Kremnar Eranite ran and fired, though he thought it all a bit silly at this point. Things had been evident that one of them would die rather quickly now, and he had made his peace with the Emperor. The sternguard veteran would die, his duties discharged, his honor untarnished. Still, as the warp fire shots dogged his steps, and he turned just in time to see a Word Bearer dreadnought take a swing at his head. Kremnar dove between the large metal legs of the walker, even as the bulk of the drednought provided cover for him. The Thousand Son didn't have the same problem as his loyalist counterpart did about friendly fire though; warp fire and even a melta shot pierced the Word Bearer, causing much cursing from the dreadnought and its companions at the Prosperian.

Diving into yet another bunker, this one more abandoned than destroyed, Kremnar ducked behind a half collapsed wall just in time for the Thousand Son to enter and began firing his flame weapon everywhere. Walls melted down to the rebar underneath, pieces of rockcrete shot to bits. The sternguard veteran waited for a lull in the firing, before jumping back out and returning fire. Unfortunately, unlike all the other times, this one had been a ruse: the Prosperan merely paused to simulate reloading, in order to draw a bead on his target. A wave of warp fire and melta shots flew at Kremnar before he could return fire, and he hopped behind the siege shield of a broken down vindicator tank that had crashed into the bunker through its walls.

The battle around them had mired the tank so much Kremnar couldn't make out the colors of it, nor which side it had fought on. As the infernus pistol and its counterpart melted the shield bit by bit, he checked the few rounds left in the clip. Counting down in his head, the sternguard suddenly jumped up and aimed down his sights, half expected to be pinned against the tank by gunfire. Fortunately for him, the gambit made by the Son of Magnus earlier had caught up to him: both of his weapons ceased firing at the same time at that moment, one risking overheating and the other out of rounds. Time slowed again, and a shot ripped from the Zeussar Pattern bolt pistol.

The twin shots of dragonfire and kraken rounds flew high and true, colliding with the chestplate of the Thousand Son. The kraken round punched through the armor, adding another hole within the torso of the already battered traitor. However, the dragonfire round did so much more. It exploded upon contact with the power armor, but due to the damaged state it had already been in, the flames seeped into the holes and cracks of the traitor's protection and began eating away at the flesh within. The Thousand Son collapsed to the floor, trying to put out the fire, only to have his own armor block him. Scurrying backward to one of the blown out walls, he continued even as the strength left his body, and Kremnar walked up. Leaning against the wall, at least the Prosperan had only the energy to look up distainfully up at the blackshield, his eyes accusing him of the thousands of crimes Kremnar knew he was guilty of.

"I don't deserve this... to die like this," Kaltoshien spat on the floor in front of him, even as his body cooked inside the armor. He coughed from the flames emanating from his power armor now, suffocating as well. "I was fighting for freedom, for justice." His eyes wildly dart to his weapons, now on the floor, mere inches from his unmoving hand. "This... this should've been you. You've got it coming to ya, Iron Warrior." Kremnar walked up to him, and looked without hatred or pity in his eyes through his cracked and broken visors.

"Deserve's got nothin' to do with it." Kremnar leveled his bolt pistol against the dying astarte's head. He could've left the Son of Magnus there, since the fire would've kill him outright. Still, the sternguard felt his opponent's earned that much from him. "We all got it coming, Prosperan."

A single shot reverberated between the still standing walls of bunker, and a moment later a one armed blackshield exited, the bolt pistol in his remaining hand smoking still. Kremnar popped the empty clip out of the weapon, held it under his arm with his stump on the other side as he reloaded, before jogging off again, hoping to regroup with some friendly forces still in the fight, maybe get some news of what happened to the other remaining IV legionnaires.

The Eye Looks Upon Iron​

"Your true father stands with Horus, even Perturabo deserves better than your ilk!" Cro spits upon Nathiel, Nathiel smashes him in the stump with hammer. Then clubs him over the chest, smashes aside intact arm raised reflexively for protection, strikes it once more to completely throw open Cro's guard and then goes to hammer the head. Son of Horus is stunned, whole world has become deafening thunder and convulsions as painful shockwaves wrack every nerve in his body in a way even he did not think possible. Revelation is met with stubborn pride, warrior refusing to accept that he can be defeated by a glorified Corpse Grinder and imperial slave. Leaning back he allows next hammer blow to clash against torso and batter aside what remains of plate there. Bruised flesh exposed Cro rises forth and drives remaining arm forward, closing its about Nathiel's helmet and clutching hand tight.

Champion recoils, helmet and much of his scalp torn off by Cro's claw. Traitor screams at him, no words only saliva spittle laden hatred made sound. Head guard is crushed in its entirety and discarded like ruined storm shield or broken arm, Cro slashing at hammer hand, crushing it next and sinking nails through back of hand, wrist, and part of forearm.

​

"Your Emperor and your pride are false. Horus is the way, the only way. My pride is pure and faultless, it is the strength of a hundred conquered worlds and only grows stronger when united with my brothers. What can your fractured loyalties and filthy trenches ever do against that?"

Nathiel: 9
Conditions: Exemplar: Full Bonus Action next turn.

Cro:6
Conditions: Overwhelm:Inactive Cornered Wolf: Cro re-rolls failed attacks and gains counter attacks.

"I have told you once, traitor, you dying words are empty. Your fight has been for nothing. All your choices and decisions have led you to this moment, the moment of your death. Take heart knowing that in death your mistakes will be revealed to you. And as for my genetic father, that is all he is. The true Father of the Imperium, and my father, is the Emperor. Now, let the litany begin," Nathiel said as he pushed out of the guard of Cro a moment. Right before he pushed forward back into battle, a strange shiver went down his spine as if something horrific had just happen, however; now was not the time for wondering. Nathiel charged forward like an Iron Wrecking Ball, dead set on destroying whatever laid in his path. Swinging his Thunder Hammer as if the eyes of the Emperor were upon him. "Death comes to reap your head as a trophy!"

OOC: All Out Attack x3 with Thunder Hammer...FTW!!!

Shade of War​

Like defenders retaking a gate house Vilhelm establishes himself within the passage ways for data flow within their vox system once more. Ports are closed off or flat out erased and hunter-killer programs unleashed to hound out any lingering code that may be toying with their connection. Harthol relents almost immediately and lets Iron Master secure his small victory, instead focusing his efforts on bluntly attacking Vilhelm, seemingly intent on taking over his own servo-arm to make an even more direct attack. Techmarine stares down the tsunami of brown-orange code washing through blue-white cyberspace stoically and meets with it a barrier that proves inviolate to the rush attack. Harthol contents himself with sneaking through a single sneaky virus...

No less than twenty heavy bolter emplacements and a Rapier Laser Destroyer are turned upon advancing First Company of the Death Guard. Iron Warriors have begun a fall back to secondary redoubts in time with the Imperial Fist forces retreating to their right. Vilhelm commands abandoned weapons and leaves the traitors facing a force they cannot kill, no longer the only ones with the power of 'possession'. Vanguard force of veteran mutants and heretics suffer in their push up the fortified stair case, forced to dismantle every automated turret they come across, and even then the extra intellect boost from Vilhelm's direct interference makes sweeping the redoubts clear a task akin to pulling teeth. Only a handful of warriors, under direct supervision of Typhus himself, remain, no longer a large enough force to make a large dent in their numbers, rather a persistent thorn driving deeper into the flank of Dorn's sons and leaving the Blackshields well enough alone.

Vilhelm pulls up the sheet of names and links to their Thudd Gun batteries and prepares to take control of them, only to notice a single error in firing parameters for the unit he had used previously to dispatch the XXth infiltrators: it was engaging one of their whirlwind units. Before he can correct anything Harthol confirms a firing solution and wipes Lejos and attendant Servitors from the map while simultaneously crippling one of their artillery pieces. Things only grow more dire as the freshly loaded Flakk missiles cannot be fired and incoming Rot Fly daemons begin buzzing over his brothers' heads and past front lines to attack softer units beyond.

There is still the matter of Thurixon Vek to consider as well, Fellblade rolling up after retreating Iron Warriors. Gangaresh sits poised to oppose, opening fire and denting its turret with main gun. Traitor tank answers back with every weapon at its disposal, primary cannons tearing into the barriers and bunkers directly blocking line of sight on the Baneblade's main body. Laser weapons attempt to wreck the old goliath's main gun, but every shot flies astray. Yet more dire news as Mortarion arrives...

...That or something like Mortarion. With vox restored Vilhelm briefly allows himself to hear multiple reports that a scythe bearing shade of the Death Guard's patriarch approaches. Faceless and bereft of armor, murderous daemon-thing is little more than a massive shadow trailing tattered robes, toxic fumes, and wielding a giant scythe befitting a daemon primarch; it all makes the lack of an actual Mortarion a very minor comfort. Then the screaming stats.

No ordinary screams, these are the sounds of daemons unleashed. Some legion of terror bearing down upon warring forces. Sorrow lends weight to the edge of maddened anger that drives a stake of cold fear into every heart. Vilhelm can feel a headache coming on, eyes scanning their lines to see what comes for them now: imagine his surprise when instead he sees only Blood Angels tearing out of their, and everyone elses, lines to crash into the enemy. They must have gone mad.....

Tides of War: Forty-Fourth Battalion (90) Vs. Death Guard Legion (Countless) - Neutral
Action Layout: Loyalists - 3 Defense / Traitors - 3 Attack
Command Options: ( 2 Picks)
+Deploy Super Heavy - Vilhelm may call in and assign a specific duty to either Gangaresh (Baneblade) or the Divine Fury (Dominus Armored Siege Bombard). They will counter one battle field event of choosing, and attempt to stop a random forming event. After which they become an event that provides a passive bonus depending on which vehicle is chosen. Deploying either of these vehicles makes them significantly more vulnerable to destruction.
+Cyber-Warfare - Attempt to disrupt/attack the enemy Techmarine responsible for Scrap Code assaults.
+Infect - Vilhelm may create a scrap code assault of his own in an attempt to create an event and compromise enemy machinery. Can also be used to try and counter enemy events relating to machinery.
+Deploy Techmarines: Combat Orders - Unavailable
+Deploy Techmarines: Repair Orders - Unavailable
+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 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) Harthol Gant - The Alpha Legion Techmarine will attack Vilhelm and create Scrap Code events while active.
(F) Autonomous Protocols - 1 turns.
(E) Thurixon Vek - The Fellblade Thurixon Vek has arrived on the field. While active it will attempt to counter any friendly events and will provide a bonus Tides of War attack for the traitors.
(E) Shade of Mortarion - A mere fragment of the Primarch's power has entered the fray, automatically shifting the Tides of War by 1 in the Death Guard favor, forcing the first successful defense roll by the loyalists each turn.
(E) Riders of the Wasting Winds - A swarm of Rot Fly riders are swarming over the front lines to attack supporting forces. The first successful attack rolled by the Death Guard each turn ignores any successful defense rolls.
(F) Black Rage - The Blood Angels' vicious counter-attack is pushing traitors back on every front, preventing the Tides of War from shifting in either direction for the remainder of the siege.

Blind Eye and Unbroken Iron​

Nathiel's charge is joined by several of Sanguinius' sons, all of them howling and brandishing any melee weapon they can get their hands on. Bare fists are presented where weapons are lacking, teeth showing, and ranged weapons forgotten as anything other than clubs. Iron Warrior joins their uproar, Cro screaming back at him and drawing back fist for a punch the moment charge hits home; it never makes it to him. Champion brings hammer around before him, driving Cro's power claw aside and besieging him with a shoulder. Momentum throws traitor aside and carries Nathiel several steps past. Rounding on staggered foe Nathiel drives weapon overhead and strikes bared chest. Lungs and heart explode from the pressure, what does not simply pop is shredded by busted fragments of destroyed rib plate. Cro has no air to scream with, Nathiel leaves him no head to even try with one final swing.

The brutality of brother fighting brother erupts to a whole new level around Champion and fallen Sergeant. Blood Angels clash with Cro's squad and every other traitor they can get to grips with. One is ran through by paired lightning claws, son of the Angel pulls himself deeper onto the weapons to stay anchored, ramming a chainsword into enemy astarte's neck and lashing it back and forth until head flies off. Another discharges bolter point blank into a Terminator's helmet, holding the trigger until even mighty adamantine plate gives and helm becomes a leaking reservoir of gore. And a third finds his legs blown off, yet claws forward across the field as if nothing had happened to him. There are no words, only continuous screaming and savage breathing.

@DeranVendar

God's Sons

"Then let Khorne drink in the violence, for it all the scraps he will gain, the parasite he is."

Dyzek would part from the exchange of the blades with a spin, footwork flowing flawlessly, as the Blackshield would embrace the growing flow.

"Let there be war you foolish creature, for the chains you cast upon man fall flat. Your mind, your existence, it can never comprehend the truth of the matter."

The warrior would lunge forward, his hands a blur of blackened steel, as he rushes the daemon. Each stroke would seek to part flesh, as Dyzek moved with a grace that belied his bulk, the Emperor's Chosen splitting infernal skin and spilling daemonic ichor to the ground. Counter strikes would matter little, for the marine had already accepted that this was a battle that would claim his life, for after the first encounter, after the nightmares, and all that had come, how could it not be. He'd duck and weave, pivoting and striking, using what reserves he had to do what must be done, for it has to be this way. Yet, he would not go quiet into the embrace of death, as he assault on the daemon would be met with more than simple weapons of metal.

"You feared, creature. That is what mattered most."

Dyzek would slide upon knees, bringing head back to narrowly avoid a slice from burning hellblade, still feeling it's seering heat on his exposed face. In response, he'd lean back, striking out with a sweep of his leg, watching as daemon began to fall, only to take the momentum upon single hand, and flip back. Dyzek would similarly return to his footing, not letting his momentum slow, his claws singing, his mind serene, as he continued to speak.

"You were banished to Darkness by The God Emperor, and so, you sought this Heresy, out of survival, an attempt to take Humanity by it's soul."

Talons would clash with blade, strike coming after strike, the clanging of metals being heard in the din of battle. Faster and faster, each movement swifter then the last, as transhuman being fought nightmare made manifest, to the point where weapons would flow with such speed that onlookers would be unable to keep track of the movements. This would halt all so suddenly, as drakon claws crossed against burning blade, Daemon and Man face to face, snarling maw meeting grim visage. Taking a single, steady step, Saim would push the pair back, the dirtied floor of the earth showing grooves to attest to the strength needed for such a feat. First one foot, then the other, then the next, as the daemon built some speed, threatening to throw Dyzek back entirely. Seeing this, Blackshield would grin, seeing a moment of suspicion in his foe's eyes, before he spat in them. Wad of acidic saliva would cross the distance in a moment, and it's stinging touch would be felt upon already open wounds in it's face, as Dyzek had planned.

With a howl, Saim would simply thrust out with both arms, using the speed gained from his push to send Dyzek stumbling back, as tongue washed over burning face. Marine would steady himself, watching daemon clear his vision, knowing such a way to finish would be unfitting of such a match. As Saim would turn back towards the warrior, Dyzek would perform a quick flourish from his claws, signalling his eagerness to resume battle, before continuing to speak.

"You and your kin have failed, hellspawn, for in your rush to claim man's soul, you have fallen short."

Clash would follow clash.

"You tried to send The Warmaster and all he could at us, but it failed."

CLANG

"You have indeed reminded mankind of what dwells in the dark."

Snarls would follow slashing weaponry.

"We know you now, as our eternal foe, and we will never stop in facing you, The Emperor will demand it, and we will gladly obey."

Dyzek watches as Saim pushes burning blade closer towards his face, sparks and embers falling down to burn upon his flesh, as Daemon grows closer and closer with each moment. Strain is heard in his next words, as he continues to speak.

"I will fight, forever if need be. But mankind at large, they will be at peace, for heed my words."

Dyzek lunges forth with a knee, sending Saim back a few steps, earning him the time to return to his feet. His hearts beat like drums in his chest, his breath steadied and strong, as his spirit is flooded with purpose and determination. He can feel the gaze of The Emeperor upon him, and he basks in the golden light of The Master of Mankind, coveting each moment, knowing this is a fitting end. Dyzek feels a calmness upon him, much like the same that he'd entered in battle before. When Diodotus ran rampant, when Dyzek needed to face him and risk all, indeed, it was fitting that his soul would be at peace with this battle, for in a universe where so much had gone wrong, this felt so right. Dyzek would circle his foe for a moment, letting himself fully accept this moment, as he continued to speak, his voice barely a whisper, yet to his enemy, as powerful as any cannon.

"When the winds are cold, when the fires hot..."

Marine rushes forward, claws extended to both sides, violence in the air, as his tone begins to rise in volume.

"When the daemons wait to see humans caught...."

Blood flows now, well and true, yet Dyzek continues to fight, for he must.

"Oh how petty, all the butchery, this is mankind's sacrifice...."

His legs, how they pain him, the lacerations truly biting deep with a burning agony, yet he continues, his voice a shout now.

"When the calls go through, with a swift attack, holy blades drawn from their backs.."

He is pushed back, the tearing sound of metal being heard, as hellblade cuts through his chest, ichor showering the air as it hissing with the great heat. When it seems like tempo of speech is lost, Dyzek turns mechanical eyes back towards nemesis.

"With their guns set, you will not forget...."

He falls now, for legs can no longer support his own weight, such is their injury. Yet, even as Saim moves back, Dyzek embraces the plummet towards the ground, reaching out with hands, planting palms down towards the ground. He grits his teeth, as with a visible effort, he thrusts out with arms, and such is his strength, that he is launched once more into the skies. Roaring is heard from damaged jump pack, bearing it's master one last time into flight, as Dyzek ascends, flipping forward, arms extended outwards.

As his face comes forward once more, the daemon bears witness to the smile upon Dyzek's face. His visage is one at peace with itself, as in the cacophony of battle, clashing blades, and blasting firepower, light reflects off the Blackshield in a way that would enamor any mortal onlooker. Most strangely of all to the daemon foe before him, would the trail of water upon his enemy's cheeks, as, from the edges of mechanics, trail tears, those shed of a profound pride. Dyzek had lived his life in service to The God Emperor, and he'd embrace his end in his divine duty, if only to bring the same fear The Master of Mankind had brought to The Chaos Gods, to their pawn here this day.

As he fell, Dyzek would bring up arms, claws singing with the rush of air around them. Dropping down like a diving bird of prey, his weapons would slash down, looking to cut his enemy down in one final strike. In the form of The Angel mortals believed all astartes to be, Dyzek would utter his final words.

"The God's Sons Over Paradise."
​

OOC: All-Out Attack on Saim. Bonus Action: All Out Attack on Saim. Using Trait: Like The Wind, to confer bonus Action: Balanced Attack on Saim, Defense on Self. Using Trait: Like The Wind, to confer re-roll on defense.

​

@DeranVendar

As the lifeless sergeant's body fell to the ground, Nathiel took a long and deep breath to regain himself. The fight had been far from easy, and yet this fight was only a fraction of the battle, which in turn was a small part of the war. His body's weakness had to be ignored for there were greater issues that needed to be addressed. The first was the strange behaviors of the sons of Sanguinius.

Composure and valor were two words that came to mind when Nathiel thought of the Blood Angels. But this madness, this madness was far from anything he had heard about them. They were acting more like savages, or worse yet, animals. This madness and depravity had no place is this battle for strategy was needed. Level-headedness was needed. So, instead of trying to speak or even address those caught in the grip of such madness, Nathiel tried to keep their anger and rage focused and pointed in a strategic direction. Moving towards the nearest enemy line, he would attempt to 'rally' them to his position with a bellowing cry. With his Thunder Hammer raised, he charged forth to break the advancing traitors.

Rules of Nature​

"You speak too much." Herald throws out an open claw, talons tearing through ceramite and forcing themselves around Dyzek's throat; descent cut short and brought to an abrupt , jarring end. Dyzek's talons swoop inward, one is caught against hellblade, second plunges into Saim's side. Daemon turns on a heel, throwing Dyzek a few feet away where he manages to catch himself gracefully. Sword raised straight up and held close to shoulder Khornate Herald bares its teeth and infernal flame wrapping the blade flares brighter and expands. Iron Warrior launches forth again, diving aside the first blade swipe, which is launched well out of actually being able to reach him; all becomes clear moment later when a whip of fire lashes after the blade. Burning tendril slaps Iron Khan's side and hurls him upwards.

Another swing where blade has no hope of touching conjures up another scourge of fire that whips Dyzek higher into the air. Third swing sweeps back through embers of previous slash and sets the loyalist spinning. In a moment of do-or-die the fledgeling Lieutenant actives jump pack and rides through the fourth lashing. hoists blade up and points it toward ground, Dyzek comes within arms reach, then blade is speared downward and a final eruption of warp flame engulfs them both.

Screaming awakens Dyzek. Both light and color return to his battered cybernetics in jerks of static blindness and jarring perfect sight. A Blood Angel vaults over his fallen form, still wafting black smoke from the eruption. Less than three paces away Jethstrum Saim's head glares back at him, sans his body.

Beacon of the Lost​

Utterly at a loss as to what has gripped the Blood Angels and driven them to such madness Nathiel rallies himself and raises voice. Yelling over the brutal executions and chorus of deathly cries the Blackshield leads red clad cousins into the sea of traitors still pressing in on their position. The Sons of Horus seem to lose their stomach for the fight, turning tail to retreat. Nathiel hounds them until a wall of Iron Warriors impedes their advance, retreating soldiers of the Arch-Traitor hastily leaving behind Perturabo's dogs to face the wrath of the righteous. It is such a strange sight, one that should fill Nathiel with pride, and yet he innately feels something is deeply wrong.

The Fallen​

Seth surprises his assailants by counter-charging their own frenzied advance. Gravely wounded warrior slams Castor airborne with Gorehowl the Elder, younger slices into Aegeus, yet sturdy Temperer has faced death a dozen times since leaving Istvaan and does not shirk away. Power fist grasps hand wrapped around the looted Excoriator, Chaplain hissing venomously as he squeezes until the Terminators hand fractures and begins to splinter in grip. An Initiate by the name of Alexius crams in on the fight, raking a chainsword down Seth's mangled face and dragging teeth across ragged frame of open abdominal wounds. Traitor's own axe hacks back in and sends both loyalists careening back against the ground. Aegeus takes their Soul Smith's favored weapon with him, cradling it against his chest.

Other Initiates swarm forward and are met by Iron Warriors and Emperors Children whom gleefully take advantage of the distraction to open fire on berzerking Blackshields. Seth takes a step back and begins to turn away, Akar dumps empty bolt pistol down and unleashes fury of combi-plasma gun to send a small sun burning into doppelganger's back. Seth continues to walk away.

"Seems both of us failed today... I will return to test your mettle again another day. It is only fitting I take up such a mantle once more...."

Seth is lost among the enemy, screened by the sudden eruption of Blood Angel assault units dropping from the sky and into enemy gun line. Everything turns to pure madness and Akar is left standing there, staring in disbelief through his bolter scope trying to find the traitor, yet like a whisper in a wind storm the Traveler is gone.

For the first time in a long time First Lieutenant feels an entirely imagined pained grip his hearts. The buck of weapon discharging in his hand suppresses unwanted thought, Akar wrenching his mind towards his duties in combat; only for the Praetorian's chosen overseer, Sigismund, to initiate vox contact with all remaining loyalist forces.

"The enemy retreats. Horus is slain, and his army left in disarray. Keep pace with honored Sanguinius' sons and do not let them drive the foe from Terra alone! Fight smart, fight without mercy, slay them all! Let none ever return to blight our Imperium!"
​

Something was being kept from them. It was hard not to feel it, as Akar looked to Aegeus and Castor standing over Seth's body and listened to the distinct lack of report on their Soul Smith's condition a grim thought, later realization, dawned upon him. Hearts turned to stone and man bleeds all feeling from face and limbs, simply raising his gun and giving a curt order to destroy everyone and everything they come across.

The Fallen Fall​

News of the Arch-Traitors death heartened the loyalists. White Scars, Imperial Fists, and Blackshields surged forward with the Blood Angels in a tide of bloody vengeance that drove the traitors back over every inch of hard fought ground they'd gained in the many weeks since landing. The Forty-Fourth trod old terrain that looked entirely alien after enemies passing: some areas gripped by the corrupting influence of the Warp, others tainted beyond recognition by the most destructive munitions used by both sides. From hive tower that had bled several thousand traitors of their lives during the ascent, to the grand bridges where Squads Petroski and Herchel stared down Cautorious and sent him screaming back into the depths of the hives which had become a hell all their own. Through the breaches they strode, rushing over and around toppled titans and clambering atop walls and placing down heavy weapons that scythed through the enemy like the weak spirited chaff they were.

Their tanks rolled up into the open streets and plazas where they had first met the enemy, back to square one in all save for numbers. Surrounding and taking final space port was a task worthy of another days fighting all its own, a maelstrom of combat on all sides as forces loyal to both Imperium and Chaos arrived piece meal and were either wiped out absorbed into the swollen blockade of loyalists chomping at the bit to kill as many traitors as possible before the last fleeing transport could take off.

Only when Terra was rid of every last soiling presence did they learn of the fall of Sanguinius and the Emperor's mortal wounding.

The Scouring​

With Terra consumed by clean up efforts and mourning many of the loyal legions take to the stars in pursuit of the enemy, unwilling to let traitors think themselves safe simply having fled the Sol system. The Blackshields of Forty-Fourth Battalion rode out with them, leaving the cradle of mankind and sailing out into the cold stars once more. Miraculously the Contempt of Barbarus and her sturdy form had rode out much of the void war in functional condition, giving loyal Iron Warriors a single worthy vessel with which to cling to larger legion fleets and continue the pursuit. Lo and behold it is none other than the Ultramarines that scoop them up.

Being one of the few loyalist forces with blatant knowledge of the Blackshields true identities, Guilliman and his legion cart the Forty-Fourth back to Olympia alongside the Imperial Fists. There they once more encounter their traitor brethren entrenched on both spiritual and literal home world. Under direction of acting Warsmith Brumdar the hundreds strong handful of loyalist defy traitor legion, uprooting and destroying multiple enclaves while simultaneously liberating and covertly extracting the enslaved populace lest they too be put to the blade by their cousins. At wars end Olympia burns one last time, two years of siege warfare culminating in a catastrophic chain of explosions rigged by the traitors in one final act of defiance. Planet purged of all life and left little more than ashen wastes plagued with fields of roaring flames.

Dusk​

Halls of gunmetal surrounded them, matched almost perfectly by external ship walls. Dyzek, Kremnar, Nathiel, Marcus, Akar, Gloran, Castor, and Alexander take each step in near silence; they have all been summoned by their Warsmith by missives of dire import and oaths of secrecy. Their procession is greeted outside the depths of Dreadnought stasis vaults by none other than the Iron Master Vilhelm, and Squad Herchel. Terminators step aside, everyone to dive in: Herchel gestures at Kharnak to head in and then brings up the rear. As one group they now stand before Brumdar and his towering Contemptor form.

"Brothers, pardon the secrecy, but this is a matter I could not trust being discussed on the main levels of the ship. You have all been gathered to discuss and rule upon a choice that has been granted to us by none other than Roboute Guilliman himself." Dreadnought strides deeper into the vaults, passing many empty cavities for others of their sort. Most shells sit empty in storage, or were lost on Terra. Of the interred whom saw Istvaan, only Marcus, Brumdar, Talus, and Garonthius have survived. Latter two are currently assigned to patrol the halls, cleared out so that meeting may happen in total exclusivity.

"A new age dawns upon the Imperium, and with it many new laws and changes. Among them is this...Vilhelm." Brumdar turns helm to regard Iron Master whom has already outpaced the walker's slow strides and retrieved a wrapped tome from a waiting Servitor secured in the back of the vaults. He presents it to them all in physical form and via a projector unit currently installed into a spare servo-arm on his bulky harness. "This is the Codex Astartes and it is the supposed future of the legions. Guilliman is rapidly gaining traction with the idea that the Astartes must be split up into smaller groups, so that few figures can ever again hope to command something so terrifying as an entire legion. It is a motion that will come to pass, whether the Primarch wills it by word or by strength of arm. Guilliman has expressed that we are of an acceptable size to form our own such sub-group, a Chapter. I will not pretend any of us here are master politicians, however it is my belief that going forward our status as Blackshields and suspected sons of traitors could compromise our reputation within the wider Imperium, and without the cover of being a full legion we may face retribution from those who care none for our contribution here on Terra or anywhere else." Brumdar stood just behind Vilhelm, arms shifting restlessly and head dipped to face the hologram, and imagined weight of what he was about to say.

"I expressed these concerns, my sentiments were shared. Several options were placed before me, and they are why you, some of the oldest, most respected, and strongest of our battalion stand with me. The Prodigal Son has offered us a place among the Ultramarines, more over their descendants. Whether by dissolution into their ranks, or by remaining our own entity and scrubbing our history clean and crafting a new one going forward under the pretense we have always been sons of Ultramar." Silence following the statement was quickly broken by Castor.

"Such a thing would spit on the memory of Odiaus, were he here--"

"He is not, and Brumdar has a point." Akar cuts him off curtly. Gloran and Castor both face the agitated Lieutenant, refusing promotion to Captain even after Terra had wiped out most of their upper echelons; that was a burden he had pressed upon Dyzek. Chief Apothecary's look is particularly venomous for a moment, before edges recede from expression and logical thought overtakes emotion once more.

"Tell me Warsmith, was this an offer you were heavily incentivized not to refuse?" Alexander speaks, forehead crinkled up into tough lines and an armored hand stroking thoughtfully as wisp thin goatee that curves from olive colored skin. Force stave remains faithfully in hand and stood alongside self.

"N-...No. No it was not. Guilliman promised us sponsorship and a fair cut of supplies from the legion that equals anything his actual gene-sons might receive. I did not ask about refusal, having been the one to bring up concern that would lead to the merger to begin with."

"Fair. The Ultramarine may seem callous or consumed in his own airs at times, but to call him unfair or cruel would be unworthy. I believe it unlikely there would be no hidden intentions, nor would things be worded so loosely if it was a non-choice." Alexander dips his head and goes quiet, looking around and awaiting whatever words manifest from the thoughts he skims through in their minds.

"Sanguinius is dead. The Emperor had fallen."

Those words played over and over in Kremnar Eranite's mind, numbing him to all else. Perhaps such news would have been less devastating had it not arrive on the heels of Brother Seth's death, or mayhaps it would do just as much damage to his psyche. He remembered little of the months and years after Terra: the drive to kill every last traitor as they fled the surface of the planet, the arrival of Russ, Guilliman and Jonson and their legions, the Master of Ultramar scooping their battered band of survivors to join in the hunt, the second burning of Olympia. All of it seemed a distant dream that the sternguard veteran would wake from at any moment, to find them at the top of another pile of dead xenos, finishing another conquest of a new world and expanding the Imperium in the Great Crusade.

But Kremnar didn't wake up, and now, he walked into the meeting of secrecy on their one void craft, summoned by the acting Warsmith Dreadnought. His helm mag locked at his belt next to his custom sternguard bolters, he stared at the Codex Astartes with his green eyes, past a scarred face and scowled. In one of the rare moments in recent memory, the sternguard veteran had his helmet off, though his former, almost arrogant grin had died along with so many brothers on Terra. Now his brothers were more used to seeing a stoic astartes where there might have been a joke or crack from him before, and his stoicism nearly burns to a disdain as he listened to the offer from the Master of Ultramar.

"How," Kremnar paused, as a man might when tasting a particularly foul thing in his mouth, "generous of the 'Blade of Unity.' Perhaps we should all paint our armors blue, and don wreaths upon our helms next." He had not been impressed by the way Roboute Guilliman had taken upon himself to rearrange the Imperium to his vision before his brother's corpse had cooled and his father's broken form had returned to the Imperial Palace. The sternguard veteran had not been surprised, however, given what the primarch had convinced the Lord of Angels to do when they had been trapped in Ultramar along with the Lion. Still, if anyone should have assumed command in Kremnar's mind, it should have been Lion El'Jonson.

"Guilliman the tactician. Guilliman the warrior," Kremnar said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Little did he know, more than a few astartes from the loyalist legions, including a particular Blood Angel, echoed his sentiment almost to a tee. "He's nothing but a butcher and a scavenger. Picking up the pieces shattered by Horus Lupercal and his mad claim, taking the opportunity to shape the Imperium into his own vision only with words instead of bolts and swords and sorcery. 'The Avenging Son' would spit upon the legacy of his own brothers, of his own father with this 'Codex Astartes.' Sanguinius would not have done this. The Lion does not do this, and Dorn, stubborn prick he might be, but at least he has enough respect for the dead and the living to even consider doing something like this."

"You are correct, Lieutenant. Odiaus is not here, and I envy him for it at the moment." Kremnar said bitterly, remembering how easily they had stripped them of their colors as the true IV legion, how they would shame them for nothing else than to have the audacity to have been chosen by the coward to be a part of his legion, and surviving the purge of loyalist within. He understood the need for them to survive and resupply, but what life was worth giving into all of this? Having said his piece, the sternguard veteran stepped back, letting someone else take the floor and giving the Codex Astartes one last look of disgust. "I myself would have nothing to do with Guilliman or his ilk, but the good of our brotherhood must come first. I shall follow whatever is decided here today, though I will never be a son of Ultramar. I am an Iron Warrior, a true son of the IV. My Iron is within, My Iron is without."

@Colapse @DeranVendar

The loyal Iron Warrior took great pleasure in seeing the traitors turn tail and realize the folly of their ways. However, Nathiel's joy was cut short but the news that devastated all the loyalist forces...

"Sanguinius has fallen in service to the Emperor... The Emperor has been wounded defeating the Arch-Traitor and son, Horus..."
​

Nathiel, and a great many others, staggered a moment trying to comprehend the gravity of such a message. The Emperor, whom in the eyes of a great many was immortal or invulnerable, had been injuries by his favored son. He could feel his hearts beat irregular a moment as his Iron Will fought back the rage and pain that came with the message. Thankfully, however; there was an avenue to address his building rage and pain. So, it was with great pleasure he took to the cleansing of Terra. Nathiel would reap a great many heads, most of which would be the strongest of the traitors he could find, so that he could further show that so called "gods" are not match for loyalty.

However, it was during these weeks of cleansing and venting his rage that he had realized he had not heard from or of his brother Seth. So, after withdrawing from the frontlines, Nathiel regrouped with the Temperers Seth himself had led. The first to attempt to stop and address Nathiel was Castor, "Greetings, Brother Nath-..." Nathiel was quick to cut him off as he had lost a bit of the patience he had once known, "Where is Seth?" Castor's eyes came off Nathiel and his head turned away towards the other Temperers around. When Nathiel turned to the others as well, he watched as their heads dropped slightly. Quickly looking back at Castor, Nathiel's large, armored hand gripped the Chaplain's armor so tightly it began to wine from the pressure. Nathiel's voice and demeanor changed when he spoke to Castor, "Where is Seth?!" Castor looked to the others in the room a moment before sharing the news, "Seth, our Soul Smith, has fallen in battle." Nathiel's grip let loose the Chaplain as a pain befell him the likes of which he had never felt. No words or tears parted from his mouth or eyes as he approach a covered body with a linen draped over it behind Castor. Nathiel, without having to hear it, knew who's body it was. Lifting up the linen he paused a moment before dropping it and looking back at Castor, "Who did this?" Castor looked to the others. "Who did this," Nathiel yelled this time. Castor spoke in a hesitant and unsure voice, "Seth..." Pointing his Thunder Hammer at Castor, Nathiel spoke once more, "Do I look like a fool to you, chaplain? You best quite speaking in riddles, Castor, less I lose my patience..." Castor shook his head, "This is no riddle, Nathiel. An avatar of Seth killed him. We do not know how, but this is what we witnessed. All of us." Nathiel's Thunder Hammer lowered and he stood a moment motionless. He walked toward the door before pausing and turning back to Castor, "You WILL inform me with any information you so much as think may point to this false Seth you speak of..." Before Castor could answer, Nathiel had already continued walking off. A piece of his soul had died in that moment, and no amount of blood shed or death could help him regain what he had lost...

Decisions...Decisions...​

Nathiel listened as the news of the greater plans to come were shared amount a few of the eldest of the Fourth-Fourth. No longer would there be a greatness such as the legion. Much smaller fighting force, called chapters would be the new path all were to take. Guilliman, on top of all that, was the one to clam it was the will of the Emperor. The Codex...

@WanderingJester
After listening to Brumdar, Akar, Kremnar, and a few others speak, Nathiel began to give a some what shorter input on the matter, "Our past is a blight on our history. Our gene-father is a traitor and to share that information or allow it to be known, would cause fear and terror everywhere we went. No matter how great our deeds become from Terra to the future, if that history remains, we shall be viewed as a blight on the Imperium. The ways of the old have pasted. Fear will now grip the Imperium in a manor it never has before. Guilliman has given us a way to continue our crusade of vengeance and erase our past. The option seems quite simple to me... We take the offer and continue our service to the Emperor and the Imperium under new colors. Let us find atonement for that which our genes still carry..."