Kremnar Eranite took cover behind a mountain of corpses, most of which had been the enemy's, but more than a few to fallen brothers. The fighting continued for days after they departed from the shoulder of the warlord titan, and the longer they fought, the more they got separated. During the last week or so, he had fought alongside a member of each of the three legions, even the White Scars before they deployed on that desperate last run against Lion's Gate space port. He had gotten an invitation himself to join them, but the sternguard veteran was an Iron Warrior, and he would dig in with the Sons of Dorn. He had come to a newfound respect for the Imperial Fists, and while he would still punch one of them in the mouth for bad mouthing him and his brothers, their steadfastness in manning the defenses.

No matter how many of theirs fell, the astartes in yellow and black made every inch the traitors took pay with blood. The very air of their primarch permeated every hallway, bulwark, and room of the Imperial Palace, and appropriately so, seeing as how Dorn built the place. Kremnar had to give the grim bastard credit: he did a damn good job with allowing and turning every section of it into some sort of kill zone and fall back position. Now he fought with a few of his remaining brothers from the IV legion, and the silent sister from before. She had been another surprise that impressed him, to have survived so long even with her abilities on this field of endless war. Now, the sons of Magnus approached, and the sternguard veteran readied his bolters, making sure each had its clip topped off.

The two sides fought as fiercely as if it had been the first day of the battle like they hadn't fought for the countless days now. The sorcerors on the other side unleashed all elements of foul energies, from purple blasts to blizzard like winds to flaming infernos at them, only to all break apart as they approached Vera, whose sheer presence acted as their shield, nullifying all attacks. In turn, Kremnar would lead the retaliating fire, sending volleys of bolts, plasma, melta shots and every form of munitions they had back at the Thousand Sons. To his pleasure, he found that even the psychic shields surrounding the sorcerers broke if you poured enough bolter rounds against it, as the headless body of another fell to the side, decapitated by another shot from the sternguard veteran.

Suddenly, the brother next to him's head exploded into a gory mess. Rolling over just in time to avoid the same fate, Kremnar suddenly found himself dodging, ducking, dipping, diving, and dodging just to keep from being turned into a melta and bolt pin cushion. Incredibly the shots seemed to follow him for a little, curving in ways that ignored the laws of physics and accurate to the point where any shooter would be suspicious. Taking cover behind one of the many pillars on the side of the hallway, the sternguard veteran held his bolters to his chest even as his enemy took large chucks of his cover apart with the double pistols. A melta shot went straight through the cover, an inch from frying Kremnar's brain through his helmet.

The world seemed to grow quiet, as though respecting the duel between the two gunners. Kremnar had no idea where the sister of silence went, but he felt confident she could hold her own. One didn't survive this long into this world of war without being blessed by the Emperor with competent capabilities. So, as he turned to his opponent, who had been in the middle of switching to his other weapon as the one he fired either had to be reloaded or cool off, the loyalist popped out of the cover and unleashed a hail of fire against his opponent. The Thousand Son ducked under his own cover, even as the sternguard veteran sprayed it with his bolter fire, before the tables turned once more and he found himself ducking behind a rockcrete tank trap. Suddenly a voice came from his opponent's direction.

"I see the look in your eyes you useless, blind dog. You and your brothers." Kremnar popped two clips from his primary arms even as the tank trap worn itself down from the melta and bolt fire. "You think yourself better than us? You think that by holding on to that coward of a pretender, the fool emperor, you somehow hold on to a scrap of honor the rest of us who follow Horus gave up?" Slapping a clip into each of his sternguard bolters, the blackshield waited, before sticking his head out slightly to see where his opponent had gone to. The only information he got from the blast of fire that forced him back under his cover had been that the tank trap while diminishing from the near constant barrage, had been a good choice for him to pick. "All our father wanted was to warn him, of the impending doom coming, and what did he do?"

The voice, which started out as mocking, increasingly grew hate filled and angry. "He set his mutts after us! That cur Russ and his rabid mongrels! They set fire to all of Prospero and murdered us for our loyalty!" Kremnar dove out of his cover head first, firing as he slid on the ground and forcing the Thousand Son to hide behind another pillar once more. "Knowledge of a thousand lifetimes, gone in a day! We could've saved this Imperium! Instead, we're branded as traitors and driven out of our own homes! Because the false emperor feared our very existence!" The sternguard veteran rolled behind a charred husk of a chimera even as his enemy turned his dual pistols at him once more. Melta, warp fire and Emperor knows what eating away from the dead vehicle's other side. "You think you're better than us? I see into your soul Iron Warrior, and I know what you've done!"

This made Kremnar freeze, only for a second. It could easily have cost him his life, yet the Thousand Son seemed to let up his fire for the immediate moment, and a caustic laugh came from his opponent. "What's the matter? You think a new coat of paint could cover what you and your Legion have done in the past? All the blood you've spilled?" The sternguard veteran tried to pinpoint his opponent's location base on his voice, if only to distract himself from the words of the enemy, but to no avail. "I heard what you IV legionnaires did to your own homeworld, at least we can say that ours got burned by dogs with more teeth than brains. You tore your own fortresses down, and killed those you pretend to protect with your own hands." Kremnar suddenly had an idea, and looked under the vehicle. Sure enough, he found what he had been looking for.

The voice continued to speak. "Tell me Iron Warrior, how many women and children did you kill that day? A dozen? A hundred? Did they give you a metal and a pat on the head for it?" The hatred came back and replaced the sarcasm. "And here you would judge us for doing what any rational mind would do? For standing up to the tyranny of your precious little emperor? Your hypocrisy disguises me." Kremnar, instead of replying, tossed a piece of rockcrete to the side of the vehicle, which got the response he wanted. A torrent of fire exploded on that side from the Thousand Son, even as he revealed himself on the other side, firing on the Thousand Son's position. He had spotted the other astartes' feet from under the vehicle's busted tracks, and had a good idea where he might be. This forced the Son of Magnus to grab a corpse from the ground, too burnt to be identified as former friend or foe, and let it take the bolter rounds instead of himself, while he made the getaway into nearby cover.

Kremnar scowled as he too slide behind some sand bags, knowing that they formed poor protection at best against the infernus pistol in the Prosperian's hand. Still, the words of his opponent shot around in his head, and he found himself responding. "Yeah, that's right. I've killed women and children. I've killed just about everything that walks or crawled at one time or another. And now I'm here to kill you, Thousand Son, for what you did to my brother and all the faithful servants of the Emperor before him." With that, he waiting for the lapse in his enemy's fire, before returning the favor once more.


OOC: Balanced attack, defense on self.

Seth marched through the halls of the Imperial Palace, his body burned, cut, mangled, ravaged but in the end, still standing. While the siege took its toil on the loyalist Iron Warrior, his armor blackened and damaged in multiple places and half of the teeth on his axes already fallen out, lost in some of the creatures and traitors he killed, his spirit remained strong, bright even. A plethora of various grisly trophies hanged from many hooks and chains on his armor, from the old things like tusks of Greenskin Nob, pieces of black Drakon heart, shriveled husk of the former Death Guard Dreadnought, broken skull of the damned Groal, to new things like a severed hand of Thousand Sons Sorcerer, blond scalp of an Emperor's Children swordmaster and even something that were supposed to be lungs of now dead Word Bearers loud mouth marine. Lots of interesting stuff indeed and Seth was overall happy with how the things progressed, despite the fact the traitors were closing in and about to surround the last pockets of defense. This only meant that there would be even more things to kill by the end of the day, perfect last note to finish this part of the song of Mankind's destiny.

He walked around the place and saw bunch of Blood Angels and Salamanders fighting against what looked like to be a monster in the forming, the fact didn't sound all that well to him especially after partially witnessing the vehicle battle some of the Khagan's sons fought the other day where in the aftermath of destroying a giant daemon engine an actual daemon of Slaanath spawned and nearly killed them all if not for a timely intervention of their Stormseer and couple of other younger marines, one of them having the looks of a future Chaplain who reminded him much of his younger self alongside another loud and angry White Scar that he almost wished he could slap himself and put him in place. Memories of those earlier days brought more joy to Seth, fondly remembering how he and his brothers fought during the Great Crusade and how they liberated worlds from the rebel and alien grasp alike.

Good times indeed, but long gone now. He was about to march towards the Blood Angels and lend them a hand, maybe they knew where the Flesh Tearer was, that bastard was one of the toughest sons of Sanginius he knew and it would be a shame if he met his doom in the Terra's last bastions, when the vox screamed in his ear, Orion's strained voice coming to him and instantly pulling him back to present. Knowing that something horribly went wrong Seth lumbered towards the Warsmith's position but once he came there, his heart sank for a moment as he saw the Warsmith killed by...quite familiar warrior wielding a familiar looking axe.

He squinted, understanding what was going on and as the vox turned into a mess of different voices calling out, he spoke as well, his gruff tones carrying out across the remainder of the 44th Battalion.

@WanderingJester @DeranVendar @BruticusTheGoreHound @RuinaImperii @Vulpas @Vlayden @matt23 @Beiolos

"Attention reforged Iron Warriors, this is your Soul Smith speaking. Enemy has stabbed at our heart, Warsmith Orion lies dead, killed by the monster of the blackest tales. Me. Or something that looks exactly like me. I'm moving to engage it now. Whatever happens, my Temperers need to find me and judge my iron, if I die and this thing tries to assume my identity you must not let it succeed. On the final note, Apothecary Gloran, when you are able come here and recover Warsmith's geneseed, we cannot afford to lose yet another of our leaders, his lineage must be preserved. Iron Within. Iron Without."

Killing vox and turning to face the doppelganger, Seth growled as he once again activated the Excoriator axes, their engines whirling and matching the one of the enemy's own weapon. "So this is the great mockery the false gods of Chaos have in store for me? To show me what I would become if I gave into my rage and listened to Sokar, going down the Eight-Fold Path? The final gambit to break the spirits of the unbroken, the unbent, the reforged? Your plan is weak and so is your mettle! Even if you managed to kill Orion another will take his place, then another, then another. The bonds that link us are strong as the very mountains we are fighting on, the iron chain of our brotherhood tempered in blood and tears, it cannot be broken by anything in this galaxy! We were born on this planet and here we shall make our stand, the soil of our homeworld unites us and gives us strength, gives us power to say no to your dark bargains!"

"I know what I am and I have made peace with it," Soul Smith finished and met the charge of the other Seth headlong, knowing exactly that he would go all in, for they were one and the same, he wasn't about to let that challenge ho unanswered, so as the evil Seth came in he swung both of his axes at him, using Gorehowl to block the other Gorehowl and Warsong to smash into the exposed skull and set it on fire. "Red Rage made manifest, you shall break against my iron and as I banish you from this world to whatever corner in hell you crawled away from, you'll go there with the knowledge that the true Iron Warriors remain unbroken!"


OOC All out attack with Warsong and Gorehowl against my evil twin.

@DeranVendar

Crusade's End​

Word was spreading fast through the comms channels among the Blackshields, like wildfire in a dead forest, Orion lay dead, and at the hands of their own brother's hands. When word reached him of the casualties, along with the rapid change in command, Dyzek would be prepared to take up the call to arms to keep what was left of his brothers focused. The traitors, they'd pushed them to the edge of oblivion, The Eternity Gate, and for all their tenacity and endurance, the Siege had gone on for all this time, and even The Angels of Deaths had their limits. Muscles aching with a a dull pain, body coated in several new scars and barely healed wounds, the Blackshield Lieutenant would kick out with a foot, slamming heel into the stomach of engaged legionnaire, sending the Word Bearer stumbling back, before he'd capitalize on the moment of balance lost, and would bring down talons, taking both of the man's arms in a single swing. Looking to take stock of the situation around him, the lieutenant knew that he'd need to handle this situation rapidly, as more of the enemy poured into their lines, threatening to overwhelm them, especially with the confusion pouring from behind their own lines with this latest development.

However, he'd be interrupted, combat instincts picking up on an incoming assault mere moments before it reached it. With a speed that belied the natural senses of mortal man, Dyzek would pivot to the side, shifting his head slightly off to the side, as within mere moments following, the powered tip of a jagged toothed edge spear would stab into his helmet. Metal would be rent open, the weapon passing directly through the space his visage had occupied a mere heartbeat earlier, to thrust pass, stabbing into the ground behind him, a good deal of his now ruined helmet with his. His hair, grown long with the protracted siege would be let loose, as marine looked to turn towards the direction of this incoming attack, only being halted by the pain that began in that moment.

It was as if his very being was set alight, a wound beyond that of mortal means, his Astartes physiology unable to completely heal the wounds inflicted. His scarred throat burned, as he'd gasp and hiss at this sudden development, taking a knee, feeling a rumble growing in the earth at his feet. Raising his exposed visage up, his brow coated with sweat, teeth clenched, he'd see the charge of the crimson clad juggernauts, their riders roaring and howling with a bloody exultation towards their Lord of Battles, weapons brandished and hacking into the defenders as they came. Looking about, Dyzek see his brothers, and those warriors of the larger legions that fought with them, trying to respond to this, another knife stabbing at them from the already many attacks they faced. With the coming charge, Dyzek would raise slowly upon his feet, struggling to push through the agony of his scars, raising up claws to brandish weapons against this latest infernal foe. Yet, here would come a development, as the armoured battalion of brutish beasts would part around him, the sounds of crashing metal, and dying men screaming out with their passing. Dyzek was no fool, and he'd see the motive behind this, his brothers pushed back, leaving him separated from reinforcement, as the final jest came forth to face him from the crowds of monsters.

Let it never be said that The Galaxy did not possess a sense of humour of dramatics, for Dyzek had seen too many examples to prove such things existed. The only cruelty in this would be that humanity would bear no great place above the jests, and the lives of men were but fuel for the laughter of greater powers, playthings and amusements in the same way a small toy would be to a petty child.

When Diodotus came forth, upon gore streaked steed, Dyzek would feel a calmness falling upon him, as he felt a sensation welling up within him. He'd watch the approach of the Obsidian warrior, his form crackling with infernal fire, with the same acceptance of a man who'd found peace before the executioner's axe. His claws, still raised, would relax a fraction, as he gazed upon the walk of his foe, the foe that had plagued him since The Purge. When steed ran off, chasing stray shot, a boon he could not convince himself was not entirely planned, he'd flex his shoulders, understanding the meaning behind this gesture. As he listened to the words of the Daemon that wore his old friend's skin, Dyzek would listen, polite even towards this abomination against all he stood for. The foe had offered him a courtesy in a singular duel, and whatever else Dyzek became, he would atleast attempt to keep an aspect of respect and honour in his actions. When the words, their very sounds and syllables having a profound wrongness when uttered in reality around it, would finish, there would be a silence between the two warriors for a time. As battle raged on around them, the only sounds between the two figures, each different sides of the fate of Iron, choices taken to put them upon separate paths, the only noise would be the singing hum of Dyzek's talons, and the crackling blaze of Diodotus and his broadsword. In the grand scheme of The Siege, this pause would last perhaps eight beats of Dyzek's twin hearts, yet, in the time to come, Dyzek would reflect that it was this moment that lasted an eternity for him. With both figures perfectly still, save the Blackshield's hair billowing in the winds of war, finally, the silence would be broken, as Dyzek spoke.

"I knew you would come....."

The man gazed out against monster, his mechanical gaze holding the dead one of his opponent, before he'd continue.

"I knew that there would come a day when you'd seek me out personally, where our paths would cross...."

With this, Dyzek would look around him, where a tide of traitors and their dark allies battled with what remained of The Emperor's faithful, before turning his eyes upwards to the heavens. The skies would be clouded over with smoke, ash, and dust, the planetary campaign having blotted out the skies with it's destruction, before his gaze rested upon The Palace itself. It was hard to recognize at first, but, over the days he'd come closer and closer, Dyzek had known, perhaps on an instinctive level, where he was now. Bringing his attention back to the daemon once more, he'd continue.

"It is fitting, that you come here now, at the end, where it all began. I confess, at first I did not recognize the mountains after Dorn had brought them down before his Golden Fortress, but, your arrival only confirms my suspicions...."

Dyzek would shake his head, letting out a soft laugh at the thought, that he fought now, on the same peaks he'd been selected to join The Legion, on the same peaks where the daemon had first come in his dreams.

"You and your kin, you have a thing for theatrics, you know this?"

Flexing his shoulders, and fingers, Dyzek would begin to stride towards his right, circling his nemesis, only to find it mirrored him, as two predators would sizing each other up. The Blackshield would remain light on his feet, contrast to the thud of each of Diodotus' footfalls. Dyzek's voice continues, as he halts.

"Come Daemon, let us finish this. You stand for your God, Brazen and Wrathful, and I stand for mine, Glorious and Mighty. If you doubt my strength, fueled by the power of Humanity's Saviour, then taste my steel, and know in all honesty, if either of us will be found wanting."

Dyzek was still now, his body moving, his arms and legs flowing with a grace to each shift of his figure. His feet would glide across the ground, boots taking up a combative stance, as his torso shifted it's weight, arms raising up, ready for combat, the marine cycling his breathing into a familiar rhythm. His mind was stilled, his spirit strong, and with a slight twitching of his hand, he'd wave the daemon forward, daring him to come forth.

It was time to face his daemon, and banish it forever.
​

OOC: All-Out Defense on Self.

Soul Hunter​

Drool whipped across the recently slain. Giant hands once no larger than that of an average legionary snap closed around an Iron Warrior that still clings to life. Whether loyal or traitor the beast cannot tell, all that matters is the bounty contained within. Sitting up in a squat hunter coils nails around the wounded IVth soldier, a nail longer than prey's arm slicing off helm. Iron Warrior spits up into the eyes observing him, beast does not even flinch. Jaws part and and both parties shriek....

Marcus guns down several more World Eaters. In spite of fighting the most recklessly, charging into the most lines head on, and neglecting ranged combat for the glorifying violence of close combat on many occasions, there are still somehow plenty left. Former Apothecary stands at the head of a reduced force of veterans from the battalion. Scant handful of remaining Terran born soldiers reinforce the Dreadnought, simultaneously leading the most skilled non-Terminator units from Olympia. Little more than twenty three bodies they are tasked with overseeing one of many small gate houses erected by Dorn during the fortification of Terra. Should they fail the gate shall become one of dozens of other leaks and pressure upon the Eternity Gate garrison shall be that much greater.

A shored up section of wall collapses for what seems to be the fiftieth time. Servitors move in to repair it alongside a Techmarine of the Blood Angels. A pair of Iron Havocs redeploy to stand guard, one Marcus recognizes after all this time as the same warrior that Akar had stepped away to speak with just before their very first deployment. The fresh electric thrum of Carolus' sonic weapon signals his arrival to fill their place in the line. Fingers let rip across the manipulator strings that focus the strange weapons heavy bass assault. Air ripples between loyalist and an advancing World Eater, shaking armor apart and pummeling flesh.

Things progressed well for their small fraction of the field and thus far everything that stood against them lay slain or wrecked. Lo and behold it is only a matter of time before the enemy attempts to attack them from behind rather than head on. It is no teleportarium that delivers their foes into the fray, instead the Warp itself is clawed asunder and spills forth beasts of nightmare. Rifts open within their own lines and what were once Night Lords emerge. Murderers and sadist given over entirely to their darker impulses and wrapped in mutating energies of the Other Side descend upon them like nightmarish vampyrs of old. Flesh has melded with armor, helmets and faces split to reveal monstrous fangs, and claws forged and warped alike sprout from mangled hands. Astartes or no they should pose no threat to the likes of Marcus, being far smaller and ill-equipped to truly harm a Contemptor's carapace. Heavy lifting shall have to fall to the foremost nightmare among terrors.

Falling from on high a Warp Talon grown to grotesque proportions by gluttonous feasting lands on walker's shoulders. Newly reborn Dreadnought almost topples forward, a heavy hand smashing into the ground and other swinging up and back to knock away the creature. Monster lunges and barbs sprouting from gangly legs leave rent metal as parting gifts for the Iron Warrior. Landing in a crouch former Night Lord comes down on all fours and wheels around, just a pair of wings short of looking like a true bat. Few could call the spawn a legionary any longer, humanoid shape and company of other Warp Talons only identifiers that this thing was once a space marine. Whatever is left of armor has been outgrown and lies abandoned elsewhere on Terra or clings to strings of flesh like ancient depictions of mythical giants strapping shields and multiple suits of man sized armor to themselves to act as mere breastplates or shoulder guards.

Briefly rearing up to its full height the thing stands a few inches shorter than Marcus' new body. Wiry muscle coiled tight as whips flex beneath stretched flesh pale as the moon, and oily tatters of black hair cling to head and down the back like a mane. Air itself writhes around the overgrown Warp Talon, reality itself repulsed by mutant glutton's presence.

The Knight: 30
Conditions:

The Beast: 30
Conditions:

One Hundred​

Largest unified contingent of loyal Iron Warriors consisted of one hundred men and multiple tanks deployed on the flank of an Imperial Fist force under direct command of Sigismund himself. While Primarchs took the war up into the Vengeful Spirit itself, their sons were left on their own at last to hold the line against turn coat brothers and their own Primarchs. While smaller forces did battle to maintain ground elsewhere in the palace Orion had ordered roughly a fourth of their forces to dig in and hold the grand hallway to the Eternity Gate alongside their cousin legions. Vilhelm himself had been tasked to support this force to the best of his ability, granted many auxilia and freedom of command to make sure that none would find them wanting on those hallowed steps.

Gangaresh sat dead center of the formation. Mobility crippled it Iron Master and command staff had deemed it best suited to act as a stationary turret seeing as there was nowhere left to run, nor any desire to leave for that matter. Multiple layers of Devastators and Line units made up most the force, most their Assault elements deployed further afield with other parts of the battalion. Three Techmarines survived to carry out Vilhelm's bidding in the heart of the conflict, Iron Master himself stationed on a grand balcony that granted a breathtaking view of Terra and the war below. Supporting them were Mechanicus Adepts and soldiers in the form of some Skitarri and plentiful Combat Servitors; these too were under his command. Linked with the noosphere Vilhelm had line of sight originating from hundreds of different points and access to just as many mechanical systems below. Current position might deny him the ability to lay into their foe up close, but what was that to a man who could take direct control of a dozen turrets and focus their fire with the mere blink of an eye?

From up high it all looked like one of the holo-tables that they used to cook up mock battles. Iron Warriors below looked like neatly arranged blocks and rows of combatants, and Iron Master could easily imagine that if he stared long enough small tool tips full of pertinent info might be cooked up. In a way this was true, a mere flex of consciousness able to bring up all sorts of data thanks to his connection with the flow of information spreading across Terra.

Right now his opponent on opposite edge of the 'table was none other than Mortarion himself. Death Guard units were trying to grind them down, and neither Iron Master or his brothers in arms were having it. Enemy was many though, and his tricks and weapons were numerous too. One eye on flesh world and other submerged in noosphere, it is the latter that picks out growing pool of scrap code focused around a Predator tank near the front line. At the moment it looks like nothing to worry about, however it may not remain as such for long. Or, perhaps, it may amount to nothing regardless. There are more direct and immediate concerns anyways: like the teams of Grave Wardens and Destroyers currently moving up to turn their devastating Phosphex, Radiation, and chemical weapons upon the company. Or perhaps Vilhelm might need to address the fact that a solid block of Plaguebearers are escorting a line of maggot-like artillery pieces into range.

Tides of War: Forty-Fourth Battalion (100) Vs. Death Guard Legion (Countless) - No Advantage
Action Layout: Loyalists - 3 Defense/ Traitors - 3 Attacks
Command Options: ( 2 Picks)
+Fight Scrap Code: Predator Tank - Vilhelm will direct some of his attention to countering attempted enemy cyber assault.
+Deploy Techmarines: Combat Orders - Adds 1 Attack to Loyalist side in attempt to change the Tides of War.
+Deploy Techmarines: Repair Orders - Grant Defensive Re-roll on a failure, or Upgrade successful initial roll by one stage.
+Command Turrets: Direct Fire - Allows Vilhelm to make two Attacks on specific targets in the field. This can prevent future events from coming to fruition or effect the Tides of War in minor fashion.
+Deploy Servitor Screen (2/2) - Grants a 5 Point shield to the Forty-Fourth Battalions 'HP' for D3 turns. Limited uses.
+Deploy Skitarii (2/2) - Elite units of Skitarii combat units will prevent a single negative field event in development from coming to fruition. Limited uses.

The sight of the beast didn't phase the Dreadnought any bit, soon causing him to stand up a bit and raise his fist, clenching it once more as stinging sensations ran through his nerve endings; the sight of this was.... Despicable, almost pitiful.
To think that what these traitors did to themselves for power was borderline torture, if not worse than death made him wonder how he could see such people as his brethren. Another glance to his promethium supply and ammo counter gave him some comfort, now causing the man to give his body another order - marching forward. There was no careful motions like one would do normally, slow shuffling footwork and watching their opponent. Such massive fighters could not move agile enough for such things, and it would take away from their new form of combat; brute damned force.

Marcus knew he could not be merciful on this; he seldom was in war but this was a time he knew that mistakes could be made that would be difficult to mend over. And with that, he set himself into motion, charging forth with mighty slams of his legs into the ground, the rubble quaking in his wake. He outstretched one arm and opened the fist, unleashing a holy salvo of molten death as his heavy flamer got to work upon his foe, spewing and hissing out its flaming cargo in a burst before stopping.

Once in close quarters, there was little that Marcus wished to do more than to end this quickly, and so he brought up a fist and sought to bring it down directly upon his enemy's skull. Even if this would not work he didn't let up, bringing the other fist forward and swinging it into an uppercut, perhaps sending his foe flying; all that mattered was to deal as much damage as he could in this instance.


OOC: All out attack; one flamer, one with FISTS

Herchel as his eyes turned to meet the abomination that Herchel once called called friend caused his jaw to somewhat drop in horror, He had seen many horrors this day and as he saw this next one several things raced through his mind as he saw this abomination. His mind rushing he opened his Vox to his squad mates first giving them orders before deciding to meet this foe. "SQUAD CERBERUS! HOLD THE LINE BUT leave this one to me!" Herchel said pointing his hammer towards Xerxes.

Moving forward Herchel felt his rage slowly rising, The beast giving out names one he defintaly did not expect to hear was Marcus's Then two otheres one of the dead cunt Vilhelm killed then Yug, who captured Trevum, Then Erebus, The biggest cunt of all the word bearers if words and whispers of his name and tales were true.

Activating his squad side and old Vox Herchel did something that had become insticitive to him actiting his squad sight and Vox to his old brothers of the former Squad Akar maybe even Akar himself,

Only reachinng those who had there vox on or had there helmet on. @Vlayden @Redthirst @matt23 @WanderingJester

"Marcus... do you read me?, That day on the squat world.... Did Xerxes die all the way both of his hearts and all brain activity Stop?!" Herchel asked through the vox trying to get his message and vox video through to Marcus his voice ragged and sounded like his anger was building fast as he saw the abomination inhabiting his brother seem to mock him.

"So then Who or what the hell are you inhabiting Xerxes body?!" Herchel asked his hammer clicked on and combi volkite ready, Part of him spotting what looked to be possibly maugans or Yug's work patching the body up to use for what ever was inhabiting Xerxes body now.

Herchel could hear something over the vox something of trying to calm down other iron warriors as there is odd word off Seth killing Orion, Something that Herchel himself wouldn't believe unless he saw it himself, Likely some kinda alpha legionnaire trying some sort of infiltration or false flag op.

Readying up his weapons he decided to take this Cautionary and take a blast first and see if the how much control this abomination had.

OOC Balanced attack with combi volkite, and Defense with thunder hammer on Herchel

Even a Rusted Blade Still Cuts​

"Even iron rusts. All the faster when submerged in blood." Seths meet in a clash of axes. Mirror image strikes first with lone Excoriator. Power field activates after several false starts, war worn weapon looking ancient beyond reckoning even when orange light bathes jagged teeth. Axe carves into the Soul Smith, taking an entire sheet of plating from a pauldron. Attack is unintentionally mirrored when traitor turns inward and uses left shoulder guard to absorb the worst of Gorehowl the Loyal's own bite. "It is... heartening to see that the corrosion is not so visible here at the very least."

"Sokar always was and forever will be a fool." Warsong arcs around and strikes like lightning, reaving armaplas and flesh from Orion's slayer. Seth recognizes a change in stance, something so subtle only a true combat master might even notice it; Seth does more, seeing and sensing the coming aggression. "The Eight-Fold Path is for the lost, it leads to damnation. We were never sanctified to begin with." Traitor's face was almost a perfect rendition: bones set right (or wrong depending on battle wounds), eyes were hard as steel in spite of the advanced aging visible in both lines and scars that crossed over skin, and forehead went free of the brand that marred so many heads among the surviving loyal Iron Warriors. It was Seth, only after another Long War.

Seth: 22
Conditions: Bloody Rage: Inactive

Seth: 20
Conditions: Bloody Rage: Attack re-roll.

Black Iron​

Combi-plasma barrels spill bolts of brass and glowing white towards Nathiel as he charges forward. Company Champion raises shield and barrels straight into dark Cro's fusillade. Plasma remnants wicker out on shield rim and solid shot ricochets off of bold facing, large round shield holding splendidly against the assault. Lifting head from arm carried cover, Nathiel checks his range then swings. Cracked fragments of armor sprinkle over storm shield now, Son of Horus withdrawing from a stern blow to his torso.

"Bastard. Forsaken sons with no loyalty to their Father, no wonder you have ended up here dying on a mass grave. A fitting fate for the Emperor's Iron Warriors." Cro throws himself back into the fray and power claw reaches around Nathiel's shield, raking down his chest after falling short of grabbing throat. Curved nails and bulky gauntlet slice apart skin and punch the air from loyalist's lungs in the effort.

Nathiel: 21
Conditions: Extra Half-Action next round due to Exemplar.

Cro:23
Conditions: Overwhelm: Active - Cro gains a re-roll of his choice next around.

Monster Hunter​

Knight and Beast share same idea on how to approach. Flamer lays a blanket of fire down over beast and ravaged grounds around it. Warp Talon shrieks and thrashes around within purging flames, trying to ruin away several times only for the heavy flamer to track every moment, until at last powerful legs propel it into the air. Beast pounces free of the burning carpet and lands on an abandoned Land Raider. Bracing on its hands and a leg soul gorged abomination spears deadly talons of left foot into the vehicle and wrenches off one of the side-acess doors.

Door flies at Marcus, smashing into an arm and denting armor before bouncing away and wheeling off onto the ground where it rattles in place for several seconds. Without missing a single stride the Dreadnought thumps up to wreckage and perched monstrosity, fist heaved through the air to pound down on mutated hide. Warp Talon scuttles aside on all four limbs, sliding to opposite end of the tank. From there it leaps again and crashes into walker's torso, hooked talons sinking through metal and tearing free wiring and mechanical components with the same ease blood would be drawn from flesh.

The Knight: 25
Conditions:

The Beast: 26
Conditions:

Round Two​

"Such frivolity reflects the false nature of man quite well. Theatrics are a large part of denying what you all are, no?" Daemon bursts forward into a glide. Boot tips mere centimeters off the ground as he surges forth, Diodotus presents his left shoulder and lets it lead while blade is held back in both hands for what will be an obvious rising slash. Expected strike comes, erupting forward with a spray of flame that blackens the ash layered earth, Dyzek evades to the side and sets his claws to catch whatever attack follows up. Hell Knight turns away and comes back around, blade wheeling into a fire tailed spin that clips the fledgling Lieutenant. Blade tip leaves a glowing scar in shoulder guard, quickly burning bright white then fading to a smoldering orange.

Diodotus slaps foot down and sweeps loyalist's legs, sending Dyzek tipping towards the ground. Jump pack activates, burst of promethium fueled flames and roar of turbines jetting Dyzek clear, daemon had prepared for this and slashes the Assault Marine in passing, burnt flesh accompanying the new rent in chest plate.

"There are no more walls to protect you Dyzek! FIGHT ME LIKE A TRUE WARRIOR!"

Dyzek: 16
Conditions: Like the Wind - 1/4: Inactive, Flamer - 2/3

Hell Knight Diodotus: 20
Conditions: Rising Fury - 1/6: Inactive

Ghosts​

"Everything they told you did not exist, and simultaneously everything they were afraid would take over." Sorcerer raises a hand and telekine barrier erupts from palm, absorbing Volkite ray that steadily turns force field from a scintillating violet to a rapidly darkening purple before going opaque black and fracturing. Flames boil forth through the breach, setting flesh alight until Xerxes washes himself of the flame with a cantrip of conjured force that quite literally pushes flickering fires onto the ground around him. Embers rush past Herchel and other nearby combatants, showy and ultimately harmless. "I am Judge, Jury, Warden, Keeper, and Tormentor"

Force spade floats freely out of hand and spears towards Herchel. Even half a century since Psyker's supposed death, warrior of the old Seventh Squad remembers well what the exotic weapon can do. Thunder hammer wards off a spinning strike, before turning leg aside and pulling it away from a sudden stab with pointed end. Levitating weapon consumes much of his focus briefly, only pulling back when Xerxes wills it; all of the Xerxes for that matter. Looking up Herchel finds himself face to faces with eight more of the possessed Librarian, all of them wearing the same abysmal expression of torment and eons long dread of a warrior broken and exhausted by agony. Every eye cries out for mercy, something the mouth cannot, and will not do.

Herchel: 25
Conditions:

Xerxes the Taken: 17 (80+ 3/3)
Conditions: Xerxes has conjured up mirror images for 3 turns. This grants a 80+ save against all attacks, representing Herchel possibly hitting the wrong target. Xerxes has one free Force Spade attack each turn due Living Weapon.

The Loyal, The Traitor, The Abomination​

"And your excuse for the rest?" Thousand Son's crimson armor reflects the fire light in tarnished ruby tint, mirrored just a few feet above Kremnar as gunslinger stands atop Chimera. Smoking Infernus pistol angles low, towards central mass, bolt pistol marked with a spiraling Prosperan symbol points at Sternguard's helmet. Kremnar is hardly half a second behind matching his own weapons against son of Magnus. Neither of them get to fire as wrecked transport explodes from within and lifts into a roll. Iron Warrior flattens himself with back to the ground, vehicle rising just high enough to flip over him. Thousand Son flies and lands on one foot, softening descent at last moment with a web of telekinetic force. Spinning on braced foot both pistols are turned towards Kremnar once more, Krem returning the sentiment in mid-sprint towards cover.

"Vengeance for ones brothers is a noble goal. What do you have to say for every bystander or innocent you put to the torch or piled high in town squares? On Olympia? On any world?!" Kremnar opens fire and Kaltoshien leads with his melta weapon. Loyalist's rounds cook off in mid-flight, searing beam turning the corner of another tank trap into running slag. Bolts follow it, a three round burst with each shot weaving out in a different direction a couple inches out from the barrel. Naturally sensing something is off when the shots do not connect after an appropriate amount of time the veteran abandons his cover and dives into a breached wall. Inferno bolts explode across the rim in several places, just short of catching their target.

Kremnar: 20
Conditions:

Kaltoshien: 20
Conditions:

Iron Master and Commander​

A stream of binaric cant whips past Vilhelm's vision in the span of milliseconds: Hook, Line, Sinker. Is the most immediate equivalent that he can come up with. Of course someone was gunning for him, and more importantly they had laid and sprung their trap early on. Brief connection to predator's own besieged spirit becomes a honey pot for viruses. Scrap Code seethes into the link and turns world surrounding Iron Master a sickly brown-orange. Predator is abandoned and left be, but now Vilhelm is mired in a screen of errors and pervasive lines of false data. Iron Warrior takes it on the chin, secluding and deleting large swathes of code in the time it takes for a bolt to travel the field. Yugznon's taunts had apparently struck enough a nerve to get Vilhelm brushing up on his cyber warfare abilities. Sprung trap will prove only a nuisance, requiring the Techmarine keep an eye off the field for a moment.

Death Guard adhere to the Iron Warrior lines like pestilent glue. Lead by some of the finest warriors and most corrupt abominations short of Mortarion or a Greater Daemon available, they fall upon warriors of true iron with equally vicious elements of legion armory. Phosphex flame leaps to life and begins chasing bodies before the Eternity Gate, erected walls of aegis defense barriers and barricades of surplus boarding shields stand between it and Iron Warriors for now. Within depths of the hundred strong block the crippled Baneblade turns its main gun upon the Plaguebearers and their archaic looking trebuchets. First shot ripples through festering line and thickens the smog of flies and toxic fumes with fragments of bodies before causing one of the war engines to blow apart. Secondary weapons on the super heavy peck at survivors around the gap: lascannons spear and down low flying fly riders, heavy bolters slowly eat into the swollen front ranks and wither away further intervening bodies in preparation of next shot. Seems Nurgle's blight throwers will not become a concern for Vilhelm, however where one issue is solved another four crises are born.

Legion snipers positioned further back on the grand stair case report Alpha Legion units have been spotted among the enemy. Little can be ascertained of their goals other than being a royal pain in the ass and causing mayhem. Vilhelm's Techmarines try to assuage the situation, utilizing spotter intel to direct supporting Whirlwinds saturating suspected infiltrator positions with incendiary missiles. Whether it does any good remains one giant question mark. Elsewhere the surviving Iron Warriors continue to present their best to the enemy, bleeding their foe without a casualty in return. Literal fire teams of special weapon toting troopers spray flame into their blighted assailants: a practical response and symbolically powerful sight that emboldens the grim warriors in their defense against Mortarion's walking plagues.

Whoever fills the Iron Master's shoes on other side of the line begins besieging both reality and noosphere with more scrap code. The Gangaresh and several front line squads vox links are the primary hot beds of activity for the moment, crews fighting on without the slightest clue they are coming under attack from avenue they simply cannot defend from. Responsibility to guard his brothers in arms is muddled by remaining scrap code, only becoming that much more difficult a choice when Vilhelm identifies a seemingly neglected weak point in the cyber assault: an open pass way that could allow him to connect and further attack whoever is responsible for making his life hell at the moment. Decisions, decisions, decisions.

Tides of War: Forty-Fourth Battalion (100) Vs. Death Guard Legion (Countless) - Major Iron Warrior Advantage
Action Layout: Loyalists - 3 Defense / Traitors - 1 Attack
Command Options: ( 1 Pick) -1 Action due to Scrap Code Counter-Assault
+Counter Scrap Code - Gangaresh
+Counter Scrap Code - Vox Channels
+Cyber-Warfare - Attempt to disrupt/attack the enemy Techmarine responsible for Scrap Code assaults.
+Deploy Techmarines: Combat Orders - Adds 1 Attack to Loyalist side in attempt to change the Tides of War.
+Deploy Techmarines: Repair Orders - Grant Defensive Re-roll on a failure, or Upgrade successful initial roll by one stage.
+Command Turrets: Direct Fire - Allows Vilhelm to make two Attacks on specific targets in the field. This can prevent future events from coming to fruition, remove current events or effect the Tides of War in minor fashion.
+Deploy Servitor Screen (2/2) - Grants a 5 Point shield to the Forty-Fourth Battalions 'HP' for D3 turns. Limited uses.
+Deploy Skitarii (2/2) - Elite units of Skitarii combat units will prevent a single negative field event in development from coming to fruition. Limited uses.

Events:
(E) Death Guard First Company - Grave Wardens and other veteran Death Guard are putting pressure on the center line with extremely deadly weapons. Successful enemy attacks will inflict greater casualties. Lasts until addressed.
(E) Alpha Legion Infiltration Team - ?????????. Lasts until ????????.
(F) Fiery Spirit - The Iron Warriors are currently in high spirits and are putting up a fierce defense. The Tides of War cannot fall any further than 'Neutral' next turn. 1 turn.

Herchel pulled back his hammer as he managed to cause it to redirect its course from wounding him, Suprised to see it gotten so far out and he actually get a hit on it. As he looked up he would feel his anger growing as he looked into the eyes of each of the xerxes. "Warden?, Keeper, Tormentor? Sounds like some kind of prison guard or Interrogator, So then since your name ain't guard, How many other loyal marines do you have?" Herchel asked as he readied himself a plan of attack being made in his head a flambeing of the area it might snuff out which is the real corpse of his friend.

Readying up his combivolkite Herchel began spitting flames all around him at all the Xerxes in a attempt to figure out which was the real one. Alright lets see how good these illusions do with fire all around em, and see which one is truly flammable. Keeping his hammer back Herchel hoped to be able to use his hammer to help deflect the space if it came at him once more as he began his spin.

OOC Balanced attack, One attack spin with combivolkite and one defense on Herchel with thunder hammer, Combi volkite spin is to hopefully attack area where Xerxes and fake Xerexs are.