Warhammer : Machinist and The Exile

The battle-scarred plains of Luna lay shrouded in crimson haze, the great warp rift still bleeding malevolence into the void.

The thunder of bolters and lasguns intensified, echoes of violence hanging heavy in the ash-choked air.

Imperial and allied forces fell back in disciplined desperation, regrouping to the second defensive line.

Columns of reinforcements rumbled into view — Chimeras, Leman Russ tanks, and Sentinel walkers trudging through the dust, flanked by truckloads of weary, bloodstreaked Guardsmen. Overhead, Valkyries and orbital landers streaked across the void-scarred sky, ferrying munitions and whatever reserves could be spared.

From Luna orbit, Navy void stations and cruisers drew closer, their hulls bristling with macrocannon batteries. Even the mighty Phalanx inched toward the moon, a brooding promise of vengeance.

The vox-net crackled with frantic orders.

"All forces, this is Luna Command. Orbital bombardment impossible — Imperial and traitor forces intermixed. Risk of collateral too high. Engage by ground assets and atmospheric support only."

The order reached every squad, tank, and pilot in the hemisphere.

[Sky Talon squadron, this is Control — priority strike run. Hit the traitor armor forming behind the eastern ridge. Confirm when done.]

[Copy, Control. Talon Leader inbound. Weapons hot.]

High above, contrails crisscrossed the scorched sky. Valkyrie dropships and Thunderbolt fighters screamed overhead, missile pods hissing and autocannons chattering.

A pair of Marauder bombers lumbered into view, their bellies disgorging heavy munitions onto the enemy lines.

On the ground, Guardsmen cheered as explosions stitched the horizon, traitor vehicles and heretic positions vaporized in gouts of superheated rock and bloodied debris.

[Beautiful hit, Control! That'll burn the bastards!] one pilot voxed.

[Scratch one Traitor column — multiple secondaries. Request rearming for another target run.]

But the airspace was no longer theirs alone.

The warp rift howled, and from its churning depths, abominations took wing.

Twisting, manta-like Screamers of Tzeentch burst forth — their bodies like warped rays of chromatic fire, shrieking through the void. Warpfire crows, beasts of living flame and hate, poured into the thin atmosphere, seeking Imperial aircraft.

[Hellspawn in the upper airspace! This is Valkyrie Talon Three — we're hit — taking fire from those flying warp-things!]

A shriek echoed through the vox before static cut the line.

[Control to all fighters — break formation, engage at will! Protect ground assets!]

The skies became a slaughterhouse.

Thunderbolts engaged the warp beasts head-on. Autocannon fire and lascannon bursts ripped through daemonic shapes, leaving trails of dissolving warp ichor. But for each destroyed, more took its place.

A Valkyrie was seized by a flock of shrieking horrors. Its wing sheared away, the dropship spiraling in a fiery arc before slamming into the lunar soil.

[We've lost Talon Nine! They're coming through in waves! I need cover—]

Another scream, another line gone.

On the ground, the battle raged.

Pink Horrors capered between trenches, spitting bolts of warplightning that turned men into crystalline statues or pools of molten flesh. For every one slain, two Blue Horrors burst from the remains in a shriek of madness.

[Enemy breaching the left flank! Emperor save us, they're multiplying!]

The vox-net buzzed with panicked reports.

Astartes reinforcements surged into the fight. Ultramarines Devastators set up heavy bolters, sending bursts of mass-reactive shells into daemon packs. Salamanders moved methodically, incinerating swarms of Pink and Blue Horrors with disciplined flamestorm strikes.

At their head, Marshal Marius Amalrich thundered forward, his crimson-streaked blade in hand.

"Son of Dorn — cleanse the warpfilth! Leave no daemon standing!"

Chainswords revved. Storm shields flared against sorcerous blasts. Bolters roared in short, punishing volleys. Tzeentchian horrors split and reformed as they fell.

Marius personally cleaved a Pink Horror in two, the daemon screeching as it burst into twin Blue Horrors. Without slowing, he crushed one beneath his boot and skewered the other on his power blade.

"They split, brother!" bellowed a Black Templar.

"Then we kill them twice." Amalrich spat, his voice a snarl of holy fury.

Further down the line, Eldar shuriken fire sliced through Horrors, severing heads and limbs in flashes of monomolecular death. Harlequins darted in, their flip-belts and hallucination grenades turning melee into a theatre of blood-slicked madness.

Seiji fought at the front, deflecting a bolt of sorcery with his shield before bisecting a Blue Horror.

"They multiply," he hissed before finishing the daemon once more.

Meanwhile, the imperial vox channel is saturated by desperate voices.

[First trench is collapsing! They're everywhere — by the Throne, the earth's bleeding!]

Sergeant Helkan's vox-feed cut into the command net.

[We can't stop them—!]

His final words ended in a warpfire shriek.

The skies boiled above them.

Thunderbolt pilot Janren shouted into the vox, [Control, this is Thunder Lead — we've got two bogies on us — they're not aircraft, they're warp-things! Blue fire, impossible speed — I can't —]

A warpshriek tore through the channel, followed by silence.

The air war raged on. Thunderbolts fought alongside Valkyries in deadly strafing runs, autocannons hammering cultist positions and daemon clusters. Missiles streaked skyward, detonating amidst the hellspawn, but the warp creatures were unrelenting.

A Marauder bomber's wing shattered under a barrage of sorcerous flame. It veered sideways, clipping a formation of Screamers before plummeting in a burning arc.

And then, without cause or omen, the sky split.

As though fate itself had dictated the moment.

Fateweaver appeared.

The twin-headed Lord of Change drifted from the warp breach, its massive wings folded like banners of living ink. One head laughed, a warbling, pitch-bending shriek, while the other spoke in riddles only the doomed could hear. Warp storms rippled outward in its wake.

The vox-net drowned in screaming.

[By the Throne — what is that thing?! Emperor helps us — that daemon has two heads!]

Guilliman's gaze locked on the Oracle of Tzeentch as Magnus took another step forward.

Beside him, the grey knight grand master tightened his grip on his weapon. His brothers have joined the frey.

"We strike," Guilliman said as he leads the rest of astartes element move.