verita turned and cast her gaze up from her discovery to instead find herself looking up at Torian of the Deathwatch, formerly of the Imperial Fists, with his helmet off and held under one arm as he stood from where he suddenly appeared as if from nowhere.

"Rest. I will deal with those who would disrupt our plans."

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

The Imperial Fists were thrown into such chaos by the attack that they did not coordinate in the few moments they had before their ability to contact one another and the outside world were jammed, leaving wounded stragglers to fight valiantly against the surge of Iron Warriors appearing within their base. Tristan was uncertain how the others fared in these conditions, but he did kill one Astarte who had a leg shattered by the fall and both he and Brechung had cleaned up mortals in their way to the vault who had miraculously survived until that point. The thing mostly in their way was a series of security systems that they had to break through since the process of revealing their codes included a time-lock to specifically halt invaders, but even such deterrence proved futile in the end.

While under normal circumstances the vault would prove difficult to enter the codes and identification that Brechung possessed allowed him to open it without issue, Tristan following behind him while also wondering why Brechung appeared to know more about the operation than him despite being lower ranked.

Within the vault were a collection of artifacts and items of seeming importance, though what significance any of them had to Rogal Dorn or his Imperial Fists was beyond Tristan. The area was quite spacious and felt almost as if it was a mausoleum or crypt in nature rather than a secure vault. Deeper within Tristan noted the presence of what appeared to be Gene-Seed containers and a massive quantity of them at that, which seemed to answer why they were bothering undergoing such a dangerous raid in the first place. Tristan felt that Dorn likely would not have hidden Imperial Fists Gene-Seed away without a good reason, and so chances were it belonged instead to a Traitor Legion such as the Iron Warriors, though why Dorn did not just destroy it was unknown to him and likely even the base's own defenders.

The contents of the vault all showed no signs of having just fallen a great distance the way the rest of the fortress now appeared, showing that the stasis technology utilized to protect its contents had indeed done its duty. Instead they appeared brand new, as if no time at all had passed for them and that they were in the exact same condition they had been placed here in. Dust had filled into the room upon their entrance thanks to the conflict waging within the base and continued to pour in, but before that it would be wholly accurate to describe the contents as being immaculately maintained.

Tristan soon noticed a few of the artifacts present within, most notably the chassis of a Contemptor Pattern Dreadnought that likely was a relic of the Horus Heresy. It did not appear to be functional given its lack of activity, and so Tristan ignored it for the time being to focus on what else might be present and necessary for extraction. Scrolls, dataslates, weapons, a baroque set of armor, grenades of some variety, a set of large skulls with some numerals etched into them, remains of what Tristan could roughly identify as a Thunderhawk, and more all lay in spaces specifically set aside for them making the vault appear as if it was both a mausoleum and a museum simultaneously.

Brechung approached a display which held within it a myriad of pieces of some other object, the only recognizable sections of which were the two largest: a pair of sharp blades that appeared Xenos in origin. Not long enough to be swords and not shaped to be daggers, their odd appearance and questionable origin made Tristan wonder just what they were meant for briefly before being brought out of his contemplation by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. Turning around, Tristan could see that one of the Imperial Fists they first engaged was now charging at them, and Brechung appeared to notice this as well.

"I will join you momentarily, but for now I require time," Brechung spoke as he delved deeper into the vault, entrusting Tristan to keep the Imperial Fist's attention as he began whatever process was necessary for them to extract the Gene-Seed.

Turning his back to his friend and Battle-Brother, Tristan took a defensive stance while drawing his personal Power Spear he augmented to improve its armor penetration capabilities, "Then time you will have."

Torian launched himself at Tristan in a fury, the chainsword Tempest's Claw in hand as he thrust it forth at Tristan and began slashing away at him while Tristan parried the blows with his spear. Whatever had riled the Imperial Fist up had driven him beyond the point of reason, and the commander of the base began immediately to chip away at Tristan's defenses as the latter struggled to keep up with him. It was evident to both Tristan and Torian which of them was more suited for close encounters, but that did not mean Tristan did not have his own means to even things.

With his mechatendrils Tristan began firing at Torian while the Fist continued to swing powerful strikes at Tristan, only deterred by his shields which the chainsword was nearly capable of penetrating despite their redundancies. It was made to be the finest of its kind, built after a Primarch's own weapon the way the Iron Legion had created new versions of the Logos, and Tristan could feel the raw power of the whirling blade as it narrowly avoided striking his armor time and time again.

"I have felled warriors stronger than you, Iron Warrior! Surrender and I will promise you a swift death!" Torian yelled out as he thrust his chainsword past Tristan's spear to strike at the giant Astarte's stomach, only to have the chainsword glance off the shields present and Tristan bash him away with a counterstrike he had practiced in recent years. Just as Tristan's shield had been protecting him the Iron Halo which Torian possessed was protecting him thus far from the shots Tristan had put out.

Having created distance between them Tristan stepped back and raised his railgun to fire at his target, "We all die, Fist: act accordingly."

When he went to fire Tristan realized that an earlier strike by Torian had damaged the railgun, forcing him to manually tinker with it if he desired to fire. This would require time Tristan did not have as Torian used this lull in battle to rush forward again and began lashing out at Tristan as the Iron Warrior gave ground and did what he could to draw Torian away from where Brechung was.

"If you continue this battle you will fall like your Primarch before you," Tristan taunted, knowing that getting under his foe's skin would keep their attention on him.

Tristan's constant parrying and retreat were wearing thin on Torian, who slid past Tristan and attempted to hack at his legs only to have a mechatendril lower a Karceri shield down to block him. This gave Tristan more time to retreat, fully embracing his personally philosophy of fighting not to win but to survive. So long as he could outlast this Fist he would be victorious, as Brechung would soon be joining him along with whatever reinforcements the other Iron Warriors could muster upon the completion of their missions.

"Coward!"

The accusation had no effect on Tristan who was long since used to being called that, be it by Levente or some enemy on the battlefield. If fighting defensively until his opponent made a mistake was cowardice, then Tristan was fine being a coward because it was his most optimal way to win with his skillset. He parried another blow at the last moment and twisted Torian's chainsword away as the Fist used their proximity to tackle him and knock Tristan back through sheer force.

"Understanding death does not mean I long for it. So long as I breathe I can fulfill the ambitions of my Warsmith, and for that I refuse to die until his dreams are realized."

Torian slashed up at Tristan and managed to break through his shielding thanks to their proximity, cutting into the Logos Incrementum and drawing blood from Tristan in one swing. In response Tristan smashed his gauntlet across Torian's face to knock him back, though as he was repelled Torian cut the railgun in half. Annoyed by the work it would now take to rebuild it, Tristan swallowed his anger and redirected power to his shields now that he no longer needed to feed it to his railgun.

It was as if Tristan's words drove the Imperial Fist into a deeper rage, as his attacks redoubled in effort after Tristan spoke of the Warsmith, "What would a servant of Chaos know of dreams beyond the battlefield, beyond slaughter and misery! You fiends have slain countless good men today, Astartes worthy of the name!"

Recognizing the skill and finesse of this warrior before him and thus realizing that there was a good chance he could lose prompted Tristan to come up with an alternative method of victory, one which saw him draw both of them back towards the vault's entrance as he focused not on offense but on repelling incoming strikes.

"We are the Unbroken Sons of Perturabo, the Astartes dedicated to the Great Crusade and the Emperor of Mankind, not the monument of corruption you call an Imperium," Tristan retorted as one of his heavy bolter shots struck the Fist and tore across his abdomen, the first real damage Tristan had caused.

Tristan spoke only the truth as he understood it to be, but that was unacceptable to his foe whose entire life had been dedicated to the opposite premise, "You kill the Emperor's sons and claim to serve on his behalf? You have lost your minds, you damnable cretins!"

In an attempt to stall him Tristan tried grabbing Torian with his servo-arms, only to find both of them bashed away by retaliatory strikes. This seeming Captain of the Imperial Fists was incredibly proficient at combat, and it was obvious that his time here had not softened him in the least. If Tristan had to estimate he was fighting someone akin to Levente, though their specific skillsets were different. In this case the Astarte appeared to be an expert duelist, whereas Levente was likely superior in a mass melee with numerous combatants involved.

Torian drove Tristan back further and further towards the large entranceway that had been built to allow for many of the artifacts within to be brought, seemingly intent on forcing Tristan outside of the vault and dueling him in the narrower hallway beyond where Tristan's size would be an impediment. To this end he rained savage strike after strike on Tristan, Torian not relenting for even a moment as he cried out.

"We are the Imperial Fists, the bastion of Terra, of Humanity! We are the Praetorians of the Dorn and the Imperium he sacrificed for! It is by our service that the Emperor and the Imperium survive with enemies in every direction, forever bearing down on us without relent! That is why we will turn you back, that is why our cause is just! Your kind never understood the virtues of the very body you served, and your weak resolve and flaws were what led you to damnation!"

Something beyond them in the vault rumbled in response to his convictions, though it went unnoticed by both of them as Tristan narrowly diverted the flurry of hits coming in towards him. They were nearly at the door, and Tristan shifted his body somewhat so that his back was to one side of it.

Irritated by the Imperial Fist's proclamation, Tristan rebutted as a method to further earn the ire of his foe all the while using three of his Karceri shields and his shield generators to repel what seemed like five slashes or stabs for every second that passed by, "Do not speak platitudes to me, for they mean little. What separates us is that your Primarch stood resolutely in favor of a corrupt society that damned everything we sought to achieve, while ours broke under the weight of seeing his visions shattered. On the battlefield it is might that makes right, and your Imperium is naught but an illegitimate successor to the true Imperium!"

Opening up his defenses, Tristan changed his stance so that he could strike out at Torian and go on the offense...only for Torian to slip past him as Tristan moved forward, ripping through the armor on Tristan's side in the meantime. This done, he turned back to face Tristan who spun around and began to lash out with every tool in his arsenal to actually force Torian completely on the defensive.

"We both fight for the future of our kind, for Humanity. You are no better, no purer, nor braver than any of us! It is the cause one follows that makes one noble, and for that, for Utopia, I will fight until the end!"

It was a moment after he spoke that Torian noticed that Tristan had swapped where they stood, and that now Torian was the one outside. While defending himself moments before Tristan had used one of his mechatendrils to interface with the already unlocked door and disabled it completely so that Torian could not just lock them inside of it in stasis. This done, Tristan was able to put himself completely between Torian and the vault and block his entry like a goalkeeper in a sport. All Tristan had to do not was hold him off like this and Torian would be negated as a threat.

Unfortunately, something he had overlooked earlier came to bite Tristan.

"I ANSWER THE PRIMARCH'S CALL."

From across the vault the previously inactive Contemptor Dreadnought rose and lifted its arms to fire its built-in and mastercrafted boltguns right into the back of the Iron Warrior it saw. While Tristan's plan had rendered Torian no threat to Brechung, it had put Tristan in the perfect position for the Dreadnought to shoot at him from behind while Torian renewed his attacks from the front. Having to focus his shields in both directions at once meant that Tristan had less protection towards both, and Torian abused this fact to begin cutting into Tristan's armor where openings had cropped up.

The Dreadnought lumbered towards where Tristan stood, the Astarte unable to properly move thanks to the powerful impacts he was taking from both sides, though he would soon gain an opportunity when Torian attempted to go for a lethal blow on Tristan's neck. He aimed the strike right when Tristan's Karceri shields were out of position to react, meaning Tristan instead had to lift up an arm to defend himself, prompting him to activate his Van Saar energy shield to block it at the last moment...which the monstrous chainsword managed to chew through in short order before then cutting down into Tristan's gauntlet and then arm.

With the history of this line of chainswords it ought to cut straight through the arm and through Tristan's throat, but instead its twisting teeth got caught after breaking through the initial layer of skin. Unable to see through the blood on Tristan's arm and through the broken metal surrounding it, Torian balked at how his attack was stopped by what appeared to be flesh after chewing through metal.

"Just what are you heathens made out of!?"

Tristan's subdermal implants paid off when the nigh invulnerable material he placed into specific places of his body caught the blade that his shields had been unable to, prompting Tristan to grin in satisfaction even as his back continued to be barraged by bolter fire, "Mithril, Imperial Fist. You should try it."

Thanks to Torian's miscalculation Tristan managed to grab hold of him and smash the Fist away, sending him skidding across the floor outside of the vault. It would hurt, but it was not a strike meant to deal lasting damage, it was meant to grant Tristan some breathing room to face the Dreadnought.

By now only fighting one foe at the moment Tristan was able to turn his full attention onto the Contemptor, returning fire with his remaining ammunition as it stumbled towards him with its awkward legs. Its firepower was not as dangerous as Tempest's Claw given that the chainsword could do what few other weapons could and cut straight through Tristan's defenses, but the sheer volume of fire was enough to begin taxing Tristan's shields given all they had already endured. Once it drew close enough the Dreadnought lunged at Tristan and with one of its thick arms bashed him aside, knocking Tristan through a display case and into a wall of the vault thanks to the sheer power the entombed Astarte possessed.

Now prone on the ground, Tristan struggled to rise up after the concussive strike he just took that far exceeded the might of even Palamedes, his bones very likely broken beneath all his defenses and his body only still functional thanks to said armor. The Contemptor began to pound its fists down at him one after the other as Tristan used all of his suit's remaining power to block them, each hit coming closer to crushing him than the last.

"I AM THE PRAETORIAN OF DORN, AND YOU SHALL NOT DESECRATE THESE SACRED HALLS."

Tristan had no idea what it was talking about, nor did he care as he forced his Power Lance up at it in an attempt to drive it away. Instead the Power Spear clashed off its own shielding that had gone entirely untouched until now, allowing the cyborg monstrosity to continue its dutiful crushing of the intruder upon its resting place.

From a mechatendril Tristan noticed that the Imperial Fist he had fought had since returned and was surrounding his position with what appeared to be a squad of other Imperial Fists. They did not appear to wish to intervene and get in the way of the Dreadnought, so they instead waited for it to finish what it was doing and were prepared to fire at Tristan if he somehow escaped.

In that moment Tristan realized that they still appeared to be unaware of Brechung's presence the way Tristan had overlooked the Dreadnought, and that would prove vital in the next moments.

A hail of crystal shards scattered out from a grenade that had been rolled between the Imperial Fists, smoke erupting from it as well as its toxic payload was unleashed. The five marines that had joined Torian were all struck to some degree by it while their leader barely managed to avoid it out of sheer luck, the grenade's explosion heralding the arrival of a new threat that they did not expect.

"For the Emperor."

Shrouded in the darkness of the vault and the smoke that rose came a shimmer of light, one which twisted and curved around to swiftly cut through the neck of one of the Imperial Fists present. The Fist had been so distracted by the venom coursing through their body that they had never seen the blade twisting towards their neck until it was too late.

Right after the figure bearing this bladed edge to their weapon twisted it so that the blade on its other end would impale another Fist in the very same movement. Where the two-sided spear struck the Astarte their body was replaced by a hideous wound without a single sign of blood, the entire area around where it stabbed disappearing entirely as if it had never been there to begin with.

One of the other Fists fought through the intense pain coursing through them to lift a storm bolter up at their assailant, only to find his now deceased comrade twisted and thrown into him like a ragdoll. His shot struck the corpse now atop him while his target ducked beneath the chainsword of another Fist and bisected them at the waist. This done, he swung the spear around again to smash their upper body at another Fist to disorientate them and then impale the unlucky Astarte before they could properly react. By the time this all had been done mere moments had passed, with the Fist who had a full corpse pushed onto him just managing to remove it before his foe's spear impaled both of his hearts at once, instantly killing him as most his abdomen was removed from existence.

It had all happened so fast that Torian had only just recovered from attempting to dodge the grenade thrown, and by the time he stood tall and ready to fight all his men in the vault were dead except the Dreadnought that had since stopped trying to beat through Tristan's shields as it noticed the battle taking place right behind it. Trying to see through the smoke as it cleared, Torian cursed at the seeming newcomer and set his aim on whoever dared to kill these Astartes here before finishing off the near broken Tristan where he lay.

"Who dares to harm my men?"

The figure seemed to almost shimmer in the dust and flecks of light like his spear had, as if blending into his surroundings even as he just stood there out in the open.

"A name is just another tool, and for that I have bore many: Brechung, Asier Terminus, Didumoi Drakon, Ingo Pech, Armillus Dynat, Exodus, Kel Silonius, Autilon Skorr, Quetzel Carthach, Phocron, Hannes Frantsesa, Horus Lupercal, Perturabo, Roboute Guilliman, Omegon...all means to an end, taken and discarded as needed for a name only possesses the power we give to it."

The one known as 'Brechung' and 'Asier Terminus' scoffed as he thought over the question asked of him, obviously not taking too seriously the chainsword pointed at him and instead reveling in the moment.

"But who am I? That is something I have known since I first came to possess conscious thought."

Stepping out of the shadows and dust emerged a man who towered above Torian clad in the blue and silver baroque armor seen earlier with scales like a reptile. The time Tristan spent fighting Torian had been so the armor could be retrieved and so he could re-assemble the weapon picked apart by someone ages ago.

Until that moment Torian had held hope that they might find victory even after their initial losses, but, as he stared into the helmet of a man history claimed to have died more times than any could count, he felt his resolve shake even if for but a moment.

"I am Alpharius."

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A/N: Happy one year anniversary! Hope you enjoyed and will let me know your thoughts in the comments below, because if this doesn't get you guys discussing things I don't know what could!​

 

[Thunderscourge]

SPEAR OF REFORMATION

The sudden raid upon Fakultat by the wayward Yormungaros was a swift yet brutal affair which saw to the utter eradication of the defensive garrison put into place by Isolde. When she responded to the alarm she had rallied the available forces present as best as she could, but despite attempting to requisition the aid of both the local Mechanicus and the Wostyn mercenaries present she was denied on both fronts. Shetth had denied the deployment of any Mechanicus force to instead focus their defenses on the Mechanicus facilities alone, sacrificing the efficacy of the Fortress City's already depleted defenses to cover his own resources, fully content to allow the incoming Yormungaros to slay thousands of civilians before being stopped if it prevented a single loss on the part of the Mechanicus' primary stronghold on Kimara.

As to be expected of an important member of the Conomor's inner circles the mercenaries allegedly tasked with defending the city were instead deployed solely to the inner segments of the Fortress City along with Shetth, locking down and fiercely defending the sectioned off pieces of the city that would be the last to be invaded. This division of manpower was only foolish if one's objective was to ensure a united defensive front that would minimize casualties, but such were not the concerns of Shetth or the Wostyn mercenary leader Priomb deployed to handle the situation.

Despite their power the Yormungaros would be no doubt wounded and in a frenzy by the time they reached the innermost portions of the city, at which point the fully prepared and fresh garrisons there could deploy and wipe them out. Shetth was already working alongside the Governor to requisition able civilians from Wostyn to supplement his workforce and increase production, so any Kimaran civilians slain in the conflict would just make room for a less resentful servant class for his needs.

Callous and cruel, it nonetheless would not result in direct blowback because Isolde would serve as a more public face to the lives lost as the one directly leading their defenses. That she asked for help and was denied was something that could just be conveniently covered up so long as she was dealt with as well, and that was another reason for this decided inaction: they were to stand by and be ready should Isolde and Isolde alone be in danger, for the Governor had asked that she be delivered to him alive if possible: if she perished in battle with the Yormungaros then it would be regrettable but ultimately acceptable, with the only direct prohibition being directly killing her. Even that could be eschewed if the circumstances called for it, but Governor Conomor was quite serious when he spoke with Shetth and Priomb concerning the matter and he was not someone to be crossed.

Ultimately the reason behind why Conomor desired Isolde to be captured did not matter to Shetth, only that it would earn him the Governor's favor and that it would assist his own political needs. Perhaps it was a way to keep her father in check, perhaps it was to have her punished for some crime, whatever the reason it was just another task to be carried out and an easy one at that. Even should Commissar Kohlenstoff survive the Yormungaros she would be likely weakened by it and be easy prey, and while the loss of some of their artillery batteries would be regrettable they could always forge new ones to replace them after gathering their pieces. Fakultat had survived attacks in the past and would stand even after some of its more expendable segments were breached, and any blame for the damage would come at the expense of the young brat trying to give commands to those her senior. Shetth had arranged for the circumstances to play out as such, and now just needed to wait out the coming storm.

Deprived of support by design left Isolde with little to work with in regards to manpower and equipment, but the civilian garrison of Kimarans she gathered beforehand would prove to be enough while not ideal. Their Basilisks peppered the incoming Yormungaros as they surged forth through the ice and snow beyond Fakultat's exterior to reach the prey within, downing some of the beasts and stripping chunks off of others where impacted. If every artillery battery was properly manned by a trained and seasoned operator the beasts never would have reached the city's walls, but with only around half of the Basilisks properly utilized by fairly fresh faces to conflict it was inevitable that some would slip through the cracks.

Basilisks were utilized to fend off Yormungaros because once they closed the gap they were nigh unstoppable, making long ranged bombardment to slay or deter them necessary just to survive even with the thick defenses of Jarn's Fortress Cities. Resorting to direct fire once they savage animals were close by was necessary to continue fighting back, but it was also dangerous because the Yormungaros were crafty enough to target any opening in the city and would lash out at the artillery that so harmed them.

By the time they had broken through the wall the Yormungaros had been considerably thinned in their numbers, but so too had the militia formed by Isolde: most of their cannons were disabled from the brute force of the Yormungaros as they made their way within, either the artillery being damaged or its crew outright slain. This was not a fight these civilians had been personally prepared for, and the soldiers who ought to be protecting them instead were using them as shields to wear their foes down for them.

Hundreds were slain in mere minutes as the final few Yormungaros laid siege to them, an outright frenzy of battle commencing where cohesion was broken and everything became a desperate fight for survival that saw Isolde and her rallied forces stand firm and refuse to retreat since to abandon their artillery at the walls would be a death sentence. They were the most effective method to slay the beasts, and so Isolde had the remaining cannons face inwards and target the Yormungaros within the city without care to the collateral damage: civilians not fighting the beasts had already been evacuated from the closest segments of the city, and so victory took precedence over making certain the interior remained spotless. Such an endeavor would be fruitless anyways given the damage to the city's walls letting a blizzard beat down upon the garrison fighting for their lives and those of their kin deeper within the city, harsh winds tearing at some more fragile equipment and objects within this block while also limiting vision for some minutes that only heightened the massacre faced.

It was when the downpour of snow began to soften that Isolde found herself the sole remaining combatant against the last of the Yormungaros alive, the beast lunging at her as she in turn finished turning a Basilisk to face right at it. The sudden explosion ripped through the beast's maw and exploded out of the back of its already damaged skull, its body crashing down upon the instrument of its demise and forcing Isolde to try and move out of its way to no avail. Her accurate and last second shot had done its job and ended the conflict, but in return she found herself knocked from the Basilisk's platform and slammed down into the ground nearby.

The hardened carapace armor Isolde had brought with her dulled the impact fortunately, but Isolde had not come out of the battle completely unscathed. Bruises lined her body where the battle had taken its toll, and she could tell from how it felt that her helmet was close to having its silver visor crack. She had driven a Tauros into a Yormungaros and the crash had dealt the majority of her injuries, but by driving it back momentarily it had bought others time to fire back at it and fell it utilizing the armor-piercing shotguns Kimarans favored. Wostyn soldiers used a derivative variant which possessed far greater spread to fell humanoid targets, but on Kimara where large beasts roamed the ability to punch through their thick hides and kill them even on foot was vital.

With her rank and station came additional responsibilities as well as benefits, with the most pertinent of them being the fact that Isolde's helm possessed an enhanced communication suite and a paired visual recording system that both were added to its exterior. The former allowed Isolde to better command the forces around her and also better coordinate artillery strikes, while the camera was a tool with a more multi-faceted purpose: with it the owner could record anything the helmet was present for, thus allowing replay of events and locations to learn from them as well as further military operations. As a Commandant who very well might need to execute soldiers on the battlefield it also allowed for Isolde's actions to be captured and recorded as evidence in the instance that they were called into question, though such a function was merely theoretical thus far since while Isolde was willing to pull the trigger on any who dared deserve it her role had yet to call for such internal strife yet.

Despite the damage she incurred herself it was to Isolde's surprise that the communications of her helmet were not damaged to any noticeable degree, the fact of which made her realize quickly how she was the only one left. Blood from both Yormungaros and Kimaran militia members soaked the snow around her all throughout this city segment, only the wind greeting Isolde as she attempted to hail anyone else. Anyone that was alive was too injured to respond, and given that she did not see any medical aid incoming those same survivors were likely to expire soon enough.

A lifetime of training and her armor were all that truly kept Isolde alive and not those she had rallied together, and so she was left quietly observing the carnage in its aftermath. They had so few soldiers to begin with, and they sacrificed their lives to defend the city walls...the realization of which would come to gradually replace Isolde's quiet shock at the horrors of half-eaten corpses and Yormungaros flesh strewn about the locations they were felled. All the others were gone, leaving an eerie silence beyond the winds blowing through the cracked dome of the city she now stood under.

Isolde took a moment to catch her breath after the hectic conflict came to a close, gathering herself and doing what she could to shake off the aches and pains in her body that had resulted from it. Her armor had saved her from much of the damage she would otherwise have incurred, but to remain unscathed in such a dire battle was simply out of the question. Her leg had suffered the worst of it and while it was not broken Isolde could tell that running on it would be ill-advised.

Her surroundings mirrored her own status, with the reinforced buildings and structures of the Fortress City having largely endured even the overwhelming might of the leviathan Yormungaros that had assailed it. Even so scars of the conflict remained, with a few smaller structures having been crushed beneath the weight of the fallen Yormungaros while yet others bore markings of Basilisk fire that had not quite hit the mark in the desperation to fire upon the beasts. The sheer mass and raw strength of the Yormungaros was their greatest tool in battle, for they could break through even Terminator armor with their jaws while the impact of their serpentine bodies striking a target could crush a Dreadnought given the difference in size. Kimara's reinforced walls were made to resist both them and the weather, but years of neglect and weakened infrastructure had allowed the damage to pile up and eventually result in the vile creatures breaking through.

If all the Yormungaros desired was food they would not lash out at Fortress Cities, but their seemingly unique sadism for bestial creatures meant that they thrived off the opportunity to slaughter panicking prey in quantities only the cities could grant them. They seized upon weakness like the predators they were, and so when presented the chance to breach a damaged outer wall they could not help but go for the kill. Their self-preservation instincts would go by the wayside when presented such a bounty, all but emphasizing their vicious nature at their core.

Kimara's days were quite short and its nights long, so darkness began to creep down upon Isolde as she stood in the conflict's ruins. The blue moon shone brightly above her, a luminous orb that captivated Humans and Ixolotls alike with its beauty. Even through the subsiding storm it could be seen, and so Isolde stood under its reflected light observing it in the moment of calm she had now. The literal blue moon served as a calming influence to one who had just witnessed a deluge of death and suffering, bodies of the fallen having already bled out entirely from what small pieces of them remained.

The upper torso of one militia member some feet away from where it had fallen when bitten as a short trail of blood showed how they had crawled forward afterwards, an arm of another victim all by its lonesome as all that remained of its owner, and a mangled corpse that had been slain through sheer force after being struck by the body of one of the beasts as they charged forward, these and more filled the landscape around Isolde and wholly contrasted the beauty that radiated from above them.

Death was something Isolde had known almost her entire life, her father's killing of three trespassing mercenaries who dared harm his staff still vividly in her mind all these years after. The death of Umida, the loss of civilian life thanks to the current regime, and more all dotted her life and so death itself was not something that particularly gripped her or shocked her. Even still the sight of so many dead, of their shredded remains, when it all was preventable had an effect on her. The initial shock and sorrow naturally shifted to fury, but one wouldn't know from looking at her face even if her faceless helmet did not cover it: her expression mirrored the lack of one possessed by her helm as Isolde stood amidst the wreckage caused by the inaction of both Shetth and that dog Priomb.

The tranquil fury she possessed made her understand how her father had once so calmly walked up to three men and gunned them down without betraying his true feelings until the moment he began their execution. Rather than explosive rage that was unchecked by any form of restraint it was the kind their people were known for, the deep-seated grudges they would hold towards those who wronged them culminating in controlled and precise retribution.

It was only natural that someone cultivated as an embodiment of Kimaran virtues would also possess their vices, and a complete unwillingness to forgive was part and parcel to being Kimaran. It made relations with other worlds and people within the Imperium difficult for them as they would resent those enemies they once held until something was done to rectify the grudge earned, and it was why Kimara stood alone with no support throughout its history outside of the Astartes that had once brought it into the Imperium. Their nature had it that such accounting and calculation was a virtue in their eyes when to all others it was a deep flaw, but that too was met with the typical Kimaran pride that saw them sneer at the opinions of outsiders.

Isolde's peripheral vision caught sight of movement, and given that none of the militia she raised had answered her calls she knew it to be the Wostyn garrison fanning out instead. Shetth would keep his own forces close to the heart of the city until he was absolutely certain there was no threat to them or his own person, while the mercenaries would have to at least make a token appearance at the end of the battle if they hoped to claim credit for it.

What initially seemed to be an attempt to lock down the breached portions of the city wall would immediately be revealed as a feint to surround Isolde from all sides, one which she caught in time to check her personal shielding was active. She did not know their direct intentions, but she was now alone as perhaps three dozen men were deployed against her and as skilled as she was trained to be there was zero chance she could win a direct battle with them.

At the head of the pack of soldiers was Priomb, the veteran enforcer whose brutality and instability was well known by now to Isolde. He at times would be accompanied by his brother Osin who served as a restraint of sorts, reigning in some of Priomb's worst behavior where possible though unable to fully control his brother's paranoid delusions at points. The ravages of war took their toll on all, good and bad, and what had already been a brutal soldier without moral fiber had become a chained attack hound under the command of others within the Wostyn forces.

Priomb was thought to be behind the disappearance of Kalles recently, but no effort had been made to discern the truth given her disloyalty to the other members of the Schola earning no fondness in return from those who could make such an effort. Information had been leaked to Wostyn soldiers that only been granted by a member of the Schola and she was believed to be behind it given her fondness for the outsiders, and so her disappearance saved them the effort of having to execute her for betraying the trust of their institution to those who sought to destroy it. Fortunately none seemed to desire to fill her shoes and show their 'allies' from Wostyn the same degree of trust, mercy, and affection and so while it was unfortunate one of their number sided against them it helped deter any such behavior from repeating.

That Priomb was present meant that the men furthest back and forming the outermost edges of the encirclement were his personal crew of veteran soldiers, assigned to Priomb to finish whatever was left in his wake so that the prized hound of their forces could continue forcing their foes into submission with sadistic brutality. Unlike most of the other elite teams within their ranks who deeply valued their members and saw them each protecting one another like family the group assigned to Priomb had a fair turnover rate as he was assigned to locations that called for intense conflict.

Whereas other such teams had not lost a single soldier since they were honorably discharged from the Imperial Guard, Priomb's group had none of its original members still in it since even with only one or maybe two dying per deployment it was only natural that given enough time and missions they would lose their members and need replacements. That some were lost to Priomb's own instability was another issue entirely, and one which went unaddressed lest the unfortunate soul who dared to mention it be added to his list of victims.

Even still the soldiers clad in gold and purple customized armor were some of Wostyn's finer members, they just were the ones considered the most expendable amongst their elite and thus assigned to serve under a man who was their blunt instrument for dealing with rebellion whether it be believed or realized. Outnumbering these men by two to one were the mercenaries Isolde was most used to, the ones hired to serve more menial roles and who were not missed if one or two went missing thanks to Kimaran 'weather conditions' every now and again. Even Kimarans would at times be lost to the absolutely unforgiving nature of their world so it was actually expected and planned for the soldiers from Wostyn to lose members here or there, replacements prepared and kept at the ready for such instances.

Unlike the personalized outfits of the veterans present with their gold and purple these lesser members of the Sons of the Emperor were all clad in the same set of desert fatigues and uniforms that were given to them standard issue from Wostyn. They each wore them in their own unique way and did what they could to personalize the uniforms, which when compared to the nigh indistinguishable sets of armor at the Schola it stood out all the more despite these men having little in the ways of resources to properly tailor their outfits.

Personally Isolde thought they looked ridiculous wearing gear meant for the desert on a world that had been frozen over for more than ten thousand years, and she would mock them if she was not preoccupied reading their movements and preparing for whatever it was they were planning. They were prideful in their own way of their own origin, that was something Isolde could understand and sympathize with, but it did not make it any less foolish in her mind. To wear the multi-layered uniforms standard on Kimara on a world like Wostyn would be ill-advised as well, though Isolde had no desire to ever be on such an dry and arid planet.

Most of the mercenaries kept their distance and displayed their experience on the battlefield by taking positions that while allowing them a clear shot at Isolde would prevent return fire from reaching them, while the more novice members stood closer where their shotguns' spread would have a better chance of hitting their target. With each position they took it became more and more obvious that they were intending to take her into custody, as not one had opened fire yet and they maintained proper trigger discipline as they did so. In her wounded state Isolde could not just run from them, and her gear was damaged enough that even if she fled into the wild of Kimara she would succumb to the cold sooner rather than later.

She could not run, but Priomb was stepping forward and now approaching her on his own: a mistake, but a forgivable one given how surrounded Isolde was.

"You left us to die," Isolde commented, her voice cold but restrained as she leered at him from behind her silver visor.

Despite his violence and unstable nature Priomb dressed as if he was a nobleman in regal robes, flaunting the wealth he had come to acquire through taking on duties that needed raw violence for success. As such despite his hulking body frame and reputation it gave him an almost noble patrician persona as he scoffed, "Was the battle not won? Traitors like your kind ought to perish first, it is your penance for the sins of your forefathers against the God Emperor. For a culture shaped by the Iron Warriors I have always found it fascinating that your kind are unwilling to throw your lives away."

The distinction between throwing one's life away for nothing and sacrificing it to achieve something was apparently lost on Priomb if he was not just being purposefully ignorant to insult both Kimara and the Iron Warriors at once. Isolde refrained from informing him on the nuance of such matters, for her attention was focused entirely on something else as he loomed closer.

"Nothing to say? Here I thought the daughter of that insubordinate fool might make for better quarry, but you Kimarans are all the same...silent, dull, it is a tragedy really that you do not make for better company," at half a foot shorter than Isolde Priomb had to look up to meet her gaze when he came close enough to reach her, Isolde not having moved or said anything since she pointed out his inaction, "Are you not going to acknowledge your place and bow to the Captain appointed by Governor Conomor himself? Even in silence your lot are impudent...you devils born of ice and iron ought be grateful that your lives are spent like this protecting those who stand beside Him in all his glory."

Isolde remained still and silent as he drew ever closer, having already sent a message to a group of Tempestus Scions practicing their drills in a neighboring region to extract her from this situation. She doubted they could reach her in time, but to not utilize every tool in her arsenal would prove unwise. The sons of Wostyn were indoctrinated to a fault, and a lifetime of listening to their abuse had left Isolde largely immune to it, especially in light of other, greater crimes.

This man was to blame for those civilians' deaths who fought so bravely to save their home, he hid and cowered while everyday members of the Imperium fought on his behalf. Such cowardice was...

Priomb lunged forward and grabbed Isolde by the throat in a sudden burst of violence, though rather than follow through on it he then brushed his hand across the cold metal of her helmet as if to gently brush her hair.

"Now what to do with you..." he spoke as if savoring every moment of Isolde's complete lack of reaction, "Orders are to bring you to the capital in chains, but while they specified they want you alive they did not say in how many pieces or in what state."

A newer member of his retinue stepped forward as if to move between Priomb and Isolde, his hands holding restraints to secure the Kimaran they were tasked with capturing, "I will secure the target, sir."

It was evident that the mercenary was dutifully carrying out his role, but it was also just as evident from his body language that he was purposefully keeping Isolde from Priomb: if they had been given orders to make certain she stayed alive then not allowing the unstable and violent man free reign to her would be vital, even if that man was his superior officer at the moment.

As if out of polite courtesy the mercenary also gave a nod to Isolde, the warrior aspect of his culture appreciating how Isolde slew the last of the Yormungaros herself, "You have fought bravely, but for reasons unknown to us it is the wish of his majesty that you be taken into cust—"

Anything further he may have said died along with him when Priomb impaled an elongated dagger up through the man's neck into his skull, the man's shackles hitting the ground while his body slumped over and the firearm he kept behind him dislodging from his back.

"Foul heretic! There is no forgiveness in the Emperor's eyes for questioning one's superiors, and to do so is heresy. The words of the Governor are law, and those who dare cross his holy guidance deserve naught but summary execution!" Priomb barked as he began to kick and stomp at the corpse beneath him now, his men stunned and uncertain what to do as their superior thrashed the remains. Isolde remained impassive, waiting for the right moment to make a move that could further ensure her survival. Priomb was unpredictable but his instability gave openings, openings which Isolde sought to exploit after she had stalled for as much time as she could.

Once Priomb's bout of violence ceased and he regained his former calm veneer Isolde gave a small bow, finally taking action and playing off his words and mentality since despite everything Priomb was close to the mark regarding obedience towards one's superior officer.

"I agree: to question one's superior in the Imperium is tantamount to treason. Respect ought to be earned, not given freely, but I shall grant you the respect and dues you are owed as a servant of the Imperium."

This earned Priomb's attention and interest, with the powerful man smirking as Isolde's lowered nature left him momentarily above her in height. She was beneath him in not only station but stature now in his view, the way it ought to be, and so he gave his approval immediately to such a display.

"It seems that you are not so unreasonable after all. If only all of your putrid kind could be so obedient then this would all be easier."

Isolde kept her head bowed as she prostrated herself before him, a simple ploy to drag things out while also lowering his guard at the same time. She removed one gauntlet to expose the eerily pale skin that lay beneath as well as the ring she wore upon it given to her as a seal of authority by her father, a relic dating back to the time of the Great Crusade with craftsmanship since lost to the Imperium. Running her other hand over it briefly, Isolde extended her hand forward with her fingers clenched as if she was holding something to give to Priomb.

"I, Isolde Kohlenstoff, Commandant of the Kimaran Krakens, impart to Priomb, formerly of the Wostyn Hounds and now of the Sons of the Emperor, the following judgment..."

In a fight at this range and with all of his men supporting him Isolde knew she had no way to defeat Priomb, a man built to slaughter his way across a battlefield with a hulking physique to match. That did not however mean she was helpless, and so as Priomb moved closer to accept whatever it was she was offering him Isolde activated the digital weapon within her ring to fire a piercing blast straight through his torso with power enough to crack a vehicle's hull. His luscious robes were suddenly coated by blood as he coughed and lurched forward in sudden shock, only for his resulting instability to cause him to fall back and leave him vulnerable to Isolde's bolt pistol which now pointed down at his skull at enough of a distance that he could not disarm her from where he lay.

"Execution is the greatest reward one of your ilk could hope to receive for your dereliction of duty and cowardice in the face of Humanity's foes. Be grateful you have been treated so generously," Isolde commented ruthlessly, possessing not a single shred of sympathy for the man before her. Perhaps she could have handled things differently, perhaps she could have opted for a peaceful solution if such a thing was possible, but ever since the battle's end this moment had been on her mind. Justice must be meted out, the guilty ought to be punished for the slaughter which could have been avoided, and now Priomb was at her mercy and her hostage.

Now addressing the other men present Isolde began to get a better look around to see how the others reacted to her sudden attack, surprised to find them surprisingly meek in its aftermath as not a single one stepped forward or opened fire, "Lay down your arms or you all shall face Imperial justice! This is your only opportunity, and those who do not take it shall be granted no mercy!"

They did not know that her ring only held a single charge like most digital weapons, with some of those dating back to the Great Crusade and Horus Heresy possessing raw power equivalent to plasma guns or even lascannons. Recharging it would prove difficult, but it had fulfilled its purpose by blindsiding Priomb who instead of receiving an offered gift was pierced through his lung and had a hole punched out of his abdomen. Without medical attention he would die soon, and that was just fine with Isolde so long as he lasted long enough for her to secure a way out of this situation.

Unfortunately for her Priomb possessed a powerful relic of his own, with his fallen form disappearing and then reappearing behind some of his men as if he had teleported. The benefits of piracy and fighting Xenos as a part of the Imperial Guard included access to technology that few others could ever have access to, and despite his belief in himself as a morally righteous member of the Imperium such artifacts were not beyond Priomb's interest for usage in dire circumstances. The ability to teleport short distances and avoid danger was not something many knew about given that he tended to kill all foes who would witness it, but now it allowed him to get out of being Isolde's hostage in a way she could not have foreseen.

Isolde cursed to herself as she realized what happened and grabbed a stray lasgun nearby her to open fire on the Wostyn soldiers who wasted no time in firing back now that Isolde no longer had their superior officer in her clutches. As this firefight began Priomb tried to bark orders to them only for his grievous wound to continually interrupt him as he limped away from the battlefield.

"Get...her...dead or alive...I don't care, just..."

He disappeared into the ruins beyond, likely utilizing his personal technology to flee to safety while he left his men to clean up the mess left behind. Isolde had not fired through his heart out of the desire to use him against his own men, but now she found herself regretting that she lost her window to repay him for what he did. Another in her place may have tried to handle it all differently, but for Isolde there was no option except to swiftly carry out her duties as Commissar since that was what Priomb was owed by his actions. Her authority as Commissar placed her above almost every other Imperial servant on the planet and so Priomb had been right that opposing one's superior officer was liable to result in punishment, and it was so fitting to put him down like a rabid animal following it but such an ironic twist was not meant to be.

A commissar had to be judge, jury, and executioner at times to properly carry out their duties and that was something that fit to Isolde's unforgiving nature. If someone needed to be dealt with she would without hesitation no matter who they were, a heartless witch to the craven and a cold executioner to those who drew her ire. Unlike the civilians who currently lingered at the edge of this block observing the conflict unfold she took action, and while it might not always be ideal it was always calculated to best uphold her values while not sacrificing her life needlessly. Had she simply submitted the chances that the governor would kill her were slim given the circumstances between him and the Commandant, and in fact her likelihood of survival would have been far higher than the route she chose to follow instead.

Pragmatism was valued on Kimara, but Isolde had her father's ideals, those of the Kimara of years passed by, instilled in her since her earliest days and she proudly carried them in her. The tenets, the traits, the very core of what it meant to be Kimaran was who she was and it was simply inconceivable to abide by certain injustices. Dairine might handle them in her own way in the dark, and Verita her own in the shadows, but Isolde was front and center in every activity she engaged in. She would kill a Kimaran the same as she would a soldier from Wostyn if either of them dared to cross the line, for her sense of justice was absolute and did not abide half-hearted responses.

It was very likely about to get her killed in a firefight she could have avoided, but that was irrelevant: it was the right thing to do in her books, and it would spare her whatever fate the Conomors had in mind for her. If she died she died upholding her virtues, and if she lived she will have put them to action by slaying those who stood in opposition.

The distance between them and the fact that she possessed a personal shield atop her reinforced armor meant that much of the incoming firepower never even laid a scratch on her, but those utilizing shotguns slowly closed in on her to make their pellets better strike at her and her shielding. She was fortunately able to return fire out of said shielding, but things that drew too close to her would be far more difficult to deter like the bullets and lasgun fire now impacting the shield harmlessly.

Isolde focused her own lasgun fire on the closest of the mercenaries to stop their approach, rushing towards him as her weapon tore through his desert tunic thanks to his lack of refractor shielding. While he stumbled Isolde bashed her gun down on him to knock him down, then fired into his exposed throat to finish him before leaping away from him to keep moving and lower the chances of being struck by more incoming fire. She could not absorb it all with her defense field, but by lessening the amount that made contact with her shield Isolde could perhaps further stall for time.

Unfortunately for her the injury to her leg made her sudden movement make her leg buckle beneath her when she landed, Isolde gritting her teeth as she forced herself back up to accurately gun down the next closest soldier as his compatriots all continued to shoot her. The target she chose tried to avoid her lasgun fire but rubble from the prior battle slowed his movement and allowed Isolde to strike him in the side and cause him to trip and fall over a corpse. Unable to properly finish him off given where he fell, Isolde twisted around and fired at the first soldier she saw. It was a losing battle even if she was preying upon some of their more vulnerable members, but that did not mean she had to give up.

Her shielding faltered momentarily given the sheer volume of fire output by the Wostyn soldiers present, their approach to the battle being simple yet effective by just overwhelming her with sheer numbers and strength while not taking risks. Their orders from the governor himself made it dangerous to act without a certain degree of control, and the fact that she was desired alive meant that they had to control their shots to focus on her lower body to lessen the chance that they might strike her heart or head. This limitation did not mean no stray fire struck at her helmet when her shield would fall for a moment, but it was by chance rather than design as the two sides exchanged fire.

Isolde grit her teeth as she could feel her armor get seared at various points by the lasguns firing at her, the carapace mostly stopping the shotgun pellets thus far but already she could feel some of their ilk having embedded into the protective gear. They stopped the bullets thus far and undamaged parts of it likely could take even more punishment, but her defenses which far outstripped those of her opposition were not perfect and would eventually fail. That inevitability did not mean she had to surrender though, as the inevitable moment when she began to take the damage herself only further inspired Isolde to continue fighting back to delay it.

To have survived the Yormungaros and then die to these rats would be pathetic in Isolde's mind, and so she tossed aside the lasgun in her hands when a stray shot damaged it only to then pick up another and keep firing. Perseverance was key and so even as her body became bruised beneath the armor protecting her Isolde kept fighting on against her foes whose mission hamstrung their lethality: they were fighting to capture but Isolde was fighting to kill, and so she held back nothing.

A shotgun wielding soldier approached Isolde with the intent of blowing her legs off only for her to twist around and engage him next, firing at him a split second before he properly aimed at her legs: the resulting exchange saw her lasgun tear through his torso and arm, throwing his aim off and firing far higher than initially intended. While they exchanged fire the other mercenaries continued their own attacks in a coordinated volley of lasgun fire that together overloaded her shielding, a ploy by the soldiers to finally deal with her formidable protection and open Isolde up for debilitating shots that could then cripple her and make capturing her simple.

The lack of coordination between the veterans who knew to time their shots with one another to get past the shielding and the more rookie member who fired the shotgun meant however that they opened the path for his blast to rip across Isolde's upper torso and head with minimal shielding to protect her. Her helmet had fulfilled its purpose: the shotgun blast had struck across its armored plating and visor both, but no projectiles penetrated fully through it. The lack of proximity had caused the pellets to spray across Isolde's body and lessened the overall concussive force to any one part of her, allowing her armor to properly mitigate almost all of the damage sustained. What impact still remained forced Isolde to stumble from a bout of disorientation, and her visor had been further damaged to the point of obscuring her vision where the pellets cracked it.

Faced with either protecting her head and being blind to the threats around her or discarding the helmet and regaining her vision, Isolde rapidly removed the piece of equipment impeding her ability to respond to the Wostyn soldiers. Years of training with the very same gear had taught Isolde how to efficiently handle it both in the comfort of the Schola and in the field. While grateful to the helmet which just saved her head from being torn to pieces Isolde considered it a tool to be discarded once it no longer was fit for purpose: to hold onto it for even a moment would be unnecessary sentimentality and for those trained at Kimara's Schola Progenium pragmatism and efficiency were core tenets of their doctrine.

This tossing of her helmet aside was made possible by her personal shielding restarting and deflecting the other projectiles fired at her for the short duration it took. It might not stop every single shot heading her way, but it was powerful and more capable than the typical refractor fields utilized by Imperial officers. If not for her present circumstances Isolde would ponder the possible requisition and feasibility of numerous such devices, as the Imperial Rosarius was not particularly large yet possessed significant stopping power on its own and could perhaps further her defensive prowess.

Once her head was free of her helmet Isolde swept down to grab the shotgun of one fallen soldier while her shield redirecting a blast of pellets headed her way from the same soldier who damaged her helmet. In response Isolde lifted her own acquired shotgun and opened fire right back at him, blowing the man off his feet and tearing through his abdominal armor. Despite being shot at by the very same model of weapon the damage inflicted was severely different simply due to the fact Isolde's shielding could shrug off most of the incoming fire she faced while the soldier's lack of such protection meant he had to endure the full blast.

A hail of energy striking from behind forced Isolde to momentarily shift forward, some of the lasgun fire managing to strike through her shielding and hit the back of her armor where it dissipated. The damage to her own body was minimal, but scorch marks showed where it had struck the hardened carapace she wore.

From where she was struck Isolde could estimate the position of who fired at her, allowing her to twist around and open fire as one fluid motion that obliterated the arm of the lasgun wielder. The man had been rushing towards her as he fired to try and bypass her shield which in turn made her retaliatory shot tear through his armor and body. This did not deter him however, as with his uninjured arm he grabbed a Power Sword from his side and lifted it up to swing down at Isolde.

With no tool to parry the blade and her shotgun in need of reloading Isolde followed her training and lunged forward where the blade would slip past her. The soldier's arm overextended and his other in tatters, Isolde slammed her armored forearm and the shotgun she wielded across his face and upper torso with all of her strength. While nowhere as strong as the Astartes she nearly stood as tall as Isolde still had trained her body since her earliest years and possessed enough mass behind her colossal form to slam the shorter man off his feet with one sudden strike.

Another Wostyn soldier approached Isolde from behind, roaring in anger likely at the death of one of his comrades or kin, but that very Human emotional response clued Isolde into where he was. Before she could finish off the soldier she had just knocked prone she was forced to kick out a leg back into this new threat, catching him off-guard as her lengthy limb extended with the force one would expect given the raw muscle packed in her thighs. The swinging kick back twisted him around and gave Isolde the opportunity to pivot on her other leg to smash her shotgun across his back and knock him onto the ground like his comrade.

While possessing her own form of grace it was evident from her movements that Isolde was on the backfoot and was scrambling from moment to moment to eliminate whatever threat was closest to her at that point in time. Any finesse or precision was being sacrificed for rapid responses that would buy her the next window of time to react to another threat, and if not for her personal shielding Isolde would have already been overwhelmed. As much as she was a peak example of the female Kimaran form Isolde was still just a Human at the end of the day, one trained for years to reach her potential and to have the skills necessary to fend off whatever threat she faced, but she lacked the superhuman reflexes and swiftness her close friend possessed. It was everything she could do to just hold these soldiers off while they impeded themselves to try and take her alive, while if Dairine was in her place they would likely have been cut down with ruthless efficiency already.

The lack of ammunition in the shotgun she held forced Isolde to grab her bolt pistol from her side to fire down at the soldier in front of her, executing him before he could regain his footing as his cranium and blood splattered across the snow that had fallen into the Fortress City's exposed block. By now the lasgun soldier had begun to lift himself back up with his blade in hand, forcing Isolde to then deal with him even as incoming gunfire struck at her shielding and bits broke through to strike her armor. Twisting around again, Isolde collided her foot into his face in a makeshift roundhouse kick that knocked him down again and bought her the moment she needed to fire a pistol round through his skull with the practiced talent of a Commissar.

Despite eliminating the two closest threats to her Isolde still stood in what had become a crossfire from the Wostyn regiment, and so even as she finished off the two men she had only a moment to reload the shotgun with stray ammunition on the corpses around her before she had to stand again and return fire. The near success at reaching her had emboldened the remaining soldiers and so they were closing in on her while snap-firing their weapons at their target, trading raw accuracy for proximity with which they could fully overwhelm Isolde. Her mental fog from the impacts she had already taken and the near panic her situation thrust upon her blinded Isolde to the fact that she was winded and breathing fairly heavily, but it was evident to her foes thanks to her lack of helmet which revealed her features.

Prioritizing the one closest to her as their lasgun fire harmlessly dissipated off her shielding, Isolde fired thrice into him before he finally fell dead right before her feet. A man right behind him caught her next shot directly in the chest and so his charge was halted momentarily, but his armor fulfilled its purpose and saved his vitals from any damage. While Isolde had fired that shot into him another nearby soldier had managed to draw blood from her with a shotgun blast that caught her side. The hardened carapace armor she wore negated much of the damage, but it was damaged in the process and so in an ironic twist it was the armor's deformed nature from the blast which directly cut into her. Like her helmet before it the armor did its job, but now that portion was more impeding than beneficial with how it was actively cutting into Isolde's side and restricting her movements to a degree.

Rather than risk taking another hit from the same angle that would risk her actual flesh Isolde shifted her stance to have armor facing the shotgun, taking another hit that was partially blocked by her shielding but also had some pellets strike through and impact across her still protected midsection. In retaliation Isolde lifted her own pillaged shotgun to fire back at him, securing her feet to the ground with her boots' ability to lock down for ice and snow-filled terrain. With her feet secured in a more open stance it allowed Isolde to hold the shotgun in one arm and to brace its kickback with her body while simultaneously grabbing her pistol from where she had reflexively holstered it at her side. With bolt pistol in one hand and her shotgun cradled in her other arm she traded shotgun fire with one target while gunning down the other with her pistol, the kickback of both weapons straining her body but it being the only way she could properly deal with both threats.

Isolde paid more attention to the shotgun wielder rather than the other soldier whose firearm had been knocked away from him and who sought to instead swing a curved blade at her. The training she had to undergo to become a commissar saw her relentlessly train with the bolt pistol and so without even directly looking she was able to use her peripheral vision to fire shots into his center mass. The damage already done by her prior gunfire saw the bolter rounds tear through his chest before Isolde weaponized the recoil to fire a shot up into his skull with the final round in her clip.

Her shotgun fire eventually broke through the armor of the opposing shotgun wielder as she focused her efforts on wielding that firearm, its raw firepower and resulting force back upon her necessitating such attention as compared to the relative nature of the bolt pistol in her hand. Despite his armor being shredded the man's zeal carried him forward and he managed to stab at Isolde with a custom Power Sword that was half the size of a typical one. Isolde's shielding failed for a moment after trying to respond to this threat, and so she was forced to sacrifice the shotgun in her hand to stop the blade from
reaching her body. Wrenching the shotgun up and over the soldier's head, Isolde forced the Power Sword up as well and grabbed down at his side where a laspistol was holstered.

As Isolde grabbed hold of the laspistol her own sidearm hit the ground, discarded because its lack of ammunition and time to reload made it worthless to her. She struggled to properly aim the stolen laspistol for a moment as she and the Wostyn mercenary struggled over the shotgun his nimble Power Sword was embedded within, its size making it adept for extremely close-quarters situations but lacking the full strength of a larger blade. His usage of two hands meant that he was winning the struggle, and while he sought to tear free from the damaged firearm and strike directly at Isolde she was only able to alter the path of his swing and have it graze her arm. The armor there was completely sheared off, but thanks to its reinforced nature Isolde herself was spared more than superficial damage right as her faltering shielding managed to block his follow-up strike and buy her the moment she needed to fire his own pistol right into his chest, neck, and chin with a desperate flurry of shots.

So focused was she on the power struggle over the shotgun that Isolde did not at first notice that she had dislodged one of her feet from its anchoring to shift and avoid the Power Sword's swing, or that she had been sustaining concentrated lasgun fire into her back where the shielding only managed to now impede parts of it. The heat of the gunfire reached her as the lasguns finally overcame her back armor, but by the time Isolde could dislodge her other foot and properly respond she was face to face with a brute of a man far larger than his kin tackling her off her feet.

Isolde slammed down onto the cold snow and felt its wet nature sneak into her semi-exposed back, her outer armor penetrated at points but not yet shot through thanks to the emphasis on protection Kimarans had in their personal armor. A typical Imperial Guard flak jacket would have been fully destroyed by this point, but the armor prepared for her by the Commandant was well beyond the standards of the soldiers thrown into war by the Guard and instead was second only to a suit of Power Armor. While he did not outwardly show much warmth or favoritism for his daughter it was evident to all that the Commandant prioritized her safety above almost anything, and he would not have her deploy in anything less than the best he could requisition for her specific duties.

As the snow began to seep into her tunic Isolde brought a leg up to her chest and planted it into the man who tackled her, dislodging him with a forceful kick straight into his gut beneath where his armor plating protected. Unlike Isolde whose abnormal size was accounted for by the Schola for her personal gear, the large size of this Wostyn soldier was not as compensated by his own superiors who likely viewed him as nothing more than a grunt given the prison tattoos and markings he possessed which showed that he was recruited from less than ideal circumstances on his part.

The kick was strong, but thanks to the sizable mass possessed by the former criminal he was not knocked off his feet and instead was just forced back onto them from his position atop Isolde. He had struck at the moment he had due to noticing her boots were not stabilizing her, showing that despite his massive physique he was also crafty and a greater threat than the fodder that was being thrown at Isolde to wear her down.

As he regained his footing two others reached Isolde and stabbed down at her prone form, seeking to disable her arms during this period of limited mobility and its resulting vulnerability. The first instead saw his dagger disarmed near reflexively by Isolde's years of training at the Schola which included how to wrench a foe's weapon from them, while the second had his own blade stopped at the last moment by the dagger Isolde had just stolen. Throwing her shoulder up into the chin of the man now looming inches above her, Isolde slashed her dagger across his wrist not on purpose but as a result of her conditioning and training. She was fighting on instinct alone and while her foes were seeking to possibly take her alive their lives meant nothing to her in return, giving her an edge to exploit even if she was not rationally thinking in the moment.

His blade fell at Isolde's side as the damage done to his wrist forced him to drop it, and Isolde used the opening to smash the blunt end of the weapon into his skull and knock him away as she used her other arm to resist the other man's attempt to reclaim his weapon. His efforts were successful in that he did take back the dagger, but the manner he achieved this was through having it shoved into and through the back of his throat. Isolde shoved his dying form away from her as she twisted over to punch the man on her other side in the face, his attempt to grab his weapon again drawing him in close enough to Isolde for her to reach him.

While he was stunned for this brief moment Isolde retrieved his weapon before him and slashed upwards at his torso, abusing his attempt to take her in alive and slaying him outright. Any respite this may have bought her was vanquished as the leviathan man returned, his height almost matching Isolde's own and his general breadth and depth far greater such that he likely possessed a mass equivalent to five of Isolde. With a kick to her exposed side Isolde was sent tumbling over before she could stop herself against the dead body of a soldier she had already slain. Now laying face down, Isolde tried to rise up only to have the man's boot stamp down into her spine.

This impact forced the air out of Isolde as she fought to struggle against the weight stepping down upon her to no avail. Reaching down, the giant grabbed Isolde by the back of the head and slammed her face down into the snow that already had formed a thick layer atop the city's surface. Isolde twisted her head so that her nose would not be broken upon striking the hard surface, the snow helping to lessen the damage but her head still ringing from the impact.

Focusing his efforts on Isolde's right arm, the soldier stepped down onto it and moved to snap it with leverage...only to realize a moment too late that Isolde had rolled over to draw her body closer to the arm and had with her other arm twisted her lengthy limb to stab into his groin with a hastily grabbed blade. Isolde's breath was ragged, her body was bleeding from numerous points, her armor was in tatters, but so long as she could still fight she would do so.

It was already the nature of Kimarans to fight to the end rather than surrender, but Isolde's childhood had included her observation of videos that the Imperium would no doubt consider heretical: she saw how the Iron Warriors fought, endured, and in particular admired the way that one Neophyte refused to give in. Even if every bone in her body was broken in the process she would not admit defeat, and that was a weapon in and of itself. Her enhancements may not have made her considerably stronger than a Human of her size ought to be, but she did possess raw toughness beyond what one would expect and so by treating her like a normal woman her foes had underestimated her durability and resolve.

Each moment in the fight so far had been a desperate struggle for survival, a conflict between those of competing motives and emotions and their foe whose only goal was to live. Instead of fighting to kill her foes Isolde instead prioritized whatever bought her that next moment of life, and so while she did eliminate her targets it was only when the opportunity presented itself and another threat was not directly presenting itself.

That the 'Sons of the Emperor' or whatever they called themselves held back their underlings carried out their orders, expendable troops who had yet to climb to the upper echelons of their society. It was evident that the veterans only held back from fighting because they were commanded to, their lust for glory almost overpowering their resolve. Lowly mercenaries like those being sent forward were cheap and expendable to a planetary force which had countless more to draw from while the veterans of numerous wars and conflicts could not be so easily replaced, so they would rather a dozen of their goons
fall than one of their own even if their superior training and coordination would overwhelm Isolde immediately. It was ruthless and cutthroat, but it was the ideal option from a point of resources: slain mercenaries did not have to be paid after all, and it was not like the Conomors were so foolish as to pay them upfront given the risk of mercenaries fleeing once their monetary compensation was acquired or no longer tenable for them.

If these conscripts to their force wanted to enter into their esteemed ranks they would have to prove themselves and earn the right to not be thrown away like trash, and so despite their rising casualties the eager young men continued to fight for their own future prosperity and comfort. The rising star that was Wostyn in the sector held boundless possibilities for its sons who served upon Kimara, and so it was vital that they seize upon whatever opportunity came their way before someone else did and claimed whatever high bounty that would follow.

That very same greed was not lost to even those who had secured their future however, and so one of the veterans broke rank and leapt into the conflict the moment Isolde was knocked off her feet. All that mattered was who captured her in the end, not who brought her down, and so while she wrenched and twisted the blade lodged within the behemoth the opportunistic veteran seized the opportunity granted to attack Isolde from a different angle.

All Isolde could do in the short window of time she had to respond to the sudden threat was to roll over and elbow his wrist to force his stab downward aimed at her shoulder to instead impale the ground beside her with his Power Sword. She could feel its energy radiate from where it lay as the snow around it melted, but it was not enough to stop him. The veteran stomped down on her upper torso and pinned her down once again through force, drawing a more personal dagger to cut down at her and negate her as a threat.

Instead a shotgun blast knocked the veteran off his feet mid-swing, not killing him outright but the force strong enough to carry his body through the air as it punched a hole straight through his armor. Unlike its descendant utilized by those from Wostyn, the original model of shotgun used on Kimara was concentrated and traded area of effect for penetrative power.

A confused Isolde was given reprieve finally thanks to an unknown source, and it took her a moment to gather herself given her lack of breath and her dizzied head. After a few moments Isolde managed to at least lift her upper body up enough to look around, finding that other veteran soldiers had moved in to assist their fellow comrade or possibly to claim the glory for themselves. They were greedy, but there was a genuine brotherhood between those with a cultish reverence for the Emperor of Mankind, and after fighting together for years their bonds were deep.

This all would mean immediate defeat for Isolde in her condition if not for the source of the shotgun blast that knocked one of their members back. Beyond the veteran members Isolde's blurred vision could make out the forms of the local civilians who had gathered around the conflict, and in their hands were the weapons of the fallen from the Yormungaros battle. They might accept the seeming righteous punishment of a lawbreaker or rebel, but the Commissar who had just saved their city was under assault by those who refused to stand in its defense: the Emperor of Mankind's servant and extension of his will was under threat, and their personal debt accrued by Isolde's actions that day meant that their competing loyalties in the conflict won out in her favor. It was unorganized and organic, but once one drew a weapon so too did the others who had gathered until one became ten that became fifty and more.

Like Isolde the veteran soldiers had their own personalized gear and for many that included refractor fields and reinforced armor, each of them personally capable of going toe to toe with the well-equipped Tempestus of the Schola who had superior training even if they lacked the same field experience and knowledge one accrued through actual conflict. These were some of the top soldiers of the Imperium, a small fraction of the veterans who were mostly kept cloistered around the Planetary Governor, but when fired upon from behind unexpectedly even they could fall.

The sudden turnabout caught the Wostyn soldiers off-guard, having spent years knowing the Kimarans to be blindly obedient to their authority figures and thus mistakenly presuming themselves safe from backlash. Individuals might rise in defiance when pushed to the brink, but no large group had ever formed because so often those lording over the Kimarans were the sole authority figures present. By considering themselves above Isolde in importance and jurisdiction the Sons of the Emperor had erroneously thought that those around them perceived the situation the same way.

That they were wrong in such a presumption was why some of them were caught unaware by the shotguns pointed at their backs.

While potent in their own right, refractor fields were inferior to the personal shield protecting Isolde through much of the battle until it was worn down. As such the initial volley of the growing group of rioters barely scratched most of their targets, but two Wostyn men were cut down immediately as they closed in on Isolde while a third had much of his leg removed.

In response to this the veterans commanded their lesser counterparts to redirect their attention on the crowd gathered, the natural result of which was a widescale firefight. While the veterans had mostly been protected by their individual gear the conscripts had been largely torn apart when suddenly they were fired upon from behind, a cowardly tactic perhaps but one which no Kimaran present cared to consider as such: it was simply the smart move if one was to engage the soldiers present, to attack them while their attention was all diverted to one point. Pragmatism won over concepts such as glory or honor, and that was exactly why they had formed such strong bonds with the Iron Warriors once upon a time. Such traits had only been honed over the years and so the rioters took up arms without reservation or a single ounce of guilt concerning how.

Isolde had fought for them and had executed a military officer for daring to not do the same, and so it was only natural that even these civilians who had never seen her before that day would possess feelings of loyalty towards her. Isolde had struck a memorable figure throughout the prior battle, leading her forces directly and only outlasting them due to her superior training rather than cowardice and hiding behind them the way the Wostyn garrison had. Those who had fought and perished were their kin, friends, and coworkers, and to have lost them in such an avoidable way was not only heart wrenching to even the icy Kimarans, it was also a waste and wasted lives and sacrifices were anathema to their culture.

A Fortress City could possess a wealth of civilians within its walls, and while their access to firearms was limited every Wostyn soldier who fell granted one or more to the mob forming around where the Yormungaros struck. It was inevitable that some more of the civilians rising up would fall, but as they did more stepped forward to take their place and their weapons to overwhelm the mercenaries the same way they had done to Isolde. Unlike Isolde however no reinforcements were to come for the Wostyn soldiers, for despite the screeching of Shetth the Skitarii stationed within the inner walls did not deploy to put down the riot. His commands had been overridden by others who sympathized with the plight beyond their facility, and while he possessed followers within their ranks not all within their own upper echelons were subservient to the planetary governor. Other members of the Wostyn garrison found themselves locked out in other segments of the base, their command codes overridden by other members of the Mechanicus.

The conflict was brief given its circumstances, but as it drew to an inevitable, swift conclusion Isolde found herself rising to join those who were following what could be considered their biological programming in fighting back. Her injuries prevented her from contributing a great deal more than she already had, but simply standing tall and towering above all the others within the ensuing chaos gave the rioters a rallying point. The only kill she would personally see to throughout the remainder of the fight was that of the giant who sought to avenge his severe wound to his lower body, with Isolde coldly gunning him down with her retrieved and reloaded bolt pistol. It had been passed along to her by a Kimaran woman whose wrinkles and silver hair showed that they had survived many years upon the Death World and that they were a veteran in their own right, and Isolde appreciated the gesture of handing her the weapon to continue fighting even merely standing was difficult now.

That the Kimarans were cowed into subservience was not because they were meek by nature or too weak to protect themselves in any manner, but rather it was their conditioning all their lives to believe that they carried the guilt of their ancestors and had to repent even if in their hearts they did not believe what they were told. To survive on Kimara was to fight for your life every time you stepped outside the safety of your city to carry out back-breaking labor and fend off abominable creatures as well as nature itself, and so while many of the civilians now rising up did not have official military training almost all knew the basics required to see to their continued existence on a world that actively sought to kill everything upon it.

Enduring upon a world that so violently treated all those upon it was the shared legacy and tradition of their people, and so when given reason to fight back they did so with the same cold-hearted and ruthless way they would engage any of the wild beasts they could encounter in the wilderness. Stoic endurance was not just bred into them at this point, it was actively enforced by Kimara itself as a planet as excess energy wasted was energy that could have been used to see to your very survival. A blizzard did not care if its sudden tempest of winds and its frigid particles unfairly caught you in a vulnerable moment, the Yormungaros would actively prey upon your misery, and weakness would be instantly exploited by Hoarverns and more as soon as it was sensed.

Most of those who rallied around Isolde were not anywhere near as capable as their lost husbands, their brothers, or their sons who were now lost to Kimara, but they had survived these past decades without them and so possessed a fair modicum of experience. On the surface they were simple civilians with only menial skillsets, but the fact that they were alive at all spoke to their resilience. They might be utterly lacking in certain other traits such as the willingness to attempt diplomacy as evidenced by their opening fire rather than dialogue, but what they could do they did well. This very trait was part of what made them readily act in Isolde's defense, her firefight having only spanned a brief span of time despite all that happened in those dire moments.

Dire moments which happened to have been captured by the integrated camera of a helmet discarded in the battle. Said helmet was now worn atop Bo's head after he joined his master in the conflict's aftermath, the creature desiring the object for its shiny visor and how it smelled of his owner even if the exterior was cracked and had shotgun fragments lodged in it.

By the time Isolde was retrieved by the Tempestus team she contacted she had nearly collapsed from her injuries, only still standing thanks to the support of the civilians who came to her aid. It was not a long wait at all but it did reinforce to Isolde that she made the right decision, as for the first time in her life she saw her people smiling. They had fought and saved someone in had already fought to save them mere minutes before, and they did so with full legal support of the Imperium by helping answer the call for justice the Commissar put out.

They were alive and for many this was the first taste of victory they had in their entire lives, an addicting taste to those who had never had such a spark illuminate their existence or bring warmth to their frozen spirits. Isolde had been sent to acquire allies for the future the Commandant sought, and by carrying out her civic duty to her fellow Kimarans she had earned favor that would see all of Fakultat rally behind them in honor of the young woman whose stubborn, unforgiving and merciless stand mirrored the feelings they had kept buried within them for years.

Isolde had nearly gotten herself killed for principle and pride, but the risk she took paid off and would carry forward in ways she could not have imagined in the tumultuous days to come.

(Part 1)​

 

[Thunderscourge]

Verita was the first of the their personal group to return to the Schola that day, pleased with her findings within the former capital fortress and through her investigation of the present day one. There were still numerous unknown digits to the mysterious box she carried around, but she was a step closer to discovering the truth behind it. Not only that, how many could truthfully claim they discovered direct proof to show that the crown prince of the Jarn family survived the massacre that removed them from power?

Despite the implications of her discovery Verita did keep the secret to herself for the moment, as to share it without further corroboration and research would be reckless and could cause political purges to ensue. The truth was a powerful tool, and if she was right the Conomors' hold over Kimara was far more precarious than any of their people might imagine. Should a Jarn rise from the ashes of Kimara and take their rightful place among the people they once ruled the entire political paradigm of their world would change, and civil war would become inevitable.

Whether that would be a positive or negative thing would be determined by the involvement of the Imperium, as their resources and power would greatly outstrip anything rebels might hope to possess upon Kimara and serious enough escalation could result in exterminatus or further pogroms like those done previously to the Kimarans under the guise of 'conscription' and 'service'. For now Verita would keep this truth to herself until she could unveil it properly to her people without that revelation resulting in their execution, but it would take time and planning to properly handle such information after further verifying it.

Verita checked in with the Commandant about the information she secured earlier from her contact concerning a possible riot in Fortress City Alpha-KO-35 and after finishing her report left his office to allow him to handle his own duties, though not before noticing that there was a portrait in the room that matched the style of two others she had seen that day that seemed to be of Isolde but subtle differences an untrained eye wouldn't notice set them apart. What it all meant was something else Verita would have to mull over as she recovered, and so she made no mention of it as she departed.

While used to it by now the traveling she engaged in across Kimara's landscape and the storms she passed through left Verita aching, and so as reward for her success she collapsed down upon a bed allegedly set aside for Ixolotls but in reality was used to house agents working for the Commandant. Given the tendency of Ixolotls to gather in groups it was a large bed and it was far more comfortable than the ones typically used at the Schola, thus making it a satisfying way to relax after a long day for her.

Seta joined her with a running start to allow the Ixolotl's short legs to properly leap up onto the bed, it being somewhat low to the ground but not enough for a juvenile Ixolotl to easily get on top without an owner or mature Ixolotl's aid. Reunited with her master, the creature began trying to forcefully give the tired Acolyte the daily news it had been giving others at points that day, quite insistent that its master receive the same seemingly important object that Seta was supposed to give to Kimarans on the street. After all it must be important, as Seta was given them to hand out nearly every day and people seemed to like receiving them, so 'gifting' the master who first gave her the news was only natural to the still developing animal.

Verita grinned to herself as she accepted the paper before setting it aside, Seta's interest in it fading the exact moment that the Ixolotl was certain it had been handed out, and so Verita shifted her attention to holding her squishy companion while processing everything she had witnessed throughout the day. So much had happened, so much had been inspected, and so much was left in question that she felt the need to further digest it with her inquisitive brain. Perhaps by stringing the facts and data she acquired together she could come upon further truths...but such dissection of her findings would have to wait, as the bed shifted suddenly and she found herself joined by a collapsed Dairine.

It was evident from Dairine's body that she was quite wounded, though said wounds had already been medically treated and her condition did not appear so severe as to require further medical aid. Hospitalization within the city itself was definitely out of the question given that Dairine was officially dead, and whatever battle Dairine engaged in which saw her obtain these wounds was definitely not something they wanted tying back to the Schola or any of its members. Fortunately the Schola's own medical staff knew how to keep a secret, so should the occasion come that Dairine needed their full care she could receive it without question. After all, Kimarans shared so many physical features that passing Dairine off as another student would be laughably easy to handle within their own walls.

"Seems like you had an interesting night out in the town. Make any friends?" Verita mused to her fellow orphaned daughter of Kimara, the years they spent living, training, and toiling together making them closer than many actual siblings might be.

The exhausted Dairine buried herself face down into a pillow and pulled it in closer to her, "Dozens, but unfortunately our meetings were quite short-lived. They just couldn't keep pace with my dancing."

"How do you ever expect to get a husband if you keep trampling on feet like that?"

"You are one to talk, Ver. You do know that you cannot marry secrets and your other discoveries, right?" Dairine scoffed, "And before you say it, no, being married to your work does not count."

"At least I bring a refractor field with me on my assignments. You are fast, but you cannot outrun a bullet Dairy."

"Where is the challenge in it if their weapons cannot even touch me?"

Verita sighed, knowing she would not win that argument based on emotion rather than logic and so pivoted back, "You know, Clausura is a part of an all-female organization of zealots and still will likely get married before either of us. That boy she grew up with is an Inquisitor now and working alongside her Order."

"He can't be older than what, eighteen, twenty? Can you even be an Inquisitor at that age?"

"All it takes is other Inquisitors agreeing to it, and I hear he is a Psyker and those are always in short supply...of all the Inquisitors to have work with the Sororitas why they would pick the Psyker is beyond me."

"Keep digging on this guy. Clausura might be a stuck-up, self-righteous bitch with a boltgun, but I need to know if I have to go hunting."

"When I know more so will you...until then try not to splatter his brains across her Power Armor?"

"When it concerns one of our own I promise nothing."

Dairine's proclamation of protection and loyalty was followed by her own Ixolotl noticing her presence, with the rambunctious salamander-creature cleanly leaping atop the bed in a single bound before jumping up and down atop his owner's back. While Zeno, as he was called now after much deliberation on Dairine's part, meant to rouse her to play with him he instead obliviously stamped down upon wounds which prompted Dairine to roll over and scoop him up in her arms to both restrain and hold him. His name came from how Dairine had due to her particularly lithe features mockingly been called a Xeno by Kalles in days long since past along with how those of Wostyn considered Ixolotls to be Xenos, so to satiate her own brand of humor Dairine named her pet something which was pronounced the same way.

Content instead with this arrangement, Zeno began to wag his tail, not caring as it slapped into Verita's side until his sister Seta's wagging of her tail struck his. This collision confused them both but prompted no reflection, instead resulting in them noticing the other was present and brushing up against one another between their owners. While Zeno was energetic and as thrill-seeking as the mellow species he belonged to could be Seta reflected her owner as well by being quite inquisitive in most instances.

The sweet and loving Seta also had been known to have evolved the games of hide and seek children played with Ixolotls into one involving shiny objects: she had a habit of moving the 'shinies' that belonged to other people, but she never took them for her own collection. Instead objects would just disappear on occasion and reappear somewhere else in the same room without explanation, prompting theories of ghastly apparitions until a video recording caught Seta running around a hallway haphazardly before placing an object in a completely different area than it originally had been.

That Seta only did this when alone and was happy to see others find the misplaced objects told Verita that her pet indeed thought it was a game, and since it did not really hurt anyone she allowed it to continue even if it did cause the occasional headache. It was just nice to return to the Schola and rest beside an animal companion that was wholly affectionate. Even the stoic daughters of Kimara could not endure brushes with the underworld and the darkness that had befallen their society without moments to take their minds off of it. In this way their pets were like batteries, giving them the strength to carry on to the next day of hard but necessary work to restore Kimara to how it ought to be.

Last to return was Isolde, whose arrival was not heralded by suddenly appearing beside the others but rather by Bo looking up at the bed with a confused look, as if he was not quite certain how he was supposed to get up. If told to he would jump up without hesitation once the command registered, but despite possessing a far greater breadth of training than Seta or Zeno actually using his training was the question with Bo. Without guidance he would just sort of do whatever he pleased as was typical of his species, but it was especially pronounced with Bo which was likely a reflection of his owner for much of the past decade.

Just as Isolde had her own directive and pace she followed so too did Bo do things as he wished, such as occasionally sitting down in the dining hall where the Schola students were supposed to sit and then await food as if he was one of the ones dining. Intelligent but sporadically oblivious and moving at his own tempo, Bo was the most Ixolotl of all the Ixolotls at the Schola and the top of his class the same way Isolde was for her own. He worked hard and did as instructed which was what made him a successful learner, the only times he ran into problems was when he had to apply that knowledge and either did not feel like it or was distracted by something else.

Eventually Bo came to the decision that the comfy mattress and soft blanket covering it were worth burying his face into, resulting in the 'thud' of his head pressing into the soft surface that gave Ixolotls the sensation of touching others of their kind. This was what clued Verita and Dairine into his arrival and thus Isolde's, as when they arrived there were no Ixolotls other than Olym present in this section of the Schola. Given that Olym was tall enough to just climb on top of the bed if he so desired and that he was presently with the Commandant in his nearby office it meant it had to be some other Ixolotl, and of them only Isolde's would feel so comfortable trying to join them.

Verita shifted so she could peer out the door and found herself seeing something quite memorable: the Commandant bringing Isolde into a firm hug, casting aside his strict disciplinarian persona for a moment to instead embrace his daughter. In all their years living together such glimpses at the man behind the title were few and far between, and Verita could scarcely remember seeing such relief and physical contact shared between the two before.

With them was of course Olym but also the Commandant's personal assistant Iota who lurked in the type of shadows that Verita usually spent her days uncovering, though despite their positions being at odds Verita held no ill will towards the woman. They were Dairine's handler and primary trainer these days, and while no explanation was given as to who she was or why she aided the Commandant her aid was welcome and appreciated. Verita got the feeling that Iota had always been there and it was only because they now worked alongside the Commandant in his off-the-record operations that she revealed herself at all.

Isolde gave her father something which Verita recognized as a recording given the technology they shared at the Schola, and for but a brief moment Verita thought she caught a trace of a smile on Iota's face as she looked at the father and daughter. Verita was smiling as well from the dark room she lay in at seeing her friend, or rather sister, receive validation and affection from her father so perhaps it was just a natural response...but what bond did Iota have with Isolde that would result in a flicker of warmth?

"What matters is that you are safe," Verita heard the Commandant say to Isolde in response to her filling him in about the events which lead to her entire uniform and armor being as disheveled and damaged as they were. It looked as if Isolde had just been in the fight of her life and it was obvious she would never have made it home if some of her injuries had been worse, if her armor had not been reinforced as per the standards of the Schola and of Kimara, and if she had not spent hours and hours every day her entire life training and preparing for battle.

That alone was a relief to Verita, who had very nearly lost her dear friend without even being aware that she was in such danger, and while Dairine was similarly harmed and now resting the haughty assassin also had moved to glance over at the scene before them. Dairine smirked in approval, as she would have thought less of the Commandant if he had just ignored Isolde's wounds.

"Seems like you are going to have a long night patching Isolde up, Ver."

"Don't remind me," Verita sighed, knowing that she was the healthiest of the three on this occasion but also aware that she could have died just like them given the risks she took. Despite her own pains though she would abide by their trio's agreement from years ago that saw Isolde mend Dairine's injuries, Dairine mend Verita's, and Verita mend Isolde's own. Isolde created the system for a degree of efficiency as they could not apply the proper medical care to their own body at times, and also the fact that Dairine was utterly untalented at medical aid. Thus she was assigned to the one of their group whose careful nature and focus at the Schola saw Verita come to the least harm, while the other two assisted their kin of choice.

"Upa?" Zeno vocalized as he wrested himself out of Dairine's arms to begin jumping up and down on the bed, obviously desiring to engage in some form of activity. Bo might overall be the top of his class at the school set up by the Commandant for training Ixolotls, but Zeno was without a doubt the most gifted for athleticism and related matters. Having to keep up with Dairine out of all Kimarans meant Zeno had to be fast from a young age, training certain muscles that other Ixolotls would never fully exert in their entire lives because they never were in a hurry. Ixolotls just tended to never be bothered to be concerned about anything in their entire lives, so unlike Dairine whose prowess came from both training and her uniquely crafted body in Zeno's case he largely was the most physically fit because he had no true competition amongst his peers. The only one even close was a female Ixolotl in his class that had a similar personality, though Zeno was still a fair bit more capable given his master.

Dairine fell back down onto the bed, having no energy left to play after killing a veritable horde of soldiers and collaborators and knowing that this was going to become a heated debate in moments.

"No upa."

"Upa."

"No upa."

"Upapapapapapapapapapa—"

Verita grinned as she held her own calm and pleasant Ixolotl who seemed wholly content just laying down and being held while her brother worked off his remaining energy from the day, not having accompanied his owner or had much to do unlike Bo and Seta. Soon enough Isolde joined them and lifted Bo up onto the bed, his face showing wonder and amazement as if he just learned how getting on the bed worked even though he had done so hundreds of times before.

Immediately after Isolde crashed down onto an open part of the bed and buried her face into a pillow like Dairine had, unintentionally also mirroring the way Bo had planted his face into the mattress. Her exhaustion was to be expected given her physical condition that looked even worse up close now that her armor had been stripped off and she had changed into a clean set of garments. Black and blue bruises lined her pale body while deep cuts marred her elsewhere, with the way Isolde held her weight showing that some of her bones were likely close to broken if not broken outright. Her leg in particular seemed injured, and Verita could only imagine what warzone Isolde survived to have returned looking like this.

Dairine was sent on extremely dangerous missions because she could kill scores of foes without perishing in return, but Isolde largely held leadership positions thanks to being a Commissar. She offered no explanation as she settled in and neither of her friends pressed it, their shared exhaustion making such discussion unnecessary at the moment and something they could partake in later. Instead Isolde used her lengthy limbs to reach around the other two and pull them close to her, still having just enough strength to manage this while their Ixolotls shifted to fit wherever they could to be a part of the resulting pile.

As trying as the day was for them they were safe and alive. Each had their own struggles with Dairine wiping out an outpost of enemy combatants, Isolde fending off Yormungaros and then mercenaries, and Verita having to slip past guards and shake off possible pursuers using horrible storms, but at the end of it their years of training and their skills kept them as a part of the mortal realm. For that Isolde was grateful, and while Dairine somewhat struggled against the forced hug even the braggart did not have it in herself to fully resist.

The three of them were aware that one day one of them might not come back, or two of them, or even all three of them, and so moments of quiet comfort and sisterhood like this had to be cherished while they still could.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


As revealed by the now silenced informant that had met with Verita before meeting his fate at the hands of an assassin tensions had been stoked among the members of the Alpha-KO-35 garrison, the very Fortress City which the Schola's second location inhabited. Propaganda, agitators being planted, and other such methods all would culminate in a circumstance that would see the city's sizable force of mercenaries up in arms. To some it was because they were made to believe that some local Kimarans had forsaken the Emperor, to some who had done no wrong it was because they were sick of being resented by the locals, and yet others just possessed a bloodlust born of the millennia spanning animosity between their worlds.

This event was crafted by members of the Conomor regime to provoke the Schola into action that could ensnare them in a political trap as well as reasons only known to their highest ranking members, as it was obvious that they wanted to instigate mutual violence between their own soldiers and their civilians which typically would not be advisable unless one possessed an agenda. To those who would have their tempers stoked and blood raised they would think it was all their own idea to go out and make their chorus of voices heard through force, but in truth many of their number were as much victims of the scheme as the civilians they would go on to brutalize since all were but puppets having their strings pulled by the regime.

Groundwork had already been laid for this incident when word came of Priomb's entire team having been wiped out by Kimaran rioters in another Fortress City, the nuance and circumstances left out by the agitators put in place by the Conomors to escalate matters further. This spark would make the kindle wood erupt into an inferno of passionate anger, the deaths of some of their most notable members at the hands of Kimarans unforgivable in the eyes of many of the mercenaries. That many of Priomb's unit were fine letting their underlings die in place of them, both Kimaran and Wostyn alike, was completely lost on the riled up crowd of hundreds of mercenaries who all gathered together and began a rampage across their Fortress City, many of whom were calling for the head of Isolde Kohlenstoff for daring to harm their comrades.

Buildings were burned, civilians brutalized, house windows smashed, and gunfire rang out as innocents were dragged out into the street from their beds and violence inflicted upon them in alleged penance for the actions of Kimarans elsewhere on top of their own supposed crimes. This savagery engineered by the Conomors would continue for what felt like eons to the citizens of the city forced to endure it, but in truth only thirty minutes passed by before it was answered.

The trap had been set, and the Schola answered it by walking straight into it...but the Commandant was ready for it, and so were the Tempestus Scions deployed in full force.

Every single Tempestus Scion under the Commandant's charge departed at once from the Schola, the boys whose training was kept so separate from that of the women in the Schola not meaning their training was any lesser. In fact for many of them it was more difficult, for while only the women who would follow martial paths such as the Sororitas ended up with specialized combat training nearly every boy at this Schola was raised until he was a man to become the stormtroopers of the Imperium. The rapid deployment forces known as the Tempestus Scions were among the Imperium's most capable regimented forces, dropping into hectic warzones and annihilating their enemies with their honed skills and improved equipment.

While those of Kimara differed from the stormtroopers of other worlds in some ways they still possessed the same general doctrines, each member wielding a hotshot lasgun that was modified for increased range at greater expense but also resulting in greater effect. They traded the ability to drop into warzones for jetpacks that could allow them to redeploy on the field of battle and traverse terrain, more useful for worlds such as Kimara that would make dropping men through blizzards suicidal at best. Unable to properly charge through a battlefield that had snow nearly as tall as a man their armor was made to instead be reinforced to not only combat the climate, but also to provide protection as their men would march through mounds of snow to confront the enemy.

It was the very same type of Carapace Armor which Isolde had worn earlier that each and every member of the Tempestus Scions were deployed with, as a Commissar was a part of their ranks and thus permitted to utilize that armor if they so wished. While lacking the personal shield Isolde had given to her by her father these suits of armor had more conventional refractor fields built into them, providing further protection to the users who could walk through incoming gunfire undeterred while on occasion using short bursts from their jets to close the distance and finish off their wounded foes.

A force of hundreds of these elite soldiers deployed at once was a daunting threat for an organized military to face, and what they were sent to deal with was not a military but a riot. Before those engaged in the violence knew it the heavy suits of armor belonging to the stormtroopers announced their arrival, each in a squad of five that walked forward in unison side by side while the leader of each team offered any nearby rioters the opportunity to surrender and be placed into custody under the authority of the Imperium. Once engaged there would be no mercy to any combatants, so they were given an initial warning before the conflict could escalate further: it would be better for everyone if it would end there, but for so long the mercenaries had been pushed and prodded by their own leaders that none of their ranks would surrender that night.

One might think that once gunfire broke out that the wills of the rioters might be shaken and they might realize the danger of the situation, but for many of them they knew these Tempestus Scions to be young boys. The oldest of them were only in their mid-twenties given the mass conscription years back, while many others were between sixteen and twenty. These boys had never fought a war, they were green to the core, and so their capability was discounted by soldiers who had decades of experience under their belts.

Unfortunately for them, the reason none would surrender after the initial warning was that the raw firepower of the hotshot lasgun greatly outstripped that of the normal lasgun. Even more powerful than that was the volley gun utilized by the Tempestus which many of their members wielded for the occasion, and so between these two weapons once squads opened fire there was simply no-one left among the lightly armored off-duty mercenaries. The Scions were under orders to not open fire first and given their years of indoctrination and training they followed what they were told to the letter, making it apparent for all to see in the city that while they came to bring order back to it they were not simply shooting without reason.

Rocks, makeshift fire bombs, laspistols, autoguns, shotguns, lasguns, crowbars, bayonets, swords, and more all were held by the mercenaries as they pleased since their actions were goaded by their superiors but no actual personal planning took part on the men who got agitated into action. Those who instigated handed out weapons where they could to fan the flames, but such was the chaos of the matter that they could not uniformly arm the men. As such the Scions had plenty strike at them but their armor held just as Isolde's had, full military gear facing off against what amounted to rabble who thought they could overcome the Scions with numbers.

They would be proven wrong when another squad would appear, and another, and another, as each and every street was swept in a methodical manner that saw the Scions put the entire force of rioters in minutes. This was why they were trained since birth, this was why they were fielded against Yormungaros and other severe threats as a part of everyday training, it was all so that when the time came they could brutally and efficiently wipe out whatever it was they were pointed at.

A wholesale slaughter like this of the mercenaries in question would be just what the Conomors were looking for to take action against the Commandant, but as the riot came to a swift end something else unexpected arose for not only the citizens of Alpha-KO-35 but all of Kimara: a broadcast.

Screens across the planet lit up in unison as the Commandant appeared before them, the live broadcast coming from the Schola's external base and utilizing transmission lines not utilized since the downfall of the Jarn family but which had once been used to address the entire world at once. Since the Conomors did not possess the full knowledge of how to access them they created their own versions, but the originals still existed and simply had no-one accessing them...until now, when a priority address forced itself onto every screen it could and despite the attempts of some could not be cut off without fully shutting down the power grids themselves.

The uninterrupted speech which followed was presented as follows:

"I address the citizenry of Kimara and all Imperial forces upon this world. I am Eisen Kohlenstoff, Commandant of this world's Schola Progenium and Commissar-General of the Departmento Munitorum and Militarum Tempestus. Like all of you I am a son of Kimara, raised here within the very Schola I now lead to serve not only this world but the Emperor of Mankind. By now word will be reaching you of widescale violence and rioting within one of our Fortress Cities, an event that has brought me to grant this broadcast."

"Kimarans are known in local sectors for our pride, pride which borders upon hubris and threatens to become arrogance. We will readily aid one another, but to admit that we are in need is no easy task for our kind, especially from those we consider to be outside of our clan. We are anathema to change, which keeps our traditions strong and alive, but leaves us vulnerable to change thrust upon us."

"Heed my words clearly my fellow compatriots: for years this world has been under the yoke of a disquieting feeling, one that has gripped each and every one of us, oppressed our every action, and that is carried with us no matter where we go. A feeling that something is wrong, that while we are the sons and daughters of Kimara that this world is not the one we once knew it to be."

"Whereas once our cities were almost entirely the same such that any one of us could know them like the back of your hand, now they are nigh unrecognizable. Stores that had existed for centuries or millennia are now absent, vacated, or otherwise transformed to some unfamiliar purpose. Whether you are walking through our streets, attending our learning institutions, reading through the books that have been changed or replaced, going through military checkpoints in every sector of our cities, as you see mothers and their daughters cloistered together, or be it through going to work in our mines or in our agriculture, you can sense the shifting tides even if you cannot put them to words. An atmospheric shift where much of what you know remains, yet is no longer what you knew or held dear. That this is not the Kimara you once knew."

"Despite the tumultuous era we live within there are still many among us who remember how this world was in our time, in the time of our forefathers before us. It is a world which you would have found and learned of in the tomes and records kept of our history, of our triumphs as a people, and of our defeats. A time in which our traditions were at the forefront of our civilization, the very foundation upon which we hold our well-deserved pride given all our ancestors have sacrificed such that we may now inherit their legacy and fortune. Kimara has contributed throughout the ages to Humanity's cause, dedicating the lives of our kin and our planet's resources and production to fuel the never ending wars of the Imperium. Famous admirals, political leaders, soldiers, and more have all come from our struggles against nature itself here upon Kimara. Upon our home. But how many remember them now, where their achievements are forgotten, their sacrifices overlooked, and their legacies cast aside? Among our youngest generations how many can name one of our greatest heroes of ages past apart from nobility?"

"Kimara is a harsh world, one without mercy, but that is not all it is: this world possesses beauty and natural wonders unlike any other such as the Sapphire Mountains or the awe-inspiring Twin Falls. We have advanced technology for both military and civilian usage, innovating through rigorous trial and error what others have been unable. We have honed the gene-crafting of ten-thousand years ago and have excised any genetic flaws within our people to save our children from ailments outside of their control. We have exported a naturally recurring mineral found almost nowhere else throughout the Imperium, Mithril, and seen to its usage in armor that exceeds that of the Emperor's Angels of Death. We are a world of dedication and endurance, persevering through all that might stand in our way, never bending until we break. A world of ambition and intelligence, of the strong and those of unshakeable resolve."

"That is the Kimara we knew once, and that now we find ourselves seeking for. A time and era spanning thousands of years that has come to a close within our lifetimes, within a short few decades where even though our children do not know it firsthand they grew up understanding it through us. A world that try as we might is slipping through our grasp, and which may never be realized again once its last glimmers have faded despite our reverie and desires."

"Even so you remain. When you could have fled you stayed not by law, not by mandate, but by loyalty. By duty, family, and honor. A political revolution took place and yet records show that not one of our people fled this world in the aftermath, being loyal to our institutions and this world above all else. That is something to be proud of, for to run from an uncertain future is natural to some, but not for us. This is our home, even if it no longer feels as such. For Kimarans there is no other world for us to go, no other place for our people to be, other than here where we have been born and where we will one day expire. As the circumstances around us have shifted it may feel natural to feel at unease, as if you were a stranger walking down the very streets you were raised upon."

"At first it may have been a whisper in your mind, a thought of how something had changed, and whether you liked it or not it stayed with your thoughts. Then another incremental shift took place, and another, and another until the feeling and ideas permeated your mind. Our stoicism and quiet fortitude are often strengths, but in this instance it is a fatal flaw: for if we were an open society, one which always spoke its mind and let known its every thought, we would have heard and known from our kin that something was off. Instead we buried these feelings of discomfort, as when we would turn on the news we would see how great things are getting, of the improvements promised to us moving forward, of how our lives were growing ever greater and wonderful even as our eyes witnessed an erosion of all those very things."

"Before long you would be left thinking that you were the only ones to feel this way, believing it to be a personal failing and sign of weakness to feel so discomforted by minor changes in our surroundings. To voice such an opinion would not only invite possible censure, but condemnation from your kin for lacking resilience and pride. In burying the feelings in our hearts so too was the truth buried within, gnawing away at our spirits each and every day. The truth that Kimara was no longer Kimara, but rather a phantom wearing its remains as a mask. A secret known by all yet spoken of by few if any. Those who did would face persecution from the government or their peers, further driving down such thoughts and any potential reform that might be had, for it is only by bringing light to a problem that it may be solved in totality."

"All along we have been told there is no conflict, there is no change, and that to oppose such things would mean to oppose the Imperium and the Emperor of Mankind. Our most powerful, the elite, our politicians, our journalists, members of our academia, local ministers, and many others all spoke of how you were delusional for questioning this narrative. In their self-righteousness they would proclaim each of you liars for noticing snowfall during a severe blizzard, all the while stating that instead there was a drought upon this arid world."

"But their many decrees of knowledge were only part true, a series of dangerous lies by omission, with the truth more complex than any would dare admit. That those very things being shifted in increasing scale every day had once served the Imperium loyally and dutifully since the Great Crusade. How could it be that to serve the Emperor of Mankind we must cast aside the very traditions, institutions, and other pieces of our culture that were to his benefit and worship for longer than anyone living within the Imperium can remember?"

"The day our brothers, husbands, fathers, and sons were sent away to a conflict from which they would never return stood as a turning point in our civilization. Within days our men were conscripted and sent off to battle the enemies of the Imperium, half of Kimara's population vanishing overnight and those who remained being forced to pick up the pieces of our now shattered infrastructure. It was then that the specter haunting us for a century truly came to light, that the authority figures we had blindly pledged our loyalties toward had not earned it, that they had merely inherited the goodwill of those before them which was then used to lead us astray with falsehoods."

"Industries almost entirely populated by men crumbled, wives having to pick up the trades of their husbands, daughters having to learn from what remained of their father's craft, all such that we could keep our civilization from total collapse. Fortress Cities were abandoned, outposts left unattended, and our once impervious defensive grid now has fallen into disarray with rising Yormungaros encounters every year. Our factories plummeted in productivity, our mining operations requiring years to get back on track, and our the resulting shock to our agriculture resulting in bouts of famine throughout Kimara. In one act of alleged servitude to the Imperium of Mankind our future was ripped out from under us. The seeds were planted for our societal decline and collapse, and we have been enduring ever since to stave off their rapid growth. Our infrastructure was built to last, but without the manpower to maintain it Kimara has eroded to the brink."

"Future generations have been denied to us by the removal of our male population, and so Kimara stands at a precipice where the futures of our young remain ever more uncertain and worrying. If Kimara is to be sustained, if we are to continue contributing to the Imperium, we must take action before it is too late. Our stalwart fortresses should not decay into the state of most Hive Cities, our populace should not grow poorer and poorer as the elites prosper. What makes Kimara and its sons powerful, what makes it unique, should not be dismantled and thrown to the winds. Why must we suffer the ills of others when we have our own burdens to carry? The sons of Wostyn have suffered throughout the ages, but it is not our place to lift them up at our own expense. Kimaran culture should not fade away just because we have allowed it to, for to give up without a fight is to deny our own indomitable will and purpose!"

"It is for the future of Kimara and the the Emperor of Mankind's vision that I declare on behalf of the Departmento Munitorum that I am reclaiming Imperial sovereignty in Fortress City Alpha-KO-35, now to be known as . This location and its surrounding area will have law and order re-instated through military force, returning civility to it after rioting and civil conflict sparked today. This is not a ploy for personal power or status, nor am I taking action against the civilian appointed government of Kimara and its rightful rulers. Rather I am acting to protect the Schola Progenium and its pupils from these escalating conditions as well as Imperial citizens in the local vicinity who have suffered from the moral weakness of those rioting mercenaries."

"Those very criminals have been dealt with as any who turn from the Emperor's will ought, and I ask that their comrades elsewhere police the actions of their kin: I do not wish to take arms against any fellow servants of our Emperor, and have only rose to action in this instance out of necessity born of lawless brigands and fools who think they are above Imperial law. If you serve His will truthfully and honestly then we are your allies, and I hope that we can prevent any further conflict that would shed the blood of our people."

"We were promised a society where our voices would be heard, that our government would be one of the people, for the people, and by the people, but such platitudes have been proven false. Our hold over our government is weaker than it has ever been, and for this reason I invite any of Kimara's lost sons and daughters to join us here at Eisengard. Your voices will not be ignored, your grievances will not go unanswered, and you will have the protection of the Imperium as we work towards the prosperity of both our world and the empire of Humanity we owe our allegiance. It is the right of our people to choose their fate and not suffer the ills of decline and decadence. Our circumstances will never improve if we do nothing to seize the future we seek, and so I implore you to open your eyes to the truth that has been withheld for so long from you. Do not suffer the delusion that is cast from the comfort of nobility, do not allow those who would take everything from you to do so without resistance."

"It is the duty of each and every Kimaran to preserve the legacy of those who came before us, for if we do not then there are none who shall. We must preserve our traditions, our way of life, and our history so that Kimara remains Kimaran in perpetuity. We must have families that we can pass our stories and inheritance onto so that they too can one day pass it on to their children, and forevermore continue this to improve this world we share. For whatever shame our past may possess there is plenty for us to be proud of as well, facets of our existence that have been hidden and buried so that we will keep our heads bowed and our tongues silent. Our children, our grandchildren, should not have to suffer from barbarism visited upon them such as what was witnessed today. Our daughters should not have their virtue besmirched by animals. Our sons should not be sacrificed for the greedy desires of a few."

"We Kimarans are a proud and accomplished people, and it is together we have made this world possess its great history. For ten-thousand years we have endured, we have remained unbroken, and here we stand in spite of every trial and tribulation placed in our way. It is not us that must change, for this is our home, our people. Our loyal animal companions should not be restricted and shunned because of the comfort and superstitions of those visiting our world. Our history should not be rewritten to make us the sole perpetrators of the conflicts in our past just to appease the descendants of those we conquered in ages past after they first attacked our home out of greed and envy. We are not the monsters our elite would tell you we are, we are loyal subjects of the Emperor who have always acted in what we believed to be the accordance of his wishes, and for that we should not be ashamed."

"Do not allow those who would have gladly killed each and every one of you to dictate how you should live your lives, for we have only ever acted in our own defense and that of our kin, and never have we been the ones to start the battles of our past: we are merely the ones who end them. There is honor in having fought bravely and lost still, but to strike at an enemy and cry foul when they crush you in retaliation is moral cowardice of the highest order, and it is not befitting of the pride Humanity ought to exude throughout the stars. Would a loathsome Necrontyr or Tyranid care about such grievances? Of course not, for in this universe we live there is no quarter that can be given, it is kill or be killed, and to allow one's foes to wage a one-sided war is to invite extinction. I will not allow Kimara as a planet, as a people, and as an idea perish. I will not stand idly by and allow such an asset to the Emperor's cause be wasted, and I ask that you do not as well."

"No doubt this broadcast will be censured in time, but do not simply accept what they will say about us in retaliation: they will play upon your pride, your fears, and manipulate you just as they have for years. Use your own mind, your own feelings, and face their accusations with clarity rather than the indoctrination they have sought to instill. Do not be intimidated into inaction, do not allow them to riddle you with guilt born of our forefathers, for where they cannot find crimes they will drudge of those of the past to weigh you down."

"I cannot speak to each and every circumstance of those listening, and while some in your situations cannot make your voices heard I ask only of you what you can: above all else, survive. It may not be easy to question everything you are told by those who control the narratives, it may not be comfortable, but it is necessary when evidence is sufficient to suggest that they do not have your best interests in their hearts. This is not a call to political revolution, but rather a call to restore order in a landscape that has lost it. I will not abide or accept senseless violence from any party and state this as your only warning so as to avoid escalation. I will not see Kimara's snow run red with the blood of our people, and so any who break the peace will be punished with the full severity of Imperial law."

"Any action taken by the Kimaran government in response to the Imperium's protection will be taken as acts of heresy and rebellion. Any crimes brought to the attention of Imperial forces will be handled by our justice system, not yours, for our authority takes precedence over your own. Your courts that serve as legislative bodies rather than judiciaries will be watched for any attempt to work around this, and such actions will be considered interference with Imperial law and handled accordingly."

"Kimara has been brought to its knees with the loss of half our population, but while it may not feel empty you are not alone. Together we may stand again, together we may endure the harsh realities of this world, and together we can ensure the future of not only ourselves but of the Emperor and his Imperium of Mankind. Here at Eisengard the loyal men and women of Kimara will protect you no matter your background or status, as you are His majesty the Emperor of Mankind's subjects, and it is our duty to protect you from all that would threaten you."

"Survive. Survive so that tomorrow will be a better day for us all. Long live Kimara, and glory to the Empire!"

Until the Conomors would wrest control forcibly hours later the speech would continue on loop, though between showings video footage of the events at Eisengard and the earlier conflict between Isolde and Priomb's forces played to show the truth of these matters to the public. What had been a trap set by the Conomors had been twisted into a rallying cry, one which the Commandant was forced to make in light of the rioting and the demands given to him by Desmia to turn Isolde over to the regime, but a rallying cry nonetheless.

Kimara was on the precipice of crisis, and it was in part thanks to the relative restraint shown by the Commandant that this incident would not escalate further. A casus belli was present but not utilized, as only further bloodshed and total annihilation came from that path. For now they would settle down this region and keep the regime in check, limiting their ability to abuse the population of Kimara further while unable to fully oust them with the Imperium's shadow looming over them all.

To the average Kimaran his words resonated with them, for the focus of his speech was on the feelings gripping their society and thus addressed much of what was on the minds of their stoic people. That video footage shown to all completely dispelled any ability the Conomors had on spinning the issue helped public reception, but not all were so patriotic or loyal to the planet or its people.

Rather, some were furious.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


"Those thrones-damned, iced-over iron pipes, pots, and pans dare to wage war on us!? Let us wipe them out once and for all and be done with it!"

Loelaus slammed a fist down upon the eagle-shaped table he and his fellow cohorts sat at within the Conomor palace, having been summoned for an emergency meeting following the broadcast's first moments.

Beside him Osin sat in a more reserved manner, fixing his glasses as his eyes looked over data he brought with him, "The revenue loss of Alpha-KO-35 will be noticeable, but will not effect our margins significantly. We should think of a reasonable response given that we have lost so little compared to our greater resources and military might."

From across the table Bludol growled at Osin's call for a measured response, "You are half the man your brother is, Osin, and if he was here I know he would agree that we must take action! Loelaus has the right of it, we cannot abide by the deployment of hundreds of armed military forces within our city!"

"Priomb failed to obtain the daughter as ordered. He ought to be punished following his augmentation and subsequent survival of his wounds," Shetth stated at random, the member of the Mechanicus seemingly on a completely different tangent now that Priomb had been mentioned.

Wost was absent from the table, being the one in charge of their communications and thus the one dealing with the broadcast as it aired on repeat, along with Priomb who as Shetth mentioned was undergoing surgery and mechanical organ replacement to survive the wound granted to him by Isolde. This left the final member of this particular meeting as a tanned man with blonde hair who sat at the head of the eagle, his purple dress different from the garb he wore more publicly and far more revealing of his toned physique.

"Gentlemen, we need not fight amongst ourselves over realities we all knew would come to pass. The Kimarans are in fact behind the projected schedule for revolution, which shows that their people have no heart for it."

With his words having silenced his companions the Planetary Governor stood up and gave a smile, gesturing to the wall across from him where details about their various plans were being projected for their shared viewing.

"The Iron Warriors led by Trahaearn Jarn ought be arriving in the coming months or years, travel through the Warp being what it is. They will arrive to find their supposed 'utopia' in ruin, for our enterprise accomplished what they could not in a century: we have made this world ours, and prepared it for their inevitable appearance. They will arrive ready for a prolonged war against the defenses they once rose, but we have agents already in place to draw upon the Imperium's might and crush them while they attempt to lay siege. Our orbital defenses will ensure none ever set foot upon this planet, and our fleets will outnumber the pitiful one amassed by the Warsmith. The Word Bearers we have granted information to still follow at their heels, and so we need only let them rip each other apart once they arrive."

Detailed information about the Iron Legion's movements, those of the Word Bearers, and also of the Imperial Navy all coalesced in the diagrams and information put on display. Paperwork and related matters were a point of pride for the Conomors, the meticulous detail presented only possible thanks to the expertise of the one sharing it.

"They are pragmatic and intelligent, but there are methods we can employ to mitigate these traits," his handsome face broke out into a bright albeit wicked smile as he reminisced over the past, "For all their faults the Jarn family do truly love one another, and I doubt their founding member would so readily abandon his descended sludge to certain death."

He leaned forward over the table and moved his gaze across his cohorts one after another as he continued to speak, his voice's volume and intensity increasing bit by bit as he did.

"My family has suffered for eons at the hands of the traitorous curs that have for so long ruled Kimara, but now it is our turn. Our revenge will be thorough and leave nothing in its wake for them to recover from, not like they foolishly allowed some of the Conomor family to survive their treason. They think they face an unprepared and incompetent puppet government, completely unaware that this world belongs to the Emperor's Children. Our Legion will arise from the shadows it has hidden within and pledge Kimara in all its turmoil and suffering to our Goddess, the seeds we have sewn taking root and taking everything from those who would stand in our way!"

Standing up straight again, the figurehead of the Conomor family lightened his voice and offered a smile that held a dangerous implication even as his words became soft and familiar.

"If the Imperium believed Kimara to be nigh impossible to conquer before they will shudder upon its transformation into a Daemon World from which we can extend our tendrils throughout Imperial space, even reaching to Terra itself. Half of our pledge has already been fulfilled, so it is indeed time that we prepare to finish what we started. The lords of the Immaterium do not tolerate failure, and I will have our operations carried out with complete and utter perfection. Am I understood?"

Any traces of the arguments breaking out before disappeared in an instant, none at the table daring to question their leader and each bowing their head instead while pledging their allegiance to his vision once more. With this done he dismissed them, but not before ordering them to make certain that this current incident did not spiral further out of hand. There was an order to things and while this ultimately fit within his schemes it possessed the potential to threaten all they have built towards, to waste all the suffering and torment they had inflicted, and such possibilities however narrow were unacceptable.

Despite it all the governor could not help but keep smiling, ever so pleased to have seen the Commandant's face after so long. With his cronies having cleared the room he began speaking to himself, only a single other man still remaining within.

"Oh, old friend, it is so good to see you again...I wondered when you would find your spine and save your people, but now I have my answer. You have been waiting for your betters to come and yet they have left you to your lonesome all these years even as your people suffer and cry out for a savior to be visited upon them. A trusting fool to the last..."

The other who remained towered over the governor and stood in brilliant purple armor at his side, golden sigils marking it and gemstones engraved upon it to make the armor appear as if it was a work of art. Now looking down, the Astarte known as Phrixus leered at his servant.

"You had best uphold your vow, for we may share a lineage but everything you have is thanks to my hand."

"You as well as I know just how difficult these animals are to kill. The Jarns have but one virtue, and that is a seeming inability to die in a reasonable amount of time," the governor responded with a sigh, "We may not have acquired his daughter, but soon enough you will have the three remaining Jarns in your grasp. The hour of our ascension draws ever nearer, Forebearer, I just ask for your patience this one last time so that we may visit upon them suffering unlike anything they have ever known. What will the proud Trahaearn Jarn think when he has to put his own Daemon-infested kin down the way Perturabo once visited genocide upon his own world?"

Sitting down, the lesser Conomor brought a glass of wine to his lips, content with the knowledge that it was not only the Jarns who benefitted from the day's many events. Soon years of planning, scheming, and more would come together all at once...and when the theater began no effort on the part of the Iron Warriors could bring it to intermission.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A/N: Another huge update, this one was originally planned to be released before the Asier Terminus one but I wanted to work on the speech and the response from the regime afterwards so I have been doing that. As such you may notice that here Verita has yet to discover the truth behind the box because this in the finalized codex will be before that update, but how things get released due to production timelines and delays does not always match the actual order I will be placing them in. And also, didn't I say Trahaearn Jarn would be giving a speech?

Hope you all enjoyed, and I hope to hear your thoughts in the comments below!​

 

[Thunderscourge]

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)​

 

[Thunderscourge]

Inside of his workshop and forge stood a man far larger than his peers, his colossal form perhaps only a fraction of what he had been capable of growing to given the lack of modern nutrition upon their world. Long locks of raven hair flowed from his temple, always having worn it long like other knights tended to, present or former as in his case. Emblazoned on the outfit he wore to do his work was a brilliant blue rose, the clothing made by his wife and the symbol meant to stand for their new noble bloodline born of his achievements as a knight.

While a stoic man by nature warmth was undeniable on his face as he looked lovingly at his wife who sat atop a table he built for work yet she could often be found atop of watching her husband work tirelessly to hone his craft. His calloused hands were wrapped around her in a soft embrace, and his steely blue eyes lacked the severe, focused look they held while working with metal. His wife was tall as well, but much of that came from the length of her legs and so by sitting on a table she had to look up at him as he looked down at her.

It was not a unique occasion by Tristan's recollection, one of many such instances of intimacy shared between the two that Tristan noticed growing up as he learned how to use the tools in his father's workshop. He lacked imagination compared to his father, but he was a natural at piecing things together and understanding them, such that he was flustered when his father and mother would proclaim him to be a prodigy.

Tristan had not felt particularly intelligent growing up under two parents whose wits were well-known in their village, seeing his intelligence instead as a baseline to improve from. This drove him to not think highly of the other children his age who could barely remember their letters and numbers, but he preferred solitude anyways except when it came to his family. He only knew his father and mother, not knowing much of their heritage beyond his mother hailing from a noble family known as Blanchefleur.

Perhaps it was her marriage to a commoner, even one who had earned national renown as a knight and the honors that came with it, that saw their separation. Maybe they had passed away and she had no other family left. He had never asked, because Tristan was not the sort to really care about those things unless someone else brought them up.

Wrapped around his father's waist were her marble-white hands, almost transparent as the point-petalled windflowers of the surrounding woods. A raven mane flowed down her back in stark contrast to her complexion, drawing further attention to its own beauty despite lacking any accessories to adorn it. Even her dress was simple in its nature, sacrificing grace for functionality to better carry out the duties of a wife to a former knight turned blacksmith. Irises of deep blue, the color of wild wood-columbines, looked longingly up into his iron-blue pair. On her lips a rare smile was adorned, her cold temperament matching his own but always softening with her family.

Mother...father...

The curve to his mother's stomach had been an odd sight, especially later into her pregnancy. As a child he did not understand biology, nor did he seek out any information on it before then. He only learned he was to have a sibling soon because he had been told as much after asking his father why his mother looked so different. His father explained that women built children like he assembled armor in the workshop, and that had been enough to satiate Tristan's fleeting and minor interest in the topic before he returned to figuring out how to properly shape metal in different ways. If living conditions had been better his father said he would have had many more siblings, but poor harvests meant that decrees had been issued regarding families...which, now lifted, meant they could truly grow their family as they always wanted to.

It had never crossed Tristan's mind that the slaughter of his entire family days later would mean that his sibling would never be born, or that he would have been subjected to the grisly sight of what happened to them all. It was something both burned into his mind and seared from it, repressed so deep that Tristan's only reminder of its existence was the occasional night he would wake with traces of it lingering on his mind from the nightmare he just suffered.

Brother...

It felt like a lifetime ago, a life since forgotten in a sea of endless data and warfare, and perhaps to some it would have been: calculating one's age amidst the stars was difficult when one accounted for time dilation, warp travel, and more but Tristan was somewhere above seventy years of age and under eighty by his estimates. His looks were no help given that he looked like many Astartes did at his age, a young man in his physical prime well before any signs of actual aging could set in. While he had suffered scars and deep wounds to his body over the years his face had mostly been spared, thus seeming far smoother and youthful than his fellow Iron Warrior peers.

Over half a century had passed since the deaths of his family, of his village, of his world. He was all that was left, a sole reminder that they had even existed upon a once peaceful and quiet planet within the Imperium's reach.

Palamedes...you...

The tragedy gnawed at Tristan even beyond the personal loss involved, for if he could find some greater meaning in it all he could come to terms with it but there was none to be found in his eyes. It was a waste of potential, one which brought no true benefit to any of those involved. This was not how they were supposed to meet their end, they were supposed to live on and accomplish whatever was within the reach of their mortal hands as they strove towards their dreams. Each and every one of them had something to live for, aspirations they would seek out, families they meant the world to, and yet the futures they may have held were stripped from them without mercy.

The only one who benefitted was the man who organized the ritualistic slaughter of the world, the one who engineered massacres that saw not only the innocent consumed but the very cultists who served as catalysts within their communities. How many were culled for one man's ascension? Tens of thousands? Hundreds? Was it millions? All to earn the fleeting favor of Khorne, the god of blood and skulls whose capricious nature was known to all: he cared not from where the blood flowed, so long as it did.

Even the Daemon Primarch Angron was not above losing favor with his patron, having been diminished during his humiliation by Perturabo in their duel before the Siege of Terra. The conflict saw Perturabo without the power of a god fueling him defeat the World Eaters' Primarch through technology, intelligence, and raw durability, and it was an example Tristan looked up to even if he held little care for his Primarch otherwise.

If Angron could lose Khorne's favor so too could a lesser monster like Palamedes, and given their immortal nature it was a matter of time until he found himself disgraced. Power granted could be taken just as easily, but that would not bring the dead back to life: when Palamedes one day found himself torn down by his very masters and cast to oblivion he would do so having sacrificed countless others for naught but a fleeting taste of power.

Death was not unfamiliar to the Iron Warriors, but it was not something to take lightly, especially not to those in the Iron Legion. To waste a life was to waste a resource full of potential, and so while a necessary sacrifice was wholly acceptable in warfare unnecessary losses were scorned. Throughout the Great Crusade they had their lives thrown away without honor, without dignity, and in return they received no recognition or respect. Jarn's Iron Legion sought to establish a new order that would grant their lives meaning, one where an Iron Warrior's death would not simply be a statistic for historians to glance over but a sacrifice to be remembered. They were pawns on a greater chessboard, yes, but they were a brotherhood that valued one another.

It was no small task to seek to overturn the present paradigm of the known universe, an endeavor beyond compare that required resolve well beyond what any one soul could muster, but that was a burden the Iron Legion carried together for that very reason. To not try would be to give up and accept the damnation of their ideals, and so there was only the way forward whether that future brought their success or the evisceration of their souls to the Ruinous Powers of Chaos.

With his temperament Tristan likely never would have even considered the topic of 'utopia' on his own, but now the ambitions of the Iron Legion had taken root in his soul and blossomed into unflinching resolve. A world where Tristan could peacefully work on his creations without interference, one where those around him would live meaningful lives and not perish at the wicked whims of others...that Utopia promised to him by Jarn was something worth fighting and dying for in his mind. However, beyond that lay another promise: the promise that one day Tristan would be the one preying upon the monsters that took everything from him, and so until the tides of Chaos were turned back and Humanity achieved its potential he refused to accept defeat.

Blue eyes snapped open, a small stream of blood making its way over one as Tristan's consciousness returned in full. He had not been rendered completely inert by the concussive force slamming down upon his shielding and armor but only just barely. His suit's systems reported severe damage to numerous locations which along with his dying power reserves signaled that he was incapable of further combat...but if his body was not going to give up then neither would Tristan let this second skin he crafted for himself.

Tristan's mechanical limbs scoured his surroundings and found that the impact into the wall he had been forced into had damaged the plating there, which when pried open with the strength of a servo-arm meant he had direct access to the vault's inner circuitry. Discerning the innards was simple for a Techmarine of the Dodekatheon who had studied every available text and schematic they had accrued in their journeys throughout the stars, and within moments Tristan hijacked the power source behind the vault's stasis capabilities to instead replenish his suit's energy levels. Energy enough to stop the flow of time was far more than what powering his various systems required, and by disrupting the flow Tristan also prevented anyone outside the vault from trapping them within it.

To work endless hours, days, and weeks in his workshop Tristan had to make it easy to recharge the Iron Kraken so that the mechadendrites and servo-arms were at optimal functionality. Mechanical errors in his work were unacceptable, and so it had been easy enough to ensure that he could link them to various sources of energy to ceaselessly continue their work. Far be them from just precision instruments and additional 'hands' (or rather claws), they could interface with technology, be equipped to fire various armaments, serve as additional pairs of 'eyes', and other such tasks that aided him in his work both on and off the battlefield.

Now with fewer systems reporting failure Tristan took stock of what was working, and was glad that most of the damage had been done to the armor itself rather than its internal mechanisms. He could still move now that he no longer had to reroute all his failing power into just shielding himself from a Dreadnought's powerful blows, and so as if rising from the dead Tristan slowly rose to his feet.

It was folly of the Imperial Fists to turn their backs on him before finishing the job...though perhaps that is why Asier chose to intervene at the moment he did. Tristan might never become the warrior that Levente was, but whereas his rival's gifts lay in brute force and a combat sense that let him overwhelm his foes with finesse and speed, Tristan's own lay in superior intellect and endurance.

Tristan removed limiters he installed in the Logos Incrementum to prevent it from burning itself too quickly in battle. This done, Tristan began to feed the massive power source he was consuming into his shielding once more. It would take a moment to fully reroute everything, but Asier had bought him the time he needed to do so.

What little traces of energy within the vault vanished and cast them further into darkness as Tristan's energy theft even deprived the room containing the vault of its residual power. Cast into utter darkness for but a moment, the vault was then illuminated entirely by the revitalized energy shields pushed beyond their normal limits surrounding Tristan.

"That light..."

Torian braced himself against the raw power being poured out from Tristan's armor, the Logos Incrementum having channeled power enough to halt the flow of time to instead fuel Tristan's array of personal defenses. Even Alpharius had to plant his feet to prevent the raw energy from pressing him back, leaving only the Dreadnought fully capable of moving in that instant. As it lumbered forward to strike the immobile Tristan it displayed signs of being pushed back as well, though its bulk allowed it to slowly press forward in spite of Tristan channeling all that energy forward.

"DELAYING...THE INEVITABLE. YOU...WILL...FALL."

It took Tristan a moment to gather himself as he shrugged off the damage incurred to his own body and resisted the power backlash of his own shields, but after some recalibration he managed to recover and stand up tall. The Dreadnought had crossed the room and fired at him to no effect, opting instead to resume its beatdown of Tristan with its fists. Thanks to the layers upon layers of shields pressing forward from Tristan's form the Dreadnought's fist stopped before meeting its intended target, resulting in the creature of metal and flesh to throw its other fist forward with strength enough to punch through a Land Raider's hull.

"ALL WHO DARE OPPOSE OUR BASTIONS OF...FAITH...SHALL KNOW...THE STRENGTH...OF OUR STONE AND FURY!"

This strike failed to hit its target as well, but thanks to its mass the Dreadnought was drawing closer with each move it made, Tristan's shields possessing their limits even if they were being directly powered by the facility. The body of the Dreadnought was not powerful enough to break through on its own, but its fists with enough time could force their way through and so remaining on the defensive was untenable. Instead, Tristan opted to shift himself forward and meet the Dreadnought's flurry of blows head-on.

Twisting one servo-arm to grab at the Dreadnought's arm and clamp down on the joint that would be considered an elbow on a Human, Tristan halted its next punch and then used his other servo-arm to repeat this upon the Dreadnought's opposite joint. With both arms now gripped Tristan was able to hold the Dreadnought back, the strength of a typical servo-arm capable of lifting one side of a thirty ton Rhino to fix it. As Contemptor Dreadnoughts tended to be around fifteen tons in weight even with resistance Tristan could match its raw might with his additional limbs.

The mechanical abomination's strength lay in its fists specifically, meaning that by gripping its joints and working against their strength Tristan prevented the Dreadnought from bringing its full strength to bear. This combined with the oppressive energy radiating from his shielding neutralized much of its threat, even if it was incredibly taxing on his armor and his body to maintain this status quo.

"This is not where I fall. Out amidst the stars there is a beast I must see dead by my own hands, so..." through pained breaths Tristan continued to force himself forward inch by inch, his armor's reinforced construction taxing itself as its attached limbs vied for control in the power struggle.

The Dreadnought's fists gradually drew closer to Tristan as they forced their way through his shielding with power well beyond what most Contemptor Dreadnoughts could muster. Having suffered blows from both of them this felled Astarte possessed over twice the raw strength of Palamedes, which was less a condemnation of the Daemon Prince's own massive stores of raw strength and more an honest accounting of the power held by this fusion of metal and flesh. For some reason it had been constructed with superior resources than its counterparts, a simple but important detail that made battling it in such close quarters a daunting task.

Unfortunately for whomever constructed this Dreadnought they only gave basic reinforcements to its joints, and so they began to creak as Tristan's servo-arms capable of crushing an Astarte without issue clamped down on their elbows. There Tristan possessed an edge in power, and so he continued to seize upon it while also pushing his feet forward and off the ground with all his strength one step at a time. The Dreadnought was trying to crush him between its fists and was nearing its goal, the unstoppable fists now within a foot of reaching Tristan's head.

"Get the hell..."

Tristan snarled and used the raw force of his shields to begin pressing the Dreadnought back, as if one held the power to deter a shell from a Baneblade then that very force required could be weaponized at such a close distance if used properly. This slowed the Dreadnought's efforts and froze it in place for a brief moment, the pressure exerted not enough to crack its shell but still powerful enough to effect what remained of the Astarte inside.

Tristan spared no time in seizing the opportunity now presented before him, decoupling from his connection to the wall and shifting all of his limbs into grabbing, holding down, or crushing the Dreadnought's. Now his power would be limited, but even running at his current levels Tristan estimated he had enough stored to last him until the end of the fight. With aid from his mechatendrils his servo-arms were capable of dealing the final blow to their targets, massive claws crushing and mangling the elbows they gripped as Tristan shifted all of his weight forward and into the Dreadnought.

"OUT OF MY WAY!"

No longer able to properly maneuver its arms shocked the Dreadnought, though it retained just enough control over them to begin firing at Tristan from as close as it had gotten to him. These bolter rounds harmlessly were tossed aside by Tristan's still operational shielding, striking the wall he had been forced into earlier instead. This gunfire only lasted a moment until Tristan managed to tackle the Dreadnought and begin forcing it back thanks to his grip on it, each servo-arm capable of lifting it on their own and two now holding it hostage by its broken limbs.

With the burst of power afforded to him by the vault Tristan slowly but surely drove the Dreadnought back, driving it through invaluable Imperial Fist artifacts and their containers without any heed paid to them. This slow tackle only ceased when Tristan forced the Dreadnought to collide with the opposite wall he had been forced into as if to make a point. Once he succeeded in this Tristan slammed the Dreadnought into the wall and pressed down into it with power enough to make its legs kneel, better allowing Tristan to began thrashing it with his mechanical limbs as the Dreadnought struggled to make use of its failing joints.

Tristan had to admit that this abomination was constructed out of sturdy metal with how it resisted his clawed punches, but that only reinvigorated his efforts. His servo-arms battered the venerable one time and time again, striking the same points after identifying structural weaknesses to maximize effect. It became a conflict between the strength of the Imperial Fist's "stone" and the grit of "Iron", one which saw the Dreadnought try and use its damaged arms to restrain Tristan while the Iron Warrior dented, smashed, and otherwise tore away at any part of the Dreadnought he could get a grip on.

Once a glorious defender of the legacy of Rogal Dorn and his Imperial Fists, now this Venerable Dreadnought was being torn apart like a scrapped vehicle being stripped for parts. It had made the mistake of battling someone who possessed intimate knowledge of the construction of Great Crusade weapons, vehicles, and constructs and there was little it could do to properly defend itself as its own shield faltered in the face of the many pressing against it.

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Suddenly as the Iron Warrior began to press against the Dreadnought Alpharius took action, the oppressive power of the Iron Warrior's shielding now focused entirely towards the Dreadnought and thus not threatening to throw the others present off their feet. As before his attacks did not follow any apparent rhythm or pattern, in one instant striking fiercely as his Pale Spear orbited around him and required all of Torian's efforts to repel, only to in the very next moment retreat away into the darkness. This feigned retreat was only that however, as while it might bait some newer Astartes into following Torian saw it as a trap being laid, and thanks to his diligence he was able to just barely prevent a thrust of the spear that would have pierced his throat.

The swiftness with which Alpharius held his weapon was unlike any Torian had seen before, and it truly did make him wonder if perhaps this traitor was not lying about his identity...but when plausible alternatives existed he refused to allow himself to be stricken in front of such an imposing foe. Alpharius might be able to shift between slashing and hacking like a World Eater one moment and then carry his spear forward like a White Scar the next, but while his movements were perplexing they were at least possible to bear witness to. Thanks to that Torian could keep his head above water and even retaliate at points, though he was uncertain if his usual method of wearing down and breaking through an opponent's defenses was having an effect.

In one such counterattack Torian felt he was getting the better of Alpharius as he dove forward and closed the gap between them, a sword better in such close quarters compared to a spear. As he attempted to drag Tempest's Claw across Alpharius' abdomen and draw blood he instead had to throw himself back and twist out of the way of a sudden spear thrust Alpharius was able to contort his form to make at such a short distance. Torian cursed his foe's reflexes as he was made to parry a strike aimed straight for his chest, sparks flying off their weapons as the teeth of his sword attempted to chew through the seemingly unbreakable spear.

As their weapons met Alpharius spoke again, his voice lacking the bile and malicious intent that most traitors Torian had fought and slain did, "I came here for more than relics of the past, Torian," said the Alpha Legionnaire as he slid back, spear spinning. Torian seized the opportunity to lash out again, through each strike he made only met the air around him, "This is about victory. True victory."

"Look at this. Look at what I have done here. This is not a war you can win your way," called Alpharius, his words unheeded by Torian as the Imperial Fist smashed Tempest's Claw down toward an opening in Alpharius' guard...only to have the Pale Spear twisted and raised to meet it. Torian twisted his own weapon in turn to slash it across Alpharius only for Tempest's Claw to arc past him harmlessly while alleged Primarch of the Alpha Legion spun closer, "But you are blind to what you are fighting. We are both fighting for the future, Torian."

Alpharius lunged and Torian shifted quickly to one side in anticipation of the attack, but it was too late: the Pale Spear caught his shoulder and punched through his armor even without being activated. Torian's reflexes and his Iron Halo had deterred much of the possible damage, but it was still enough to almost render the limb useless.

"I did this so that you might understand," Alpharius spoke as if disappointed to his foe, "So that you would see that you cannot win. I am no servant of Chaos, I am a champion of the Emperor's will. I have no desire to kill you, Imperial Fist, but I doubt my words will reach you. Know this however, I am here to grant you victory: if you cannot see reason, then I shall make your death serve the Emperor as you would wish it to."

Torian wrenched himself free of Alpharius' spear as the Alpha Legionnaire spoke, now wielding Tempest's Claw in one hand as he allowed the rapid healing capabilities of an Astarte fix his shoulder enough to be of use. Blood ran down his yellow armor but he still fought on, repaying Alpharius' attack with one of his own with all his might. Tempest's Claw slammed down and battered the Pale Spear aside as its owner turned to move away from the blow. Instinctively Torian followed Alpharius to where he moved towards to catch him laterally before he could defend, but Alpharius was already a step ahead of him: the Legionnaire had shifted even as he dodged to move a different way entirely, moving in closer and behind Torian's swing rather than being struck by it.

"With your help I can bring victory to the Imperium once and for all. Not the diseased, rotting corpse it has become, but the bastion of Humanity created by our Emperor to stand eternal."

Torian regained enough strength in his healing shoulder wound to grip his weapon with both hands again, ignoring most of the pain radiating through his body as he stumbled aside and away from Alpharius' next strike. The lunge had left Alpharius overextended and close to Torian, allowing the Fist to slash laterally at the traitor in a skillful strike that was doomed to fail even before it was put into motion.

The inevitable failure stemmed from how the overextension was a feint on Alpharius' part, a mistake that was rather a ploy that a well-trained foe would be taught to exploit, and so Torian's own skill was used against him. From his position Alpharius deftly avoided the strike and turned to move past Torian's strike, retaliating with one of his own with a brilliant thrust.

Rather than try to avoid a strike he would never be able to Torian stepped into Alpharius' strike, the spear impaling through his wounded shoulder and nearly severing the arm attached. With that wounded arm unable to properly grip his own blade, Torian grabbed the Pale Spear instead to hold it in place as he swung Tempest's Claw at Alpharius' outstretched arms. Modeled after Rogal Dorn's own weapon, this relic held in honor of Torian's fallen battle-brother now had an opening no movements by Alpharius could counter. It could penetrate almost any known material, only having failed to break through that Iron Warrior's "mithril" implanted armor.

It was the kind of opportunity that could always happen in a fight, no matter the disparity between a pair of combatants, one where even the greatest of duelists could be laid low in a moment of unexpected weakness. Torian had already felled Khyr with such a chance earlier, and now he saw his chance to defeat someone with abilities bordering on those of a Primarch. With all the force he could muster Torian slammed his weapon into Alpharius' arms in an arc to cleave both of them off in one strike.

The chainsword's twisting teeth bore down into the Pythian Scales...and rather than cleave through them like it could have if they were made of Adamantium those teeth tore up and broke as they would against the metal used by that Iron Warrior.

Mortified by this realization, Torian had the gut feeling that the armor's silver-blue coloration was natural, that this Alpha Legionnaire or perhaps Alpharius himself had ties to the Iron Warriors because they had possessed metal to reinforce and repair his armor when needed. He did not know for certain, but the two opponents he had just faced possessing the same rare metal seemed to hint at such a connection, something that meant his fight was hopeless from the start.

Alpharius had been studying his each and every move, dragging out the battle, and given the Alpha Legion's penchant for taking the identities of their fallen foes Torian realized all of a sudden why he had been singled out.

"That was a fine weapon."

Alpharius shifted the forearm he caught the blade with and knocked it aside with more force than Torian could muster in his one good arm. Still holding his spear in the other, Alpharius wrenched it free from Torian and kicked the Imperial Fist back with power enough to knock him off his feet. There was a clang as Torian struck the deck, the Fist fighting to rise back up and refusing to give up even now. Instead a foot planted on his chest and forced Torian back to the ground, Alpharius standing triumphantly above him in his monstrously heavy suit of mithril armor.

As if in a whisper Alpharius spoke to the defeated Torian, leaning towards him and telling him something that would only ever be known to the two of them...something that horrified Torian even as Alpharius' voice was quiet yet heavy with emotion. Whatever he said it had the intended impact, Torian still struggling as he choked out a response.

"But...you..."

Alpharius stabbed downward with his spear activated once again, impaling Torian through the throat and removing it as if it had never been there. He would retrieve the armor and helmet when they were finished, for now other matters required his attention.

A glance aside showed him that he was correct in his approximation of Tristan's skills, the colossal Astarte now standing over the Dreadnought he tore apart barbarically. He had slain the remains of the Astarte inside to finish it off and left it be at that point, only using the brutal display of force he did because it was necessary to do so: now there was no threat, and so the wounded Tristan was catching his breath and shutting down unnecessary systems in his armor so that it could still function enough to allow movement.

Elsewhere within the vault lay the gene-seed they came to reclaim, it being the most protected piece of the entire vault and thus one of the only sections untouched by the conflict which broke out. Preparing it for retrieval by Ossus and Richter was a simple enough matter for Alpharius given that he had the codes to open it, and no Fists remained to cause trouble. The gene-seed stored was plentiful, enough to bring their total reserves of it to around 8,000 which would be sufficient for their needs.

By the completion of this task Alpharius was joined by the exhausted Tristan, who got to truly take a look at him for the first time since the battle in the vault began. While some might have been perturbed that someone they knew turned out to be someone else they already knew all along it did not phase Tristan, instead piecing together like a puzzle that he did not know he had to solve until now. It made sense that Brechung was actually Asier, and that Asier was a member of the Alpha Legion, and so Tristan accepted it as it was.

"What should I refer to you as?"

"As you may have heard, I am Alpharius, the one and only. A name is just another tool however and so you may refer to me as you please."

What he was curious about was why this Astarte, possibly even Primarch, had spent so much time fighting alongside him and earning his trust. Why him, when there were others more valiant or capable Astartes within their ranks? Was it a favor to the Warsmith? If that was the case then why did Asier never bother with Levente, who was Tristan's equal in the eyes of their leader?

As if capable of reading his mind, 'Asier' turned his head towards Tristan and offered him an answer, "The Warsmith and I share a vision of the future. I owe him my life just as he owes me his, and so despite our difference in Legion we have been able to find common purpose and work in unity."

Sensing that his friend had more to say, if he was truly a friend all of this time, Tristan allowed 'Alpharius' to continue.

"You are an integral part of that future by my measure, and from my observation you have truly taken the Warsmith's lessons to heart. What you lack in combat potential you mitigate with your technical capability and knowledge, neutralizing what could have been a fatal flaw while enhancing strengths you possess," Alpharius explained, not seeking to flatter Tristan but rather give an honest accounting to someone who he knew was trustworthy, "There are roles we each must play if we are to achieve the utopia we seek, if we are to unite and rebuild Humanity throughout the stars. Your talents have been honed and your potential realized so that you could join the names of those such as Garviel Loken, Sigismund, and other such Astartes in making their mark on history. On your own you never could have come this far, but you have proven yourself time and time again to have been worth the effort."

Tristan nodded, appreciating the cost-benefit analysis of his training like an investment since it was the way he viewed the world. Everything had a value in one way or another, and for someone who obsessively wanted to make everything make sense like Tristan did it was a more effective appeal than through raw emotion.

"I will ask you this once only: can I trust you?" Tristan spoke finally, intent on hearing what his companion of decades had to say of himself. Depending on the answer his view moving forward would be different, and so he listened intently.

Alpharius actually laughed beneath his helmet, amused by the blunt question asked of a master deceiver, "You would be foolish if you did so blindly. My loyalty is to the duty granted to me by our Emperor, but our ideals align as do our mindsets: I will always act in the best interests of goals, and in that way you may grant me your trust."

Tristan nodded once in acceptance, again appreciating the candor of the conversation rather than prevaricating around the bush. While he might be listening to the words of a man who has spent centuries deceiving and lying to others there was something about how Asier, or rather Alpharius, now spoke that made Tristan believe him. It would not make sense to do all the things he had done all this time, or throughout his history with the Warsmith, if his intentions were not genuine.

"Understood."

In a show of solidarity Alpharius held out a hand for Tristan to shake, for while it was an ancient custom it was one that was still practiced within the Iron Legion.

"Together we shall create the utopia Humanity needs with our own hands."

While barely capable of even lifting his arms by then Tristan returned the gesture, nodding again as they locked hands and made an unspoken oath. Tristan was wholly aware of the fact that he might just be used by this companion of his, but he was fine with that: Asier, Brechung, Alpharius...whatever his true name was, he had proven himself and his loyalty thus far. To doubt him now would be pointless, and in the meantime they could accomplish far more together than apart.

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A/N: And so ends the battle of Inwit! A lot of things kept cropping up and getting in the way of me finishing this update off, but I wanted to give you something to chew on and so here you go! Thank you everyone for your support while I dealt with health problems and such, but now we're back and as always your support would be most appreciated!

I hope you all enjoyed, and that you will graciously leave your thoughts in the comments below!​

 

[Thunderscourge]

THE IRON LICH

With the death of Torian came the end of the Imperial Fist resistance upon Inwit, and with none left to stand in their way the Iron Warriors carried out the remainder of their objectives without delay. The Gene-Seed was taken as intended, but so too were other artifacts within the vault before the entirety of it was consumed in the base's controlled explosion. By taking everything possible they hid their true motives and could plant stolen artifacts on the Iron Warriors bound to the will of Chaos as intended to serve as scapegoats for the attack. Asier and his agents would see to that, and in doing so the Imperial Fists would rid the Iron Legion of its corrupted kin who besmirched the reputation of their shared Legion.

Their departure from Inwit was as planned as their arrival and so with careful maneuvering they escaped from Rogal Dorn's homeworld without anyone being the wiser, their pilfered goods kept in their entirety as they met back with their fleet aboard the Eisernen. Even the most secure of systems could be undermined given enough time and planning, and so Inwit fell victim to the skillset possessed by Asier who now donned the armor he sought after when he brought the base to Jarn's attention decades ago. Not only was it an opportunity to recover the Gene-Seed of those who perished upon Kimara, it was an opportunity for the Alpha Legion agent to take back what was his: he was Alpharius, or so he claimed, and none who witnessed his skill firsthand doubted as much in the moments before they were silenced forever.

It was with warmth that Jarn greeted Asier aboard the Eisernen, placing a hand upon the scaled armor known as the Pythian Scales in solidarity with Asier taking up the mantle and name he had long eschewed for his own reasons.

"It is good to see you as you were meant to be, Friend."

Alpharius, still under the public persona of 'Asier Terminus', nodded and returned the gesture: as cold and clinical as he could be it was evident from his actions that he valued the Warsmith, and despite belonging to the least trustworthy Legion of them all his faith in Jarn was demonstrable and well proven. In tandem they utilized their respective talents to follow the will of the Great Crusade and Emperor they once served, Jarn serving as a public face and bastion of the ideals once held by the Iron Warriors while Alpharius served as a conduit for intel, subterfuge, and the underhanded side to warfare that was necessary when faced with far greater foes.

Despite their victory Alpharius appeared solemn, now wearing the armor of what had likely been his brother, son, or Primarch depending on his true identity. However it came into the possession of the Imperial Fists it had not come without bloodshed and loss, and while eviscerating their forces had helped salve those re-opened wounds it had not healed them completely.

"Even trinkets have their worth," Alpharius noted, the armor he now wore enough to prove his claim to the name he carried and the spear retrieved similarly capable.

He had gifted the Pale Spear to Tristan, allegedly to allow for Tristan to study it in-depth and find ways to recreate its power to repair the weapon should it ever become damaged, but in truth it was a sign from the Alpha Legion's Primarch that he had placed trust and faith in Jarn's student. Years of serving alongside Tristan and guiding his growth had at some point given way to friendship akin to that he shared with Jarn, able to invest his trust in both Tristan and Jarn because they were anathema to the concept of betrayal. For one who lived a life of deceit and lies to be around these Astartes who were so blunt and honest with their true selves was a breath of fresh air, and it was one he seemed to value highly.

Jarn was pleased to see the Alpha Legionnaire he had long believed to be the true Alpharius donning the armor the Fists had hidden away all of this time, but he understood that the subject matter was not so simple for the bearer. To acknowledge his partner's feelings of loss he turned the subject away from the armor itself and to the results of their raid, everything having fallen within their expected parameters even if there had been setbacks.

"To have lost both Khyr and Archimedes at once will impact our timeline, but it will not change our trajectory. We have what we require to move on to the next stage...I will be remiss without you here, but we will meet again soon enough."

With the Warsmith's assessment given Alpharius fell into line with the others who were filing out of their landing ships in the Eisernen's hangar bay, the mood high between the returning Astartes due to their victory over their hated foes even if it did cost a handful of their own lives to accomplish. Khyr and the others lost had been left behind to have their bodies reduced to the point they could only be identified as Iron Warriors while bodies of their Chaos kin were left as well to implicate them.

Once their forces had left their myriad of landing ships with all of the Gene-Seed and stolen equipment they formed rows before their Warsmith, leaving open spaces where their kin would have stood if not for their sacrifices. Unlike Iron Warriors of other warbands those belonging to Jarn had forged a sense of camaraderie in their service together rather than bitter resentment, their lack of numbers and raiding primarily uninhabited worlds meaning that they had to value each life they possessed rather than callously throwing them away for minimal gain. This sense of brotherhood was especially strong towards their leader who kept them always a step ahead of their enemies and had ensured as many of his men survived as possible, and for that even with broken and battered bodies from their combat they stood tall and saluted Jarn with undying respect.

The Warsmith motioned for his men to be at ease, congratulating them and letting them know that their efforts would ensure the future of their Legion. Once formalities, something they all disliked but underwent when necessary, were out of the way he addressed specific individuals to grant them new orders: victory had been obtained, but there was still more work to be done.

"Asier Terminus, Apothecary Ossus, Urkamus Squad, I hereby assign you the task of preparing Kimara for our arrival. It is time that we retook my homeworld and established a permanent base of operations that cannot be taken. We nearly possess the forces and fleet required to lay siege if required, and now we have the Gene-Seed of its fallen Astartes to replenish our ranks."

Alpharius, Ossus, Urkamus, Grund, Helash, and the newcomer Momon all stepped forward and saluted again in acceptance of their new orders. Jarn could have used this opportunity to introduce Asier in his true identity, but both he and Alpharius would rather others believe 'Asier' to just be an Alpha Legionnaire taken under their Legion's wing like Jarn had done for other groups and individuals previously. Loudly proclaiming for all to hear that they possessed the seemingly one and only true Alpharius was a recipe for disaster, and so that secret would remain between those Alpharius entrusted the knowledge to.

Urkamus was typically taciturn and harsh, but one wouldn't know by his professional and respectful tone taken as he accepted his team's new orders, "Your will shall be done, Warsmith."

With their orders given they returned to their places, at which point Jarn addressed the next individual on his mental list of new assignments.

"Apothecary Richter, in the absence of your mentor you shall take his place within our fleet. When the time comes you will reunite with him and assist him in establishing the conditions necessary for our success upon Kimara."

Richter was surprised by the honor given to him given that he still felt like a novice next to Ossus, but he accepted with a wordless nod so as to not allow his voice to betray his feelings beneath his helmet.

"Tristan Bertrand, Levente, step forward."

It was an act requiring a fair deal of effort for Tristan given that his armor was in such disarray after his combat, but it was simple for Levente who stepped forward without any meaningful wounds to speak of. While Tristan could endure a battle until he found victory Levente was capable of rapidly ending his battles so that the damage inflicted upon him was minimal, and it showed with their respective armor. As an interesting mirror between them Tristan now held the Primarch-sized Pale Spear while Levente had the fallen Khyr's Iron Brand at his side, the Power Sword having cleaved its way through many Imperial Fists during the raid.

Jarn addressed Tristan first, and while he was speaking to Tristan his voice was carried in a way to make certain that the entire crowd of Iron Warriors present could hear every word, "The success of this operation was brought by your tactical acumen, Tristan. Not only that, you secured the contents of the vault and reclaimed a future for our Legion. Your youth does not invalidate your successful commanding of our fleet nor the blow now dealt to the Imperial Fists, and your efficient accumulation of the materials we will need to fuel our ambitions was praised by Archimedes himself. You will now take command in his stead and join my Triarch to further lend your mind to our operations, and through them the survival of our kind."

Tristan felt unworthy but bowed his head regardless, unwilling to question the Warsmith to whom he owed everything. He knew that objectively everything said was correct, but Tristan knew also that it was only Jarn investing so much talent, effort, and resources into Tristan's growth that he was able to accomplish so much. It was not something he would have ever been capable on his own, especially not with his lack of outward charisma, but the Warsmith had seen his potential and done what he could to allow it to be met. For that Tristan would always be grateful even beyond owing his life and purpose to Jarn, and so he resolved himself to serve well as his council among the Triarch.

Next was Levente, who stood proudly before his idol and presented himself as firmly as he could despite seeming half of the Astarte's height beside him, "Levente, you already stood as heir to Khyr's command, and your unmatched battle record within our Legion speaks for itself. Should any oppose your taking his place they are welcome to test your combat prowess, though I doubt any are foolish enough to dare make an attempt."

Levente bowed both to show respect and because he knew Tristan would likely fall over if he attempted the same action, the colossal Astarte's wounds and damaged armor a stark contrast to Levente's near flawless appearance. Their relationship was a competitive one, and if he could appear all that much more glorious before a crowd then he would to better win their favor. More Astartes from the Legion could have been gathered there to greet them, but Jarn had them assigned to other projects and endeavors and so this small ceremony was held only by those who had undergone the Inwit mission. To pull others from important tasks for simple ceremony would go against the Iron Warriors' work ethic and natures, but to not celebrate their victory at all would be to repeat the mistakes of the Great Crusade and so they were venerated properly albeit with restraint.

"Today is one of triumph even if it came at a great cost: do not forget the sacrifices of our kin here and use them to steel yourselves for the battles to come. Our campaign of conquests throughout the sea of stars is reaching its end, and soon we shall retake what is rightfully ours!"

Jarn rose his massive fist into the air and bellowed to all the Astartes before him.

"Iron Within!"

His rallying cry was repeated by the rows of Astartes before him with even greater fervor, their spirits having never been lifted higher than this day. It felt as if the stars would become theirs and that nothing could stand in their way, and that spirit would drive them forward in the months and years to come as they carried out the final tasks necessary for their conquest.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

In the previous years and decades the majority of the Iron Legion's Astartes forces had been stationed at their shipyards to work on their fleet, most of those assigned being those unable to properly engage in field operations beyond a support role. This way their talent could be best utilized without squandering their technical abilities on a battlefield their broken bodies could no longer endure, and it allowed for those with abler bodies to continue their campaigns. The resources accrued were returned back to the shipyards to churn out replacement equipment, vehicles, and to contribute towards their fleet's creation.

The absence of Asier and Urkamus Squad was odd for Tristan at first while he got used to running things as the leader of the Kheledakos, but despite now commanding a small fleet of battleships instead of a single one he found the principle similar enough to hit the ground running. Before he could rely upon 'Brechung' and Urkamus Squad to carry out whatever specific missions he needed to be accomplished so their absence was felt, though this is not to say his new subordinates were incapable: those such as Quidel and Richter were old companions of his from Alpha Squad, it just was different and Tristan was naturally opposed to change of nearly any kind when he could help it.

It was an enormous responsibility to be left in charge of their fleet while the Warsmith oversaw the entirety of their Legion and Levente handled the ground operations, but Tristan's mind was one primed for handling the logistics involved with his duties. By commanding more than a single part of the larger fleet he now was able to harvest resources for them at a far greater rate through methodical strip-mining of uninhabited worlds until nothing was left but materials they could not use or some threat forced their operations to move along.

On that front Palamedes had proven to be as great a nuisance as ever, and it took effort on Tristan's part to hold back from turning the Iron Legion's fleet upon the Word Bearers nipping at their heels because the difference in the sizes of their forces: no outcome would favor the Iron Legion or be worth the risk, and so it was logical to ignore them even if Tristan wanted to indulge his wrath against the one who took his family and home away so many years back.

The Chaos forces were not fools and had taken note of the Iron Legion's operations after they clashed upon Tristan's homeworld, and now they picked up the pieces left behind whenever they caught their trail again. Through their foul control of the Warp they seemed capable of finding the Iron Legion even when the Imperium could not, and while it was obvious that Palamedes' forces wished to wipe out the Iron Warriors they trailed behind they were greedily feeding upon everything left behind when their mere appearance would threaten the Iron Warriors off of a particularly sizable bounty. Beyond pure efficiency in not having to fight various battles this drove Tristan to prioritize uninhabited worlds and moons since there would not be Humans to be sacrificed or recruited left behind, but it furthered his grudge against Palamedes to know that the Chaos Lord was using him to fuel his own campaigns.

The Daemon Prince had spoken to Tristan about a bond they shared, one that he did not quite understand in full, but which he remembered pieces of from their prior battle. Palamedes had seen a vision in blood spilled from his enemies through the Warp's power, and that vision was of them battling to the death upon an icy world: Palamedes had presumed it had been the one they last met on, but Tristan's survival then likely meant that the Daemon Prince was searching for another fitting icy domain to slay him upon.

While Tristan had no such belief in prophecies or visions he knew that a Word Bearer who devoutly worshipped the Ruinous Powers likely was more susceptible to such a thing, and so Tristan had purposefully avoided frigid worlds when he could. It did not matter if he believed in it, only how his foe would read into such a situation and react accordingly, and so Tristan abused his pursuer's faith to prevent direct conflict when possible. Palamedes wanted his slaying of Tristan to be a spectacle and the longer Tristan could deny that opportunity the better off his forces would be, for each planet mined to its core was another closer to obtaining the total resources Jarn said were necessary for their goals. Then the Word Bearers would suffer for their actions, and while occasional skirmishes broke out when things were cut too close Tristan had managed to mostly hold the Word Bearers at bay.

For now though he was patient and accepted that the Word Bearers were going to continue exploiting their efforts, finding comfort in the fact that the impatience of the Khorne-devoted warband sometimes allowed Tristan to pick off a few of them as opportunities arose and the Eisernen's lances were given targets. The Word Bearers were not solely driven by their hunt of the Iron Warriors and were focusing their own efforts on corrupting Imperial worlds, but that was not something the Iron Legion could presently do anything about: better to use the time they spent doing that on furthering their own plans than risk everything for an Imperial planet that would turn on the Iron Warriors the moment the Word Bearers were hypothetically repelled.

Palamedes' total forces were hard to get a definite number on, but from glimpses at their fleets put them at least around ten times the size of the Iron Legion now. Whatever Jarn was constructing would likely level that playing field Tristan reckoned, as despite only pieces having been assembled bit by bit throughout the years it gave him the impression that whatever fleet was coming their way would be a force to be reckoned. Jarn withheld information about the complete project from all but Asier, with even those building at the shipyards only knowing what was necessary to do their jobs so that the greater plans of their ships could not fall into enemy hands by any chance.

The brutally efficient methods Tristan employed to gather resources rarely went awry, but one occasion would spill into a far more disastrous one down the road. It had been four Terran years since he had been named leader of the Kheledakos and he was growing more comfortable with his role, even if it meant on occasion having to deal with his old rival Levente. Given their positions as the right and left hand of the Warsmith on his Triarch they would occasionally meet in more civil terms, but Levente was far more forceful in his troop deployments than Khyr had been and it risked success in favor of speed.

If Tristan cared enough to ascertain Levente's reasoning for commanding their ground forces this way it would likely lead back to Tristan's own successes regarding their acquisition of supplies, and thus Levente felt pressured to keep pace with Tristan's own successes while accruing additional ones on the battlefield. In this way Levente both pushed himself to outshine Tristan in the task they both shared while also eclipse him on the battlefield, proving himself above his counterpart on the Triarch as well as honing his own skills to one day serve as Warsmith should Jarn perish.

This was of course all lost on Tristan who did not actually care what or why Levente did things the way he did, only how he then had to react and work around them. Whereas Tristan favored methodical and precise deployments Levente favored opportunistic ones that had the greatest opportunity for success and glory even if they incurred other risks, meaning that the division between the two of them soon grew into an unstated divide between their forces.

Those under Tristan's command were recruits and veterans with cooler temperaments who had served under Archimedes before him faithfully and without question as Iron Warriors were expected to, while those beneath Levente tended to be those more reckless who served best as shock-troopers and siege-breakers. Each had their place and purpose, and the Iron Warriors had always possessed Astartes of both kinds as shown by Perturabo's own Triarch including both Forrix and Kroeger who could not have differed more in temperament. This difference in personalities among their officers allowed for the creation of new strategies and tactics on the battlefield and rivalry had been encouraged to see them push themselves to their best.

As relatively new and inexperienced leaders however both Tristan and Levente made the mistake of believing their personal grudges would not spread out into the soldiers under their command, and so the seeds of division were sewn. Opinions amongst the ground forces grew that Tristan was nothing more than a pencil-pusher who was a good administrator but whose youth showed that the Warsmith had played favorites, with these loyal Astartes to the Warsmith feeling that Tristan had somehow tricked their glorious leader into granting his student that position of power. Similarly amongst the fleet the cold and clinical Astartes there saw Levente as being too short-sighted and in need of the wisdom age would bring him, quietly waiting out whatever losses he might bring in the hopes that he would learn in time. It was not that they were fanatically loyal to Tristan given his impersonal nature, but those working beside him at least knew better than to question his intellectual capabilities.

In a total force of around four-thousand Astartes three-thousand were stationed at the shipyards working to complete the project they had been given while the other thousand traveled within their fleet to gather the final resources needed. Tristan had left some of their Battleships behind to protect the shipyard but its own defenses were strong enough to repel most foes and so he kept the majority of the fleet together on their expeditions, always taking care to make certain not even the Word Bearers followed them back to their base upon concluding a trip. Of these thousand Astartes one-third were under Tristan's command, one-third were Levente's, and the final third were on paper belonging to Asier's Triarch identity and so instead were commanded directly by Jarn on the battlefield.

Jarn appeared content to allow both Tristan and Levente to find their footing as leaders, giving them time and space to develop their skills while granting input and criticism where necessary, but largely leaving them to fill into their roles that they had been seemingly born to fulfill. They had the exact talents they needed, and neither Khyr nor Archimedes had begun as masters of their craft so a few years of practice was nothing in the eyes of the long-lived Astartes. Despite their respective flaws they each were quite effective and ultimately worked together, whatever friction there was giving way to begrudging respect and loyalty based on their shared brotherhood.

A few hundred Astartes each was a seemingly small amount to veterans of the Great Crusade, but in actuality it was enough for much of their work. A handful of Astartes were said to be capable of conquering a planet, and so a thousand of them which rivaled the Loyalist's Chapter organization in size was enough to overcome almost any threats in their path. Just as the Iron Legion was fractured so too were most entities thousands of years after the disastrous Horus Heresy, allowing them to pick targets when necessary that could not fight back against their full might.

It did mean however that each and every loss was a severe one, and so Tristan took to deploying automata instead of his Astartes where possible to mitigate casualties. This practice reduced overall efficiency to a degree, but it would prove vital when the Iron Legion stumbled upon an Imperial mining outpost with unforeseen danger laying within. The moon by the designation of E-Epsilon lacked Imperial naval support and so a quick subduing of its minor population would grant the Iron Legion complete access to its bountiful resources on paper, and on this note Levente and his forces invaded it immediately to blitz any defense forces it possessed before they even knew what hit them. Tristan instead held back his own forces and deployed automata of his design to the ground to investigate it further, being one step behind Levente's invasion.

No armed resistance was found, and instead terrified civilian miners were found fleeing from their mines within the moon's forests. Chasing after them was a form of unidentified Xenos that Levente's forces crushed with their overwhelming firepower, though the prospect of Xenos acquiring the moon's resources before them drove Levente forward with an advance team including his top lieutenants Dominicus and Gunnar. Given the seeming lack of Xenos ships in orbit it appeared that their number was few and could be routed immediately if pressed, the lack of recorded native life upon the planet luring Levente into a false sense of security.

From the Eisernen Tristan utilized his automata's data feeds to see what was happening on the ground, soon finding himself aghast with horror at what they found brimming beneath the moon's surface: a species he had only read of before in texts of the Great Crusade but which were unmistakable as the Ak'Haireth. The Ak'Haireth were a fungoid, predatory, and parasitic Xenos species that had been eliminated by the Alpha Legion in one of the Legion's earliest campaigns, but it would appear that some variant of the fungus had spread out prior to the purge that eliminated all known Ak'Haireth.

Their sentience was acquired from operating as psychically interwoven gestalt 'blooms' while their existence was sustained by the siphoning of nutrition from living animals, preferably Humans and their bone marrow, in a slow and agonizing process. They had feasted upon colonies and feral world at the fringes of their sector at the time where those present could not defend against their invasions, and despite purges led by both the Luna Wolves and eventual Night Lords survived the purges in both instances. Their defeat had only come when the Alpha Legion as led by Alpharius had developed a virus to wipe the Ak'Haireth out, poisoning not the Ak'Haireth themselves but the Humans they would feast upon. While Human fatalities from the virus were relatively low at seven percent it wholly wiped out the Ak'Haireth over the course of generations of the fungus, solving the issue seemingly forever more.

What Tristan discovered however was that the Ak'Haireth present here was not some natural survivor of the cowardly Xenos species that fled as the Ak'Haireth tended to do, but rather the result of Nurgle cultists within the Imperium who discovered it some time ago. Unable to control the fungus they too had been consumed by it, but not before their dark rituals had mutated the Psyker race severely. They had laid dormant in the millennia since only to have been awoken by the mining activity upon the moon, and now they sensed new prey to feast off of. Not only that, their mutations had the Ak'Haireth begin forming gestalts not only with one another but with those infected by them resulting in even greater monstrosities appearing before the Astartes surprised by them and the automata sent as reinforcements.

The horrors of mutation the Warp could bring about were almost indescribable but Tristan had seen them many times since his induction into the Iron Legion: this was different. The mixture of the parasitic Xenos with the corrupting influence of the Warp saw abominations writhing in vile forms spew forth from the open mines and rapidly overtake the civilians present on what was believed to be a secure moon, Human cries of terror forming a cacophony over audio feeds as their bodies were rapidly transformed by the hyper-potent fungal plague spreading across the moon's surface.

In the immediate surge of Xenos monsters Tristan witnessed a man's upper body shrivel up as the Ak'Haireth that drained his body grew from the size of a grenade to larger than his torso had been, showing that the slow consumption from the species' past was long since gone. The miner's body continued to move and he moaned in pain showing that even as it grew to a husk he was still alive and suffering, something all the more horrifying when his right arm mutated into a fungal growth in the vague approximation of an arm but many times the size that was then used to beat down another fleeing miner and drag them back to other Ak'Haireth hungering for prey.

The woman it caught was infected by yet another Ak'Haireth, her cries of pain as it twisted her insides a horrifying spectacle on its own until the Ak'Haireth's growth became apparent: her infection swelled and swelled and swelled until her screaming was silenced in but a single moment, an explosion of spores radiating out from her body and infecting other terrified civilians fleeing alongside her.

Tristan immediately deployed his entire retinue of automata to secure an evacuation zone for the Astartes on the ground, Quidel volunteering to extract them with a team of flamer-equipped Astartes. Quidel's talent with a flamer had seen Tristan make him his own Terminator suit that had one built into each arm, and fortunately it incorporated the filtration technology Tristan had developed in years past to aid in combat against chemical weapons and the Death Guard. Levente and his team had similar equipment, but if they were damaged enough by the beasts attacking them not even their Power Armor would save them.

Joining them was Jarn himself who was intent on saving Levente as well as Castiel and the Fallen who served as his personal guards, not to mention the Iron Circle that Tristan had already prepared to be deployed given their status as automata.

It would be easy enough to destroy the moon from orbit but so long as their men were close to their landing site no-one wanted to leave them behind, not even Tristan despite his enmity shared with Levente. As his automata tried to hold back the creatures he found them continuously beat back one after another, each being no more capable than a standard Skitarii and thus unable to deal with fusions of fungal monsters the size of a Tyranid Carnifex.

Despite the Warsmith's overwhelming personal power and his retinue burning through the Ak'Haireth like butter it still took them close to an hour to reach the mine that Levente had entered, orbital bombardments opening the pathway for them to reach it only for more monsters to burst up from beneath the surface where others had fallen. When they did reach the mines to determine whether their brothers were safe they found Levente still engaged in combat alongside Gunnar, Dominicus, and twenty-two more of the forty Astartes he brought with him to the moon's surface all fighting tooth-and-nail against the hordes of beasts converging on their points.

They had long since run out of ammo and so were forced to engage them in close combat, a specialty of Levente's men but still a trying task when their enemies ranged from the strength of an Astarte when mutated from a single Human or the might of a Carnifex from those formed from multiple melded together. It was then that some of them had fallen, but it was evident by the Ak'Haireth corpses surrounding Levente that he had slain literal thousands in the span of time it took to be found. Fighting furiously and with righteous fervor, Levente was actually pressing the monsters back in the area he was engaged against them, their occasional strikes against him seemingly not felt in the slightest as he beat them into explosions of spores and hacked through the next one in the way of his rampage.

Jarn had to drag Levente away from the battlefield as his Triarch member sought to avenge the fallen with his own two hands, and while not likely those who witnessed him were left to wonder if Levente could have wiped them all out given enough time to do so such was his fury. With Quidel's flames paving the way for their retreat they were able to fall back and reach their evacuation site, though the Ak'Haireth were intelligent enough to realize that their ships were a way to infect far more prey.

A surge of the Xenos rushed at the ships as each Astarte was bathed in flames just long enough to kill any spores on their Power Armor, resulting burns ignored in favor of precaution. The purging of the spores was also aided by a rapidly concocted virus made by Richter who had the records of how the Alpha Legion purged the Ak'Haireth thanks to Alpharius' presence in their fleet for so long, and so while the Astartes fought off the monsters preventing their departure the virus was sprayed by the Apothecary out with a repurposed flamer Tristan provided him.

Tristan had been making certain to shoot down any craft launching from the moon to prevent the spread of this foul abomination of a Xenos species be it intentional or not, sacrificing those few civilians who may have genuinely escaped if it meant even the slightest chance that the Ak'Haireth would survive. He also had his crew preparing cleansing protocols to make certain that everyone who returned was not somehow still carrying the fungus, all the while anxiously awaiting the return of his Warsmith and fellow Astartes.

The ground forces managed to drive off the Ak'Haireth enough to take off safely, though it did not come without a cost: as they were shutting their doors one of the Ak'Haireth had grabbed Dominicus who had been aiding Quidel in laying down covering fire for the last of the retreating Astartes. The attack did not kill Dominicus outright, but it tore through his leg's armor and the infection took root. Seeing his former Alpha Squad teammate in this condition shocked Quidel enough to pause as Dominicus fell down as his leg no longer became his own.

Their Warsmith however wasted no time.

"My lord...Warsmith..." Dominicus painfully choked out as his body half rested on the escape ship, his arms struggling to hold himself up with the Ak'Haireth still gripping him. Quidel recovered and burned the creature to death, but as he did a gunshot rendered the act moot: Dominicus' lifeless body fell from their vessel and the door shut behind him, Jarn wordlessly taking his place within the ship afterwards and making certain that everyone else was safe from the infection.

As soon as the Iron Legion left E-Epsilon it was subjected to immediate Exterminatus, the moon being erased from existence down to its smallest pieces by the combined firepower of their fleet. Thanks to the filtration systems implemented in years past and the quarantine process put into place in reaction to the Ak'Haireth none of the foul Xenos managed to escape from the moon's fate, but nineteen Astartes had lost their lives in the process. Tristan was left thinking to himself how many thousands of innocent lives he just took even if it was justified, and as he stood aboard the Eisernen's bridge he found himself tuned out from the status reports Captain Turner was giving him.

Levente was not blamed for the incident, for all scans had shown no such activity upon the moon until it was too late, and he had been acting with the Warsmith's blessing against a seemingly undefended moon. He was not expected to be clairvoyant, but that meant little to Levente as he stewed over the loss of his men.

To sacrifice lives for their objectives was what it meant to be an Iron Warrior in his mind, but those men had died for nothing, and so he swore to himself that he would Chaos pay for twisting that Xenos species into something so foul as to claim the life of his men.

This drive would be the cause behind another fatal encounter for the members of the Iron legion, one which would end in victory but almost cost the lives of many more.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

(Part 1)​

 

[Thunderscourge]

"War is an imperfect thing, and thus so long as it exists utopia cannot be achieved. To bring an end to war we must fight until none stand against us: that is your purpose. Blood must be shed if we are to achieve our ideals."

"Tristan carries another burden in bringing utopia to reality: he is the one to build it from the ashes. With his mind we can achieve it, but reaching that point will be difficult without someone like you to carve the path. We eliminated another tool of Chaos today, and so even with a handful of our brothers lost we have bettered the future. It is regrettable, but this universe we live in is cruel to the last. Keep that in mind if you wish to survive long enough to see our vision, learn from your mistakes today and move forward."

When the Warsmith had spoken to Levente in the Triarch's room following the conflict it had been like a stern father who acknowledged the mistakes made by their child but still talked with him at length about how to better himself and not make those mistakes in the future. Levente had been left with a storm of emotions following the engagement both due to his own reckless errors and also how his men had perished because the only backup they had from the fleet had been a handful of automata. How many of his men could have escaped if they had Astartes at their back rather than Tristan's tepid and cautious deployment of mere machines?

At the same time Levente could not help but recognize the fact that Tristan had not immediately purged the world with Levente and his soldiers upon it, as he would have entirely been within his rights to do so under the circumstances. He took a major risk in giving them time to be recovered and for that Levente was wholly grateful as much as he hated to admit it, but Tristan's taciturn and stoic nature did not give an ample opportunity to share such sentiments. Levente sensed resentment from his fellow Triarch for the loss of Dominicus and the other Astartes on the moon, but Tristan withheld making any comments on the subject because not even his scans had revealed the Xenos presence until it was too late.

Left without much recourse except to accept his first true 'loss' as a Triarch, even one which saw the annihilation of a major threat as the Warsmith noted, Levente threw himself back into his training both physical and mental. He spent days on end within the Dodekatheon contemplating tactical deployments and engagements that they might be expected to undergo in the coming months and years, and in doing so he turned his attention to the Chaos bastards who always seemed to be a step behind them. It was as if they could sense where the Iron Warriors were to some degree, and having experienced that Daemon Prince Palamedes' obsession with Tristan firsthand Levente was fairly certain that there might be some connection there.

Based on this hunch Levente assigned a commando team led by Gunnar to shadow the Word Bearers and report back anything of note they might find, their goal being to locate a moment of weakness within the Word Bearers' fleet deployments. This plan would utilize the occasional aggressive deployments made by members of Palamedes' fleet whose minds were lost in the blood fugue of Khorne, using their actions to create avenues into tracking the fleet and utilizing temporary blindspots created in their formations to remain undetected. With their attention focused on the Iron Legion's fleet and also various Imperial worlds laid asunder the Word Bearers were not expecting a small infiltration force to tail them, and so Gunnar's team would prove successful almost immediately thereafter.

With reports and information provided by the Astartes he sent after the Word Bearers Levente was able to discover where Palamedes' present base of operations was: a conquered Imperial world named Acgeye that had been won over to the side of Chaos through his agents who corrupted its leadership and institutions. The Imperium had not yet reacted to this loss, if the decayed entity was aware of Acgeye's loss at all yet, and so Palamedes had been able to turn the industrialized world into a forward base of operations for his warband within the material realm. Like the Iron Legion's shipyards the planet would provide Palamedes' forces a way to convert their pilfered goods into tools to fuel their war machine, and Acgeye's large population provided them ample servants to call upon.

In their greed however the Word Bearers had left only a portion of their overall armada at Acgeye while using the existing infrastructure and defenses of the former Imperial world to protect it. With all of Acgeye's defenses standard issue but held in bulk it could repel most forces that came at it, but what it could not handle were Astartes who held blueprints of Imperial defenses and architecture and studied them relentlessly to improve their tactics against them. In this way Levente was able to devise a shock assault that was designed to eliminate not only the Word Bearers' production facilities worldwide but also decapitate the leadership left to overlook the planet in Palamedes' absence and thus deprive him of valuable subordinates.

The Word Bearers' supply lines all tied back to this point, and so disrupting them here could cause their entire operation to fall apart: their more aggressive actions would eventually be noticed by the Imperium, and a disordered fleet would stand little chance against the weight of the Imperium's might when it caught up to them. For this reason Jarn assented to Levente's planned operation which saw the entire Iron Legion redeploy to Acgeye and deploy its forces en-masse, exploiting saboteurs and sappers ahead of time to open the pathway to the suddenly vulnerable World Bearer bastion.

The operation was a time-sensitive one as the Word Bearers' many tendrils could return at any moment from their various deployments, but there was a distinct moment of weakness present and so it was seized. Dealing a crippling blow to Palamedes' forces would leave the Iron Legion freer to pursue its own agendas, as even if it would mean future retaliation by then the Iron Legion would hopefully have conquered Kimara and insulated itself from outside attack. There were no assurances in their line of work and so an opportunity presented such as this was one to be taken even if there were risks involved, and measures were taken by Tristan to allow for a hasty withdrawal if necessary.

After sabotaging the Word Bearers' defenses their fleet rapidly wiped out the modest orbital structures of Acgeye and dropping their remnants like meteors down to the planet below. Millions would die from the aftermath of their orbital bases crashing into the planet, but their population had willingly fallen to Chaos and so there was no mercy to be found within the Iron Legion for them. During the upheaval caused by this the path was made for the Iron Warriors to make landfall, their fleet engaging the Word Bearer vessels still in orbit after their initial blitz targeting their bases.

Levente led the charge on Acgeye while Tristan organized their forces as they landed to ensure cohesion, their first forces to touch down securing the landing of the second wave that held their armor that would breakthrough the scrambling defenders. At the back the Basilisks led by Tristan's forces began bombardment of the massive Fortress City that Palamedes' forces held as the capital of their conquered world while Levente led a force of Vindicators and Razorbacks that surged forward utilizing the chaos sewn to their advantage, Levente's own personal vehicle The Hammer, a personalized Vindicator of his own design that sacrificed some of its ammo capacity to instead allow for it to hold Levente and four other Astartes.

The Vindicator was known as a superb short-range siege vehicle thanks to its demolisher cannon that fired enormous rocket-assisted shells that allowed it to break through layers of concrete and plasteel alike. Depending on the ammunition utilized a demolisher cannon's shell could possess an outer layer of explosive and shrapnel surrounding a chemical core. When the shell struck the layer of explosive would detonate to punch through the target's armor before spreading shrapnel from the point of impact. This process would start a chemical reaction to the shell's core which would see it become superheated and lance through the damaged armor, allowing the demolisher shell to inflict damage over a wide area while gutting the target initially struck from the inside-out. The Vindicator only had a range of around a kilometer, with its accuracy quite poor the further it had to aim, making it ideal for city and fortress based engagements where it could wade into enemy fire with its reinforced armor and fire at immobile structures.

The siege shells used by many Demolishers however was special thanks to possessing an armor-piercing tip, a heavy casing, and an explosive charge that would allow it to penetrate its target before detonating inside of it. This combination could flatten defenses in a single shot or at the least wipe out those within, with further shots expanding upon the wreckage caused and a convergence of Vindicators firing together leaving nothing but fragments of their chosen prey. The Hammer was further modified to help coordinate such attacks between its fellow Vindicators, firing while advancing ever forward in a methodical way to break their enemy before reaching them. Once there their support Razorbacks armed with smaller arms weapons such as Assault Cannons and Heavy Bolters would deploy their Astartes payloads and grant cover fire as the Astartes breached the walls and buildings holding them back from their objectives.

While the outer layers of defenses were cracked Tristan continued to bombard their foes from beyond their retaliation range, destroying targets that would impede the advance of Levente's forces while also applying pressure to reinforcements to not attack from their flank. This drew reinforcements to Tristan instead, but the Warsmith met them in battle with his own dedicated forces which meant that none were yet capable of even reaching the artillery line formed. Despite their petty rivalry both Levente and Tristan were a force to be reckoned with working together just as the Warsmith had envisioned, with Levente's rapid assault tactics dealing intense and precision damage to their foes while Tristan's bombardment kept their enemies suppressed and crippled whatever might pose a threat to Levente's forces before it could do so.

As he broke through enemy lines composed of cultists dedicated to their Chaos overlords Levente could not help but feel in his element: this was what it meant to be an Astarte, to wage war and carve a path through your enemies before they could even truly respond. The blood of innumerable cultists spilled over his blades as Levente led the charge from the front, the shine of his armor now dulled by coats of his foes' innards as he ruthlessly hacked through one after another. That these mere mortal servants dared try and face him was an affront to Levente, and so he took pleasure out of cutting them down and showing them the folly of their ways.

Their Astartes masters stood little more chance against the unrelenting tide of blows Levente reigned down upon the various Word Bearers he came across, his natural speed more than a match for whatever gifts they were granted by the Ruinous Powers. With a swing of his Power Maul and a simultaneous slash of the Iron Brand two more aspiring champions of Chaos fell, their Power Armor unable to withstand the high quality weapons Levente brought with him. Palamedes' forces still possessed the common issue of Heretic Astartes in that their equipment was degraded from time and battle, and so while capable of taking hits from most threats their defenses were paltry in the face of weapons honed and engineered over centuries to their potential.

The unending tide of cultists was no issue to Levente as supported by The Hammer, Gunnar, and the other Astartes he hand-picked to battle alongside him. For every ten they cut down or obliterated with the Demolisher Cannon another twenty would seem to take their place, but those twenty would then be slaughtered with brutal efficiency such that when forty more took their place Levente's team was already ready for them and relentlessly continued their march forward as more Iron Warriors followed in behind them.

Some mutated cultists and Astartes posed a greater threat and could even inflict a degree of damage upon them, but the Terminator armor Levente wore was made to absorb frontal attacks in particular. If not for his short stature and his armor being tailored to him he could likely not have fit within his own personal transport carrier but his raw power afforded by his broad frame let him trample through his foes and their barricades like a one-man stampede. Some cultists who had barricaded an entryway to slow the Iron Warriors heading their way were shocked when Levente simply tackled through the reinforced gate with enough force to kill some of their number outright when it broke off and hurtled across their structure. Whatever fearful awe they possessed at his strength was ended immediately thereafter when their skulls and torsos were caved in by a Power Maul.

Levente's armored spearhead was having its intended effect and in short order their assault had crippled much of the Fortress City's structures, leaving its inner sanctum vulnerable where hordes of Astartes and their mortal followers lay in wait for their attackers. Leading the Word Bearers were two of his top followers Maliq and Rohkeus, each holding the title of Prophet and equivalent in rank to the Triarchs possessed by Jarn with similar influence. Within their forces there were eight such individuals ranked from First to Eighth, as per Khorne's favored number, and of which the devoutly religious servants of Khorne were led by the First Prophet Palamedes.

The Second Prophet of Khorne was Maliq, the former leader of their Warband back when it was only a splinter force belonging to the overall influence of Erebus. When Palamedes was but a mere mortal rising throughout their ranks he had led them on many expeditions into the Imperium's space and bled worlds dry while satiating his personal greed for whatever valuable artifacts and items they came across, offering many to the glory of Khorne but using many more to maintain his power over others. He defined himself by what he possessed, seeking to make others look upon the grandeur of his accomplishments as demonstrated by what he could flaunt before them, but this would prove his downfall. So miserly with his acquisitions was Maliq that he had gained the ire of his seven fellow prophets, and by the time Palamedes had stood among them his overpowering charisma had seen the former servant rise to the top of their warband.

Palamedes had seen fit to have Maliq become his right hand, using his talents and experience to his own ends while binding him to his will entirely: he kept a close watch on the now seething Maliq who he had dishonored, and while it was known to all that Maliq sought vengeance and to regain what had been taken from him he was kept in check. This desperation to regain his power made him a dangerous foe on the battlefield however, as there was nothing he would not risk for his desire for leadership and that made him unpredictable...exactly as Palamedes had expected when he enthralled his once superior officer.

The Seventh Prophet of Khorne Rohkeus was left behind to keep Maliq in line, being too straightforward and brutal to accept underhanded scheming on behalf of his fellow Prophet, instead being a demonstration of the meritocratic nature of their Warband: Rohkeus was a mortal servant turned tool of Khorne, a former Cultist whose valor and accomplishments on the battlefield had seen him gifted with blessings of the Blood God that had seen his form grow to many times its original bulk in raw muscle empowered by the Warp. Grotesque horns and spikes lined his body, making it just another weapon in his arsenal and one which he had repeatedly put to good usage in the name of his dark master. He might not have been an Astartes, but the countless thousands he had slain in personal combat with his sheer aggression had proven his place, especially after a duel for honor had seen him slay a previous member within the Eight Prophets and rise to their rank after the ritualistic combat.

His lifetime of combat gave way to hubris however while his desire for conflict left him as a fearsome battlefield commander, urging his forces onward into the thick of battle without any consideration to their survival. This combination saw many of the minor conflicts thus far with the Iron Legion be against his forces who possessed similar temperaments, unable to hold themselves back from the promise of slaughter, and Rohkeus himself was only kept in check by Maliq's more reserved nature. Rohkeus was always spoiling for a fight, but he could disobey Maliq's will as his superior unless it contradicted Palamedes' own. In this way he prevented Maliq from scheming against their master and Maliq prevented Rohkeus from throwing his life away in pointless battle, as Maliq knew he would be held accountable for allowing such a thing to happen while Rohkeus still held purpose as the tip of the spear in their warband's attacks.

In a plan of action that favored both of their natures neither could be found when Levente and Gunnar together broke into the inner chambers of their primary base, killing many of the Prophets' followers who lay in wait to ambush them but finding no sign of their targets...only for Levente to realize that the Prophets had access to a hidden series of tunnels beneath the planet's surface from this base outwards. Many had been caved in when they dropped the orbital defenses down upon the planet but others had remained open, allowing the Prophets to slip undetected out from the Fortress City and take their strongest followers around to attack the back of the Iron Warriors.

While the Warsmith and Tristan held back the sudden attack from a mass of mutated Astartes and their newly recruited mortal followers Levente assigned Gunnar to finish the demolition of the Fortress City and the destruction of anything of worth within it: there was no chance they could evacuate with the Word Bearers' spoils before more of Lorgar's sons returned and made conflict untenable, so it was better to raze everything to the ground than leave it for the Word Bearers to reclaim. Elsewhere their forces were similarly destroying the less defended outposts and locations of note for the Word Bearers, so if their primary fortress fell too there would be almost nothing left for them here. Many successful campaigns ruined in a single raid, it would be exactly the kind of victory Levente craved to wipe away the bitter taste of losing his men in their last engagement.

This done, Levente commandeered a Razorback in the streets mowing down cultists to rush back to their defensive lines, arriving just in time to see Tristan engaged with both Maliq and Rohkeus...and for Levente to catch sight of the suddenly returned form of Palamedes. With no new ships in orbit it was obvious that the Daemon Prince had been summoned forth with the powers of the Warp alongside a detachment of his followers including another Prophet, that being the Third Prophet of Khorne Yarost who served as his primary military adviser. Surrounding them were the corpses of a dozen Astartes from Jarn's detachment who Palamedes had carved apart with elongated claws that tore through Power Armor like wet paper, the team having been unable to even react in the slightest to his arrival before being impaled or cut to ribbons thanks to the Daemon Prince's speed.

Palamedes growled his orders to his men and formed a blade made of blood from his own body, jabbing it in the direction of the Iron Warriors and shouting that none but he could kill the one known as Tristan Bertrand as per his oath to Khorne...and that was all Levente needed to slam into the Daemon Prince and carve through him with both the Iron Brand and his personal Power Maul gifted to him by Jarn with far greater destructive properties than a typical one while its shape was crafted to be ideal for someone of Levente's stature. His Power Sword tore through the blood which comprised Palamedes' body and the maul knocked a flood of the Daemon Prince's blood away in a violent spray that would have killed any mortal outright...but he was no mere mortal.

Despite losing more blood in a single moment than others could possess in their entire body Palamedes barely appeared to notice at all, turning his wicked gaze to where Levente now stood before him and granting him a toothy grin that showed off his grisly fangs. His body had already returned to its prime shape as the blood spilled by him reformed into his mass, being drained from where it had been spilt upon the snow of this planet that was within its winter cycle. It had meant little to Levente that it was going to be winter here, but it held meaning to Palamedes even if it made his blood's return to his body just a tinge bit slower as the cold air rendered it solid.

Palamedes stood at over one and a half times Levente's height in the Terminator armor the Astarte wore for this mission and so loomed over him menacingly to gauge what Levente's reaction would be. In seeing that this was not a foe that would be terrified of him Palamedes idly recollected seeing someone like this the last time he fought Tristan, brushing Levente off as a nobody and turning his attention back to his intended target...only for Levente to forcibly drag his attention back by unleashing a flurry of blows into Palamedes' back. He refused to be overlooked for that uncharismatic bore Tristan, especially on the battlefield, and so Levente threw his full weight into each attack to knock free whatever blood he could spill to bleed this monstrosity out.

In respect for his valor Palamedes adeptly began to parry Levente's strikes one after another, finding himself actually only just able to keep up with the Triarch member despite Palamedes' own remarkable speed. There was no room for error with each strike sent his way, and if not for his regeneration this would truly be a dire battle...but instead it was a mere distraction as far as Palamedes was concerned. Within him coursed the blood of an entire planet's population, his blessing from Khorne allowing him to reshape it and control it even as it spilled from his body, as a warrior who could continually spill his own blood and that of his foe was one who could forever sate the Blood God's thirst.

Levente would have to 'kill' Palamedes enough times to wipe out a planet of Humans, and that was before factoring in that whatever blood he spilled would just be picked back up and have to be spilt again. In this way despite his offensive capabilities Levente had no effective way to finish Palamedes off, but that did not keep him from doing what he could to repeatedly beat back his larger foe through sheer strength and skill. This onslaught of strikes turned Palamedes' opinion of the Iron Warrior and made him wish that they could possess such a capable warrior for the Chaos Gods, but he could sense that this one was nigh immune to the lure of Chaos: the zeal he struck with and fury he mustered was much like that of the Black Templar, and while they did not exchange barbs Palamedes could see that he would have to kill this particular insect before it bled his manpower even more.

No longer captivated by the idea of entertaining a possible recruit, Palamedes grabbed a nearby Rhino damaged in the conflict while it brought supplies to various Basilisk emplacements. With a single hand he was capable of lifting it and twisting it towards Levente to swat him away, wishing to leave his actual death to another who could give the warrior a fitting death while Palamedes focused on Tristan...only for the Rhino's chassis to break against a solid object that had moved in the way of Levente. With Palamedes' force behind it and the sturdy nature of what was struck the already damaged Rhino split in two and tumbled out of Palamedes' grasp as the Warsmith Jarn intervened.

"Aid Tristan, Levente."

Levente, who now knew better as to the true capabilities of this opponent he faced once before, was loathe to leave his Warsmith and idol alone with Palamedes and so spoke up to object...only for Jarn to cut him off immediately.

"The Beast struck me with a Rhino: I have a score to settle."

Palamedes could not help but laugh as yet another worthy foe stood in his way, for even if he had his eyes set upon another he could not deny a challenge such as this. Levente might have been too small a fry for the leader of the Word Bearers' in the region, but a Warsmith was not something he could turn his nose up at so easily. If Jarn wished to be offered to Khorne first before his beloved student then so be it, Palamedes would grant him his wish.

Levente relented and left to assist Tristan, passing by the remains of a foe the Warsmith had caught unaware right before intercepting Palamedes' strike. The now deceased Astarte dedicated to Chaos had appeared from beneath the ground using one of their tunnels and fired upon their forces only for Jarn who provided them overwatch protection. What had been an ambush by the Astarte had instead seen their torso obliterated by Jarn's firepower, firepower now being unleashed into Palamedes' form as Jarn swung his massive maul with precision far beyond what one would expect of a man his size.

Whereas Palamedes had enjoyed testing Levente by parrying attacks he could have simply taken directly without true injury the Daemon Prince was forced to actually divert and block the swings now aimed at him if he was to make attacks of his own. Palamedes possessed greater raw strength than Jarn, but their innate toughness was similar even if Palamedes was functionally immortal with his regeneration. As such Jarn's blows that could annihilate even a Warboss of the Orks would have their effect on Palamedes and so the Daemon began to utilize his speed to compensate, flitting back and forth with his deft wings and striking the far more cumbersome Logos Secundus.

To make the most of his own powers Palamedes could not afford to wear a full suit of armor, but he did not miss being weighed down by it: now he was free to twist and reshape his body comprised entirely of blood as he saw fit, the amount of blood he possessed allowing him to put far more strength behind his strikes than foes could reasonably expect, and the explosive power afforded to him let each push of the leg or flap of his wing to move him far more than mere mortals could hope to in the same span of time. His heavy footsteps might signal his approach to others but it was a small price to pay for the blood of so many to run through him.

It was to Palamedes' surprise that the strikes he made against Jarn rapidly disappeared much like the damage Palamedes was incurring from aftershocks left by Jarn's maul and his wrist-cannons, the metal of the Logos Secundus reforming thanks to the Necrontyr technology Jarn had taken in his past and incorporated into the Logos' form to make his own variant. It was not as efficient as the Necrodermis possessed by the Necrons but Jarn possessed a deeper understanding of it than most Humans, having had to fight them and having taken their equipment for his own studies without the watchful eye of the Mechanicus to call him a heretic for daring touch such items.

Just as Palamedes' own blood returned to him along with the blood of others spilled around him Jarn's armor continued to reshape itself from its own incurred damage, nanoscarabs reforming whatever pieces were chipped away by a swing of Palamedes' blade. The durability of the Logos and the power fields within it prevented any strike from making contact with Jarn himself, Palamedes capable of breaking through the armor of a Rhino with the flick of a wrist but couldn't so much as crack Jarn's armor so readily.

It served as a good indicator for what he might have to face against Tristan, but Palamedes remained confident that he could overcome Jarn: there was no battle that could wear Palamedes out from sheer endurance, and while he was capable Jarn was still a simple Astarte at the end of the day. Eventually he would tire and things would turn to Palamedes' advantage, especially with the power he had to use to simply match the Daemon Prince's blows.

While the two commanders of the battlefield continued their duel the servants of Palamedes were engaged with Tristan and Levente, the former of whom had barely been able to keep them back thanks to Maliq's cunning strikes being combined with the sheer brutal aggression of Rohkeus. Tristan's experience with Levente gave him insight on how to parry or deter Rohkeus' attacks, but he was slow to react to both of his foes at once. While he tried to formulate the best response to one the other struck, forcing him to recalculate his approach just in time for the other Chaos worshipper to strike and continually press him back. There was simply too much data in the chaos around him for Tristan to dissect his fight and properly defend himself under his current parameters, and so he was continuously flat-footed throughout.

It was a losing engagement for Tristan alone, the other Astartes in the area doing what they could to fend off the smaller fries while Tristan took on the targets that could harm his men, and it was only thanks to Levente's appearance that he was not overwhelmed yet. Tristan had mostly escaped from taking any significant damage thanks to his shielding, but he had been fighting the two since when Levente was still in the city and so his shielding was beginning to drain from the initial ambush seeing hordes of cultists and Heretic Astartes peppering him with gunfire while their masters pummeled away at him. Tristan's defenses were always improving from iteration to iteration, but there was only so much they could take and a small army fighting him for so long was taking its toll.

Twisting one shield from behind him to slam down in front of him and strike Rohkeus' knees while fully blocking the mutated Human's strike, Tristan then turned so that he could use his other Karceri shields as a blunt weapon to bash his foe aside despite being far weaker than him. The shields of the Iron Circle had been able to take strikes from the Daemon Primarch Angron and so they were not at all threatened by Rohkeus despite his strength having been enhanced to perhaps match Jarn's own, and Tristan used this opening to finally take aim with his railgun and fire it into Maliq before the Astarte could land a hit on Levente who had been attacked from behind by more Heretics.

Maliq seemed to sense the lethal attack before it was even fired, his body tearing from where it had been right when Tristan fired and thus narrowly missing him...but killing numerous other Astartes enslaved by Chaos who had been nearby Maliq. Tristan had aimed that way suspecting his otherworldly foe empowered by Chaos might somehow avoid the hit, so he might as well surprise the Astartes behind him who were not even paying attention to him. Palamedes had stated only he was allowed to kill Tristan, and while Rohkeus seemed intent on tying him up for his master Maliq had been throwing killing blows out earlier which gave him the feeling that his foes were not all exactly a cohesive force...not surprising given their nature as wicked servants of Chaos, but something to use all the same to his advantage.

This moment also gave Tristan sight of Jarn facing off against Palamedes, the Warsmith seemingly in an endless stalemate as their blows cracked the earth around them and sent nearby soldiers reeling from the mere aftershock. Before he could contemplate the subject further Rohkeus had leapt back at him with a fierce zeal that showed he took no true damage from Tristan knocking him aside, and so Tristan shifted his physical shields and concentrated his energy shields all in front of him to block the incoming strike even if it meant some bolter and autogun rounds began to ping off his back. He would rather take a bolter round than be struck by the massive thunder hammer wielded by Rohkeus, and so he continued to play defense while Levente pressured Maliq further and further back.

In an effort to break the stalemate Palamedes changed his method of attack, extending his claws made of blood to extreme lengths and swiping them at Jarn while still striking out with his sword, seeking to pierce the Logos through a structural weak point he could locate through an increased number of strikes. Jarn was pushed back onto the defensive by this, using his Power Maul to defend his body at points instead of just twisting it in a constant stream of swings as he could tell what his foe intended. Now given a greater opportunity, Palamedes reshaped his sword into a part of his hand, then slashed outwards with it as the blood once forming the sword now extended his hand's claws further allowing him to continuously swipe with both hands with pinpoint accuracy.

From his body Palamedes formed more tendrils of blood that began to lash out at Jarn much like a mechatendril might, Jarn's own servo-arm having helped parry Palamedes before and inspiring him to add to his arsenal of limbs in an attempt to create a true opening. It was a thrilling sensation to a servant of Khorne to encounter such a worthy opponent, and Palamedes was relishing in the battle even if it was not one he intended to have on this day: he had not expected the Iron Warriors to commit this many forces and to succeed quite as fast as they did when he gave them an opening to strike, but in the end even if this world was lost it would be worth it to finally slay the final soul he pledged to Khorne...Khorne had been satisfied by the slaughter of Tristan Bertrand's entire world, but it wasn't enough for Palamedes who truly worshipped the Chaos Gods. His word was his bond, and he would not allow even one damned soul escape from his promise to his patron.

Despite not being able to land an attack for their past few trades Jarn seemed fine, any strike he did make capable of exploding much of Palamedes' body away from him and grant him a momentary advantage as the Daemon Prince's semi-liquid form reshaped to continue battle. The Warsmith's calm was intriguing to Palamedes, who rightfully assumed Jarn was up to something, but as he whipped endless tendrils of sharpened blood at his foe Palamedes could not help but question more than his intentions in this duel but overall.

"A man of your intellect must know that this farce cannot continue forever: each battle you fight, each enemy you make, will cast a shadow on your future. At some point the debt of blood you accrue will have to be paid in full, and when that happens nothing will save you or those who follow you. There is only war, from now until the last Human draws its breath."

An attack that had been meant to impale through the reinforced collar around Jarn's neck was broken and knocked aside in a spray of blood by Jarn's hammer, the Warsmith grunting in condescension as he did so.

"Vulkan was a fool."

Jarn stepped forward and took a direct hit from Palamedes' blood-claws and tendrils with the brunt of his personal shielding to swipe his hammer through Palamedes' gut, obliterating it even as the blood instantly began to reform and pool around the void he created in the monster's massive form.

"Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned? Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the darkness of the future there is only war? There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods?"

With each sentence Jarn beat Palamedes back as he continued to rely on his shielding which only grew stronger by the moment rather than weaker, as if empowered by something Palamedes had not accounted for yet in the duel. The attacks were punishing but not lethal, and it was enough to stop Palamedes constant assault if but for a moment.

"What a farce. We are the Iron Warriors, those who know no surrender, who stand unbroken even as the world around us crumbles. We are the ones who will bring an end to this cycle of endless war! Unlike those who have forgotten their Human spirit for their own ambitions we are the unbroken sons of the Great Crusade! It is by our will that Utopia shall be reached, and none shall stand in our path to the future we seek!"

With that spoken Jarn twisted his body around to build momentum as Palamedes realized that the Iron Circle had been breaking through his forces nearby and now were closing in. Their Karceri shielding grew in strength the closer they stood to one another, and with similar shields coursing through Jarn's Logos they were empowering him by their mere presence. Their powerful arsenal began to unload upon him, merely a tickle compared to his true durability, but it forced Palamedes to begin reshaping his body around expected attacks and nimbly avoiding hits entirely so he could maintain enough of his body at once to strike out at Jarn.

And then with an odd whip-like crack through the air Palamedes felt most of his torso explode in a torrential shower of blood around him, immediately convening back to him but stopping his intended lunge at Jarn. With a glance Palamedes noticed that Tristan had taken a moment from his own fight to provide covering fire for his Warsmith, also indulging in his personal grudge against Palamedes even if but for a single shot...but what had seemingly been an opportune moment to strike simply provoked the Daemon Prince.

Until now the engagement was one Palamedes was enjoying as a sport, but the Iron Circle closing in and Tristan's meddling had ruined that for him. Now, he was truly out for blood, casting aside any signs of calm in favor of lashing out with one claw to the side. His body was struck by Jarn and the Iron Circle simultaneously as he did this, but Palamedes simply pooled his body and continued pouring more and more blood into his stretching arm as he cut straight through the thick hull of a Vindicator that had returned to provide assistance to Levente.

Jarn growled as the blood of a veteran Iron Warrior named Kombuis was visibly spilt out of the gash formed in the side of the vehicle, continuing his attack and striking Palamedes as the Daemon Prince feasted upon the blood there as well as that fallen on the ground around them...but that was not Palamedes' true goal in striking the Vindicator.

He was once an Astarte as well, and Palamedes knew how to operate a Vindicator from his vast array of knowledge from countless battles.

Kombuis' Vindicator was forcibly twisted from the inside as Palamedes killed its remaining crew-member and moved its controls, something that went unnoticed by most who presumed that the Vindicator shifted due to its driver being slain mid-movement...until it pointed at Tristan and opened fire.

With Rohkeus having captured Tristan's attention again the Triarch did not see the full course of events concerning the Vindicator, nor did he expect an allied Vindicator to fire upon him. This combination of factors left Tristan's reactive shielding mostly focused on the wrong source of incoming attacks, and while his armor was capable it was not entirely impervious to damage. His overlapping shields blocked much of the impact but not all of it before the Demolisher shell meant to level buildings struck Tristan with a deafening explosion. The aftershock knocked Rohkeus away while the Logos Incrementum cracked under the impact, the shrapnel of the shell driving into the cracks formed in it and running Tristan's internal organs through wherever it then broke through his subdermal plating.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

(Part 2)​

 

[Thunderscourge]

Trahaearn Jarn was a patient man. He had to be to have survived his homeworld, and it was a trait beneficial to survival as an Iron Warrior since rushing a siege was a good way to catch a bolter round. He had undergone sieges that the other Legions would never have considered or bothered with because that was his duty and such thankless work was not something he saw as beneath him. The Warsmith even would help his subordinates with routine checks when he had the time because such attention to detail was important even if the task was monotonous or long.

Waiting for Richter to finish operating on Tristan was not something Trahaearn had patience for.

Tristan's near death had seen Jarn call a full-scale retreat from Acgeye using his pupil's prepared extraction plans, deeming the damage done to the Word Bearers sufficient and the loss of yet another Triarch as unacceptable when Tristan was so necessary to his future plans. Jarn had provided Richter with everything he would need to see to Tristan's survival, but despite stabilizing him Tristan remained comatose from what he survived. Not only had he taken a Demolisher Cannon directly, Tristan had also been assaulted by the cultists commanded by the Second Prophet Maliq who seized the opportunity to have the ignorant masses steal Palamedes' kill from him.

Most of their weapons could barely find a hold in Tristan's body even through the broken sections of his personalized armor, the plating beneath his skin deterring much of it except where it too had been broken by the impact. Even so Tristan had been run through by numerous blades scrounged up by the cultists to defend their world, and even if some only just barely penetrated his body they made the shrapnel of the Demolisher Cannon worse. Still standing almost certainly because of his armor, Tristan had seemed like a pincushion of the brutal weapons thrust into his body as his thick armor absorbed most of the damage, the sight of his undying form no doubt etched on the minds the Word Bearers and Iron Warriors present.

A 'mere' Astartes who in his armor stood nearly as tall as the Daemon Prince and remained standing after such a display was enough to terrify the cultists impaling him, their fears made manifest when Tristan cut down those in front of him using the Pale Spear before he lost consciousness. Even stunned and shocked by the attack he had taken Tristan still had a fierce will to survive like the day Jarn had found him, and so it was only natural that he could spend what could have been his last moments killing depraved mortals who had forsaken their world just like the ones who had brought his world to ruination.

Levente had been furious that they retreated at a point where they could have ruined the Word Bearers hunting them once and for all, but Jarn prioritized survival over immediate victory and so recovered Tristan and signaled their forces to retreat. Maliq attempted to hold Tristan hostage against him by threatening to finish him off in his helpless state only for Jarn to call his bluff and attack Maliq before the Heretic could kill Tristan, Maliq's attempt to slash up at Tristan's throat deterred by his still-functional shielding and harmlessly grazing against his armor there.

While Tristan being in control of the Logos Incrementum allowed it to better react to certain attacks, much of its defensive capabilities were passive in nature built on the principle of redundancy, so he was fine as Jarn in a swing of his maul caved Maliq's chest in and knocked him across the field while the Iron Circle held Palamedes back from intervening. Maliq was not slain outright thanks to the powers gifted to him by Khorne like Palamedes, but it did force him to retreat to further recover from his wounds. He had thought he could feed Jarn and Tristan to Palamedes on a platter now that the tide had turned by stalling for a few moments, but Jarn's faith in Tristan had allowed him to completely ignore a threat to his person.

Roughly a hundred of the thousand Iron Warriors deployed had lost their lives in battle with many more sustaining crippling injuries, but in return they had successfully razed every important piece of Acgeye to the ground and ruined the spoils of Palamedes' recent crusades. The damage would set back the Daemon Prince immensely and invite questions to his leadership unless he could obtain a victory in its place, so the Iron Warriors would have their respite and be able to rest easy knowing that everything Palamedes had been prying off them like a vulture had been destroyed rather than left to bolster the forces of Chaos.

Their losses were still a setback however brought about by Palamedes' sudden arrival, as was the near total loss of their Vindicators that had to be left behind due to being too slow to pull back in time after the Daemon's interruption. The Vindicators unable to be recovered were destroyed by the Iron Warriors themselves to prevent them from falling into the Word Bearers' hands, but at least the Iron Legion could construct more after they finished their current projects to replace those sacrificed so their crew could catch rides on retreating Razorbacks.

With Tristan seemingly stable Richter had moved his attention to other Iron Warriors in need of aid, Tristan remaining in Ossus' old office where he had been operated on due to it being the only medical station capable of properly holding his long body. Richter was treating others in their general medical bay adjacent, but the sounds of his Apothecary work were lost on Jarn who had remained by Tristan's side. He knew rationally that his presence there would mean little to Tristan's chances of survival, but it gave him time and space to reflect without the interference of others.

Idly Jarn began to look around the room with its many cultural artifacts, his eyes in particular drawn to a painting of the Sapphire Mountains on Kimara made by Ossus despite the Apothecary not having personal experience with them. He had to have used passages and references from Kimaran sources to make it, and it certainly was beautiful to behold as a native who had seen the landscape firsthand. They finally were within reach of returning to Kimara, they only needed to finish the project that their resources had been poured into all this time. It was set for completion since years ago, but now it was finally about to come to pass.

Despite what Humanity was lost in becoming an Astarte it was a simple fact that Jarn still missed his home, and he only hoped that the Imperium had not treated it too harshly in the time since his departure.

Ossus had been unable to bring much with him on his infiltration mission alongside Asier and Urkamus Squad and would not dare risk his precious personal collection on such a journey, his office thus remaining a miniature museum awaiting his return. Most of it was of little interest to Jarn whose artistic side was more invested in building, but he did appreciate the tasteful side of his top Apothecary.

One thing that did draw Jarn's attention however was a bookcase with texts from many different worlds and cultures that Ossus had at some point come into contact with, likely having traded for them from various Iron Warriors over the years since Ossus was rarely in the field himself given his duties and when he was his attention was on preventing death rather than finding books. That was more in the domain of the Thousand Sons after all. Most of them held little interest to Jarn whose tastes remained on the mechanical and contruction plane of artistry, but perusing them while sitting beside Tristan did grant the Warsmith an interesting find.

Ossus had come into possession of some books he marked as having been from Tristan's planet, likely taken during their deployments to the surface and eventually making their way to the Apothecary's collection. Unlike other books on his shelf that were labeled by their known world those belonging to Tristan's lacked a title for the planet, as the medieval planet had been far from the point of possessing such an identity, if such a thing had not just been forgotten with the passage of time from its initial settling. Still, Ossus had put the books aside to their own place and labeled them by their relation to Tristan, along with a note explaining that they were not to be touched and were meant for Tristan's perusal when he was ready to do so.

Ignoring the note entirely, Jarn pored over the tomes for anything of possible note, only to find that they mostly covered folklore concerning various monsters and beasts present on the planet that could have been entirely fictional by nature. Of them one did manage to satisfy his curiosity however, that being a book dedicated to a being known as a 'Lich' that had been drawn in a way that reminded Jarn of the skeletal Necrontyr.

Given that Necrontyr possessed elite soldiers known as 'Lychguard' it gave Jarn more reason to observe the story told within, as even if it was nothing but a fairy tale it might possibly grant insight into a Xenos race that could stand in their way. Asier seemed quite knowledgeable about Necrontyr and had assisted Jarn in understanding some of their technology, but he was absent and so Jarn was left to carry on without his companion's insight. Whether it was Humanity applying its own terminology to the Necrontyr or if the Necrontyr happened to just possess similar terminology for their members was something Jarn hoped to one day discover, as it was quite odd he found that such similarities as Lych and Lich came about between species that until recent millennia had minimal contact with one another.

Within Jarn found a tale told not unlike the stories told on Kimara about their own folk legends, only instead of Jormungaros it was a tale about a man whose powers were such that he could raise the dead from the earth they lay within. Seemingly a Psyker, though not described as such by the author who likely had no concept for what a Psyker was, the man began his studies just as a curiosity of how to apply the talent he was born with. Aiding him was a childhood friend who lived in the same village as him, a daughter of the servants to his noble household, and whereas the young Lord was described as sickly she was spoken of in terms of exuberant life and high spirits.

With the untimely passing of his parents at a young age the Lord was left only to be alongside his servants who dutifully supported him in the years to come, all the while he possessed a personal assistant in the form of his friend who encouraged the Lord to continue learning about his magical powers as a method to subvert his poor health. It was in a twist of fate that she would perish at the cusp of adulthood while he would live on for years after, her life stripped away by the actions of outsiders belonging to a neighboring nation that had begun a surprise invasion of the Lord's homeland.

This personal tragedy would see the Lord redirect his general efforts in mastering his Psyker powers into those concerned with raising the dead, for he felt empty without his companion who had previously been his reason for living. If only he could undo the fate which befell her maybe he could feel alive again, and so he resolved himself to finding a cure for death itself. The war's outbreak provided him with ample subjects to study and learn from with his experiments, though answers into the truth beyond death eluded him for years of tireless effort. A new passion had gripped him, and when eventually his manor came under siege he had no time to spare for the invaders whose armies had taken his companion from him years prior.

Graves surrounded the former noble household for miles to come thanks to the invasion spreading death and disease, and to protect the preserved corpse of his friend the Lord called the dead to rise. His efforts and studies had not gone without fruit, and whereas he once was only able to command a single corpse he now could call forth the hundreds in his surroundings all at once. The secret to bringing them back to true life and retaining their souls and personalities remained a mystery, but he needed more time if he was to unlock such secrets and so he wiped out all who dared to intrude upon his decaying abode without mercy. Legions of the foreign soldiers fell in moments as from beneath them skeletons and decayed corpses rose up and dragged them down to join them in death, an event which would see the war break and peace be re-established as the few who survived fled to tell tale of what the noble's nation was seemingly capable of.

This act had not been without cost to the Lord however, as his frail constitution failed him and illness nearly took him in the days after. Should he have been struck down then perhaps he never would have risen, but his faithful servants came through for him. With their ages being considerably older than the young Lord's many have fallen ill and would have perished over the years, but rather than allow them to leave him as well the Lord saw fit to extend their life through 'undeath'. Rather than true death, their bodies remained in a form of stasis, functioning similar to how they had in life without truly perishing. Through years of practicing such noble yet ignoble acts upon those around him the Lord was able to do the same to himself, at which point his magical powers expanded in an unexpected fashion: whereas in life he had been unintentionally draining those around him to sustain his weak form, in death he was able to do the same via the dead.

By taking the life essence of those who had departed the Lord was able to further his magical talents, though by doing so he rendered their remains without any vitality to bring them to 'life'. Even so this discovery aided the Lord in his research by empowering him to conjure more powerful spells and forms of magic, though the timing of it could not have been worse. Word spread of his summoning of the dead to defend his manor, and while it was credited with ending the war those of his own nation felt unease at the thought of some powerful necromancer rising within their kingdom. Their church saw fit to condemn his actions and practices as a necromancer, a term he would then be known as for a time by many since those who knew of his name had been among the dead, and so to allegedly carry out the will of God they marched upon his home with their holiest of knights.

Attempts to explain himself left the Necromancer at the mercy of the knights, who he would have submit to due to holding no true malice towards them until they used his attempt to parlay to slaughter his servants. Now without anyone he had ever known left to him in the world the Necromancer lost much of his connection to his humanity, and without a word slaughtered the knights present with dark energies and ice magic he had come to possess from his growing psychic potential. With the death of the Church's knights came a direct proclamation of war between his kingdom and the Necromancer, and whereas once he would have been horrified by the prospect now he held nothing but contempt for the living: if they would stand in the way of his attempts to fix death itself then they were deserving of it. After all, if he was truly successful in learning the secrets to reviving the dead, then all those he killed now could be returned to life could they not?

With this in mind skeletons marched against soldiers and slaughtered them to the last man, those who willingly fought being turned into further undead or having their powers drained by the Necromancer so he could raise larger forces to protect him. The countless dead around his home that once were his townsfolk were soon raised to march onward and slaughter the cities that sent the soldiers to kill the Necromancer, the innocents slain just more souls he would have to return once he had assured his survival and perfected his craft. Hundreds turned into thousands, and eventually an entire region of his former kingdom fell under the Necromancer's influence. He still only sought to bring back those he had lost, hoping to one day be reunited with his family, his friend, and his retainers, but increasing numbers of his former countrymen stood against him and that goal.

Despite his power growing exponentially in this time from the dead whose essence he consumed the Necromancer remained unable to truly revive the dead, testing it on unimportant subjects so he could see if it was possible before trying it on those he could not afford to fail with. In response to his wiping out several cities assassins were sent to take him out without contributing to his overall hordes of undead, and in this way the Necromancer nearly met his end. If he had not been so focused on using his studies to ensure his own continued survival to thus further study he would have met his end to any number of blades, but instead the Necromancer was resolute in surviving until he could be rejoined by those lost to their cruel fates.

With magic sustaining him and granting him a vitality far beyond what was possible for Humans to possess the Necromancer decided to consume the power of his exponentially growing undead army, suddenly possess power enough to directly control his very own soul. It had only been a theory at the time, but he had believed that since the soul had to reside in a vessel he could create an object that would protect it even in the case of his (im)mortal form falling in some battle. Called a Phylactery, he crafted this wonderous magical item that would hold his soul such that it would not be drawn to the afterlife even if he sustained damage.

Reckless in his pursuit of knowledge, the Necromancer approached the armies closing in on him and fought them...and perished. Many of those assailing him fell in battle, but the Kingdom of the living had seemingly reigned victorious. They paraded their victory, celebrated their success, and mourned those they lost to the foul sorcerer who plagued the land...but none dared enter his home for the dark aura of foul magic still surrounded it, and if they had they would have known that he had been rejuvenated there. Now believed dead, he was free to continue his search for knowledge for years without incident, and the Necromancer felt his knowledge of his arcane studies growing with each cadaver he experimented with.

This era of peace would come to an end when a group of adventurous braggarts sought to enter the dark Necromancer's home to prove their bravery, upon which they discovered to their horror corpses in various states of undeath as well as the gaunt man in control of them. Having been undead for many years, the Necromancer possessed a pale skintone even as his body remained otherwise preserved from the effects of death and it gave him an even more intimidating presence than the aura of screaming souls he possessed. When one of the adventurers managed to escape the ensuing slaughter some would speculate that they were allowed to run, for that way others might come and offer themselves up to the ghoul within.

Word spread quickly and the prospect of facing the Necromancer once again was so daunting to the kingdom that it sought the aid of neighboring countries, for should its people fall their corpses would be risen perhaps to invade those lands as well. Out of collective fear two other countries joined in militarily and a third monetarily in the effort to destroy this Necromancer, now called a 'Lich' given his advanced form of undeath. Thousands of brave men armed with the most capable gear they could be given by their countries marched forth to battle together, but it was too late. When they arrived their souls were ripped from their bodies by the waiting Lich, crushed outright by dark magic, transformed into the undead without ever having perished, and others were frozen to death by blizzards summoned as if from a whim.

The countries to have endangered the Lich and his still preserved companion were soon wiped off the face of the continent by their own soldiers sent back to them, after which countless were sacrificed to further empower the Lich in his pursuit of life. Blessed with an immortal form that few could hope to injure he was left with seemingly all the time in the world, and with entire nations of bodies to learn from his goal was all but in the palm of his hand...or so he thought.

Decades and centuries passed by in the blink of an eye, the Lich single-mindedly devoted to feeling the warmth he once experienced as a Human being, only for the secret to life remaining outside of his grasp eternally. He had been able to bind and control his own soul, but precise control of those belonging to others remained ever outside his grip. Tales of the Lich would be spread throughout the world in the time to pass, but sightings of him or his undead would become ever scarcer as time went on and he became withdrawn.

Some spoke of how he came to realize through his research that there was no cure for death, that he could never return the dead to life with the powers he possessed, and that with his sole attachment to this world gone he simply drifted off into the afterlife. Others claim that he continued his dark machinations to this day, forever bound by his love for those now gone and only waiting for the right moment to make himself known again when sacrifices were called upon.

Finishing the tale, Jarn thought to the 'Phylactery' he used in his armor that was quite different in concept to the soulbound object in the story. The Necrontyr technology utilized nanoscarabs to seemingly knit their Necrodermis back together when it was damaged, or 'Living Metal' as some called it. Jarn had managed to repurpose one such relic to repair his armor, and it was something he was proud of given that most of his accomplishments were on the battlefield rather than mechanical in nature. His personal 'Phylactery', the Logos Secundus, and the vessel being constructed at their shipyard were what he hoped future generations would know him for beyond just his surname and battlefield accomplishments. He was an Iron Warrior at heart and so the Warsmith enjoyed building more than he did destroying things, but the latter was something he was talented at and was required to do so the former could be done.

Still, the story told by Tristan's civilization gave Jarn an idea, as it was likely Tristan had heard stories such as this growing up and would be familiar with the concept. It would require a lot of resources, valuable ones in particular, but Tristan had mined entire worlds for their fleet and so deserved it if it meant he could live on and further contribute to their ideals. The Phylactery in the story actually sounded more like an Eldar's Spirit Stone, and fortunately Asier knew a Drukhari who was meddling with such matters...the man who called himself Alpharius claimed that in return for other services the Drukhari craftsman had made an altered Spirit Stone using both Drukhari and Aeldari technology that could bond a Human's soul upon their passing, preventing it from passing on to the Warp and also allowing for their hypothetical revival by said Drukhari's Haemonculi allies.

Jarn knew better than to trust a Drukhari at his word, but he trusted Asier with his life, especially since Asier had acquired a handful of such specialized stones for the purpose of preserving the Jarn dynasty. According to Asier the cult of personality held by the Jarn family on Kimara would prove invaluable for the formation of their renewed Imperium, as that was not loyalty that could be readily subverted or destroyed even in the face of immense strife. Asier spoke to being unable to presently give them to Jarn's kin on Kimara, but promised he would when able and so Trahaearn accepted what he was told since to question Asier at this point would be to undermine their entire relationship. There were just some things Jarn knew Asier could not say to him and in fact asked him not to, and that was for the best.

It did make Jarn wonder what seeing his kin would be like though, and if they would in any way resemble him and his family from so many eons ago. It was an idle thought of an old man who longed for family, though fortunately his other project with Asier would ensure that their men would not suffer such pangs of familial loss.

The Warsmith was not about to test the Spirit Stone entrusted to him, but it did figure into his idea about Tristan. Given that there was almost certainly going to be a time that Jarn could not step in and aid Tristan against Palamedes it made sense to prepare Tristan for the worst, and so Jarn went to his personal workshop and began work.

Days went by before he was finished, but once he was Jarn felt proud in this new creation of his that built off the work he did with the Logos Secundus. It took convincing for Richter to allow him to implant the bionic heart Jarn had crafted, but Ossus' student eventually relented when he realized that there would be no stopping Tristan from facing dangerous foes and thus anything that could protect his former squad member was welcome even if it was experimental. Tristan was already half-dead after all, so perhaps implanting something that could hold onto his soul would help keep it inside of his body instead of allowing it to fly off and join the Emperor. It was a miracle Tristan was alive by the apothecary's approximation, but having known Tristan for over half a century Richter also knew better than to be surprised.

The surgery was successful and Jarn finally laid down to rest for the first time in days, Arien laying beside him and leaning his soft forehead against Jarn's abdomen. That spot had been one where Palamedes had left a fairly sizable bruise on him, but Jarn was so used to aches and pain after centuries of conflict that it did not bother him in the slightest. If anything having his animal companion of all these years gently touch it helped massage it, even if it was just an accident on part of the oblivious Ixolotl.

When Jarn woke he found Arien sitting at his desk eating ice cream pawned off of random spare pieces of Jarn's newest creation left around, and while he could get mad he knew what vending machine his pet always went to with his things. Arien had done well by him all this time and had been useful while constructing Tristan's bionic heart to replace the secondary heart lost to shrapnel, so he deserved to enjoy the fruit of his labor.

Tristan however was not at Ossus' office when Jarn went to check on how he was reacting to the bionic implant, prompting Jarn to sigh and wonder whether Arien was his most obedient student. Richter would have left Tristan instructions not to leave, and there was no way he was discharged, so his willful pupil was off likely making his injuries reopen out of some misplaced sense of duty.

Jarn knew where his student would be at a time like this, and so made his way over to the Dodekatheon to find the missing Astarte. Surely enough Tristan was immediately visible at his workstation within with his myriad of projects lined around him in their various states of completion or improvement. Tristan's pale white body was illuminated by the light flashing off the Logos Incrementum as he worked on remaking it after its near destruction in the previous battle, it being obvious by Tristan's intense focus and concentration that he was intent on rectifying whatever 'flaws' existed in its design to allow him to have been nearly slain outright by friendly-fire. Even as he worked though it was obvious he was in poor condition as his body ever so slightly trembled, a sign of intense pain and/or exhaustion on the part of the stoic man.

And a man he was now, something made more evident by Tristan's lack of clothing above the waist. Scars and muscle lined his incredibly thin form for an Astarte, but having helped train him Jarn knew firsthand that despite looking relatively fragile Tristan was instead built solid. Lanky limbs afforded him incredible reach in battle, and while he was no stronger than the average Astarte for his mass he had more mass to him. Whereas Levente was strong ever for one with mountains of muscle, Tristan was merely average for a giant: he could deal damage with the advantages afforded by his height alone, and most importantly it granted him an intimidation factor against lesser foes to be many times their size.

Jet black hair messily cascaded down from Tristan's head, its length such that it rested beneath his shoulders and had to occasionally be moved out of his way. Wearing his hair long was just one of a few symbols of his past as a knight's son, the other most prominent one being the only ascetic decision on the Logos Incrementum being his family's sigil being emblazoned upon it. His work was a thing of beauty to a craftsman and it was no doubt that his father would have been proud, just as Jarn was now, but it stood in contrast to the many scars lining Tristan's body from his tendency to take hits rather than avoid them. Tristan had managed to keep his face essentially undamaged, but his torso definitely was worse for wear even before his recent injuries and surgery saw him cut open yet again.

Mechatendrils fastened to a harness on Tristan's back aided him in his work, it being near seamless despite his physical suffering as he tirelessly sought to improve upon his armor's most recent iteration. One limb of the Iron Kraken was not working, however, as it was instead dedicated to occasionally tapping the Akran hanging from a miniature greenhouse Tristan made for his station. By touching it gently every so often the Akran would rock back and forth in a way that seemed to please the flora while also satiating Tristan's obsessive compulsive tendencies that saw him at times go mentally blank when for some reason or another what he was looking for was not where it should be. Everything had a place it needed to be for him to work unimpeded, and when something altered that he was never pleased even if it was as simple as his Akran no longer serving as a metronome by moving back and forth.

In the area around Tristan were various automata that reminded Jarn of his own, as the Iron Circle had been brutalized by Palamedes when attempting to hold him back and would require extensive repairs before he could field them again. Tristan had survived though as had the majority of their men, so his personal guards had done their job, especially since most of Castiel's forces had been left behind to man the fleet in Tristan's place during the invasion. The Fallen they had joined forces with had extensive experience with commanding fleets so while they were 'guests' on paper their fervent loyalty was repaid with such trust at times, showing them to be allies in full despite their different Legions.

First among the automata present were skeletal humanoids designed with a compact form that saw them resistant to damage while also low in material cost. In functionality and capability they were akin to Skitarii but lacking the independent thought of the 'Tech-Guard' of the Mechanicus who while subservient still possessed individual thought unlike Servitors. Without direction these automata possessed severely reduced combat performance, but their minimalist and efficient construction made them an ideal soldier for attrition warfare.

So long as their casualties were recovered they could be either repaired to functionality or scrapped to form new automata in their place, their general lack of complexity in their wiring and programming meaning even their internal systems were expendable. It was a simple and practical solution to the primary issue faced by Iron Warriors who lacked access to reliable means of replacing their losses and thus a solution to the gradual bleeding of talent the Iron Legion was faced with. These automata were ill-equipped for tasks more complex than wading into enemy gunfire and holding ground, but other forces could handle the complexities of battle that they could not and their overseers on the battlefield also could provide more precise direction if absolutely necessary.

Another experimental automata built by Tristan was one inspired by life mostly spent aboard the Eisernen for he was not the only one to benefit from technology taken from Necromunda and examples of it could be found with the Mithril Dragoon and their families. Having seen a Cyber-Mastiff, also known as Kill-Dogs and Razorfangs, belonging to one such family it gave Tristan the idea to upscale the mechanical creation into a weapon of war rather than just population control. Typically used by Arbites to assist in their law enforcement, the Cyber-Mastiff greatly ranged in form and degree of mechanical components with some merely being enhanced flesh and blood creatures while yet others were machines with a central nervous system derived from such an animal.

Given the short lifespan of canines compared to Humans and especially Astartes the former held little interest to Tristan, but granting a loyal animal companion nigh eternal life by mechanizing them held appeal. With this driving principle he began by studying the methods of implanting an animal's central nervous system and mind into their now mechanical form, his aim being to ensure that the creatures did not suffer, react poorly to this change, or lose their prior attachments and bonds to their owners. It would be pointless to undergo such a practice if the end result was a vicious snarling beast with no relation to its former self, and so by ensuring such degradation and issues did not arise Tristan ensured that the ends were not tainted by the means.

After successfully mastering the process to ensure that canine companions could be nigh-immortalized through machinery Tristan began work on more practical measures in the eyes of an Astarte: how to properly utilize them for warfare. If the Loyalist 'Space Wolves', a term Tristan found odd appreciation for given how straightforward it was, could go into battle with their own canine companions then he saw no reason the Iron Warriors could not as well with proper mechanical input. While initial models were only moderately larger than the average wolf or larger domestic canine eventually Tristan's propensity to tinker and improve everything he worked on to its logical endpoint saw the creation of far larger metal beasts.

It was for this reason that Jarn noted a resting 'Iron Wolf', an allegedly placeholder name given by Tristan that Jarn had little doubt his creatively devoid pupil would end up keeping, with the overall mass of a Predator tank albeit with a narrow profile. Atop its back was a cannon emplacement that could be fitted with various autocannons and, if Jarn knew his student as well as he thought he did, likely an Earthshaker cannon variant was in the works. What caught Tristan's attention and interest did not fade in the Astarte's mind, and so of course Tristan would find a way to turn what was once a simple endeavor into a method of delivering more firepower to the battlefield. Unlike tracked vehicles the Iron Wolves would be able to traverse difficult terrain well, and their four legs granted them superior stability as a weapon platform than Imperial Knights and even Dreadnoughts.

On paper it made sense, though Jarn could not help but feel a tinge of warm exasperation at Tristan's dedication to the art of firepower.

A similar endeavor also rested nearby in the workshop in the form of an 'Iron Scorpion' modelled after the Greater Brass Scorpions of Khorne, mimicking its name and chosen animal shape while eschewing any form of technology born from Chaos. It was a seeming point of pride and principle on Tristan's part that whatever the Dark Mechanicus and their ilk could create through their dark pacts he could create a purely mechanical version of, lacking the Warp-infused powers of their counterparts but instead lacking the twisted and destructive personalities that could result from their Daemonic origins. Like with the autocannon he recreated an approximation of as a child so too had Tristan been able to craft similar recreations of technology he encountered and studied, displaying the same kind of insight into mechanical matters that Perturabo himself had been gifted with.

That had been what led to Jarn's recruitment of the boy, but it was easy to forget Tristan's humble beginnings after all he had accomplished in the years since. While lacking the personal record on the battlefield that many others possessed his contributions to the Dodekatheon were substantial, and he would have been a ranking member of it, the Apolakron, and Kheledakos in the Great Crusade had fortune seen him join them at that time. Almost everything he worked on was based on recreating existing technology or using pieces from other machines to improve whatever it was he was focused on, and while it incurred a great material cost it meant that in under a century Tristan had already improved much of their existing equipment and vehicles beyond the performance they possessed even during the Great Crusade with the aid of the Mechanicus.

All Jarn had to do was let Tristan sit and work as he pleased, moving between projects and ideas as his mind pieced together how to improve them bit by bit in its own divergent process to others. Sometimes the result of Tristan's work would be giant mechanized animals with massive firepower comparable to tanks, Defilers, and even Greater Brass Scorpions, but in creating such things Tristan gained knowledge to better improve his work in other fields and thus their technology benefitted as a whole. With how they had strip-mined countless worlds over a century the common materials needed to fuel Tristan's work were a drop of water in an ocean, but the rarer technology and pieces had long required the aid of Asier to acquire.

Perhaps one of the most notable instances of this was Tristan's reverse-engineering of Necrontyr equipment acquired by Jarn in his battles with them in years long since past. It was not as if the Iron Legion had much to spare regarding the Xenos' technology, but Jarn had allowed Tristan access to it nonetheless out of curiosity to see what his pupil could accomplish. The complexity and advanced nature of it had made discovery slow, but through simple trial and error testing in a controlled environment Tristan had managed to extract basic information about their functionality that allowed for him to recreate it on a basic level.

Rather than understanding the technology itself he was able to understand how the Necrontyr did it, mimicking their work even if he lacked the necessary knowledge to understand all of the pieces. If in a mathematical equation the sum of variables X and Y is Z it does not quite matter if you know X, Y, or Z if you are able to put them together properly to reach the expected end, and in that way Tristan tapped into a small piece of the Necrontyr technology left over after Jarn's own experimentation prior to even discovering Tristan. While Jarn had tinkered with valuable relics taken and incorporated some of it into his revised Logos it had been the more common technology that captured Tristan's interest. It was because of this that his first 'breakthrough' into just figuring out how to mimic their technology came in crafting capsules to store items of greater size than the inside of the capsules.

The ability of the Necrontyr to warp space and time was incredible, and so while absolutely minor and insignificant compared to their ability to shift through reality efficiently storing objects was an incredible boon to the relatively backwards technological capabilities for Humans. Tristan's lack of intimate knowledge into Necrontyr systems and materials meant that the capsules he crafted held nowhere near the potential or capability as what a member of the Xenos could create, but that did not diminish his intuitive genius that made him useful to the Iron Legion beyond his duties as an Astarte.

At the present time the capsules were just under two feet in diameter and had to take the form of spheres, further reduction in their size wholly stripping them of their functionality given the materials at Tristan's disposal did not match those of the Necrontyr. Ten times the volume of the capsules themselves could be stored within, though another limitation present saw that it had to be inorganic matter which saw the capsules' usage strictly prohibited to transferring the resources they pilfered. While studying their weapons could have produced some results as well, being able to haul more resources from each conquest meant that in raw efficiency their operations had sharply increased. Tristan might not be slaying thousands of foes personally every engagement like Levente, but his losses were minimal and his material gains far greater.

Just as certain members of the Mechanicus were working to unlock the secrets of their Xenos foes so too did Jarn see the value in studying whatever technology they came across, and Tristan possessed exactly the type of mind necessary to work through such secrets. He was a former member of the Dodekatheon of Perturabo after all, the student of his favored son Forrix, and so while not as capable as Tristan the Warsmith was still far beyond the average Astarte when it came to technical matters.

Another example of Tristan's delving into Xenos technology was a series of artificial crystals born of research into their Legion's acquired Necrontyr equipment. Tristan lacked a complete understanding of the Pylons they acquired but proved himself capable with the Dodekatheon's resources to create something based upon them, once again incapable of tapping into the full potential of the mysterious crystals and components of Necrontyr technology but still through route replication accomplishing something of note.

Whereas his capsules provided the Iron Legion with better transportation methods for massive quantities of resources these 'Symbols' as he called them for their regal appearance contained within them enough energy within them to empower weapons batteries, shielding emplacements, and other such pieces of equipment that would otherwise need a stable power source. The Symbols in this way were mobile batteries that greatly surpassed a power generator of the same size and could provide energy for far longer before necessitating a new charge. For an army that focused on long campaigns and sieges being able to more efficiently field their equipment was an improvement across the board to their effectiveness and allowed them to regularly field shielding to protect their artillery rather than only being able to sparingly do so.

Simple in practice, these technological advancements had picked up the pace of their plans and Jarn was reminded of how Forrix once taught him how to efficiently manage an entire battalion of Astartes, armor, weapons, support craft, and more at once so as to create the best outcome on the battlefield. He had instilled similar values in Tristan and now saw them paying dividends, for while Tristan also worked to improve their weapons and armor he did so in simple ways that with the proper effort could be replicated by his brethren en masse. Through simple trial and error while applying the mechanical knowledge he learned under Jarn it became possible for Tristan to raise the floor of their equipment's performance as well as allowing for new ceilings to be reached on occasion, applying on principle the knowledge acquired to everything they possessed rather than hording the knowledge for himself.

While his Logos Incrementum utilized rare equipment in it, the basic premises of its components were far simpler: overlapping shield generators, ablative armor, subdermal armor implants, and actual physical shields over hardened armor. Tristan had utilized rarer materials for each of these to improve his personal protection, but more common materials could easily be substituted for a more resource-efficient version of the same armor. In this way once they had their roots settled on Kimara Jarn could foresee equipping many of their elite forces with such armor, as while it lacked certain functionality in narrow spaces it would make them nigh untouchable juggernauts on the battlefield. Tristan's own injuries only were suffered through severe effort and from weapons lesser armor would have been wholly torn apart by, proving its effectiveness by how he survived what ought to have been fatal strikes.

Jarn's smile was a cross between amusement and pride as he saw Tristan working, his Triarch member not even seemingly noticing him until he spoke.

"In some ways you remain the boy I found so many years ago."

Tristan did not deny that he remained mostly the same person he was then, even with his change into an Astarte, but he still was young in many ways and despite decades having passed was still entirely junior compared to the Warsmith, "I still have much to learn."

"Then you can begin by learning to rest properly. Your body may be that of an Astarte, but we are all Human."

"I can recover here and work. I cannot work in a medical bay."

Jarn approached him and planted a bare hand on Tristan's back, having not donned his armor after waking.

"Not every waking moment has to be spent as efficiently as possible. Rest can give way to productivity."

Tristan seemed unable to look Jarn in the eye, as if he was ashamed, though his reason for being meek in response would immediately reveal itself given Tristan's blunt nature.

"I failed. Even now I could not overcome the pawns of the one I promised to slay with my own two hands."

It was a simple thing, but sometimes with how deferential Tristan could be Jarn forgot the boy's pride. It was a blessing and a curse, and Jarn would rather his student take pride in his accomplishments than forever allow himself to be sidelined. The flipside however was that when he failed it hurt more, just like with Levente, and so Jarn decided to give Tristan advice as well.

"You possess talent, but each of us is the one who stands in our own way to improvement. We cannot improve what is around us if we do not first improve ourselves, though sometimes a helping hand is required. You never will be a duelist like Levente, Sigismund, or countless others. You will always be the slowest Astarte of our ranks, and there are countless battles that could be fought that would see you routed and torn apart without mercy while unable to properly retaliate."

Tristan finally looked up to Jarn, pausing his work to instead parse what he was saying. Sure that he had his attention, Jarn decided to pass along some wisdom Asier had shared with him about a time where Perturabo learned a lesson from Dorn despite their rivalry.

"Raw data can blind one to the truth rather than grant it. The weight of it and the burden it carries, especially if one engages with it without break or rest, will hold you back. That to achieve clarity one must step away even in the thick of combat to clear your mind and focus, to shed the extraneous and the superficial. Only then can you contemplate and reduce the immeasurable complexity of the arithmetic down to simple principles and return capable of true victory. Would you believe that such wisdom came from a man as stubborn as Rogal Dorn?"

It was immediately evident on Tristan's face that he was already discounting what was said given the source came from the fool of the infamous Iron Cage incident, but Jarn stopped his student before he could dismiss it entirely.

"To quote our Primarch, only a fool ignores the advice of a brilliant man, and only an idiot denies the good practice of an enemy. It is a lesson I have taken to heart, and like Perturabo I have found clarity where I never would have expected to find it before: by separating from the data entirely and withdrawing briefly you can feel it. Numbers have their purpose and place, but never forget that we are Human at our core, not machines: we are imperfect beings who do not function solely on logic or reason, and recognizing that will allow you to better tap into your potential."

Tristan nodded, contemplating what was said and now thinking of how to best apply it for himself. He was capable of reading the data on the battlefield and devising the perfect counters to tactics and attacks, but by observing all data it slowed him down...it would be difficult to let go of the control all the data feeding into his brain afforded him, but perhaps he could manage.

"Calculating the outcomes of battle is something a warrior must do on the field of battle moment to moment, and it is this sense of the flow that allows others such as Levente to thrive where you falter. I see it when you fight, you seek the optimal solution to each and every minutiae in combat and it keeps you from properly reacting. By the time you reach your conclusion it is often too late, or just barely in time, always leaving you on the back-foot and granting your opponent the initiative. Indecision will cost you your life, the reason does not matter. The only thing keeping you alive right now is your armor, something that is not to be ashamed of but rather built off of. So long as it is necessary for your success it will remain a crutch, but if you can learn the lesson our Primarch did I expect you will be an even more frightening combatant than you are now. Should that occur I am certain you could overcome even one such as Palamedes."

Jarn might have continued if not for Tristan suddenly falling forward to let out a cough of blood, his body not yet recovered yet already showing major signs of recovery since his surgery. Astartes were capable of even recovering from severe wounds in short order given the right conditions, but Tristan's bionic heart had been augmented to actually hasten his recovery process further. Despite getting up and working when he should be resting Tristan was actually functional, and so Jarn had faith that his new system was working as intended.

It just needed a little more testing.

"Pushing ourselves is our nature, but this once I will ask you to not do so," Jarn patted Tristan again supportively, but this time actually paid attention to what he felt when doing so. Where Jarn's hand touched he felt Tristan's Black Carapace harden ever so slightly in reaction, and thanks to Tristan's lack of clothing he could see a slight, soft grey-blue discoloration there too. More serious testing could wait, but for now Jarn felt better knowing that his student would be better prepared to face Palamedes when the Daemon next hunted him.

Tristan's coughing subsided shortly after it began with him seeming to force his body to not do so out of stubborn willpower, only to suddenly cough again twice and for his mechatendril rocking his Akran back and forth to instead 'punch' it off its perch. While possessing a relaxed personality, so too was the Akran impish like all of its species and repaid this accidental striking with a kick to Tristan's lowered head as it laid atop his desk. Where it struck Tristan's forehead the same discoloration as his shoulder appeared, and Jarn felt grateful to the odd pet Tristan kept for himself all these years for its assistance in further testing Tristan's implant.

Jarn started to help Tristan stand up, intent on bringing him to Ossus' office again whether his student wanted to or not, "You may not have even noticed yet with the pain you are in, but your secondary heart was irreparably damaged. Richter did what he was able to save you, while I was able to grant you a bionic replacement of my own making."

It was evident by Tristan adding to his body rather than replacing pieces of it that he did not care for bionics, but he was pragmatic enough to know that a mechanical second heart was superior to none at all. For this purpose he had no issue with his mentor implanting one on him, especially while he was at death's door and it may have helped his condition remain stable.

Sensing Tristan's approval, Jarn continued, "I call it the Iron Phylactery, and it has numerous components. Of course it functions as your secondary heart once did, but I have also added to it additional pieces and surrounded them all in a protective casing. Beyond its basic functionality is a modified Eldar Spirit Stone gifted by Asier to protect your soul, and a pair of micro-factories based on technology from the Cult of the Micro-Omnissiah and Necrontyr."

Tristan allowed Jarn to begin leading him towards Ossus' office, but his pained face did perk up when he realized that Jarn upgraded his total defense system in a way Tristan had not even considered.

"One micro-factory will utilize nanomachines that are connected to your blood stream, assisting in sealing your wounds and hastening your recovery. Your blood is still finite, but it will be harder for you to spill it: an important feature I felt would prove important if you truly intend to defeat a Daemon Prince of Khorne."

That went without saying as far as Tristan was concerned, willing to augment his body and armor with whatever technological means he could so long as it meant he could be the one to finish Palamedes off. His approval was evident whether he knew it or not, Jarn catching a miniscule grin on his student's lip.

"The other is connected to your nervous system, much like the Black Carapace it is also linked to. For this I utilized nanomachines made of Mithril to react to trauma reactively, moving and hardening as necessary. Just as your Black Carapace gives you a sense of control over your armor, so too does it allow you to control these nanomachines. Even unarmored you will resist most incoming damage, though you may notice that your overall agility has been further decreased."

It did not take too long for Jarn to guide Tristan to the medical wing of the Eisernen, and once there Jarn helped Tristan lay down with as little pain as possible. He cared for him and Levente like the sons he never truly got to have, and so while he had trouble displaying it at times he wanted them to be spared the pain and suffering he had endured these many years.

With Tristan now laying down Jarn took a seat beside him, "Given your rise in station it is time that we discussed details concerning our Legion's objectives and operations, but that can wait until you are fully functional. For now rest...I will bring Levente and we can share our tales from the last battle. You two may not have much in common, but I feel that you will be able to bond over millions of deceased Heretics."

Tristan turned his head and gave a nod in thanks, unable to properly speak just yet as his recovering lungs fought the urge to cough blood onto the Warsmith. By the time the Warsmith stood to retrieve Levente, Tristan finally was able to speak up.

"Thank you...for everything."

Jarn nodded his head, just grateful that he was able to hear his 'son' once again. That day would be a rare one throughout the history of Tristan and Levente's relationship where they both sat down with the Warsmith and were entirely genial throughout. For all their differences, for all the resentment they might hold towards the other, they both respected their Warsmith, and it was through the shared description of Jarn and Levente of Tristan standing after being shot by the Vindicator that he came to possess the moniker of "The Iron Lich". Even Levente could not deny that withstanding such an attack was worthy of respect especially with how it awed or terrified so many present, nor could Tristan the body count Levente mounted that day despite facing many times his number of foes.

For all the warfare that defined who they were, for a moment there was peace.

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A/N: Well that was quite the endeavor to put together, but I'm glad I did! Thank you for waiting, and I hope to hear your thoughts in the comments below!

(Inb4 Nanomachines son, I swear I made Jarn and most this plot before I knew what that was)​

 

[Thunderscourge]

The Prophets of Khorne

It would not be an overstatement to say that the Imperium of Mankind possessed countless worlds, for that was exactly what it possessed: so many planets fell under its domain across such a vast stretch of space with innumerable administrative complications and external factors that to actually know how many it possessed at any given moment was impossible to decipher. Xenos invasions, the appearance of Warp storms, rebellions, rediscovered worlds, expansion, and Human error in administration all conspired with an untold myriad of other phenomena to constantly shift the precise domain of Humanity throughout the stars and so on occasion there were those that would simply slip through the cracks.

In this way a medieval world without technology to reach the greater Imperium fell by the wayside when those who knew of it perished in one of the Imperium's many conflicts, and while some things would fade in time such as the name of their planet others did not like their veneration of the God Emperor of Mankind as dictated by the holy texts which remained upon their world. Its people lived their lives modestly and in what they believed to be the way the Emperor would have wanted them to, and even if their world remained forgotten for centuries such practices continued despite or perhaps because of their lack of technological development.

Upon this inconsequential world there lay a village in the countryside with a meager population that lived their lives as a tight-knit community where each member had a role to play, be it their town blacksmith, his wife who cared for their son and handled household chores, the local priest who preached to the community and helped them live virtuous lives, or be it the hunters who supplemented their food supply cultivated by their farmers. Even the children aided their parents in their everyday tasks, though with such a simple existence there was often plenty of time for them to play like kids tended to except for one boy in particular.

Apart from his peers was an intelligent boy who spent his days reading and pondering questions and complicated studies beyond the comprehension of the other children, never truly fitting in with them for even if perhaps he could have done so with effort he did not care to. He would rather sit in his father's place of work studying than play a simple game outdoors, and these pursuits would further shape the path he would take in the years to come.

At first it started as rumors spread throughout the town about a new religion that had taken root in the capital city of their kingdom, though within weeks such beliefs found their way to even wayward villages such as the boy's. The faith of their community was firm enough that few of their own took to these new beliefs of a so-called 'Primordial Truth' which decried the Emperor they had worshipped for generations, but neighboring communities were not so fortunate. What had begun with whispers from a few agents sent to seed dissent had blossomed into religious conflict, and soon the entire countryside was embroiled in warfare.

Those belonging to the newfound cult ravaged all who stood against them and spread their beliefs by force after effort was made to clamp down on their activities, and escalation rapidly commenced as promises of power enticed many in power to forsake their former religion in favor of the new. Soon the boy who had spent his days indoors heard a commotion in his own village, only vaguely aware of the turmoil of his kingdom thanks to his father's disgusted statements about them after confiscating some materials within the community spreading their belief. It was only natural to chide those who would invite such deleterious texts into their village after they brought conflict to others, and so the boy's father had acted in good faith to try and maintain cohesion among their peaceful commune.

When the first blood was spilled in the village it was an argument between a fervent convert to the rapidly spreading religion who struck down a family member still faithful to the old who refused to abide by the Primordial Truth's teachings. This incident would cause commotion and draw more into the town center, even the boy who was uninterested in such social occasions: the sight of the local weaver beaten to an unrecognizable and bloodied corpse was shocking and drew the attention of all, as did the sight of the murderer being strung up and hung for their heinous crime. Seeing the last light drain from the man's eyes was a formative moment for the boy, unable to forget the dead stare that had seemingly leered at him from beyond the grave.

Eventually converts from other villages would come to visit them and attempt to spread their 'wisdom' only to be rebuffed for their violent teachings that called for bloodshed. Their holy books were left abandoned when they were chased out of town, but they promised to return and force the conversion of the villagers or sacrifice them for refusing. This would begin a chain of small-scale conflicts that saw the village overrun by savage hordes of their once countrymen, but a lack of cohesion and planning on the part of the cultists allowed the village to hold on for some time despite everything.

The boy had been told to stay inside by his father who did what he could to combat the invaders, and he did as told which spared him from the initial purges and attacks on the village. Even so he could witness the bloodshed from his home's windows, and it was only a matter of time until their village fell as their defenders whittled down. Such conditions brought him to act in a way that could preserve his life further even as a behemoth wearing red armor commanded them to surrender by dawn or perish to their mortal hordes.

When dawn came the forces led by the Word Bearer Maliq found no resistance left within the village, instead being greeted by the flayed corpses of the village's adult population ritually strung up across various buildings and posts. Presenting them was a boy no older than ten who had read those texts left behind by previous cultists and learned from them of the god of blood Khorne whose teachings were simple and whose boons were easy to witness in the battles that took place. The Gods worshipped by those invading their once peaceful world were real, and only a fool would deny something they witnessed with their very own eyes in favor of a corpse rotting on a throne far away on some distant world.

Palamedes had long detested his family with their simplicity born of servitude to a false idol, his father's constant preaching to their community made worse by his mother parroting his platitudes at home. He had been brought up to read and write as was befitting the son of a priest, but he never truly believed in what he studied. Rather, he found his own interests sated in 'aiding' his fellow villagers with skinning what they hunted and gutting them.

There was tangible benefit to assisting in such tasks unlike repeating words belonging to some corpse far away, and it gave Palamedes a certain satisfaction, especially when by chance he got his hands on a live animal and was the one to drain its life away. That power held over life and death gave the sensation of being the creature's god for but a moment, a being wholly above it and deciding its fate, and not once did he feel an ounce of pity or mercy towards such prey. Why should he, after all? They were just animals, beneath him and all Humanity, so it was his place to do what he wished with them.

During a scuffle with another boy his age Palamedes once broke their jaw with a well-placed punch, being far quicker than his foe who had size on their side but little else. He had been made to apologize, but even though he had in part instigated the confrontation he felt no guilt over the action. He had seen other boys tumble in the dirt and quarrel like children only to show remorse if the other ended up harmed by it, and yet he felt no such feeling in his soul. Rather all he felt was emptiness, not being like the other children while intelligent enough to recognize the fact.

Palamedes could convince them readily to do as he pleased when he did speak with them, partially due to his father's station and widespread respect in their community as well as through Palamedes' own confidence and intelligence making him appear correct about whatever he said. Even so he took little pleasure in guiding mere sheep, and so he ignored them for the most part except on the occasions he was forced to spend time with others his age. His brothers and sisters were wholly unlike him, but his younger counterparts looked up to him like an idol thanks to his unmistakable intellect and way with words born of his reading.

It was only when Palamedes read of a god he had never heard of prior, a god of blood and skulls, that his uneventful childhood found meaning. Thanks to his reading skills imparted by his father he was able to decipher everything the cultists spread, and thanks to his father bringing home such texts he had them available whenever his father left home and his mother was busy tending to her gossip and gospel-spreading. Through the knowledge he obtained it was obvious to Palamedes that there was no deterring the tide of red to come, for blood was to be shed as the word of Khorne spread across the land and the only way out was to be the one spilling it from others rather than allowing it to surge from one's own veins.

To make an offering to Khorne too soon would just result in immediate execution like that one fool who killed his own relative, and to do so too late would be to offer almost nothing, so Palamedes continued his studies in his home and waited for the right moment to show what he learned. When he caught sight of one of the so-called 'Word Bearers' leading the invasion Palamedes knew the time had come, as if he played his cards right he would appeal to the direct servants of Khorne rather than the rabble they had recruited on his world. He was different from the others, and he would have that known in short order.

That night Palamedes called to arms the other children of the village he had spread the teachings of Khorne to, using their ignorance and fear of the constant conflict waging outside to bring them to his cause along with his fierce rhetoric and raw charisma. His command was simple, and by the time he made it they were sufficiently brainwashed into following his will that they carried it out without question.

"The true god of our universe, Khorne, demands sacrifice: your parents, those who pray to a corpse-god who has forsaken us, must pay penance! Suffer not the infidel to live, for we shall be the holy crusaders of the Blood God!"

Ritually they each slaughtered their own parents, draining their bodies of every ounce of blood using tricks Palamedes had learned while bleeding out animals, before then setting upon the adults keeping guard outside their homes. Caught off-guard, they stood no chance against the mob of children which rushed them in a mad frenzy, the fervor of these children of Khorne such that they literally tore their foes limb from limb using the strength they obtained through manual labor all their lives to aid those very adults.

Mimicking what he read of Khorne's symbolism, Palamedes made a collection of their skulls before having their bodies hung up in the shape associated with Chaos. His ploy had succeeded, for the offering pleased Maliq who sensed potential in the young boy, recruiting him and his followers directly into his Word Bearer warband the 'Prophets of Khorne'. At the time it was miniscule compared to what it would become, but Palamedes was quickly made an Acolyte of Maliq himself and so could learn firsthand everything from the First Prophet of Khorne.

A capable orator and warrior both, it became obvious early on to Palamedes that Maliq's greatest quality was his unending avarice. He always sought more for himself and his Legion, and while that led to its gradual expansion it also meant he had a weakness that could be exploited. Unable to make use of it as a young teenager, Palamedes found himself graciously gifted by his lord the opportunity to become an Astarte in recognition of his devotion to Khorne.

This occasion came after Palamedes engaged in and led a difficult blood sacrifice utilizing one of his former followers, a young girl who his parents had arranged him to marry. She had been the last of those from his homeworld other than Palamedes still alive, the others slain while serving their dark masters or by them, and Palamedes had not lifted a finger when his own siblings were sacrificed to Khorne by Maliq: for once they had a use to Palamedes, and so he was grateful to them for the first time in his life.

It was freeing to be rid of them, just like it was when he cut his father's heart out in front of his mother and she begged to know why he was doing this. While he could not quite recall what he said to her at the time, he knew that it was something along the lines of 'Why not?' before cutting her to pieces as well. Years of resentment had boiled into that moment and blinded him from his control, and he made certain to keep an even temper ever since lest he make a mistake in his fury. In that way it had been an important lesson, one brought by a slash to his body where his father's struggling had caused Palamedes' own knife to cut him, and it had kept him alive in all the time since despite the many dangers he faced.

His siblings had been sent to aid the others during that time, for Palamedes was uncertain if he could handle them and his parents simultaneously if they sided against him, and he was glad he did: otherwise the eldest ones may have objected to him collecting the small, not yet fully formed skull of an unborn sister from his mother's corpse. For a time he had kept it as a reminder of his past and worn it as an amulet, but it had been lost in the heat of battle in the years after without Palamedes even noticing: he simply did not care for such things the way others, especially those drawn to material possessions like Maliq, did. What mattered to him was the absolute power of God, of servitude towards such a superior entity, and so he carried forward in his bloody crusade with only power and faith to fuel his empty soul.

Despite their brutality the Prophets of Khorne held a deep and sacred brotherhood towards one another as fellow servants of the same almighty being, each of them recognizing the ruinous powers of Chaos as a whole while specifically devoting themselves to Khorne. Where possible they spread their beliefs, and when it faced pushback they would subvert or destroy entire worlds. Either the galaxy would bow and devote themselves to their true lord or their blood would be gifted to him, there was no other alternative.

Whereas some Astartes Legions were known for their paranoia the Word Bearers were masters of building trust, and growing up under their tutelage taught Palamedes those very skills to begin forming a following within their ranks. Between battles they would aid one another in their research and give impassioned sermons about what truths they uncovered, and betrayal in the form of backstabbing was never a consideration: if a disagreement came between them that could not be solved through discussion it was instead solved in a ritualistic duel that spilled blood without seeing one or both of the Astartes involved slain the way World Eater duels tended to.

Helping swell their ranks with converted mortals from campaigns led to Palamedes' meteoric rise through the ranks, his onetime mentor Maliq aiding his rise in order to have a trusted confidant whose intellect was particularly keen for a Khornate. By the time he was a part of the Eight Prophets which led their warband however this relationship had disintegrated on the part of Maliq, the First Prophet wisely noticing that just as there was no end to his own greed there was no end to Palamedes' ambition, and the longer he aided Palamedes in rising in stature the more he aided a potential rival in replacing him when the time came. Neither would betray the other the way many Chaos aligned Astartes would due to their sacred loyalty to Khorne who despised such trickery, but once Palamedes had enough support Maliq could find a challenge for leadership levied at him...and the very day he sought to sideline Palamedes he found himself issued that very duel.

Despite lacking as much experience as Maliq did in battle Palamedes had spent years honing the craft of killing while his lord dedicated himself to capturing trinkets, and so through sheer brutality Palamedes brought Maliq to heel and took his place at the top of their hierarchy. Keeping that position was no easy task as within their ranks existed Daemon Princes who had fallen in favor with Khorne and so had been reduced to servants, and their raw power was enough to seize power if ever he was weak, but Palamedes kept them at bay with the favor of his fellow kin who saw him as the voice of Khorne himself with his intellectual nature matched by his sheer savagery.

To better serve Khorne it had been a growing desire of Palamedes to become a Daemon Prince himself, both to expand his power and secure his reign, and more than any other Astarte before him dedicated to Khorne he believed in his worthiness not out of misplaced arrogance but from the accomplishments he was piling up one after another. A hundred worlds would fall to him in his conquest of bloodshed that saw their ranks swell well beyond the average warband and gained him more and more faith from his underlings, eventually culminating in similar favor earned with Khorne himself whose blessings pushed Palamedes further and further onward towards greatness.

Rumors formed that Palamedes had been born a Psyker and the reason Khorne favored him such was that he had never once used those powers, instead casting them aside in a secret pledge to Khorne, though the originators of such rumors found themselves as a part of a blood sacrifice not long after and so the veracity of the statement remains unknown. What is known however is that Palamedes had pledged the blood of each and every soul upon the planets he carved through, either through killing them outright in combat or through recruitment into the service of Khorne where they would then spill more blood. So many had flocked to their cause that by the end of the campaign the Word Bearers had no room to actually house more mortals upon their vessels, and so they turned to slaughtering the excess cultists on each world when they were done with it.

This campaign was made possible by Palamedes' intellect allowing him to hide out of the view of the Imperium, preying upon worlds that like his would not draw the Imperium's gaze, though this did not mean they were without conflict with the Imperium as a whole: some Astartes detachments had by chance come across them now and again only to be slaughtered by the much larger foe they fought, while the Imperial navy had mysteriously lost vessels to some unknown force believed to be pirates at first glance until further inspection revealed traces of Chaos lingering from the Daemons summoned by the Word Bearers.

The final world he pledged to Khorne in return for ascension was one Palamedes had saved for last: a medieval world that was like his own, one that would serve as a symbolic reprise to his beginning and thus he could ascend from like he had once before risen above being some mere priest's son to a servant of Khorne. He took his time with the conflict, wanting to drag it out to spill as much blood upon the world before his final triumph even as he directly led the efforts to corrupt its population.

It was perfect...and then they appeared. The Iron Warriors punched a hole in his naval garrison and landed on the planet for some purpose before departing shortly after, as if they had retrieved whatever they had wanted. At first their strip mining of some areas made it appear to be an action taken for necessary supplies, but the truth would become known later after he pieced together what happened at a particular village where some of his followers had attempted to bring an allied Daemon Prince into being to aid in their conquest.

Soon after the departure of the Iron Warriors not a single soul remained upon the planet except for Palamedes himself, and having fulfilled his pledge he was rewarded with the power he sought: Khorne brought to him the power of a Daemon Prince, uniquely granting him a power that could allow Palamedes to continue spilling blood across the known universe. In a metamorphosis of blood, every single drop that had been spilled upon the nameless world entwined with his being and formed his new form, his body becoming one with this mass until all that remained was a being made of literal bloodshed.

It was Palamedes' moment of triumph, the first true step towards divinity that any devout follower could hope for, and yet when the ceremony ended he found himself bound with a new purpose: he could feel that someone had been taken from the world, that the Iron Warriors had with them a soul he had pledged to Khorne. Billions had fallen to him and yet one escaped...it was obvious that Khorne did not consider it as breaking their deal since the boy's blood and soul had been moved from the planet, but it remained unacceptable to Palamedes himself.

As minute as it might be, so long as that survivor existed then the pledge which granted him his power would never truly be complete. Perhaps that was Khorne's purpose in granting him power and not punishing him in some way, as it drove Palamedes to further and further conquest to one day achieve the ends he sought. Billions more would perish because one lived, and in that way the Prophets of Khorne blindly moved forward.

It was only when a visitor appeared before them that Palamedes' reckless wrath was replaced with his usual calm, and so their pursuit of the Iron Warriors' heels began.

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It was with admiration rather than disgust that Palamedes looked upon the ruins of Acgeye, walking throughout its ruins and observing all that he could from the most minute of details to the colossal remnants of Acgeye's fallen orbital defenses that now littered the planet. When it came to using equations to cause the most damage with a given tool or weapon there were few more capable than the Iron Warriors, and Palamedes knew who to credit for this display of carnage: the leader of the Iron Legion's fleet, Triarch Tristan Bertrand.

The Astarte's rise through the ranks had been swift, though with enough achievement behind it that none could question that is was earned. At first Palamedes thought of him as nothing more than another Astarte, a mortal who had escaped his grasp once and who would not survive a second opportunity, but he was proven wrong thanks to underestimating him: Tristan had survived near mortal wounds inflicted upon him and kept fighting through the pain until their duel was interrupted, even past the point where Tristan could be considered 'conscious' such was the hatred flowing through him.

It would appear that in his hatred of Palamedes the boy had trained his body and augmented his armor to survive even a Daemon Prince, something that saved his life yet again just recently when Palamedes used a Vindicator's cannon upon him. Something that could level a building had failed to kill the Iron Warrior and even failed to take him off his feet, though its unexpected nature had left its mark upon Tristan: it drove the Iron Warriors into full retreat in an attempt to both escape the Word Bearer reinforcements and also to save one of their highest ranking members.

Even the greatest armor was not without its weaknesses, and while Tristan would likely augment his suit to better protect from friendly fire now that did not mean Palamedes could not find another avenue to pierce it. At worst he would just have to wear it down, for while Tristan might possess defenses beyond any Palamedes had encountered the Daemon Prince was ultimately better suited to sustained battle. If not slain outright he could regenerate from his own spilled blood and that of those around him, and to kill the Daemon outright was itself a task befitting a Primarch since within him was the blood of an entire planet's population: to spill that much blood before he could reform would be nigh impossible in direct combat.

This power was of course dependent on Khorne's favor and so it was directly tied to the slaughter Palamedes carried out, but that was little issue to a man dedicated to holy slaughter and divine bloodshed. Everywhere he went he spilled blood and so Khorne's favor remained upon him, and so unless a foe managed to strip that favor from him and remove his endless regeneration he was an unstoppable force. One such as Kharn or even Lucius could perhaps outlast Palamedes in a duel and deal enough damage without suffering it in return to turn Khorne's gaze away, but such individuals were a rarity and were almost never encountered on their own: so long as there was war raging around them Palamedes felt confident he could even overcome those infamous champions of Chaos given the blood that would flow.

The thought of combating Kharn was one which Palamedes actually lusted for but wisely kept from indulging, at least yet, as to fail would be to lose their shared lord's favor. Unlike other favored servants of Khorne the Daemon Prince had not been granted any true form of resistance to foul sorcery and so a powerful Psyker such as Ahriman could counter Palamedes' unparalleled endurance with the right power, but combatants who relied on physical means to defeat him would find themselves worn down and overcome if Palamedes did not slay them outright. This did not prevent him from engaging Psykers when possible given his shared distaste for them with other Khornates, but it did mean Palamedes had to be careful since one spell could mean his end.

Fortunately for him there were no Psykers to be found within the ranks of the Iron Legion, and so he was pleased to engage them in direct conflict where possible...but their pragmatism meant that such conflicts were short and Palamedes was unable to truly get the blood flowing to carve his way through them. It had been intelligent of Jarn to isolate him against shielded behemoths known as the Iron Circle that did not bleed and could bolster one another's defenses, as by boxing him in Palamedes had been unable to properly utilize his powers even if he was strong enough to be winning the immediate fight: it kept him from reaching the other Iron Warriors as they retreated, and the Iron Circle continued their battle until the last of their Astartes departed upon which they teleported back to their vessel in varying states of disarray.

Jarn would no doubt have trouble fixing the damnable machines, but he had deprived Palamedes of the opportunity to finish off every Iron Warrior present. If they had foolishly remained he would have had the time to break through the Iron Circle and begin his rampage, but his foes were too smart for that: the moment of his arrival Jarn had set into motion their retreat, and that had ultimately saved them.

It was obvious from an outsider's observation that the Iron Warriors' retreat had been arranged ahead of time, not to mention that it was masterfully orchestrated from every angle. Their troop movements were staggered to provide covering fire for their kin as they boarded their vessels to depart the battlefield, and their vehicles had eschewed equipment or deployments that would deter their own retreat and retrieval. The only losses were the Vindicators deployed too far ahead by Levente's frontal assault to retreat in time, but even they played a role in the retreat of their crew and the Astartes they supported. It was no simple task to arrange for so many cogs to turn just perfectly, and the fact that it had been done through the arrival of enemy reinforcements made it all that much more notable.

Any beauty to be found in the retreat's organization was in its raw efficiency and planning rather than a flourish of movement, for that was all there was to it: the goal was to pull out their forces in as little time as possible while sacrificing as little of their resources as possible even in spite of the natural discord of a battlefield. Anything beyond that was unnecessary and would be a result of personal ego or pride, but that was completely absent here. The Iron Warriors had taken every single one of their fallen brethren they could and all the equipment they could take with them and dispersed without issue, showing discipline not only present in their commanders but also their rank and file who were Astartes at the end of the day and drawn to combat.

If Palamedes had to guess, they had practiced such a maneuver many times over before putting it to use, and therein lay the threat of this particular foe: they did what was efficient and effective and eschewed all else in the pursuit of their goals. They might be siege specialists, but they would just as soon drop down upon their foes from orbit and immediately seize a target if that was the best way to move forward. They would cast aside honor and flee if fighting would not benefit them, and they would only seek retribution for loss if they were able to do so without disturbing other objectives.

And, as the ruined world around him now demonstrated, these Iron Warriors would drop their foes' structures from orbit if it meant destabilizing the defenders down below by permanently destroying much of the planet's surface. How many men had they sent screaming to their deaths as their orbital stations burned upon re-entry? How many millions, perhaps even billions, perished when the planet was forcibly reshaped and beset by natural disasters? The Iron Warriors had never been the sort to care about such aftereffects of their actions, but for Jarn's forces their cutthroat pragmatism was a constant and often necessary element of their deployments to maximize their victory and minimize their losses.

If Palamedes cared for life itself such barbaric actions would reach his heart and soul, but the emotions of such things were lost on him. They were dead, and that was that, and instead of mourning the loss of a world under his control he instead sought knowledge from the endeavor. This showed above all else the lengths his foes would go to, and it would be important to not allow them another opportunity like Acgeye.

The Word Bearers themselves had sought to destroy the homeworld of the Ultramarine Legion during the Horus Heresy by first annihilating a nearby moon and then mobilizing the fragments as weapons to drop, so such tactics were not unheard of, they just showed the underhanded nature of the beholder. In the case of the Word Bearers their plan only failed due to the destruction of the Furious Abyss, a vessel so powerful and large that only the likes of the Phalanx and the Emperor's own personal vessels could perhaps match it in open combat...making it all the more appalling that they allowed a boarding team to destroy the ship from the inside by using its own powerful systems against it.

As Palamedes strolled through the ruined field and ashes fell from the heavens he found himself compelled to stop before a crater where a single Earthshaker round had eliminated an entire squad of advancing Word Bearers. The crater left behind was littered with the mangled remains of Palamedes' kin, and while he did not mourn them as individuals he did acknowledge the loss of his brethren who were slain in the cowardly art of artillery warfare. The carnage itself was respectable and paid Khorne the blood he was owed, but it was far less honorable than a direct battle between two armies where might reigned above all.

The damage done by the Iron Warriors' artillery in such short order was perhaps even more impressive objectively than their organized retreat. Unlike the personal warfare which was preferred by Palamedes and his kind, artillery warfare was largely a battle of numbers, prediction, and calculation concerning them. In the amount of time their attack took place the Iron Warriors' destruction had far exceeded even Palamedes' predictions, so much so that to dare rebuild on Acgeye would now take too long to be worth the effort. The Imperium were already casting their gaze towards them and the ruination brought to the Prophets' captured world was too severe compared to just conquering another unprepared world and slaying the unworthy upon it.

Still, one thing was for certain: the one known as Bertrand had proven himself in numerous ways, and Palamedes was quite impressed that his prey had grown beyond a young boy who escaped the slaughter of his world and become someone worthy of battle. When left to his own devices to just think and calculate Tristan was a powerful force multiplier, for his grasp of artillery bombardment was unlike any Palamedes had encountered thus far: every single strike was made to count, every calculation made precise to account for the enemy's movements, and redundant fire making certain that each target was taken care of while also not being so overlapping in their fields of fire that other foes went ignored.

If Palamedes had risen to his station as a genius orator and devout servant of the Dark Gods, then Tristan was his opposite with a genius intellect devoted to technology and its practical applications. Upon their first meeting Palamedes had only been impressed by the young Astarte's height and endurance, but in the time since he had grown to ponder if there was no way to turn such an individual to their side...

Ultimately, however, it was no doubt a lost cause to even try: what he had learned of Tristan was that the man was immovable when it came to persuasion against his beliefs and was entirely devoted to his Warsmith's whims and wills. If Bertrand was certain he was right about something nothing would deter that belief except Trahaearn Jarn himself, and for all one could claim such willpower and an intractable personality were positive qualities, it also meant that Tristan could be considered foolhardy and without a will of his own in most matters.

Without the Warsmith just what would Tristan have left to drive him? His vendetta against the Word Bearers who destroyed his home? That was certainly an interesting possibility, and one which Palamedes would consider bringing about through first killing the Warsmith. It would be all that much more pleasing a sacrifice to Khorne if Tristan was further pushed down the path of vengeance and bloodshed, driving him to ultimately combat the one responsible for all his woes...but such an outcome was unlikely it pained Palamedes to admit.

The Iron Warrior known as Trahaearn Jarn was perhaps one of the few foes Palamedes had come to respect on the battlefield, as while the Warsmith was lacking in finesse and relative speed his natural strength was indisputable. It was a shame that the man blamed the fall of his Legion on Chaos, even if the Word Bearers had engineered the circumstances on Olympia to achieve that end, as one could only imagine the power Jarn might possess if he was bolstered by the True Gods.

Instead he stood as a wayward son of the Emperor's misplaced ideals, but that also made him a known quantity easy to understand: Jarn's distaste for Chaos that was shared by his kin meant that given the opportunity he would attempt to damage the operations of its servants even if it meant risking his own life and that of his men, and that had allowed Palamedes to lay in wait to wage a counter-offensive.

While some of his servants had fallen to the insane bloodlust of Khorne the mind of Palamedes had remained more or less intact ever since he first pledged fealty to his God, perhaps driven in part by his natural sociopathy leaving little within him to twist. He could provide Khorne more bloodshed through careful planning than a never ending fugue of blood, and so little posed a threat to him now that Palamedes almost always possessed a sense of eerie calm...up until things turned against him, but even then it was more frustration at obstacles in his way than panic born of the fear of death. Others underestimated him thanks to his allegiance, but they did so at their peril.

That made it all the more important to not underestimate them in turn: Palamedes did not intend to blindly walk into his next battle with the Iron Warriors, nor would he waste a moment more than necessary to put them down. He wished to play with a worthy foe like Tristan or Jarn more, but he risked losing favor with Khorne if he let them escape again.

Their next battle would be their last, he would see to that, even if he had to deploy every Word Bearer under his command to see to it.

"Lord Prophet, Imperial vessels have been spotted!"

Palamedes turned his attention down to a communication device he brought with him, its form meant for Human operation but still within the realms of his ability to manipulate. The blood form Khorne granted Palamedes took time to master, but he had come to possess complete control over it so he could partake in even more dexterous actions than an Astarte could with their Black Carapace.

"Let them through. I will handle this myself."

While Khorne detested using magical powers in battle, rituals and such powers were of course acceptable because otherwise his Daemons would be unable to be summoned into the materium and enact his will. One such blood ritual had given Palamedes a glimpse of what he sought, a fight to the death against Tristan Bertrand, with none to interfere them. Around them was a frozen wasteland and so Palamedes had sought out his destiny upon such a world at first, believing it to be Khorne's will, but he soon recognized that Tristan was avoiding such a confrontation due to Palamedes mentioning its destined nature in their first meeting.

So he had instead laid a trap on a world with the right circumstances only for that to be foiled as well...it would seem that it was not an issue to be forced, but one he would come across when the time came.

For now though, to reach that future, Palamedes would have to deal with the Imperium forces that had been drawing ever closer to his operations. The larger his forces grew the harder it became to remain in the shadows, and despite their efforts their time had run out. Full-blown confrontation with the Imperium was unavoidable at this point, but Palamedes was not worried about the immediate force sent to end his war-mongering ways: the reports he received from his agents revealed that they had assembled an entire battlefleet of 75 vessels of varying sizes to confront him assisted by the far smaller fleet of an Astarte chapter that had send their entire force together to face this fearsome threat.

The battlefleet was led by Lord Admiral Denstah, a mousy coward of a man whose personal wealth and connections had seen his rise through the ranks rather than his personal accomplishments, but those very same connections meant his battlefleet was large and well-equipped. His personality was notable only so far as it diminished the morale of his men, but he did have a wit to him that had seen him survive as long as he had despite being out of his depth in terms of tactical acumen. He would only deploy like this if he was certain of the outcome, and at first glance it would appear that the Word Bearers fleet half their size would be in trouble...but despite their reservations they held back and did not engage the Imperial navy, displaying a more restrained quality to them thanks to the reliable Fourth Prophet Yarost who was in control of the Word Bearer fleet while Palamedes was on-world.

The Astartes were of the Silver Scorpion chapter, a descendent of the Ultramarines that while highly reverent of their Primarch diverged from his Codex in a few notable ways. Even so they were proud successors of the sons of Guilliman and carried themselves as such ever since their founding in the 38th Millennium, and while not as notable as other successors did not let glory cloud their eyes when they still had a duty to carry out towards the Imperium. Their armor was nigh identical to the Ultramarines they descended from except with silver trim to mark them separately from their kin, and notably they carried more banners into battle to announce their undying loyalty to the Primarch.

Much like the notorious Minotaurs who served the High Lords of Terra the Silver Scorpions brought their full chapter to bear when they entered conflict: they traveled as a cohesive unit and deployed every tool at their disposal to secure victory swiftly and before their foes could mount a proper defense, a tactic which had seen their Astartes bond beyond the typical brotherhood of the Angels of Death. Decades and centuries of combat not only alongside their individual squads but alongside their full chapter had granted them both loyalty and efficiency that returned to the roots of the Astartes Legions of the Great Crusade.

This nature of theirs was both admirable and honorable, for they held nothing back from either friend or foe, dedicating all towards their cause and granting no quarter to those who opposed the Imperium. Their rapid victories had left them without longstanding rivalries with other species or the forces of Chaos, but it was no issue to the Silver Scorpions: they only sought to carry out the Emperor's will and to protect his holy Imperium from those who would threaten it.

If one of their number had to sacrifice for the sake of another among the Silver Scorpions they would do so without question or hesitation, for to do so would slow their onslaught and would mean questioning one's worth over their brother. Every death would be repaid a thousand-fold, with Imperial records noting that when one of their number fell that their Battle Brothers would rally and inflict devastating retribution upon those guilty of the act. They shared a sacred trust and partnership and that very bond saw them through even the most grisly of conflicts they were tasked with.

Until today, that was.

The Imperial fleet began unilateral bombardment of the planet given that its defenses were previously destroyed by the Iron Warriors and Palamedes' own fleet was holding back from engaging them yet, and as the world around him erupted in imprecise fire from Battleships Palamedes felt himself grinning. He knew a thing or two about these threats coming his way and had planned accordingly, and when this initial bombardment ended he knew the Silver Scorpions would deploy in full to eliminate him.

Elsewhere Third Prophet Trolos, Fifth Prophet Icar, Sixth Prophet Laxevo, and Eighth Prophet Arven were busy preparing their forces for the departure of the fallen world and protecting what they could from the Imperial Navy. Rohkeus and Maliq were sidelined for the moment due to their injuries and their failure, and Palamedes would have to figure out how to handle his brethren who were wounded in both body and pride. First though he would deal with these interlopers who would be the first of many.

Despite a few strikes of the bombardment striking Palamedes it was like a papercut to someone whose constitution was comprised of the blood of millions, his consolidated form hiding well his true nature even if his heavy footsteps could give it away to a keen eye. Whatever blood erupted from his body flowed right back to him, and so by the time a bombardment that could have wiped out a company of soldiers finished there was not a scratch upon him: the Imperials would have to try far harder than that to slay him.

Immediately following this was the arrival of the Astartes, Drop Pods and landing ships hurtling down from orbit all to form around where Palamedes stood. He had been waiting for this moment ever since he began chasing the Iron Warriors, the Word Bearers' actions erasing their fellow Legion's tracks and leaving their own in return, and he would have been a fool to think he could just run around without ever facing pushback. The Imperium might be slow, but its power came from the wealth of numbers it had on its side, and in this case that meant a force that overall dwarfed Palamedes' own that would wipe the Word Bearers out in a direct conflict.

Fortunately that was unnecessary, and so as the first Silver Scorpion charged out of their drop pod with chainsword drawn Palamedes whipped an outstretched hand across him: the razor-like blood formed ripped through their Power Armor and ended the Astartes' life instantly as well as those of the four Space Marines nearest to him.

Palamedes might not have the raw might of some of his Daemon Prince peers, but what he did possess was an unparalleled vitality and control of the blood that it was comprised of. In a vacuum this made him a difficult foe to defeat one on one, but an impossible beast to overcome the larger a battle became. With blood flowing all around him Palamedes could twist it as an extension of his own body and will, and so he tore his way across battlefields leaving no survivors in his wake. Even the blood of his own allies could be used to such an end, so killing his comrades only empowered him more, leaving Palamedes as a surprise to foes who were used to just hitting a target hard to overcome it: for him they would have to put far greater effort to undo the blessing of Khorne, and such was the First Prophet's true potential.

"Do not worry, my dear Battle Brothers sworn to false idols: your sacrifice will help bring others to the Primordial Truth that you were denied. Hundreds more shall rise in your place, your Gene-Seed granting them the strength necessary to reshape the cosmos in Khorne's image. I grant you what the Corpse Emperor never could, a purpose in death."

Using the blood spilled by his victims Palamedes arced it into a series of spikes that impaled the other squadmembers in the drop pod right through their necks and skulls. Bolter shells impacted his body as more arrived and opened fire, but they were so trivial a threat that Palamedes continued tearing the first squad apart before setting his sights on the ones daring to fire on him. Now surrounded by a pool of blood Palamedes summoned it forward as an extension of himself and impaled each of them with a thick tendril of the red liquid, having tested it on Power Armor enough times to know just how he had to form and strike with the hardened blood of millions to punch holes through Astartes foes.

What they knew of Palamedes was that he was a Khornate Daemon Prince belonging to the Word Bearer legion...and thanks to deliberate false intel were wholly unaware as to the existence of his regenerative properties. They would be fully committed by the time they realized, but by then it would be too late.

Unlike his own blood there was a limit to how much he could do with the blood spilled around him, but it did allow Palamedes to use it as a resource rather than tapping into the blood which comprised his being. Just as Khorne granted fiery blood or other such boons to his other followers Palamedes had a deadly tool in his arsenal and through his own effort he had mastered it by spilling the blood of many foes.

Within moments a thousand Astartes, their entire chapter's supply of Predator Tanks, Whirlwind artillery, Dreadnoughts, Land Speeders, Thunderfire Cannons, Rhinos, Razorbacks, Vindicators, and every other tool in their arsenal was deployed around him...but the mistake had been made, and Palamedes rushed into the fray to spill more blood. A foolish Captain moved to combat him only for their Thunder Hammer to never reach Palamedes before a blade summoned from blood cut him down from three times the reach. His enraged brethren charged, but with a swing of the very same blade Palamedes tore through their torsos one after the other, one movement slowed by each body it cut through but never stopping until the last lay dead.

Tapping into their blood, Palamedes took control of Khorne's blessed substance and erupted it outwards to coat other nearby Astartes who then felt their armor begin to creak as Palamedes crushed them with it like the coat of blood was his gripping fist. Unlike the typical form of a Daemon Prince his body was blood and little more, and so he could twist its freed form like a Human could breathe air. Using his blood to spill blood to then tear his foes apart and further spill blood pleased Khorne, as demonstrated by the power he invested in Palamedes, and so the slaughter began to exponentially grow.

If they had sent only their top Astartes aided by their tanks perhaps the Silver Scorpions would have stood a chance, but as Palamedes surged as a pool of blood through the battlefield to suddenly strike down their Chapter Master and the Chief Librarian accompanying him the sons of Guilliman sworn to their brotherhood had no choice but to fight. They brought to bear every weapon at their disposal, every marine, but by keeping close to them as their sole target Palamedes prevented their heavier weapons from truly targeting him and continued his rampage from one squad to another.

A typical Daemon Prince would have crumbled to such overwhelming force directed at them all at once, but their powers might allow them to defeat greater foes than Palamedes could on his own...but upon a battlefield such as this with a thousand foes and nothing in his way Palamedes reigned supreme. Kharn may have defeated thousands upon thousands upon Terra according to legend, but there now was another champion of Khorne seeking to etch his name upon the annals of history.

"Blood for the Blood God!"

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When the battle was noticed to be the one-sided slaughter that it was the Imperial Fleet had panicked, as the Silver Scorpions had been held in awe by them for possessing a full chapter in cohesion which was an unlikely sight in these times. Too often chapters were scattered to the winds, fighting countless battles with minimal numbers, but here stood a thousand Astartes who they would only be in the way of down on the ground when the operation commenced.

Had they been there every Imperial Guardsmen deployed would have been slaughtered in but an instant, only hastening the growth of the tidal wave of blood Palamedes was throwing at his foes. Denstah had no idea how to respond at first except to open fire in the hopes of burying Palamedes with the combined firepower of his fleet...but that action drew the ire of the Silver Scorpion Battle Barges in orbit with them, for their men still were fighting down there even as a thousand quickly became nine hundred, and then seven hundred, and so on and so forth.

This inter-service contention stalled Denstah's hand long enough for Palamedes to finish cleaning up, and when he tore the head off of a valiant Captain who kept fighting him to the end Palamedes lifted the man's helmet up to use it for himself.

"Imperial fleet, you are addressed by the First of the Eight Prophets of Khorne, Palamedes of the Word Bearers. In the name of Erebus, Lorgar, and the Master of the Brazen Throne I humbly herald their will so that all might learn of the truth!"

Silence reigned in return, but he could tell he was reaching the fleet in orbit thanks to the open communication line the Silver Scorpions used for their tactics.

"Now hear this: there is no peace, only war. That there is no honor or nobility, only power. That there is nothing to hold you back from seizing your destiny, only the will to act! You have seen what I am capable of with the power I have taken for myself! An entire Chapter of your Astartes has fallen to my hand alone, blinded by their indoctrination and misguided ideals into believing their righteousness would see to their victory. That zeal which saw them employ their full force against one foe was their downfall, and so I ask you: do you believe that you would fare better? Who among you has the strength to overcome one blessed by a true god, rather than a corpse forever immobile upon their throne?"

The Word Bearers fleet led by Yarost moved into position to engage if necessary, following Palamedes' orders from before the battle to the letter. They would intercede on his behalf if necessary, and a blood ritual had been done to summon him back to the fleet while the others finished departing the fallen world, but until then the Word Bearers remained on standby for their leader to prove himself as an herald of both Chaos and Khorne.

"I would spill the blood of each and every one of you if you so wish to stand in our way, but I offer you a better path: those of you who would seize your destiny with your own two hands, wrest control of your vessels from any who would dare remain loyal to your false idol! Pledge your fealty to the Eight Prophets of Khorne, take your fate into your hands and prove your worth by cleansing your souls in the blood of those who would deny your rise to power! Destroy the remnants of the Silver Scorpions, capture their Battle Barges for the service of Khorne, and you shall have salvation!"

Despite his monstrous nature his words played upon the growing dread and fear of the Imperial fleet, their morale already weakened by the leadership of a craven man, and their spirit still reeling in shock at the complete annihilation of an entire Astarte chapter. In less than a couple hours these mighty servants of the Emperor had been cut down to the last, their mighty vehicles and stalwart heroes nothing in the face of a tide of blood.

"No ambition is out of reach, so for those of you who have the will and strength this is your opportunity to become something greater than a mere thrall of an uncaring Emperor! Join our brotherhood and together we shall carve a path through all who would deny our potential!"

Palamedes could not truly see the exact fleet movements above from his position, but soon on the very same communications line he heard screams as soldier fought soldier, officer fought officer, and Battleship fought Battle Barge in a sudden frenzy wrought by his words and actions both. Content, Palamedes returned to his flagship The King's Gambit, and was greeted by the uproarious celebration of his slaughter by its crew.

Most interesting of those aboard the bridge was an envoy from another Legion however, someone whose face betrayed no fear or hesitation of dealing with such a powerful entity. For this Palamedes was willing to parley with the Astarte of the Emperor's Children, for even if the man was far more blunt and direct than his brethren he had proven reliable when providing information about Trahaearn Jarn and his forces.

Their alliance was one of convenience: the Word Bearers sought to repay the Iron Warriors for their actions and for the opportunity to slay Tristan Bertrand, and the Emperor's Children wished them dead but were deployed in another corner of space. Palamedes did not trust the sons of Fulgrim and their ways and so always tested the waters with the information he was granted lest he be lead to ruination: such hesitation was perhaps why the Iron Warriors, while always tailed by the Word Bearers, had not yet been fully overrun by them. As-is they possessed a mutually beneficial bond ironically with the Iron Warriors finding resources that the Word Bearers could then pilfer, and the Word Bearers cleaning up after both of their trails to prevent Imperial intervention.

Despite his power Palamedes knew that all it would take was one poorly chosen fight, one where his talents were unable to be brought to bear, for him to fall and so he chose his battles carefully. Even still, he enjoyed the occasions where he was visited by Verdoven of the Emperor's Children for he was one of so few who could keep from shivering in fear before him these days.

"I have the coordinates of where an Imperial Fleet allied with the Iron Warriors will arrive at a specific time. In return for this knowledge Lord Phrixus would ask of you what you would already do with it: to kill every last one of the men within their fleet before they can meet with the Iron Warriors," the fearless Emperor's Children envoy spoke calmly even as the bridge around them remained in an uproar. Outside the bridge one could see the Imperial Navy blowing the Battle Barges out of the sky, the last remnants of the Silver Scorpions falling down to Acgeye below as if to further damn the planet's surface.

"And tell me, just why would the sons of Trahaearn Jarn align themselves with the Imperium they so malign?" Palamedes questioned skeptically, not believing anything said by someone outside his brotherhood at face value.

"Because they are the displaced sons of his homeworld, Kimara: he knows not of it yet, but every male capable of conscription has been forcibly drafted by their government to serve against a Tyranid fleet. It is unlikely the Tyranids will destroy them entirely, so we intend to see to it that none return home where they pose a threat to our operations. We have set the stage: we only ask that you indulge in your desire for slaughter."

Palamedes paused for a moment, mulling over what had been said before coming to a conclusion the Emperor's Children should find acceptable.

"Grant me the data and I will see to it that they are dealt with on my terms. Our interests are aligned on this front, but I still cannot promise you the head of Trahaearn Jarn: should he confront me I will spill his blood with my own hands."

Verdoven handed over the information he carried with him impassively, once again not impressed by Palamedes' words the way so many others were, "It is pre-ordained that he battle with my Lord over the fate of their world, so act as you please: you cannot kill a man whose soul belongs to another. Similarly your own quarry you have pledged to Khorne awaits, and when the time comes we would gladly aid you once again in disposing of this 'Bertrand'."

Without another word Palamedes dismissed the envoy and tended to the aftermath of his battles, his mind twisting and turning as he thought of how to best use this information now granted to him without trusting it entirely. That Maliq and Rohkeus were reporting to him directly as further reports came in of the surrender of all seventy remaining Imperial ships to the Word Bearers solved his pondering in a single stroke.

"Second Prophet Maliq, Fourth Prophet Yarost, and Seventh Prophet Rohkeus: there is an Imperial Fleet we have received reports of that is allied to the Iron Warriors which engaged us in battle. For your failures upon Acgeye I am placing both Brother Maliq and Rohkeus under the command of Yarost for this operation where you will lead thirty of our armada and the now surrendered Imperial Fleet against them."

Yarost was the first to speak back, seemingly hesitant about trusting their new recruits, "And what if they turn upon us?"

"Consider this an exercise in their loyalty, morale, and capabilities. They may be but mere mortals, but so were we once upon a time: they will prove themselves against their former comrades, or they will perish trying. Oversee them with the navy I impart to you and ensure their newfound faith is pure. By now they must know they have no way back, so further them down the path of damnation and eliminate those who would stand in our way."

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A/N: Hope you enjoyed this unique chapter in celebration of Khorne day a week ago (8/8), and that you will leave me your thoughts in the comments below!​

 

[Thunderscourge]

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BISHOP'S BOUNDARY


Tristan could not remember the last time he had found himself enjoying the quiet of the Eisernen's Dodekatheon, his creative process uninterrupted thanks to the complete lack of others present. As the days passed by his recovery had nearly finished, meaning Richter was not going to trouble him over leaving Ossus' office finally. This freedom earned by swift healing was used by Tristan to resume work on fixing his armor and integrating prototype weapons to better combat Palamedes in the future.

None of the other members of the Dodekatheon had been present, and rather than question it Tristan had just accepted the optimal work conditions…after all he barely knew the names of his fellow members, not out of disrespect but from his narrow focus in all matters meaning that he simply never bothered to get to know them. His solitary nature meant that even though they had shared a space for decades he felt no need to greet or acknowledge them, and as Iron Warriors their own grim natures meant they barely cared more than Tristan did about who was building something in the next workshop over.

This peace was not meant to last however, the heavy footsteps of the Warsmith in his full armor making themselves known well before Jarn ever spoke. Tristan had been so focused on returning to work once more that he had not bothered to contemplate why he had not seen any members of the crew, mortal or Astarte, and so like a misbehaving child surprised by the sudden appearance of their father Tristan felt a moment of apprehension.

He should probably be somewhere else right now, shouldn't he?

"While you no doubt enjoy the quiet for your work, there is a matter that requires your attendance as we arrive at our docks. You can resume your experimentation when you return," Jarn spoke in a tone halfway between warmth and bemusement, once again having to fetch Tristan from his work.

The Space Wolves' Helfrost weaponry being dissected and studied on his table spoke their own story of why Tristan was so focused, but Jarn would not chide Tristan over demonstrating the very traits of intelligence and determination that had Jarn recruit him.

Reluctant to leave his work half-finished, Tristan still pulled himself up from where he sat on the floor, having wanted to get close to the circuitry he was fiddling with and his height forcing him to abandon his chair to lower himself. Jarn's will was his own, whatever it might be, something Tristan had accepted many years ago.

To join the Warsmith Tristan moved past the remains of dissected AMBOTs acquired from Asier's Necromundan agents as well as the related blueprints and designs for large harvesting drones utilizing his capsule technology. His mind was that of an inventor with countless projects laying about him whenever he worked, shifting between them as his attention was drawn by one or when a discovery afforded him progress in another.

Jarn glanced at the various tasks Tristan had been engaged with and decided to humor his student and surrogate son and the two began to discuss his projects as Jarn led Tristan to their destination.

"Helfrost weaponry is effective, but limited. It is unfortunate that for all their similarities that Kimara does not possess the same power sources that Fenris does for them."

In sharp contrast to the entire weeks Tristan would go without speaking or terse conversations with the crew, when afforded the opportunity to speak of his inventions he did so at length. Perhaps his general exhaustion and aches from the conflict with Palamedes had lowered his restraint, but Jarn noted some degree of pride as Tristan spoke which begot pride from the one who led him down this path.

"One does not expect scientific progress from mere canines: even if their keen senses discover something noteworthy they can never truly understand its value. The sons of Russ share different values to us: their crystals afford them raw power to fuel their weaponry at the cost of limiting their production. With alternate power sources you can achieve similar results on a far greater scale, allowing the equipment of an army rather than a select few."

"Using the principles of their Helfrost weapons I believe I can create ammunition that will achieve similar effects, though I require more data to expand my research: the Hoarverns of Kimara have records in the Eisernen's databanks that lead me to believe further study would allow us to replicate their chemical 'frost-fire'."

"For now a handful of integrated weapons will have to suffice. I expect Palamedes to follow us to your homeworld, and after studying his physical composition from our last conflict's data I believe I can mitigate his agility advantage. He cannot avoid a wall of freezing chemicals compounded with the native temperature of Kimara: he is not invulnerable, only elusive and with high endurance that replenishes upon defeating foes. I cannot fully dictate the terms of the battle, but I can even the playing field for when he next appears."

Tristan's flow of consciousness explanation to Jarn came to an end when he realized they were headed to the Eisernen's primary hangar-bay. Having only been awake for a brief period of time and 'accidentally' having left his communication devices off, Tristan had no real idea as to why Jarn wanted to head to the hangar, but it had to be something important if he was being pulled into attending…along with many others if the rumbling down the dark hallway was any indication.

Tristan's senses may have been dulled by his physical condition but that did not prevent him from feeling the cacophony of celebration which lay ahead. Even upon a different floor it was obvious to him just where they were because of the residual effects of their noise, something only possible if they were all gathered in a location that could fit enough soldiers to coalesce into the noise just barely striking his ears.

He kept pace with Jarn as best as he could, but each thunderous step taken required Tristan to make usage of his longer legs to match the Warsmith's gait. Just why the Warsmith was leading him towards the Eisernen's hangar and why it sounded as if every available Astarte and mortal servant aboard was present there was beyond Tristan, as this was not their first time returning to their shipyards nor should it be the last.

"Excessive noise is Levente's domain. Just what would evoke such uproar from our taciturn kin?" Tristan mused, likely having meant to keep it to himself.

"There are moments for celebration, even for those such as us," Jarn held a hint of a wistful smile for a moment before he stopped at the entrance to an elevator that would raise them both to the hangar bay, "As for what has their spirits so high, you will see soon enough...first, however, I must ask something of you."

Jarn pressed a button to call for the elevator, but as its primary purpose was to lift heavy and sensitive materials for usage in the hangar it was a slow and laborious contraption that crawled ever so slowly towards them from floors above.

"Of course, Warsmith," Tristan bowed his head in deference, his loyalty to the Warsmith absolute even after all these years. He owed everything to Jarn and was quite aware of that fact, and so he did all he could to show the proper respect owed to his leader. That Jarn had been like a substitute-father to him all of these years was not lost upon Tristan, though he did refrain from outwardly acknowledging this fact to keep others from believing his merits lay in nepotism rather than elsewhere.

With a smirk Jarn guided Tristan to stand up straight, as if admiring how his pupil now stood well above even the abnormally tall Jarn, "You have exceeded even my expectations for every role I have granted you, even those you lacked faith in your ability to perform. Artillery bombardment, siege warfare, battlefield logistics, fleet command, you have been given the resources and time so few Astartes have possessed to come into your own mastery of these subjects evocative of my own mentor Forrix before his fall."

Uncertain what to say, and not sure what Jarn intended to ask of him yet, Tristan remained silent as his Warsmith continued on.

"All this time we have remained in the shadows cast by giants, entities that we never could hope to overcome...until today," the elevator arrived a moment later and so both Astartes boarded it, a single dexterous press of a button despite Jarn's armor showing the functionality of his Black Carapace. With this done their slow ascent began, and Tristan could hear the growing voices of the weirdly exuberant Iron Warriors above them.

"Warfare is all I truly know. We wished for greater ideals at the time of the Great Crusade, we had dreams for what could have been even if on our own our individual goals differed. Even now my Iron Legion has those who worship the Emperor of Mankind, yet others who despise him. It is by our shared traits, our shared values that I welded our wills to one cause, but a part of me fears that those after me will only ever know war, just as I have," Jarn admitted in a moment of sincerity and Humanity, showing that beneath the veneer of control and power he exuded he was still Human in spite of his augmentations and years mired in the depths of Humanity's worst excesses.

"Can one who has lived in darkness, in eternal war, be the one to bring true unity to Humanity? Of that I am uncertain, for at the end of the day I am just a man like any other. I was but a child when I joined the Iron Warriors, having fought for my life before and after and knowing nothing more...and yet after so long my war continues. I have had friends, I have had those that were family to me, but the ravages of time and war have taken them all from me. Of those I once stood beside so many are now gone, never to return, but I remain."

Jarn shifted so that rather than side by side he and Tristan stood in front of one another, Tristan turning when he noticed his Warsmith's intention. This done, Jarn placed a plated hand onto Tristan and looked into his eyes.

"This is not a battle between right and wrong anymore. As men we are judged by our actions and accomplishments, both by the living and history. The path we now embark upon is one of bloodshed, the destruction of entire worlds and civilizations. Innocent lives will be sacrificed so that countless more may live both now and in the future. As an Iron Warrior, as an Astarte, there is only one road for us and that is the one that leads to the end. Once started there is no going back, only the true victory of Utopia or the eternal damnation of death."

The elevator stopped, waiting further input to have the gate above open to allow its entry to the hangar as it was programmed to do. It would be inefficient to deal with vessels collapsing partially down an access elevator by landing in the wrong position, but this gave Jarn a moment to finish speaking before they entered the hangar he was bringing the recovering Tristan towards.

"I could not ask this of Levente, for someone who only understands the language of authority, might, and brute force could never understand the true weight of this question. As muted as you hold your feelings within, I have known the man you are since you first sought to save a woman and her child from a collapsing building, even from the moment you stared me down with solemn pride and anger in the ruins of your home."

In but a moment whatever warmth, compassion, and fatherly guidance had been present in Jarn's expression was replaced by the cold determination and stoicism expected of an Iron Warrior. The Warsmith's eyes studied Tristan like a dataslate, pouring over him with fierce analysis and discerning every minute detail of his Triarch.

"As Astartes we are expected to cast aside much of our Humanity for the sake of our species, but what I ask is more: are you willing to go all the way? Will you bear the burdens required upon your soul, pressing forward no matter the cost to you or others?"

From his very childhood the vision of the Iron Legion had been imprinted upon Tristan, and even without indoctrination he had come to see things as Jarn had. His mindset was what one would expect of a deeply analytical individual and the rationalist and pragmatic worldview they espoused fit his nature, while the idealism of Utopia fit with his history as the son of a noble knight.

His own goals, grudges, or feelings aside there was nothing Tristan would not do for the Warsmith and his goals, and so Tristan knelt down to affirm as much to the one he owed everything to.

"If there is but one road it is the one I shall follow you on to the bitter end, now and always."

"Very well then..." Tristan's answer seemed to content Jarn who nodded in response, helping Tristan back up to his feet with one hand while pressing the necessary lever to open the metal above them, "Now I entrust to you the key to our future, my son and Triarch."

His words were soon consumed by the noise of the crowd filling the hangar around them, the Warsmith and his right hand rising into the mass of Iron Warriors, their servants, and even the vessel's Ixolotl population all gathered together. While elsewhere things were crowded and some individuals were forced to stand atop crates, vessels, or even be boarded upon them, it was a sight to behold to see them all in one place: notably even armor belonging to remnants of the Luna Wolves could be seen nearby while even closer Jarn's Fallen guards stood present and kneeling before his entrance.

Standing taller than any other individual present allowed Tristan to see past them all and look outside of the Eisernen to what lay beyond...and what he witnessed actually left the Triarch stunned.

A new vessel had been crafted to join their fleet from the modular pieces assembled over decades and gathered at their dockyard, something that would be accepted readily by Tristan and without particular comment if not for the fact that he could finally now see what his resource gathering had been put towards.

Dwarfing even a moon in size lay a behemoth ship of Jarn's own design, incorporating elements of the The Abyss-Class Battleship, the Gloriana-Class Battleship, the Eisernen itself, Ramilles Star Fortresses, and even the fabled Imperial Vessel Phalanx into one form. No space atop it was wasted with every possible inch covered in offensive weapon batteries while beneath its armor was seemingly as thick as entire Battleships before its main hull could even be brought to harm.

In but a moment Tristan realized why his kin were celebrating, and he could not help but look in awe out towards a 'Battleship' that could contest the might of the Phalanx, or even outright defeat it. The peerless fortress which stood as a symbol of the Imperial Fists now had a challenger, a weapon in the shape of a ship that had firepower enough to lay waste to planets and whatever fleets protected them.

Put simply, a tool that could deter even the likes of the Phalanx if it came to threaten Jarn's homeworld of Kimara, and one which could tip the scale in a siege of the planet and allow them to force its compliance.

"Uwaaaaaaaaah!" cried the Ixolotls present in joy, their nature being to mirror their owners emotional state and their natural attraction to lustrous objects making seeing a ship larger than a moon strike right into the heart of their primitive joy. Unable to see over the Iron Warriors and crowds present they instead were found climbing on top of whatever they could or just standing beside their owner while completely oblivious to why they were cheering, instead pleased to be there with the surge of positive emotion in the typically dour Eisernen.

"Iron Within! Iron Within!" came the repeating chorus of Iron Warriors, no-one leading their chants and cheers but their uproarious celebration rejuvenated upon Jarn's arrival. The Warsmith held a hand up in recognition of their support, pleased to finally unveil what their efforts had gone towards creating piece by piece these many years. To witness such a feat of engineering and naval firepower was everything the Iron Warriors could have asked for, and with such a vessel nothing felt beyond their reach now: that now their dreams of Utopia could one day be achieved battle by battle with an unstoppable juggernaut that would fear nothing.

"Iron in Ice!" Iron Warriors from Kimara and Kimaran-descended crew cheered in honor of their world, now witnessing before them the way by which they could return and reclaim a world lost to them thousands of years before but never forgotten in their spirit. If the Imperium ever wanted to pry Kimara from their hands again it would have to defeat the largest vessel in Humanity's history, and each and every one of them would die proudly aboard it if it meant the freedom of their kin and the survival of their ideals.

"Vittoria mio Imperatore!" was another phrase chanted by Kimarans present, this time cheering the Warsmith by the title granted to him in absence upon Kimara's rebellion to the Imperium: the Emperor of Kimara, their Emperor, and the one they entrusted to fulfill the aspirations of their people and the Great Crusade. He was not only their Warsmith whose battle accolades were innumerable, he was the spiritual leader of an entire rebellion whose sheer force of will had inspired millions to take arms against all who would deny their vision. Those upon Kimara had proclaimed him their leader even as he fought his way through the stars to be reunited with them, and even if they had been quelled before his return those in his fleet still recognized the spirit of those who bravely fought the Imperial Fists and decayed Imperium for freedom.

The meaning behind Jarn's words and his inquiry were realized by Tristan as soon as he laid his eyes upon the vessel, for as leader of their Kheledakos it was now his to command.

The Warsmith and Triarch rose further as the platform they stood upon raised further above the gathered Legion. Beneath stood the Iron Legion's many components all crammed into the only space on the Eisernen that would afford them a view of the magnificent sight before them.

Jarn allowed the cries of victory to continue for a few moments more before he rose a hand and in a single moment commanded silence without a word, his soldiers and servants snapping to attention and waiting for him to address them. Even Tristan felt the need to kneel beside Jarn so as to not loom over him at such a moment, showing his utmost devotion plainly for all to witness.

With all fallen to silence Jarn addressed his chosen kin loudly, having raised his voice so that it boomed out across the hangar without requiring him to shout. Years of command had taught him how to modulate his voice accordingly, and so he spoke as a tempered veteran whose will carried in every word uttered.

"For years I have bid that you toil across the stars, taking all you can and sometimes giving all in return. While our ultimate ambitions have remained clear, to reclaim the Imperial world of Kimara such that it might serve as our unconquerable base of operations and serve as our own Utopia, it has been my prerogative to keep details scarce and known only to a few. For this, I do not apologize, for it was a necessary precaution given the weight of what I now share with you."

Gesturing outwards, Jarn shifted the attention from himself to his creation which had been pieced together in the time they had been gone. Years of building the pieces in secret had finally paid off, never once letting slip his full intentions for their 'fleet' lest some agent of Chaos catch wind.

"This vessel bear witness to is but one piece in securing our future, but it is an important one: should it have fallen to the grips of Chaos even Terra would not be safe from its firepower, for I have created it to serve as a deterrence to even the Phalanx of the Imperial Fists. Piece by piece it has been forged by our brethren who no longer can join us on the battlefront, and now after decades of their contributions it stands before you forged with the very resources you have fought to obtain."

"Each man standing here today is to credit with this feat of engineering: let it be known that I do not take your work or sacrifices for granted even if I cannot always share such sentiments. In appreciation for what you have accomplished I grant you the tool to achieve our Legion's ideal: the Utopia-class Star Fortress."

Upon the official reveal of its classification another outcry of cheers sounded throughout the hangar, for while the Iron Warriors were known for their stoicism under most circumstances they too were known for letting out their emotions upon the end of a siege: their long war to obtain what they needed for victory had ended, and now they had before them the fruits of their labor that they had long been deprived of.

Jarn gave time for the excitement to come down before he continued, not wishing to ruin the genuine moment of celebration his hard-working crew earned. Once he sensed the mood would permit him to continue on Jarn spoke again and brought his arms out in a grand gesture as he stood before his Legion in the revised armor of their Primarch.

"With this we may once again embark upon our conquest of the stars, starting with Kimara, and one day ending when the last planet in existence is united beneath our banner. A tool to bring about the end of war, once and for all," clenching his hands, Jarn stopped his speech for a moment to signal a shift before moving forward, "This is not the only boon I gift upon you today, for just as we must conquer to bring about our vision so too must we build the future we envision brick by brick."

It was with some bile choked back that Jarn broached the next subject, as if informing others of something he knew they would be disgusted by but which he had to share out of necessity.

"Within the Warp the servants of the Traitor Falk are forging a way to rapidly create new Astartes by perverting the Human form: using unspeakable methods they seek to one day create legions of their false Iron Warriors from the Warp-tainted and mutant bodies of captive females they surgically infuse Gene-Seed and men into. They have not yet perfected their dark craft, but it is only a matter of time until our fallen brethren do so."

Some of the vitriol held in his words no doubt stemmed from Forrix serving under Falk, a man who once was his subordinate and who had dragged the most honored son of Perturabo into the depths of Chaos. If he could there was little doubt Jarn would strike Falk down himself, but their fates were so divergent that such a moment was unlikely to ever come to pass.

Shifting from restrained disgust to pride, Jarn spoke not from arrogance but from accomplishment of what he had worked to establish, "But what those mockeries of our once Great Legion can only accomplish through the Warp we can surpass through technology and scientific inquiry. That is what makes us superior, and why we will be the ultimate victors of this war of attrition, not Chaos! This past century we have worked alongside expert Genetors, including the renowned Fabius Bile, to create complementary organs to the Gene-Seed you are familiar with."

While few among their ranks respected Fabius Bile as a person, fewer still doubted the man's capabilities when it came to this field of science. He was perhaps second to only the Emperor himself when it came to such knowledge, and so it lent instant understanding of the degree of quality their Warsmith had ensured in this endeavor…as well as the likely severe costs in resources Bile would have demanded for such service.

"These new organs, collectively labeled the Omnis Gravidae, facilitate the natural birth and growth of Astartes offspring. These implants enhance a female's reproductive organs the way Gene-Seed enhances a male's physical capabilities and become self-replicating in successive generations by altering the genetics of the bearer. Gone will be the days of finding candidates and hoping that the implantation process works: now children will be born Astartes or born capable of bearing Astartes children from their husband's Progenoid Glands."

Already in awe of the Utopia-class vessel that now would lead their fleet, it was no exaggeration to say that the Astartes present were even further astounded that their Warsmith had managed to bend even the nature of Astartes reproduction to his iron will.

"This advancement has been made possible through information acquired from the Emperor's own research gifted to his son Corvus Corax, along with the tireless efforts of our Apothecaries, and shall grant us an edge over our foes be they Human or Xenos. To this end, our chief Apothecary Ossus has traveled to Kimara ahead of our fleet to begin preparations of our Legion's rebirth: through his research and information acquired from the Emperor's own we have successfully bridged what gaps remained between Humanity and Astartes."

"Just as it is now, it will be the duty of each and every Astarte to cultivate the next generation. From each pairing eight children can be born: four male with Gene-Seed naturally incorporated into their being, and four female with their their Omnis Gravidae. While our ranks will grow slower at first, successive generations will exponentially increase our numbers and rival the Astarte Legions of old. In centuries we shall surpass even those, and none will be able to stand in the way of our vision."

"Once it was the fear of many Astartes that when our conquest was over, when our sole seeming purpose was fulfilled, that we would be discarded. Through this integration of the family unit to our existence we no longer will be set apart from Humanity, but rather become a step in its evolution. It may not have been the Emperor's intention for us to supplant Humanity, but we are no less Human than our Primarchs or the Emperor himself: our forms may differ from the Humanity of old, but as masters of our own fate we will adapt as necessary to survive not only in body but in spirit."

"It is no secret that in the Great Crusade our Legion took our mortal peers for granted, be it the forces assigned under our command or the civilian infrastructure back on Olympia. To meet the needs of our Legion Olympia's civil infrastructure was crushed, paving way to the decay that would one day bring the Iron Warriors low. If history were to repeat it would bring us to ruin once more, and so we shall form the bonds necessary to understand the struggles and triumphs of those we will work alongside to bring our vision to reality. We need to be more than we once were to overcome the darkness before us, and rekindling our Humanity will be one piece of that greater whole."

The Warsmith's words resonated with his men, many of whom were veterans going back to the days of the Great Crusade and who knew firsthand of the matters discussed. Through ignorance and perhaps even hubris they had mistakenly believed that their sole world of Olympia could fulfill every need they so desired, and when the time came that it broke from the pressure placed upon it so too did their Legion.

"Kimara may be nigh impenetrable, but prudence dictates that we do not call the Imperium's wrath down upon us before we are capable of repelling everything in its arsenal. Henceforth, to this end, our Iron Legion shall be known as the 'Iron Krakens' of Kimara, 'successors' of the Iron Hands of Medusa. With the shattering of their Legion upon Istvaan there exist unverifiable points in their personnel records and history, allowing our agents to exploit the Imperium's ignorance to our own ends."

"The Iron Hands possess an affinity for mechanized warfare, cybernetics, and ruthless logic: they are already our peers, and so there exists no better cover for our future operations. Our location upon Kimara will mask our affinity for artillery as being the world's own, and while we must hide our true numbers and actions we will draw no suspicion. Years of whittling the Imperium's knowledge of Kimara and isolating it will make even the 'Iron' of our moniker go unremarked by their cumbersome bureaucracy."

"In the Great Crusade the Iron Hands conquered thousands of worlds, earning the respect of even Roboute Guilliman of the Ultramarines. They sought to excise weakness from the Human race wherever it might be found, and so too shall we. In harkening to our 'official' history we too shall have justification to set out amongst the stars and bring order, our order, to worlds which have lost sight of the Great Crusade's ideals. We shall forge an empire of iron far greater than our true kin ever established, and in doing so we shall set right all that has gone wrong."

"We fight not for the Imperium, but for Humanity itself, for both its survival and prosperity! We shall free them from the shackles fate has cast upon them so they too can seize their destiny and forge from it a path thought lost to our race! From iron cometh strength! From strength cometh will! From will cometh faith! From faith cometh honor! From honor cometh iron! This is the Unbreakable Litany, and may it forever be so!"

As his speech came to its conclusion the spirits of all present had never been higher, and it would be days before even their most taciturn of members would be able to wipe a smirk off their face.

The Iron Warriors were a Legion once more.

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It was evident even to the socially lacking Tristan the honor afforded to him by being granted command of the first Utopia-class vessel, such was its inherent majesty as a Battleship and mobile fortress. As he poured over its details he found that even beyond its first glance the ship was utterly lacking in the heraldry of Imperial vessels or the runic markings of Chaos, yet standing as a piece of artwork to the Iron Warriors all the same from its sheer scale, armament, and plating. Designed entirely by Jarn from stern to bow, it incorporated the most effective and efficient technologies he had come to know to allow it to perform even beyond its relative size would suggest.

Built for their Legion's future and survival, the Utopia-class would require a Legion to properly crew much like the Phalanx. Knowing it would be some time until they could acquire such a force, Jarn had ensured that systems could be automated as necessary or carried out by basic laborers rather than Astartes. While inferior, automation was preferable to having most of the vessel without function until the far future while also allowing for command to be directly assumed from its primary bridge.

Said bridge was deeply embedded within the Utopia's nigh impenetrable hull, with damage that would punch through an entire Battleship instead just reaching the end of its easily discarded and replaceable ablative plating. Iron Warrior design philosophy had seen earlier vessels eschew counterintuitive choices such as unnecessary windows in favor of further plating, and this same ethos was applied to the Utopia's construction. Favoring function over form, the bridge was not mounted externally with glass separating vital staff from the void, instead being fully protected with redundant security systems in place for its staff commanding arguably the most powerful vessel to be created by Humanity in eons.

To leave such officers exposed would be to leave the Utopia-class vulnerable to capture or crippling, and while the segmented design of various systems allowed them to function without one another the bridge remained the brain to the Utopia's body. Secondary command centers existed throughout to oversee regional functions while they in turn were connected through the primary bridge with alternative methods available in case of system failure.

At the time of the Utopia's development the Iron Legion possessed around four thousand Astartes under its command, though of this only around a quarter were capable of being fielded in standard Astartes deployments due to the ravages of attrition warfare taking their toll upon the others. This left the remainder to fulfill support roles such as manning artillery and maintaining or building equipment, both of which allowed them to continue their service without sacrificing their form to that of a Dreadnought.

Levente considered such Astartes as beneath his notice and felt they ought to be grateful to still serve their more functional kin, unwilling to consider Astartes who no longer could properly fight as Astartes at all. Tristan, ever in contrast, passed no judgment on those who contributed to the cause: someone had to fill those roles, and he had worked alongside those crippled veterans for decades now in improving their technology at the Dodekatheon.

Did he know almost any of their names? Less than a dozen perhaps, but that was due to him never bothering to ask, itself a result of Tristan simply not caring: work was to be done and much of it was done in relative silence. Levente could name every warrior who had fallen in battle alongside him and sing stories of their valiant struggles, but it was Tristan who worked to minimize such casualties.

In this way there was a smooth transition when the Warsmith assigned the near entirety of their non-combat staff to the Utopia-class vessel to get it up and running under Tristan's command. The Triarch might not know them personally, but the 'Iron Lich' possessed a reputation that preceded him of caring for results rather than glory.

For those whose work was often thankless and without a shred of personal glory there was no better an overseer to possess than one who would value them by their craft rather than by what they could no longer accomplish. With Jarn forcibly removing any signs of treachery towards one's fellow Warrior the culture within the Iron Legion had diverged from the self-sabotaging ways of the 4th Legion's past, where Iron Warriors would undermine or tear one another down for their own success where possible.

The death of Constantin had reminded all of a traitor's reward, and in this way they worked to the best of their capabilities in whatever task they were granted. The bitter warriors would sometimes argue, but they shared in their successes and collaborated to overcome difficulties, the process by which they had built the pieces they would eventually assemble into the craft they now served upon.

Despite not caring for such frivolities, it was required of Tristan to grant their vessel a designation for others to refer to it as: when his suggestion of simple names like I-1, Iron, and so on were rejected by the Warsmith it taxed Tristan's limited creativity. Eventually, given its design as a bulwark against both the decayed theocracy of the Imperium as well as the Ruinous Powers of Chaos, Tristan settled upon the title Bishop's Boundary for the flagship and it was accepted without complaint.

With the completion of a ship capable of forcibly taking Kimara from the Imperium and safeguarding it eternally if necessary the Iron Legion in one fell swoop stood ready to march on their Warsmith's former home: there they could establish their roots and begin their conquest of the known galaxy without fear of ever being truly defeated, and there they would at long last have the ability to expand the ranks of the Iron Legion into a galaxy-spanning empire.

While it would be possible to rush their invasion directly after the Bishop's founding, it was the Warsmith's decision to first tie up loose ends and grant Tristan the time necessary to master the ins and outs of his new vessel. In this vein he took Levente and their active forces to scour traces of their collective activities, as while they could not prevent the forces of Palamedes from nipping at their heels, there still were measures to be taken to ensure others would not follow in their footsteps.

Of their fleet only the Bishop's Boundary remained with their dockyards, Tristan possessing the Warsmith's full confidence in handling things until they returned in a few short weeks. After all, it would take a sizable fleet of ships to even threaten a Utopia-class vessel, something compounded by their location making conflict with anything more than a single stray ship unlikely. With the sector devoid of outside activity Tristan was free to test out the Bishop's many systems and prepare it for the coming siege of Kimara.

Rather than jump right into testing the vessel's combat systems Tristan held true to his nature and first experimented with its inner forges, as they were what he felt were most crucial to its overall functionality and longevity. Incorporated into the Utopia-class design were massively spanning forges akin to those of Mars designed to take in resources from conquered worlds. These could not only rebuild their forces and equipment, but also to repair any damage to the ship itself in rapid fashion.

For his testing processes Tristan passed off his various designs for weapons, vehicles, machinery, and armor to the top Dodekatheon members placed under his command with past suggestions from Grund to better mass-produce them. Admittedly Tristan had not yet learned the names of these Iron Warriors placed in charge of his forges, knowing them instead by their service numbers in the fleet's databases, but he trusted that they would be able to bring his various designs to fruition with the documents provided.

While they focused on technological developments for the Legion's future operations Tristan began work on a more immediate need: staffing the Bishop entirely with his mass produced battle automata, since named the 'Ironshields' for their general purpose of reducing casualties via expendable machines. With their limited functionality mostly tied to the battlefield it took some additional effort to repurpose them to other staff roles, but Tristan did as he always had and used existing technology from other sources to complete the task efficiently. By borrowing the Bishop's own system data he could have the Ironshields serve as backups to manually engage in manning stations in case they were otherwise unstaffed and the automated systems were offline.

Ironshields were by no means the most effective combatants even before some had their systems redone to also take on manual labor and tasks, but a sub-par substitute for the Skitarii of the Mechanicus was perfectly acceptable when said substitutes were utterly expendable. Even if during a boarding engagement aboard the Bishop hundreds or thousands were destroyed defending it they would be replaced in short order by replacements fashioned from their remains with their skeletal frame's low resource cost and minimal circuitry. Even their only 'ascetic' choice also was one for functionality, with colored markings on their shoulders to show that specific unit's role, while the rest of their metal frames remained bare of any color except the uniform metals utilized in their creation.

Development of fighter craft piloted by Ironshields remotely controlled by the Bishop would be a later addition to their battlefield roster to protect the Bishop from smaller vessels while for now its own defensive batteries would handle that duty. The Ironshields would serve as the primary bulwark for the sparse Iron Warriors stationed throughout a ship meant to have far more manning it, and even once the Bishop was brought to its full potential by a full Astarte crew the Ironshields would remain valuable as supplementary forces. What's more, Iron Warriors with cortex controllers could serve as overseers to direct them to engage in basic repairs to hasten the Bishop's own automated repair functions.

The Bishop's Boundary was made to replace entire sections of its structure and so the relatively smaller task of producing automata was able to be handled in large batches once set up, easily facilitating Tristan's goal of filling the Utopia-class' hallways with Ironshields. Now with a veritable legion of automata now supplementing and guarding the Bishop Tristan moved on to testing its other properties, fully intent on utilizing every moment afforded to him by the Warsmith to understand this technological marvel meant for endless conquest.

As was his nature Tristan fully immersed himself on studying every single system and device within the Bishop that he was not already aware of from his prior work in the Dodekatheon concerning the fleet, having Ironshields bring him meals to meet his needs and sleeping only when he could not function without it. So detached from what lay beyond his work was the Triarch that he was wholly unaware that his tireless effort, wiry frame for an Astarte, usage of reverse-engineered Necrontyr technology, and horde of mechanical servants with skeletal frames all coalesced to further spread his growing moniker of 'Iron Lich'. While few knew of any stories like the one Jarn had read, plenty had come into contact with the Necrontyr who possessed 'Lychguard' and 'Phylacteries' of their own, so the general concept was well understood.

The Astartes under his command working on bringing the Bishop's Boundary to full operational status did not mean anything disparaging or derisive about the nickname unlike when it was spoken by Levente: rather respect had begun to further take root of their immediate superior given his technological accomplishments that aided them in their own work and projects. Tristan may have been given the tools to fully meet his potential and succeed by the Warsmith, but it was plainly evident to all why this Astarte had been chosen to receive such mentorship. For all his faults, Tristan was a familiar figure to many of their veteran members: those who had once served under Perturabo could recognize the single-minded attention to detail in one's work, as was his logical and rational mindset.

That Tristan lacked Perturabo's explosive temperament was an unspoken benefit to those veterans who had seen their Primarch brutalize their kin with little provocation, though this was not to say that Tristan was without fury or wrath: the ongoing development and testing of his personal armor and weapons during this period of time became well known to those working to replicate his discoveries on a greater scale, as was Tristan's constant loop of videos recorded of Palamedes' capabilities upon the battlefield. Said obsession went uncommented upon by his subordinates who almost all were his senior, for none could fault him for his deep-seated grudge and desire to overcome a servant of Chaos who sought to cut him down.

Despite Tristan's lack of social grace and cold attitude his record of not wasting his soldiers' lives stood out as empathetic for an Iron Warrior, for while it was born mostly out of pragmatism so too was it influenced by the Triarch's unflinching loyalty to their Legion and its members. Given his heritage he considered his fellow Astartes as if fellow knights and honored peers, and though his way of demonstrating it was rather indirect it still was appreciated by those who still lived thanks to his calculating methods on the battlefield.

Over the first few days Tristan ultimately would learn the names of the few ranking officers under his command so that he could better command them from the bridge rather than awkwardly avoid referring to them by anything but their rank or identification number. This could in turn be credited to Quidel who had made the suggestion as the chief of security aboard the Bishop's Boundary, having been one of the few non-retired Iron Warriors to accompany Tristan aboard. Quidel had no Astartes presently under his command due to the physical status of those on-board, and so instead was left to oversee the Bishop's Ironshield security detachment via an advanced cortex controller gifted to him by Tristan.

Organizing the Ironshields was a largely automated process once they were constructed and thus Quidel possessed plenty of time to offer counsel to Tristan aboard the bridge, only occasionally having to check in on the functionality of his security forces. There Quidel could better oversee the entirety of the Bishop's Boundary as well as attempt to lessen the gap between Tristan and his crew, knowing full well since childhood that if left to his own devices Tristan could spend a century without dedicating an ounce of brainpower to learning anything about them beyond performance records and ID numbers.

Tristan's mind was for numbers, schematics, and processing whatever data was necessary for his given role, so minutiae about his peers held zero interest and purpose to him so long as they were not in his way. When he was a part of a squad knowing those around him was necessary, but when overseeing thousands of others individual names greatly diminished in importance.
Joining them on the Bishop's Boundary was Captain Turner of the Eisernen, having been transferred from their former flagship to their fleet's new lead vessel. The Turner family's long service to the Jarn family dated back to the founding of Kimara, having served as the pilots of the transports which brought Kimara's initial settlers and remained alongside them. While possessing no supernatural skill or capabilities their disciplined and steady nature had seen to the Turners having a near flawless service record, their consistency naturally combining well with the pragmatic and workhorse battle tactics implemented by the Jarns.

A man in his prime, Turner possessed a youthful appearance that was mired by the stern expression one would expect of a Kimaran descendant. His medium-length jet black hair was slicked back and accompanied by sideburns that led down into a dignified beard that made him appear beyond his years in contrast to his spry, pale skin. Beyond commands to the crew beneath his command he was a man of few words, and that was something which Tristan appreciated the Captain for. When commanding the Eisernen the Triarch had relied on Turner to handle the actual implementation of his commands for the vessel while Tristan continued to follow the flow of battle, and so while not personally close the two had grown to work efficiently together.

Captain Ernust Turner was a credit to his lineage in his unflinching resolve and dedication to perfectly carrying out the orders granted to him, entrusting the tactical aspect of battle to his Astartes overlords while taking care of the mundane matters required to fulfill those tactical decisions. That the calculating Tristan had commanded the Eisernen without error gave his Captain full confidence the Triarch could properly handle the Bishop even with its unprecedented scale. Had he been placed under the command over the impetuous Levente instead Ernust might have possessed some reservation even if he would never voice it out of respect to his lords and their determination of what was best.

On a typical Imperial ship around one third of its structure would be dedicated to engines and reactors, but this proportion was skewed on the Utopia-class to favor firepower and structural reinforcement. This meant testing its propulsion was paramount when Tristan moved on from ensuring the Bishop's internal systems and processes were sound, for to overlook the vessel's ability to move entirely could result in disadvantageous battlefield conditions.

Despite its tests demonstrating the expected sluggish maximum speed the Bishop was surprisingly able to engage in pinpoint rearrangement and turning through utilizing engines throughout its structure in concert with one another. To turn in this manner would be to sacrifice what little speed the ship possessed, while in turn to move at its maximum speed would mean only minimal turning capability. Even to comparable vessels the Bishop was as fast as a glacier, but it was at least maneuverable in its otherwise graceless form.

Gained by this sacrifice of speed were weapon and defense systems designed to wholly counteract this flaw. Weapon batteries lined the entirety of the Bishop's hull, each taking inspiration from those upon the Eisernen and thus possessing far greater range than other Battleships could muster with their relative size. Hit and run tactics would not work on a Battleship that could wipe you out from any range, as there would be nowhere you could flee from the onslaught of batteries and Nova Cannons. Whereas the Word Bearers had utilized a prototype weapon system to possess incredible firepower aboard their Abyss-class ships, the Utopia instead favored a multitude of weapons that when fired together would possess similar effect as a far larger one. While not as specialized, there were no targets that the Bishop could possess that it would fare poorly against.

For protection the Bishop had not only the obvious armor plating visible on all sides that could deter even strikes meant to cripple a Battleship, but also a series of overlapping layers of Void shields capable of covering for one another when any one was overloaded. While not wholly impenetrable, the Bishop's segmented systems and structure meant that damage incurred in battle would be largely self-contained and easy to repair even during the heat of battle.

To test the Bishop's defenses and gauge any gaps that might exist Tristan had the Bishop steer directly into an asteroid field in the sector: to an outside observer the dark 'iron' colored vessel would appear as if a void in space parting the sea of debris, destroying those directly impacted and tossing aside the remains without showing any signs of damage to its reinforced hull. Perhaps unintentionally the natural color of the Bishop let it blend well into the darkness of space, only lacking the markings of distant stars to wholly separate it. It was by no means a subtle warship or capable of true stealth, but at a distance it did not draw attention to itself the way the colorful vessels of other Astartes may.

Testing the Bishop's weapon systems was simple, and by the time the Warsmith returned he would come to notice that there was one less planet to be found in their locale. By concentrating their searing lances and weapon batteries all on a single point the Bishop reduced its target to superheated fragments.

Tristan came to such an idea based on the recorded history of the Abyss-class vessel which inspired the Bishop's creation: the Word Bearers had intended to blast apart a moon to destroy Ultramar with its remains, so Tristan simply applied the same concept on a larger scale to devastating effect. Rather than a singular beam of energy to wipe out a given target the Bishop fired so many in close proximity to one another that it would give the appearance of a larger weapon like those found aboard the Abyss-class.

Smaller targets were able to be overwhelmed through sheer quantity of incoming firepower to make up for the Bishop's present lack of Astartes gunners, while larger ones actually were less worrying to Tristan given the ease at which they could be focus-fired and eliminated. With full 360-degree firing capabilities the Bishop could engage foes from any angle, even if some of its heavier weapons mounted upon its hull would prefer targets at a distance where their own firing arcs would prove most effective. Upscaled Nova Cannons were built to be fleet-killing tools of mass destruction, and while situational were potent given their area of effect, power, and unparalleled range.

The ability to simply remove antagonistic planets or moons from existence was one which Tristan appreciated, as there would be times where conquering a world was simply not worth the resources it would take to do so and where diplomacy was fruitless. Worlds with sufficient planetary shielding and other defenses could protect them to a degree, but unless they possessed the sheer redundancies of Terra or Kimara as modeled after Terra the Boundary would eventually win out in time.

The worst scenarios would be where a world had to be captured without widespread destruction, but Tristan prepared for this too with a second world in the region. Through the Bishop's powerful sensors meant to grant it detailed information even beyond its notable firing range Tristan was able to tune the firepower used by the Bishop to merely cleanse a landscape without further geological damage. Utilizing various forms of armor ranging from that of the Iron Warriors themselves all the way down to carapace and flak armor, Tristan ensured that few would survive such measured bombardment. Included also were various forms of personal defenses such as refractor fields and even the powerful Karceri Battle Shields to further provide comprehensive data.

Naturally Tristan tested this same process upon his own armor and left the Logos Incrementum with the other test subjects. Setting its systems to their maximum settings, Tristan fired upon it with the rest to see if it could withstand such firepower as there was always the risk of enemy naval support. By testing it ahead of time it would also allow Tristan to hypothetically call a strike down on his own position if overwhelmed by foes. Though Tristan aimed to never allow himself to be in such a vulnerable position to begin with preparation was something he did in excess, and so he would be ready should that time come. The Iron Warriors had reservations about 'Iron on Iron' attacks where their bombardment could harm their own soldiers so the implementation of such tactics would be rare.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Logos Incrementum was the only one left standing after Tristan had reduced everything else to ashes. His suit purposefully incorporated numerous redundant shielding systems, so while its power source had been taxed extremely the armor ultimately held and was able to be retrieved without issue.

Records of the Horus Heresy told of how the Imperial Fist known as Alexis Polux took command of their naval forces and in weeks of coming to his position managed to outmaneuver the far greater Iron Warriors force in the Battle of Phall as led by the Primarch Perturabo. Perhaps out of pride, perhaps out of disgust, the Iron Legion's own Astartes working to get the Bishop's Boundary up and running sought to surpass the legacy of their hated foe. If an Imperial Fist without experience could surpass battle-tested Iron Warriors and their Primarch with a pittance of practice then there was zero excuse to not master in short order their own craft for the battles to come. Days flew by in ceaseless testing and drills, and while they could not have known at the time they would prove vital in the weeks to come.

A standard Imperial month had passed since the Warsmith departed with the rest of their fleet when the Bishop's powerful sensors detected an anomaly in their once empty sector: Warp signatures heralding the arrival of an unknown fleet of Imperial vessels. The Bishop had been at rest preparing for another battery of propulsion tests when this sudden appearance of other ships drew the attention of Captain Turner, who in turn relayed this information immediately to his superior.

"Triarch, we are detecting an unknown force at the edge of the sector. By their composition they appear to be an Imperial Battlefleet, and more unknown signatures are inbound."

Information about their unexpected guests continued to pour in as Tristan mulled over this turn of events. It was immediately obvious that these interlopers had just departed from some battle, as their fleet showed grievous damage and while it remained in formation some vessels were only just barely able to do so…though one detail about their composition caught Tristan's attention immediately: the presence of Victory-class Battleships.

Far from common within the Imperium's ranks, the Victory-class was primarily utilized by the Iron Legion itself as well as the Kimarans who first built its fleet. Similar friend-or-foe codes emitted by the incoming fleet to those found aboard the Eisernen and its fellow ships would imply that these too were Kimaran in origin, but that did not necessarily mean that they were friendly: Kimara was under Imperial control, and it was wholly possible that this fleet had arrived here under orders to eliminate the Iron Warriors they once were sworn to.

How Kimarans had arrived in a sector unknown to all but the Iron Legion was unknown, as was the reason for their fleet's damage and what conflict they just departed from. Rather than blindly trust what could be enemies Tristan opened up communications with the approaching force while assigning two of the Bishop's lead engineers, Blohm and Voss, to redirect their crew to battle-readiness while Quidel prepared the Ironshields.

"Imperial battlefleet, you are addressed by Triarch Tristan Bertrand of Iron Krakens, successors of the Iron Hands. On your present course you will come into contact with our flagship, the Bishop's Boundary: state your purpose and presence here or we will be forced to take action."

The bridge of the Bishop possessed holographic technology not unique to it amongst Humanity's fleets, but the power of its transmissions allowed for them to transmit without the interruption and static others might. The Warsmith had spared no expense in the creation of his flagship, and Tristan being able to properly project his image was just one small benefit of this fact. Gear heraldry and Kraken symbols added to his personal armor to pre-emptively prepare for their cover story would help sell the persona he adopted, though this would prove unnecessary given the person who responded.

"So that Legionnaire spoke the truth…"

In return for Tristan's transmission came the projected image of an elderly officer of the Imperial Navy, dignified in countenance and possessing a face Tristan felt he had seen a thousand times before amongst the Eisernen's crew: if any doubt remained it had since been silenced by the sight of a man who so embodied Kimara's primary traits. While his hair might no longer be pitch black like his fellow Iceborn he would not be out of place with the Iron Legion's own crew, and could easily pass as Captain Turner's father…an observation Tristan made just before the officer spoke and further removed any doubt.

"I am Lord-Admiral Ewald Turner of the Imperial Navy, and loyal retainer of Kimara's true liege. We received these coordinates from an ally and were told we could find refuge here from the forces which beset us: though tasked with the eradication of a Tyranid menace, upon the completion of our mission we found ourselves entrapped by the damnable Word Bearers and their heretic followers. To fight one would be possible: to fight two fleets after expending our effort driving back the Tyranids was untenable."

That he spoke clearly and with minimal signs of pain was a credit to his people's stoicism, as from his holographic projection it was evident that Lord-Admiral Turner had sustained fatal wounds in the ambush he mentioned. Shrapnel remained in his torso where removing it would cause more issues than it would solve, and despite standing up straight with the discipline of a lifetime soldier he was already a dead man walking.

His mention of a Legionnaire conveyed to Tristan that Asier must have embedded agents within the fleet who in turn led them here, as Asier's advance party would have had the time and ability to do so. That Asier or Urkamus were not the ones transmitting this message would imply they were not present, likely still at Kimara itself, which oddly served to comfort Tristan since it meant they remained relatively safe. Despite his lack of sociability he still cared for his former squad, and Asier was his closest ally within the Iron Legion beyond the Warsmith himself.

"A contingent of our forces remain in battle with our assailants to slow them down. It is inevitable that they will fall shortly, leaving us little time," the Lord-Admiral spoke through obvious pain, pausing briefly to regain control over his voice rather than submit to the agony inflicted upon him, "The Deathwatch Astartes accompanying us to purge the Tyranids have stayed behind as well to buy us more time, and it is from them that we received these coordinates to grasp at a chance of salvation."

Cogs turned rapidly in Tristan's mind as the situation was explained to him, and while he had yet to determine the best course of action he knew that it began by saving the battle-worn Kimarans. These were the descendants of the Warsmith's people, and were sent here by the Iron Legion's operatives so that they might survive an otherwise perilous battle. Direct contact with Asier's forces had been kept to a minimum given their covert status, but they likely had learned of the Bishop's completion and arranged for this meeting aware of that fact.

The maiden voyage of the Bishop's Boundary was to be a trial by fire, as while the Chaos fleet had yet to arrive they would be there shortly in enough quantity to fill two Battlefleets. Given that many were between fifty to seventy-five ships of varying classes that meant that the Bishop was severely outnumbered…but, by Tristan's calculations, the Heretics were clearly outmatched.

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A/N: I have been alternating between working on a slew of updates in the production pipeline, so expect more content in the days/weeks to come. Thank you to those who have shown your support, and I hope to hear your thoughts in the comments below.​