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Kelborn

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simison Venerable Brother

simison

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Colonel Selene Purechild


 


Daughter of Xander Purechild, many had written off her military career as nothing more than political maneuvering either for the benefit or by the express desire of her more powerful father. Although beloved on Vasalius through her generosity and willingness to interact with the commoner, the young scion had never once experienced combat before being granted the rank of colonel of her own regiment. Despite a full decade of training and instruction in combat theory and application, many detractors quietly remarked that good men and women would soon die for the Purechilds' vainglory.


 


Yet, the Imperial Army was desperate for any officers who had even the slightest bit of potential. The Insurrection had reaped a merciless cost on the officer corps, and the high standards of the Great Crusade had become a casualty throughout the war. 


 


Given this state of affairs, Selene would take command of the 87th Terra Heredes Regiment at the onset of the First Solar War. Although desiring to prove his bloodline's potential, Xander was not blind to the dangers. The head of the Purechild house pulled strings and ensured the 87th would be deployed on the extreme flank of the Southern Front. While technically involved in the campaign, their distance placed them away from the heaviest fighting. Their primary opponents would be mirroring Traitor regiments seeking weak spots in the Loyalist lines. 


 


It would be here that Selene would prove her worth as a battlefield commander. 


 


During the final phases of the First Solar War, the Traitor regiment would attempt to break through the Loyalist line. Nor was it an ad hoc rabble that would test the Loyalist auxiliaries but the 2nd Shikon Rakurai Division, commanded by General Isamoki Yakecho. With both forces as highly-equipped as a mortal regiment was capable of, victory would be determined by the superior commander.


 


What followed was a six months of maneuver and counter-manuever as the Heredes and Rakurai tested themselves against each other. Although possessing the advantage of fighting a defensive campaign with several pre-established defense points, the Heredes were stretched thin, leaving them periodically vulnerable to heavy assaults. Searching for the golden moment of opportunity, General Yakecho launched lightning raids as she probed the Loyalist defenses. Meanwhile, Colonel Purechild worked hard to maneuver her few reserves to create an illusion of impenetrable defense. 


 


The campaign reached a climax at the Battle of Sigma-Three. The garrison had been halved to reinforce two other defense points against raids occurring thirty-three and seventeen hours earlier. A chance raid attacked the garrison and quickly realized the potential opening. General Yakecho was alerted who directed every available element of the division to destroy the Sigma-Three garrison. At the exact same hour, Colonel Purechild became aware of the incoming calamity and ordered every nearby force to travel there. With increasing Traitor pressure, Selene was forced to deploy her personal command company to hold Sigma-Three. 


 


Five hours passed second by second as Isamoki personally oversaw the siege, watching as the Heredes garrison was whittled away. During a counter-charge, Selene herself was wounded, appearing to fail to hold Sigma-Three. Moments later, the Heredes reinforcements arrived in-system. Although Isamoki had the opportunity to slaughter the remaining defenders, she risked her division being marooned on the world as her outnumbered fleet would be driven away. Refusing to be blinded by short-term gain, the Rakurai withdrew. 


 


A few short weeks after the Battle of Sigma-Three, the Stormlord was forced to withdraw his forces, ending the First Solar War and preventing another confrontation between the Heredes and Rakurai. Despite her grevious wound, Selene would recover later. After demonstrating her command ability and valour, she would be awarded for her efforts that signaled a promising military career if the Imperium prevailed in the Insurrection. Fate, however, had other plans for the young officer...


 


 


[blunt, I hate to add to your plate, but would you like to give me a Rakurai commander and unit for Selene to face off against?]


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simison Venerable Brother

simison

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The Worth of a Mortal

 

The wall exploded. 

 

In the end, it hadn't mattered that it was composed of adamantium. It hadn't mattered it had enjoyed extensive structural reinforcement. It hadn't mattered that it had been constructed by the Fire Keepers themselves. 

 

After hours of concentrated fire, the wall submitted to its final fate. Which meant that Private Mitchell was as good as dead. He would have already surrendered to his instincts to run away if he hadn't already seen what happened to two of his comrades who had broken. They, along with half a dozen other soldiers, were ripped to pieces under bombardment, barely halfway to the next emplacement ring. Mitchell still hadn't figured out how the Traitors knew exactly where to fire. 

 

Which meant the wall was the only sanctuary. And now it was breached. 

 

Mitchell squeezed himself into a hole next to one standing section and became as quiet as possible. It was said that space marines could hear the squeak of a field mouse from a hundred paces away. He cursed his cowardice but did not move as the familiar tromp of power armour approached.

 

As the enemy came closer, a thousand thoughts filled his mind. Just a year ago, he had been content as a PDF soldier on his homeworld of Zebulon. The pay was good and the few Traitors he had fought had been militia like him but with even cheaper gear. True, the civil war was going on, but it was over on Zebulon. Mitchell had thought that the fighting would never get so desperate that they'd actually send militia to the front lines. That kind of fighting was what the legions and the Imperial Army did. 

 

His heart stopped as the first space marine charged through the breach. 

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bluntblade Venerable Brother

bluntblade

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The Daughters of Daer'dd

The mortal armies of the Excertus Imperialis were a wildly varied collection of forces, as disparate in strength and discipline as they were in number and culture. In a few instances these bodies intersected with the auxiliary forces tied directly to a Legion Astartes, leading to the formation of armies such as the Strelan Novadeka and the Madrigal Rakurai. The Daughters of Daer’dd were one such army, bound uncommonly close to the Legion they served - in their case, the mighty Iron Bears. Drawn from across the realm of Tricendia, they fought in lockstep with the VIth Legion from the first decade of Daer’dd’s leadership, and when he was murdered, they were hardly any less determined to bring ruin to the Insurrectionists.

 

The Bear’s Amazons

The Daughters of Daer’dd were born of the wars that created the Three Fires, and the fierce loyalty they kindled in both Daer’dd and the soldiers who aided his rise to power. Perhaps in an echo of the Knight Houses which ruled much of Huron, Xephyr and Accer Ferrus, the armies that fought over the shattered territory counted many women among their ranks.

 

Unity with Terra brought the opportunity for the men who served Daer’dd to undergo Ascension and many took it, braving the dangers of late implantation to continue fighting with the Primarch. To the women in his armies, no such choice was available, and the Daughters of Daer’dd were his answer. Comprising the finest female soldiers of the Three Fires, they were equipped to accompany the Iron Bears into battle. Power armour was designed for them, albeit of a kind less sophisticated and durable than that worn by the Astartes, and weapons to match.

 

The result was an army comparable to the renowned Solar Auxilia in its power, albeit one meant to be integrated into Iron Bears’ own order of battle instead of an independent force. Indeed, companies of Daughters were formally counted as part of Legion clans and wartribes, as were standard regiments raised from Tricendia and its Knight Households. In all but the most lethal of warzones they fought but one step behind their “brothers”, proud to face the same hazards.

 

The Daughters shared in the early trials of the reborn VIth Legion, carving out the remainder of the realm Daer’dd had envisaged and destroying the last armies that contested his rule. In this they were sternly tested, for in the outer wastes Daer’dd’s most stubborn adversaries had made their homes on airless worlds and Dark Age void constructs. Here they built forbidding lairs and raised abominable armies, shackling animal minds to war machines among their many other crimes. Tens of thousands of Daughters gave their lives in the struggle; Daer’dd himself noted “the wars we have fought supply the final proof, as if any were needed, that no amount of arms and armour will permit a mortal to achieve what a Space Marine might.” Nonetheless the Daughters had acquitted themselves admirably, earning a place among the front rank of Mankind’s mortal armies.

 

That worthiness would be demonstrated time and again as the VIth’s wartribes fought their way across the Galaxy and carved out a litany of honours. While ever in their shadow, the Daughters nonetheless earned a reputation that rivalled Icarion’s Rakurai and the most elite of Kozja’s regiments. On Aureus their smaller stature enabled them to play a key role in the extermination of the Orkish invaders, rooting out gretchin in the catacombs surrounding the Iron Citadel. So too were they instrumental in purging the Craftworld of Melanaath, rotated companies fighting against deranged Eldar all through the five murderous days of battle. Where a for was plainly too dangerous for them to engage head-on, the Daughters would be positioned among the ranks of the Tricendian Auxilia, stiffening their resolve and adding their superior firepower to the gun line.

 

The VIth Legion gave few lasting garrisons to the worlds it conquered, merely waiting for the machinery of true Compliance to establish itself before moving on. Consequently the Daughters served almost entirely with active expeditionary fleets or within Tricendia itself. Those who continued their service past the typical quarter-century would be granted anti-agarics and medicae treatments, giving them an impressive longevity and their veteran units a truly formidable breadth and depth of military experience.

 

But just as they had shared in the glories of the VIth Legion, so too did the Daughters of Daer’dd share their trials. Over one hundred and fifty thousand Daughters were killed over Kataii and in its aftermath, scattered across the dangerous roads back to Loyalist territory. They were recorded as martyrs by their brothers and sisters, losses to be avenged upon the Insurrectionists tenfold.

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simison Venerable Brother

simison

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Down to the final week. Back to the legions.

 

Previous entries:

 

March - Elite mortal regiments

February - Halcyon Wardens

December/January - The Drowned

November - Imperial Army

October - Warbringers

September - Eagle Warriors

August - Fire Keepers

July - Warriors of Peace

June - Grave Stalkers

May - Void Eagles

April - Dune Serpents

March - Steel Legion

 

Remaining Legions:

 

I - Harbingers
III - Crimson Lions
IV - Void Eagles
V - Halcyon Wardens

VI - Iron Bears
VII - Berserkers of Uran
VIII - Godslayers
IX - Warbringers
X - Fire Keepers
XII - Wardens of Light
XIII - Eagle Warriors
XIV - Dune Serpents
XV - Grave Stalkers
XVI - The Drowned
XVII - Warriors of Peace
XVIII - Steel Legion
XIX - Scions Hospitalier
XX - Predators

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TheBlindPrimarch Veteran

TheBlindPrimarch

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Xander carefully applied the pigment to the miniature Heredes soldier he held in his hand, deftly avoiding getting the red he was adding to the under armor on the black plate of the figure’s thigh armor. Holding the miniature away from his face, he nodded to himself in satisfaction and moved to begin repeating the process on another miniature. He frowned as his desks built in vox-indicator began to blink in urgency, interrupting his project.

                “What is it?” He asked, the annoyance clearly coloring his tone.

                “Message from Admiral Solherth, Sir.” The attendant replied, a hint of nervousness obvious in her voice. Doubtless she had been reluctant to violate the Grandmarshal’s instructions to not be disturbed, even when the reason in question came from someone as high ranking as the Admiral. “He requests your presence on the Bridge at your earliest convenience.”

Xander sighed, looking at his collection of miniatures arrayed in display cabinets along the wall, and then down at the group of uncompleted ones sitting in front of him. He’d hoped to finish them before they made their next scheduled warp jump, the vibrations of the transition making painting in such fine detail nearly impossible. He sighed again, dropping his paint brush into the water pot and rose from his chair, pulling his dress jacket from the chairs back and pulling it on as he walked to the door. The attendant jumped ever so slightly as he opened the door, and to his mild surprise he noticed that she was an attractive young woman, a fact that had apparently escaped his notice when he had instructed her not to disturb him earlier.

                “Inform the Admiral that I am on my way,” He ordered as he made his way out of his suite. He stopped just before crossing the threshold and turned back towards the girl. “and I expect to find you prepared to entertain me when I return.”

                “Yes…Sir.” She replied.

~*~

 

It took Xander roughly ten minutes to reach the bridge of the Manifestum est Finis, he noted in annoyance, even with the crew of the ship practically diving out of his path as he made his way down the causeway with his body guards in tow. He dismissively waved away the salutes of the two Heredes Marines posted to guard the portal and made his way on the command deck of the Goliath Class Battleship. Admiral Solherth turned as he entered, the Quartermaster calling the room to attention. Like the rest of the room he saluted, acknowledging the younger man’s superior rank.

                “At ease.” Xander ordered as he walked up to the Admiral and returned his salute crisply. “Admiral, you summoned me?” The bite of veiled sarcasm in his voice did little to off balance the Admiral, who dropping his arm, turned back towards the command deck’s forward view-port and pointed with the head of the cane he carried with him always.

                “We’ve discovered a ship,” he replied in his dry, almost bored sounding way. “Or rather, what’s left of one. Bearing the iconography of the Halcyon Wardens. Our scanners registered the ships identity as the Odyssey of Reason.”

Xander looked past the man at the distant form of the Imperial Cruiser, badly damaged but visibly retro-fitted to better serve the needs of those abominations of pure humanity that claimed to be the Emperor’s greatest warriors.

                “What of it?” He replied after a moment, his mood threatening to rise from annoyance to anger. The appearance of battlefield debris had become more and more commonplace as the traitorous Primarch Icarion persecuted his Insurrection against the Emperor of Mankind’s Imperium, making the periods of conventional space travel between jumps considerably more hazardous. Oftentimes, doomed ships would make desperate jumps into the Warp, hoping to escape destruction, only to find themselves stranded and slowly dying, or worse, lost in the Warp. “Since when does a dead ship warrant my attention?”

                “Since the dead ship in question isn’t dead.” The Admiral replied. “They’re hailing us.”

                “There are survivors?” Xander asked, the possibilities already buzzing through his mind. Were they loyalists? Traitors? The Legion Iconography made it obvious that they were likely Astartes and given the conditions he’d heard pure humans endured under the service of the debased Legions, he found it unlikely there were any of them amongst them. A sudden thought occurred to him, and as he walked forward and rested his closed fist upon the railing overlooking the lower bridge. Standing straight, he glanced side-ways at the Admiral. “How many?”

                “Roughly sixty Legionaries according to their message,” the Admiral replied. “Shall I respond to their communications? Deploy recovery and medical teams?”

                “You shall do no such thing, Admiral.” Xander sneered as he looked at the crippled ship. He noticed the man turn his head sharply to regard him but choose to ignore it as he continued. “Seems to me that we’ve stumbled upon a unique opportunity to test the effectiveness of our new Atlas Suits against the armor of our enemies. You will block their transmissions and prepare boarding transports.”

                “Those men are our allies.” Admiral Solherth replied in surprise, his eyes widening. “They are loyal servants of the Emperor, and the Warmaster’s own. What you’re suggesting is treason.” He whispered accusingly.

                “Those things are not men!” Xander roared, exploding into anger as he spun towards the Admiral, oblivious to the fact that the bridge crew had all stopped to watch their exchange. “They are abomination, a desecration of the purity of Mankind. They are below us, created to serve and to die for us! And serve they will!”

He closed the short distance between himself and the older man and grabbed the front of his captain’s coat, pulling their faces inches apart as he continued.

                “We are at war, Admiral! Or have you forgotten? We are at war with their kin, who have shown that there is treason in their hearts! Who’s to say that these few won’t turn on us as well? That they haven’t already? Seeking to draw us into a trap so that they can end our divine pursuit of justice against their oath-breaking kin, to murder us in our foolish attempt at treating them as our equals? You would bemoan the deaths of a few of their number? That would likely be dead anyway had it not been for our chance arrival? You would call me TRAITOR?!”

Xander shook with barely contained rage as he turned away from the Admiral and looked out into the black expanse of the void. After a moment of silence, as none in the room chamber dared speak a word, he visibly calmed.

                “No Admiral,” he sighed. “I am no traitor. I am merely willing to use these creations of the Emperor as they were meant to be used.” He turned back towards Admiral Solherth, and there was steely determination in his eyes. “As disposable tools meant to further the advancement of mankind, and here and now they have an opportunity to do just that.”

Admiral Solherth was silent for a long moment, and Xander was beginning to believe that the man might push the issue, even though doing so would guarantee the older man’s death and the loss of commission, but the Admiral simply adjusted his captain’s coat and sighed in defeat.

                “As you wish, Grandmarshal.”

~*~

Rem Graves stood near the front of the boarding transport’s troop compartment. The feet of his Atlas Armor were grav-locked to the deck, and a safety cable was attached between his shoulders, running up to the ceiling just in case they should hit turbulence. He ran another cursory inspection of his armor’s systems, and glanced at the chrono display on his HUD, counting down the seconds until they impacted with the outer hull of the Legion ship they were approaching.

The briefing had been quick and to the point. Board the ship, spread out, find the survivors, and then when the word was given, kill them. Every last one of them. There had been a notable lack of argument by the Atlas Aurigarius present for the briefing. Notable, but not surprising. Rem smirked in amusement as he thought about the bets that began forming between the squads, the men comparing their predictions of which squad would get the most kills. Rem had laughed when he had heard how many bets were riding on his squad holding that honor, and he had no intention of disappointing his supporters.

In truth, like most Vasalians, Rem had often thought of testing his mettle against the so-called super human Astartes. Like many of his fellow Heredes, the idea of the genetically augmented freaks created by the Emperor being declared their superiors in war was not only unthinkable. It was insulting. When the Insurrection had begun, he had shared his people’s anticipation of the conflicts to come, fueled by the Grandmarshal’s inspiring speeches, and the hatred he felt for all things not pure human, as was engrained in his core beliefs by the Purechild System.

A slight rattle of the transport shook him from his reminiscence, and for a second, he wondered why they had not yet encountered any defensive fire from the Legion ship. He chuckled quietly to himself when he remembered that the Astartes on board weren’t aware of their intentions, and so wouldn’t realize the danger until it was too late. Looking at his chrono, he saw that there were only five minutes until they reached their destination, and he decided to occupy what time he had left making sure his armor was ready for the test ahead.

~*~

The lander had had to cut through the hanger emergency blast doors to access the interior of the ship, the transport’s cutters, which were designed to cut through the much thicker armor of the ships outer hull making quick work of the comparatively thinner armor of the door. Seconds later the vessel had touched down on the hanger deck and disgorged its passengers. Two squads of three Atlas Armor Suits spread out from the open troop compartments ramp, searching the massive chamber for any signs of life as they made their way around the wreaks of Legion transports and piled debris, no doubt caused by whichever battle that had done such significant damage to the ship in the first place. Chatter over the Vox informed Rem that other squads had made similar entrances elsewhere, and within seconds all breaching points were declared secured.

Content that the first part of their mission had gone off without a hitch, Rem made his way towards one of the blast doors leading deeper into the ship. He motioned the rest of his squad over as he prepared to pry open the door and leaned forward to grasp door’s lower lip as they reached him. There was a rush of air as the door opened unexpectedly, and Rem found himself looking at the purple armored boots of a Halcyon Warden armed with a bolter.

He quickly rose to his full height, noticing with deep satisfaction that his suit left him at least a foot taller than the Legionary was in his armor. The Legionary looked up at him, any reaction hidden behind the emotionless lenses of his helmet. He looked past Rem for a second before focusing his attention back on him. He pointed at Rem.

“What’s the armor for?” The Legionary asked. His voice a menacing growl through the voice amplifiers of his helmet.

“Environmental protection.” Rem lied, indicating the damage around them as he did so. “We’ve been sent ta recover the survivors. Where is ye commanding officer?”

Apparently accepting the lie, the Legionary stepped aside and indicated that Rem was to follow him, leading him down a straightforward path through the ship. As he walked, Rem silently acknowledged reports of discovered survivors by the other squads. He noticed a lack of human crew as they traveled, and as if sensing his growing suspicions, the Legionary leading them turned his head.

“We tried to keep the higher-ranking crew alive as long as possible, but the last of them passed a week ago.” He commented. “We delivered their remains to the void, as is custom.”

“And how many Astartes remain?”

“Sixty,” the Warden replied. “Though of that number, only about forty are combat capable. Our Apothecary has been constantly engaged in his craft since we broke free of the Warp’s embrace.”

‘Only forty Legionaries out of sixty combat capable?’ Rem thought to himself. ‘This is going to be a lot easier than I thought.’ Eventually the Warden stopped in front a door large enough for an Astartes in armor to pass through easily and stopped. He turned towards Rem and his squad.

                “This is it,” He said, indicating that they were to enter the chamber beyond. He turned towards Rem and reached out his gauntlet in a gesture of camaraderie. “My name is Legionary Alois. Thank you for coming to our aid.”

                “Sergeant Rem Graves, and it was our honor.” Rem took the Legionary’s wrist in a warrior’s grip, careful not to crush the Astarte’s arm with his armor’s claws. He smiled, though there was no warmth in it. All he could think about as they shook hands was how satisfying it would be to see the fool’s face if he were to rip his arm off right then and there. The moment passed, and Alois opened the door and stepped inside, moving to stand along the wall. Rem entered the room behind him and found a grizzled Legionary sitting on a cot made for a giant before him. The Astartes was busying himself with a data slate, which he hurriedly finished up with.

                “Sergeant Bence of the Halcyon Wardens.” He introduced himself as way of greetings.

                “Sergeant Rem Graves of the 1st Terra Heredes Regiment,” Rem replied. He once again took the proffered sign of appreciation from the Astartes Sergeant, all the while receiving yet more reports that the other elements of the force were in position. He feigned attention as the Sergeant reported on the events that had led them to their current predicament and resulted in their need for aid. As he continued, Rem took in the room they were standing in. Besides Alois, there was another Legionary standing alongside the opposite wall, blatantly examining his squamates’ armor. He carried a bolter similar to the one Alois carried, but bore a longer barrel, and a scope.

                “The only thing I don’t understand,” Sergeant Bence said as he finished his report. “Is why your ship didn’t answer our hails.”

Rem glanced at either of his squad mates, then switched his vox to transmit so that the rest of the Heredes on board would be able to hear him. He turned to face Sergeant head on and growled menacingly.

                “Because Sergeant, ain’t no point in talkin’ ta da dead.” The verbal signal given, Rem’s squad mate reacted immediately, crushing the head of the inquisitive legionary against the wall, killing him instantly.

“Reginhard!” The Sergeant yelled in shocked surprise. At the same moment, Legionary Alois was pinned to the opposite bulkhead by the claws of Rem’s other squad mate. As he dangled a foot above the deck he looked down at the claw pinning him in shocked bemusement. He turned his head weakly towards his Sergeant.

“Ser…geant?” He stuttered in pain, seconds before he was bisected by the Atlas’ claws opening.

It was perhaps a testament to the mental fortitude of the Legions, that the shock of betrayal only slowed the Sergeant’s reaction to it by a few moments. Before Rem could kill the veteran legionary, Sergeant Bence slammed into the Atlas Aurigarius that had killed the legionary named Reginhard, punching the point of a previously unseen combat blade through the viewport of the man’s armor. The Warden struggled to remove the blade as the armor shuddered violently, a result of the suddenly severed link with its now dead pilot, giving Rem the opening he needed to chop down with his left claw, severing the Sergeant’s arm at the elbow. The Warden grunted in surprise as he stumbled back. In the same motion Rem swung his right claw in a vicious backhanded slap that sent the Astartes flying from his feet, a great rend in the armor of his side trailing blood from the blow as he slammed into the far wall. He crashed to the floor in a heap and struggled to rise as Rem ripped the cot from it’s floor mounts and threw it out of his way.

Rem delivered a malicious kick to Sergeant Bence’s abdomen, the strength of the blow crumpling the legionary’s already damaged armor and causing him to vomit forth a great gush of blood. As he gasped for breath, Rem reached down and punched a single claw though the shoulder pauldron of the wounded Astartes’ armor like a meat hook through a slaughtered grox, and lifted him from the ground, eliciting a growl of pain from the legionary as he grabbed the arm of the Atlas, pulling on it in a futile attempt to free himself. As Rem held him there the two locked gazes, and as he stared into the emotionless lenses of the legionary’s helmet, he imagined he could actually see the hatred in his victim’s eyes beyond. The Warden stopped struggling and simply hung, though he still hung onto the Atlas’s arm. After a moment he grunted.

                “Why?”

                “Why?” Rem laughed at the simplicity of the legionary’s question. “Ye ask why? I’ll tell ya why ye stinking abomination of human perfection. Because we could! Because we’re better than ye so called super warriors, ye in your armor and wit ye fancy guns too big for a pure man to carry. We’re the true protectors of humanity, ta true blooded humans! Brave lads an’ lassies answering ta call of ta Emperor! But does the Emperor see that? Oh, no. He tinks he needs ye Astartes to take back ta galaxy fer mankind. So we’s got ta prove our worth ta him. We’s got to show him that we can kill ye, that we can beat ye, all ya! We’s got to prove that we’s ain’t afraid to fight ye!”

                “We are Wardens,” The veteran Astartes grunted in pain. “we are loyal sons of the Warmaster, the Son of the Emperor…We are your allies!”

                “Allies?!” Rem barked in amusement as he lifted the Sergeant higher. “Ye ain’t nothin’ but a tool! Made ta fight an’ die for humanity, ye ain’t my equal, ye life ain’t worth a damn!” He yelled as he begun to spool up the rotor cannon integrated into the arm of his armor. “Don’t ye see? Ye were only created to fight ta Emperor’s Great Crusade, his holy quest ta unite the galaxy fer humanity! Where do ya tink ye factor into ta result? I’ll tell ya! Ye don’t! There ain’t no room in this galaxy for yer kind. It belongs to us pure humans alone! Ye really want ta know why? Why we’re killin’ ye? Tis because we hate ya, we always have hated ya, we all will hate ya! Ye be nothin’ but an abomination! A desecration of our purity! And we’ll not suffer ya to live any longer!”

With a roar, Rem’s rotor cannon began spitting lead into the legionary, punching through his armor with ease at such a short distance. Sergeant Bence spasmed with the force of the rounds as they passed through him, each round ripping chuck after chuck out of him as his abdomen was eviscerated. The whole time Rem roared.

“Suffer not ta Mutant, ta Xenos, ta Heretic…Suffer not ta Impure ta live among ye! Fer ta galaxy tis meant for te Pure Mankind alone, and none shall stand beside us!”

~*~

At the same time as Rem’s brutal murder of Sergeant Bence, Atlas Armor squads in other areas of the damaged ship were conducting their own scenes of betrayal against the loyal sons of the Warmaster. Though outnumbered and in many cases too badly wounded to muster a proper defense, the Wardens aboard the Odyssey of Reason fought valiantly.

In the mess hall where Sergeant Bence had not so long ago stood with his brothers, Legionaries Faustus and Husaam fought against six times their number to protect the wounded Astartes that they had rounded up for what they thought would be a transfer to the Imperial ship coasting alongside them in the void. While they would kill over half of their assailants, Legionary Faustus would be decapitated by the claws of an Atlas while trying to help Husaam to his feet after his brother was shot repeatedly by another Atlas’ cannon. Legionary Husaam would be mercilessly gunned down as he cradled the helmet of his squad mate.

In the Apothecarium, Apothecary Layland would kill a full squad of Atlas’ attempting to murder those legionaries who were too wounded to defend themselves, his chain sword and nathcarium flashing as he fought to safeguard his charges. Realizing the danger the white garbed Astartes presented in close combat, the Atlas squad that had come to assist their late allies wisely choose to eliminate him from range instead, painting the blast doors of the Apothecarium red with his blood. They then went about the terrible work of executing the hapless Wardens within.

Tech Marine Wajid’s end would, unfortunately, be considerably less heroic than those of his brothers. Busy with clearing some of the debris from the primary hanger, so that additional transports could be brought in to assist in the transporting of survivors over to the Manifestum est Finis, those Heredes that had remain with him to assist would cruelly cripple him and compromise the integrity of his armor, before throwing him into an airlock and venting him into the cold of the void to die.

All told, by the end of the brutal betrayal of the survivors aboard the Odyssey of Reason, all sixty Wardens left aboard were confirmed dead, compared to the 50 Heredes in Atlas armor that fell to the surprised defenders. The Grandmarshal would declare the incident as successful proof of the Heredes superiority over the Legions, though in an effort to cover up his treachery, he would turn around and order the Admiral to destroy the remains of the Warden’s ship, as well as any record of the incident having ever happened.

The Admiral, however, would save a personal copy of the record, programed to be sent to Segmentum Command in the event of his death. It is theorized that he might have intended to send it himself but might have believed sending it during a time of open conflict would only serve to weaken the Imperium. That it wasn’t sent until shortly before his death during the ill-fated Battle of Carrion Hill indicates that he might not have yet believed the news would be received without consequence to Imperial strength.

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TheBlindPrimarch Veteran

TheBlindPrimarch

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That was the Vasalius under Xander. The Vasalius under Selene changes considerably under her rule.

Xander and Rem are an example of whole heartily accepting and living by the Purechild System, which breeds hate and intolerance...basically Nazism.

Selene and Markus (another narrative character) denounce the Purechild System, and are much kinder individuals.

Basically said, not all of the Heredes are arrogant douche bags, just like not all Germans during WWII were nazis.

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