The Invasion

Lord Haman's decaying lips smiled from behind his Grim helm, with this kind of progress, hive Primus would be his by nightfall. "Press the attack, I want to bring them death in glorious melee." The officer aboard the titan nodded his bloated head, then gurgled a command to his crew. The Titan surged forward with massive strides. From behind the L.O.P. Infantry, columns of tanks emerged and gunned down the streets as fast as their treads could take them.

The far off artillery fired with increased vigor, tearing into the hive wall and her defenses. Even with the deafening barrage, many of the guardsmen could hear the prayers offered up to nurgle from the countless traitors emerging from the crumbling outer hab blocks. Sniper teams from the high wall blasted away at the massive surge of infantry, trying to pick out squad leaders and officers. Wall artillery cut at the endless columns of advancing tanks, high yield explosives crippling and destroying an untold number.

Even with the damage output from the defenders, the infantry closed the massive killzone without even slowing. The defending regiments at the massive gate were the first to open fire within lasgun range. Three whole regiments guarded the wall, six thousand guardsmen, fired at once into their attackers. Hundreds of the fell guardsmen collapsed at the front of the horde with the first volley. Even more fell with the second. Then the fire dissolved into burst fire, then pure automatic. Defenders and traitors alike died under intense fire. The L.O.P. Infantry had the advantage of number, but the fifty foot high wall provided vast cover, and the rampway had been retreated, collapsed back into another section of the high wall. If the enemy wanted to bring their armor into the hive, they would need to control the gatehouse and lower the rampway. Even so, stray las-round found their mark in the hive defenders, while snipers and grenadiers fired from vantage points. The defenders were taking some serious losses, but that was nothing compared to the losses the traitors were taking.

Lord Haman stood slowly from his throne, and watched the scene unfold. Even now, crowds of cultists were preparing siege devices, mostly ladders andmake-shift towers. They would take more losses, obviously, but they would eventually scale the wall and gain a foothold. By then, the Titan and Tanks would have closed the gap with much less trouble. Then the wall would be his.

It was when the first of the armored columns exploded out into the killzone, when the Imperial trap when sprung. From the southern sectors of the outer city, The Erin Secundus 31st Apocalypse Armored division and the 25th Mechanized infantry regiment engaged the enemy. Two thousand infantryman mounted in Chimeras and several Stormlord Super-heavy tanks lumbered across the battlefield, surgically assaulting the massive horde in strageci weak-points. Stormlords, turned entire platoons of enemy troops into red mist with dread-inspiring Megabolters.

The Enemy armor columns fired upon the regiment, crippling or destroying dozens of chimeras, but were soon halted when they were fired upon. The 31st Apocalypse Armored division was composed of three leman russ Tank brigade combat teams, totaling about two-hundred and fifty tanks (mostly leman russ vindicators, but with some teams of different varieties), and a mixed brigade composed of hellhounds and ten super-heavy tanks.

Three hellhammer super-heavies engaged the armored columns alongside the leman russes, five baneblades accompanied with hellhound teams moved two support the Mechanized infantry advanced, and two shadowswords engaged the titan at extreme range. Lord Haman had hardly anytime to react such was the speed of the attack. Thousands of traitor infantry and hundreds of their tanks were obliterated in mere moments of the attack.

The Titan swung its massive body around and fired a quick shot from its horrible beam-weapon. The weapon was under-charged, however, and did not have the effect of the previous beams. IT still caused quite a bit of damage, killing a few hundred of the attacking guardsmen and two of the baneblades. The volcano cannons of the shadowsword roared in reply, their resulting shots colliding with the beam-weapon with a blinding flash. The crew aboard the titan swarmed about, trying to keep the beast under control.

"Lord Haman, the void shields are nearly gone, and the Gloria Diabolus is crippled, The titan is in need of repair!"

Lord Haman grunted, "Order all to fall back, we will regroup and re-arm."

Across the battlefield, the enemy began to retreat. The Armored columns pulled back, while the infantry sprinted, in terror of the defenders and the thoughts of what would happen to them because they had failed. The 31st and 25th only pursued to the end of the killzone, then regrouped and returned to their positions. Defenders across the wall, guardsman and Space Marine alike, cried out in victory. The wall was safe. They would live to fight another day.


The Three Traitor marines lugging the fallen Lord-Governor glared down at the sorcerer before them. This cult-leader, Dolios, had promised them a warp portal to their master, but was taking too long. "Hurry, you thrice-damned sorcerer. Our master will not take your game-playing kindly."

The Cultist snared back, "Grarg! The ebb and flow of the warp ceases for no one! Not even your lord!" The mutated sorcerer smiled, "Besides, he is here.." The warp portal appeared, a tear in the materium where they intended to enter to meet their master. To their surprise, it was their master who came to meet them. Lord Haman of the Abyss stepped through the portal accompanied by his champion, Dirgius. The sorcerer bowed, and the plaguemarines simply stared at their lord.

"Lord Haman, we are honored by your presence, and have brought you the Lord-Governor of Erin Secundus."

Lord Haman nodded, "Good. Change of plans, the first assault has failed and will attack again once they lick their wounds. But we have a job to do."

Skin tore like parchment, muscles, ligaments and tendons snapped and crackled wetly as blood gushed and sprayed. Faust fed even as the cultist struggled to hold onto that last fleeting grip on life. Holding the violently trembling man down with both hands on his shoulders Faust literally buried his face in the cultists belly gnawing at a rib until it gave way with a crack and the satisfying taste of marrow.

Gurgling and twitching the man wheezed out his last breath before finally expiring. Growling Faust stopped his bloody feast and peered at his prize. Issuing a sharp chirp, he cocked his head and continued to stare before an ugly snarl creased his inhuman features. Death meant silence, alive he could watch the blood pump through every vein and capillary, he could watch as he devoured the spark of life, dead it was just meat. Throwing his head back, he howled an undulating cry before diving back in tearing great gobbets of flesh free to swallow them whole.

His leg itched. Turning from the empty ribcage, he worried at an arm grinding his teeth into the bone until it splintered and came away with a grizzly pop. Blood filled his mouth, hot blood streaming from the severed artery, it bubbled over his lips and down his chin filling him with vigor and cold predatory malice.

His leg itched, burning like the brush of stinging nettles. The taste of marrow and blood, the crunch of bone and the tearing of flesh, the power that filled his limbs, the simple freedom, the simplicity of giving in, was like an aching release for his mind, wasn’t it easier to just give in to ones base instincts? Wasn’t it right? The way it ought to be, unfettered, primal…chaos…

Faust hissed, blood flecking from his lips as he arched his back and squalled, his leg was on fire. Rolling spastically snarling and thrashing he tore the side of his leg bloody with great raking scratches of his claws.

Reality closed in like a vice. He’d come upon them suddenly, their sound having been swallowed up by the droning of dying machinery overhead. Though no space marine he was more than a match for unarmored men. It was the fear that had bettered him, the fear of coming upon them so unexpectedly, the fear of his rise from the depths, the fear of being so close to living things after so long a time. He’d lost control again and he’d attacked them like a beast. Even still he might have resisted if they hadn’t run, seeing pray run from him pushed him over the edge and he had hunted them in the darkness tearing them down one by one.

Covering his face with his hands he cried out an awful note of despair as he wrestled with the weight of what he’d done. Worse was the hate building in him, hatred for forcing himself away from his primal side, hatred for the chains of faith that bound him…

Shaking himself like a dog he took a deep shuddering breath and closed his eyes. He had a duty, an obligation to the Throne, and he would see it done, no matter how it made him seethe…

Perking his ears up he tilted his head as he caught a familiar sound. Yes, not far away the ganger girl that had been with the Lord Governor, still alive. Predatory thoughts stirred through his mind but he clamped them down no matter how achingly attractive the prospect of the hunt was. She was an Imperial citizen, mores’ yet she had been the last one that he knew of in contact with a high ranking Imperial officer. Gritting his teeth, he licked his lips and set off after her.

Lord Haman fixed his polluting eyes upon the wreck of a man before him. This is the planetary governor? weak. He scoffed inwardly with the thought, but remained cold and motionless. Lord Governor Craft clutched the cauterized stump where his right forearm had been, wishing that he had been killed in the weapon malfunction. It would have been a cold mercy compared to what these traitors had planned for him to be sure.

"You have something I want, human." The towering astartes spat. Governor Craft risked a glance up at the menace, a brave feat for a normal man.

"You will not be getting anything out of me... warp filth." What followed was a sharp kick to his chest. Had it been anything other than a gentle love tap from the chaos Lord, Craft would have been crushed. It still, however, sent him flailing backwards with an audible crack of broken ribs.

"Silence, whelp." Lord Haman roared, "I have waged war on thousands of worlds more worthy than this pit. Give me the access litanies to the west gatehouse and I will make your death quick."

Lord Craft was terrified to be brutally honest. This Space Marine was war and cruelty incarnate, while he was but a fragile human being. THe pain and torment this monster would inflict upon him was beyond his comprehension. He would die, no doubt, and the enemy would break him. The temptation to submit was nearly intolerable. But he was spared the decision. Augmented roars of anger and pain broke the silence. It would seem that the three plaguemarines that had brought him there had come under attack their positon around the street corner. Bolter fire lit up the darkened alleyway and another augmented howl of pain issued forth.

Lord haman regarded this. "Dirgius, follow me. Plague marine," He glanced at the remaining plaguemarine accompanying them, "Guard the Imperial." Lord Haman dissolved into the darkness alongside his terminator champion. They were eerily silent in their powered armor. Soon theirafter, there were screams, human. Lord Craft muttered a litany under his breath.

His attention turned to the plaguemarine. The hulking giant did not even seem to notice him anymore, not regarding the wounded wreck of a man as an enemy anymore. It surveyed the darkness, watching for any threats. Lord Craft was almost paralyzed with fear, but his sense of duty was stronger than any thoughts of self-preservation. In a flurry of motion, Lord craft dove at the beast.

The marine swatted him away like a child, "Did you think that would work, human?" It scoffed, glaring down at the governor.

"It did." Lord Craft spat, clutching the plague marine's bolt pistol (that had been on his belt) in his remaining hand. The plague marine roared but was thrown back by a bolt to the forehead. The shot ricocheted off of its helmet, but dazed it into inaction. Lord craft fired again. This shot scored a mark, blasing away half of the marine's helmet, taking an equal measure of its jawline as well. With a gurgle, the plague marine lifted its bolter to fire, but was silenced forever with a final head shot from the pistol.

Lord Craft collapsed for a moment, overcome by exhaustion and the sudden recession of fueling adrenaline. He soon stood, desperate to make a break for it. But before he left, he snuck a peak around the corner, his curiosity overtaking him. What he saw, would haunt him forever. A man, cut in twain lay on the ground, with an eviscerated woman lying close by. He saw Lord Haman, Standing over a young child, with an outstretched hand. Everything that made him human screamed for him to do something. But he knew he could not save the boy. He had scale this boy's life against the lives of billions. He made his choice, and limped into the darkness.

He could not help himself, listening to her, her ragged breathing; the rapid beating of her heart the smell of her blood it set his predatory instincts on fire. His ears stood up straight and the spines on his back occasionally rattled their cicada like call painting the area in soft ominous noise supplying his mind with crystalline clear images of the girl hunkered down against a wall. The urge to attack, to taste her sweet blood and fill his belly with her flesh was nearly overwhelming.

His spines rattled again, the sound bouncing and echoing weirdly in the strange acoustics created by all rubble and debris. A long sticky string of saliva oozed from the corner of his mouth as his inhumanly wide eyes stared straight down at the girl as he slowly, carefully unfolded himself from his perch hanging upside down. He would have to time everything just right; she had a weapon after all. It was just a simple matter of reaching down and…

Faust paused and screwed his eyes shut, his clawed fingers reaching out for her slowly closed into a fist.

‘No!’ he thought to himself drawing a ragged breath through his teeth ‘I will not fall to chaos!’ the words even in his mind felt hallow and empty and it was only with reluctance that he abandoned the idea of falling upon the unsuspecting girl and sinking his teeth into her smooth neck.

Dropping soundlessly to the ground only a few scant feet away from her well behind a pile of concealing rubble he spoke.

“Girl.” He rasped in a voice that no one could mistake for a normal human beings “Where is the Governor?”

After the endless wave of L.O.P infantry finally receded, the cheers of the battered defenders could be heard from over five miles away. Long range wall artillery continued to blast bloody chunks out of the enemy infantry and tank columns as they scurried away in terror. The massive war titan lumbered away, its void shield flashing as endless salvos of fire deflected off of it. There was no doubting it, that day had been a resounding victory for the Imperium of man. The sheer courage of the Imperial Guard and the heroic bravado of the Astartes from the Battle Divers and The Cryptic Knight chapters had triumphed against the forces of chaos. However, would this victory last?

Ten days passed by, each filled with anticipation from another mass assault from the chaotic forces. Small skirmishes broke out from time to time. Scouts, mostly. More than likely prodding the Imperial defenses, looking for weaknesses. Each enemy scout squad that was discovered was blasted from the face of the planet by over zealous artillery gunners. Worse than the anticipation, was the boredom. Days went by without so much as a comm whisper from the enemy forces. Imperial Commissars often had to enforce their will harshly in order to keep the discipline.

There was also good news that helped to inspire the people of Hive Primus. The Lord-Governor had been found! Half-dead and malnourished, yes, but found! The governor had been fitted with the best augmentic the medical staff could find and was put on bed rest. The Governor, However, returned to the field on day four, much tot he dismay of the doctors. Under his command, entire battallions of troops scoured the middle hive, protecting columns of citizens from the infected and hunting for the chaos marines that stalked the darkness. Many guardsmen fell or went missing and the situation did not seem to improve. Still, it was something.

The Inquisitor who had brazenly charged into the underhive with a squad of space marines had simply disappeared. No one had heard from him and any who knew of his existence simply assumed that he had been killed en route.

It wasn't until day ten when the thunderous booming steps of the titan could be heard, and the exhaust cloud of thousands of armoured units could be heard on the approach again. The Imperial defenders mustered to their stations once again. In the underhive, the whispers of the dead and undead arose from every crack and crevice. The enemy was upon them.

The days had not been kind to Scelene. While the mid-hive had been evacuated the lower-hive had been abandoned, and people like her had been left to their fate... not that there were very many people like her still alive. Every now and then she heard gunfire in the distance, but she could never tell if it was someone firing off a last desperate burst before death, or shooting their way out of a bad situation.

The wounds on her arm constantly reopened as she fought the twisted shades of humanity that haunted the lower-hive. The pain had gotten worse as the days progressed, and she'd given up bandaging the wounds, instead popping pain killers like cheap candy.

Sleep had not come easily to the ganger. She saw the plagued inhabitants of the lower-hive in her dream, and she always awoke a short few hours later with their shuffling footsteps far too close for comfort. She'd given up on sleep too, there were plenty of stimulants to be found in the drug stashes that had once seemed so important to the gangers.

She was practically running on pain killers and stimulants at this point. Probably not healthy... but then again being torn apart by the things roaming the lower-hive wasn't very healthy either.

She turned over the corpse at her feast, searching the last few pockets on the Guardsman's vest. Her heart jumped for a moment when she found a crumpled pack of lho-sticks, and then sank just as quickly with the realization that the pack was empty.

With a muttered curse the ganger stood up. She pulled her hood back on, and pulled the triangle of red cloth up over her nose in a vain attempt to lessen the stench of death and... other things she'd rather not think about. She checked her weapons, adjusted the straps on her backpack and set off into the gloom.