The Spear of Baal hung in low orbit above Gorgona Secundus, its crimson hull a stark silhouette against the planet's scarred, smoke-wreathed surface. Within its cavernous hangar bay, the Blood Angels of the IX Legion moved with disciplined haste, their crimson armor glinting under the harsh lumens as they loaded gear and prepared for the next phase of the Great Crusade. The air thrummed with the growl of engines and the clatter of ceramite, a symphony of war that never ceased. Thaddeus Valen stood near a Thunderhawk's boarding ramp, his new crimson cloak—the Crimson Veil—billowing slightly in the recycled air, its adamantine threads catching the light. His chainsword rested at his hip, its teeth still stained with the Weirdboy's blood, and his green eyes scanned the bustle with a mix of pride and unease. The victory on Gorgona was fresh, but the Red Thirst lingered in his veins, a quiet ember he'd tamed—for now.
Captain Raldoron approached, his ornate armor a beacon amid the crimson throng, his silver hair stark against his crimson pauldron. His piercing blue eyes met Thaddeus's, and the weight of command settled over the hangar like a shroud. "Sergeant Valen," Raldoron said, his voice a deep timbre that cut through the din, "your deeds on Gorgona have not gone unnoticed, you grew strong, i still remember you from Baal." He said to Thaddeus with a warm smile.
"The Crimson Veil suits you, but the Crusade demands more." He gestured to a vox officer nearby, who handed him a dataslate etched with the IX Legion's sigil. "A distress call has reached us, relayed from the edge of the segmentum. The Emperor's Children, Fulgrim's sons, and a contingent of Word Bearers request aid on Valthrex Prime. They claim xenos raiders threaten their compliance efforts—a minor hive world, barely tamed."
Thaddeus straightened, the ceramite brace on his right arm creaking faintly as he adjusted his stance. "Xenos, Captain? Like those on Gorgona?" His mind flashed to the Swarmlord's towering form, its bone sabers dripping with his brothers' blood, and the hybrids that had twisted Ork flesh into nightmares of chitin and claw.
Raldoron's gaze hardened, the lines of his face deepening. "Unknown. The message is fragmented-raiders, they say, striking from the underhives. Fulgrim's Third Legion and Lorgar's Seventeenth have secured the surface, but something festers below. Azkaellon believes it could be Tyranids again-a splinter fleet, perhaps, drawn by the world's biomass." He tapped the dataslate, its screen flickering with runes. "You'll not go alone. Cassian, Kael, and a squad of your choosing will join you. But the Spear of Baal is tasked elsewhere—Sanguinius summons us to Ullanor's fringes. You'll transfer to the Fury of Terra , under Captain Ezekyle of the Luna Wolves. He's en route to Valthrex now."
Thaddeus nodded, his jaw tightening. The Luna Wolves-Horus Lupercal's XVI Legion- were legends of the Crusade, their ferocity unmatched, their Primarch the Warmaster himself. To serve under one of their captains was an honor, yet the shift unsettled him. "Understood, Captain. When do we depart?"
"Now," Raldoron replied, handing him the dataslate. "Gather your squad. A Thunderhawk awaits to ferry you to the Fury. Ezekyle expects discipline-show him the IX Legion's worth." He paused, his blue eyes softening briefly. "And Thaddeus, watch the Thirst. It stirs in us all, but you've proven you can control it. Keep that fire leashed."
"Aye, Captain," Thaddeus said, saluting with a fist to his chest. Raldoron returned the gesture, then turned to oversee the hangar's chaos, his crimson cloak swirling as he strode away. Thaddeus activated his vox, his voice crisp. "Cassian, Kael, to me. Bring Brothers Vorn, Talos, and Serek. We're reassigned.
The squad assembled swiftly, their crimson forms cutting through the hangar's bustle. Cassian, helm under arm, bore a cracked visor and a grin that belied his scars, his bolter slung across his back. "Another fight already, Warden?" he quipped, clapping Thaddeus's shoulder. Kael's massive Dreadnought frame loomed next, his hull adorned with the Laurel of Defiance, his heavy bolters humming softly. "The Emperor's wars never end," he rumbled. Vorn, a stoic veteran with a plasma pistol, nodded silently, his armor etched with Gorgona's scars. Talos, adjusted his flamer, its nozzle still blackened from Ripper swarms. Serek, the squad's heavy weapons specialist, hefted a missile launcher, his dour face set with resolve.
"To the Thunderhawk," Thaddeus ordered, leading them up the ramp. The gunship's interior was a spartan cage of steel and ceramite, its benches cold as they strapped in. The engines roared, the craft shuddering as it lifted from the Spear of Baal, Gorgona's ravaged surface shrinking below through slit viewports. Thaddeus gripped the dataslate, reviewing the mission: Valthrex Prime, a hive world of spires and slums, its compliance stalled by unseen raiders. The Emperor's Children and Word Bearers - two Legions of stark contrast - awaited aid. His gut twisted. Fulgrim's sons were artisans of war, their precision unmatched; Lorgar's were zealots, their faith a blade of its own. What xenos could threaten them?
The Thunderhawk docked with the Fury of Terra in highorbit, its sleek, grey hull bristling with macro-cannons and lance batteries -a Luna Wolves strike cruiser built for conquest. The airlock hissed open, revealing a hangar starkly different from the Spear's gothic grandeur. Here, efficiency reigned: serfs in drab tunics scurried with ammo crates, servitors whirred with mechanical precision, and Luna Wolves in pale grey ceramite drilled with brutal synchronicity. The air smelled of oil and sweat, the walls scarred with battle honors - Ullanor, Sixty-Three Nineteen, a litany of triumphs etched in steel.
Captain Ezekyle awaited them, a towering figure in Mark III armor painted in the XVI Legion's grey and black. His face was broad and weathered, his dark eyes sharp beneath a shaved scalp, a chainaxe mag-locked to his thigh. "Blood Angels," he greeted, his voice a low growl, "I'm Ezekyle, First Company, Lune Wolves. You're Valen's squad?" Thaddeus stepped forward, saluting. "Sergeant Thaddeus Valen, Warden of the Crimson Veil, IX Legion. With me are brother Cassian, Dreadnought Kael, and Brothers Vorn, Talos, and Serek. We're yours to command, Captain."
Ezekyle's gaze swept them, lingering on kael's scarred hull and Thaddeus's cloak. "Raldoron and Azkaellon speak highly of you. Good. We're four days from Valthrex Prime - Horus demands speed. You'll billet in the aft barracks. Train with my Wolves, learn our ways. When we hit dirt, I expect you to fight like you belong." He turned, barking orders to a serf, and strode off, his presence a storm of authority.
Life aboard the Fury of Terra was a stark shift from the Spear of Baal. The Blood Angels' ships had been a cathedral of war, its halls adorned with frescoes of Sanguinius, its air thick with incense and reverence. Here, the Luna Wolves favored function over form - corridors were narrow and utilitarian, lit by flickering lumens, their walls studded with weapon racks and vox relays. The aft barracks were a spartan chamber of steel bunks and ammo lockers, the air heavy with the musk of unwashed bodies and the tang of gun oil. Thaddeus's squad settled in, their crimson armor a vivid contrast to the grey-clad Wolves who eyed them with wary respect.
Days aboard unfolded in a rhythm of drills and tension. The Luna Wolves trained in brutal sparring pits, their chainaxes clashing in mock duels that left blood on the deck. Thaddeus joined them, his chainsword meeting a Wolf's axe in a blur of sparks, his ceramite brace absorbing blows that tested his endurance. Cassian bantered with the Wolves, earning laughs with his gallows humor, while Vorn's quiet precision with his plasma pistol drew nods of approval. Talos and Serek adapted slower - Talo's flamer drills drew grumbles for scorching a servitor, and Serek's missile launcher stayed stowed, its bulk unsuited to the pits. Kael, too massive for the barracks, stood vigil in a maintenance bay, his hull tended by Tech-Marine Gorvax (loaned from the Templars), who chanted litanies as he repaired Gorgona's scars.
The Wolves' culture was raw and direct, their camaraderie forged in shared slaughter. At mess, they shared rations of nutrient gruel and grox jerky, swapping tales of conquest - Thaddeus spoke of the Swarmlord, earning grunts of respect, while a Wolf named Garvox boasted of gutting and Eldar wych on Sixty-Three Twelve. The ship's chapel was a stark contrast to the Blood Angels' shrines - a bare chamber with a single aquila, where Wolves knelt in silent oaths to Horus and the Emperor, their faith pragmatic, not ornate. Thaddeus prayed there, his lips moving in silent homage to Sanguinius and the Emperor, the Red Thirst a faint pulse he quelled with focus.
On the third day, Ezekyle summoned them to the strategium, a circular chamber dominated by a hololith table projecting Valthrex Prime - a hive world of jagged spires piercing a smog-choked sky, its underhives a labyrinth of slums and manufactorums. "Fulgrim's Third report raiders striking from below," Ezekyle said, his finger tracing the hololith's underhive sprawl. "Word Bearers claim they've fortified the spires, but vox chatter's gone dark. We drop in force - my Wolves take the surface, you Angels scour the depths. If it's Tyranids, Valen, you've faced them. Lead the hunt." Thaddeus nodded, his mind racing - Genestealers, perhaps seeding chaos as on Gorgona. The hololith flickered, and Ezekyle dismissed them with a curt, "Prepare for drop pods. We hit in twelve hours."
The fourth day dawned in the void, the Fury of Terra shuddering as it entered Valthrex's orbit. Thaddeu's squad filed into their drop , a coffin of steel and ceramite, its interior lit by red warning lumens. Kael was secured in a reinforced pod nearby, his hull too vast for standard deployment. "Like old times, eh, Little Brothers?" Kael rumbled as servitors locked him in. Thaddeus managed a grim smile, strapping into his harness beside Cassian. Vorn, Talos, and Serek followed, their weapons mag-locked - plasma pistol, flamer, missile launcher - ready for the plunge. The pod's hatch sealed with a hiss, plunging them into claustrophobic gloom, the only sound the hum of gravitic thrusters primign.
"Drop in three... two... one," Ezekyle's voice crackled over the vox. The pod lurched, gravity vanishing as it fell, then roared back as retro-thrusters fired, the descent a bone-rattling plummet through Valthrex's atmosphere. Thaddeus gripped his chainsword, the Crimson Veil taut across his shoulders, his hearts pounding in sync with the pod's tremors. Through the slit viewport, he glimpsed the hive world - spires of blackened plasteel stabbing upward, their tips lost in smog, the underhives a shadowed maw below. Then the pod slammed into the earth, its dorrs blasting open in a spray of dust and shrapnel.
They emerged into a cavernous underhive, its ceiling a tangle of pipes and rusted gantries, its air thick with the stench of promethium and rot. Thaddeus' boots crunched on broked rockcrete, his squad fanning out in a defensive ring - Cassian to his left, bolter raised; Vorn to his right, plasma pistol humming; Talos and Serek sweeping the flanks. Kael's pod crashed nearby, his Dreadnought form unfolding with a groan of servos, heavy bolters swiveling. "Contact?" Thaddeus voxed, his voice steady. "Negative," Cassian replied, scanning the gloom. The underhive was eerily silent, its shadows deep and unbroken, the only light the flicker of distant limen strips.
Then a thunderous roar split the air - a plasma cannon's discharge, its searing blue arc lancing upward from a hidden emplacement in the underhive's depths. Thaddeus's vox erupted with static, then Ezekyle's voice, sharp with alarm: "All units, the Fury-! The transmission cut off as a second shot flared, brighter than a star, and Thaddeus spun to the viewport above. Through the smog, he saw the Fury of Terra - Their lifeline - shudder in orbit, its grey hull rupturing in a cascade of fire and debris. A third shot struck, and the ship exploded, a silent bloom of destruction raining molten shards across the void. Thaddeus's breath caught, his squad staring in stunned silence as their escape burned away.
"Children of the Emperor! Word Bearers! Cassian bellowed, his cracked helm snapping toward a gantry's shadow, his bolter rising. From the darkness emerged figures - not the chittering Tyranids they'd braced for, but Astartes in purple and gold, their armor filigreed with baroque elegance, and others in crimson and grey, their pauldrons etched with scripture. The Epmeror's Children's sonic weapons keened, a wail that vibrated bone, while the Word Bearers' bolters barked with zealous precision. A plasma bolt seared past, melting a pipe into slag, and a sonic blast caught Talos mid-step. The young Blood Angel staggered, his flamer clattering as a hole bloomed in his chest, crimson spraying rockrete. "Talos!" Serek roared, lunging to drag him down.
"Cover! Thaddeus barked, diving behind a shattered pillar, his squad scrambling into the underhive's debris - Cassian and Vorn behind a toppled girder, Serek hauling Talos to a rockrete slab, blood pooling beneath the wounded brother. Kael pivoted, his heavy bolters thundering, stitching gantries with explosive rounds that shredded a Word Bearer's helm, gore fountaining, but the traitors' numbers swelled, their fire relentless.
"They're not enemies!" Thaddeus shouted, his voice raw, chainsword humming ins his grip. "We're Blood Angels - brothers of the Crusade! This is a mistake!" His hearts pounded, disbelief warring with the evidence - Emperor's Children, Fulgrim's artisans of war, whose blades danced with perfection; Word Bearers, Lorgar's zealots, whose faith once burned for the Emperor. How could they turn? He peered over the pillar, hoping for a sign of error, but a bolter round grazed his pauldron, sparking ceramite, and his hope crumbled.
The air shimmered, a sickly sweet miasma coiling through the underhive like incense gone rancid. From a shattered gantry descended a figure of obscene grace - a daemon, towering and lithe, its form a mockery of beauty. A keeper of Secrets, servant of Slaanesh, the Chaos God of Lust and Excess, its four arms wreathed in iridescent claws, its bovine head crowned with curling horns, eyes like molten amethyst gleaming with sadistic delight. Its silken robes flowed as if alive, and its presence twisted the mind, whispering promises of ecstasy and despeir. The Emperor's Children and Word Bearers knelt briefly, their voxes chanting, "For the Dark Prince! For the Warmaster!"
"Mortal flesh, so frail, so fleeting," the daemon purred, its voice a chorus of honeyed knives, each syllable clawing at Thaddeus's soul. "Lay down your blades, sons of the Angel. Embrace sensation - join us in bliss unending." The words sank into his mind, conjuring visions of surrender, of blood flowing free, of losing himself to the Red Thirst's crimson haze. His squad faltered - Vorn's plasma pistol trembled, Cassian's grin faded, Talos gasped through pain, and Serek's eyes blazed with fury.
"Abomination!" Serek roared, missile launcher rising, his dour face twisted with rage. "I'll send you back to the Warp!" He primed a krak missile, finger twitching, but Cassian lunged, grabbing his arm. "Hold, brother!" Cassian hissed, his voice urgent. "Rush in, and you're dead - us with you. Stay sharp!" Serek snarled, shaking, but lowered the weapon, his chest heaving as he looked at Talos, his brother.
Thaddeus's mind raced, his ceramite brace creaking as he gripped the pillar, grounding himself against the daemon's lure. The Emperor's Children - Fulgrim's III Legion - were once the Imperium's pride, their every strike a masterpiece, their purple armor a canvas of artistry. They sought perfection, honing body and blade to mirror their Primarch's elegance, but whispers spoke of a blade, a xenos relic form Laer, twithing their pursuit into obsession. The Word Bearers - Lorgar's XVII - had beed the Emperor's heralds, their crimson and grey clad in scripture, spreading His truth across the stars. Yet their faith had curdled, their zeal turning to darker gos, their chaplains now preaching betrayal. How had it come to this? Astartes against Astartes, a daemon leading them - madness, yet real, its claws dripping with the promise of ruin.
The daemon laughed, a sound that flayed hope, and raised a claw, summoning a wave of sonic fire from the Emperor's Children. Bolts and harmonics tore through the underhive, shattering cover, and Thaddeus ducked as rockrete dust rained down. "We can't hold here!" he shouted, glancing at Talos, whose breaths were shallow, blood bubling from his chest. Kael's bolters roared, felling a purple -clad traitor, but sonic blasts cracked his hull, ceramite splintering, and a Word Bearer's plasma gun scorched his flank, blackening the Laurel of Defiance.
"Brothers," Kael rumbled, his voice a deep tremor through the chaos, "go down as planned - find their source, end this treachery. I'll hold the line." His massive form pivoted, havy bolters blazing, a wall of fire that forced the traitros back. Thaddeus's eyes widened, his vox crackling. "Kael, no! We fight together!" The Dreadnought's optic lens glowed, a weary light piercing the gloom. "I've fought centuries, Little Brother - seen Ullanor, watched brothers fall. This pain... I'm tired of it. I choose this death, for Sanguinius, for the Emperor. Have hope - not al Wolves are dead. Go!"
Thaddeus's throat tightened, the weight of kael's words crushing. He saw Darios's charred corpse on Gorgona, Lysor's still form, now Talos bleeding out - loss upon loss. "Brother..." he whispered, fist clenching, then nodded, resolve hardening. "For the Emperor." He turned to his squad, voice firm. "Cassian, carry Talos. Vorn, Serek, cover our rear. We move - now!"
Cassian slung Talos over his shoulder, blood dripping as he grunted under the weight, bolter in one hand. Vorn's plasma pistol flared, vaporizing a Word Bearer's arm, while Serek's missile launcher roared, a frag round blasting a gantry, traitors tumbling in flames. Thaddeus led them into a side passage, its walls slick with corrosion, his chainsword raised as bolter fire chased them. Kael's cannons thundered behin, a defiant hymn - rounds tore through emperor's Children, a sonic wielder's helm bursting, another crushed beneath his tread. The daemon's laugh echoed, claws slashing at Kael's hull, sparks flying as ceramite groaned, but the Dreadnought held, buying secods with his life. The passage swoallowed Taddeus's squad, shadows closing in as kae's fire faded. Talos's breaths rasped, faint but stubborn, and Thaddeus's heart punded, the Red Thirst clawing at his restraint. He shoved it down, focusing on the plan - reach the underhive's score, find the traitor's heart, destroy the cannons, call reinforcement and tell the truth to other chapters. The vox crackled, Ezekyle's voice braking through, faint and distorted: "Valen, hold the line! Horus will know of this!" A screech of static cut it off, leaving silence, "Ezekyle!! Where is your location!! Fuck," Thaddeus tried to vox him but it was futile.
Thaddeus gripped his chainsword, the Crimson Veil heavy with blood, and led his squad deepr, their crimson a flicker of defiance in the dark. Kael's sacrifice burned in their minds, a beacon to guide them through betrayal's crucible as Valthrex's depths whispered of wars yet to come.