The Battle of Ira

Azeron watched carefully as the drop pods streaked down through the thin atmosphere. Each streak an omen of ill tidings for whoever was looking up into the sky that night. 'We are coming' hissed Azeron. The battlefield holoview showed a large force. The misguided forces of that arrogant and foolish Krieg general were converging on something. Readings were strange but it was an item of some power indeed. Azeron had despatched Zaitus Meks, his best field commander, along with a conclave of immense power. Stokahn Hammerhand and his finest disciples would be landing in the heart of their forces. He would tear the heart out of the enemy. Despite all his confidence there was still a feeling doubt. Azeron paced back and forth. Chaplain Siobar, once his mentor, had fallen. The pious and rousing Chaplain had seen fit to condemn the entire chapter to heresy. He had thrown his lot in with these brigands, these false prophets. Azeron's world was shaken... how could a once proud marine like Siobar fall? What would cause him to abandon his brothers so callously? Azeron composed himself. He was about to broadcast his orders to the assaulting force.

'Brothers! Siobar has claimed we have abandoned the Codex Astartes. He claims we have fallen from the Emperor's light. He claims we have embraced dark forces! He... He who fights with the False Prophet. He who fights with preacher touched by the dark gods! It is time to erase this fool from existence! We fight with honour, we fight for the light and we fight for glory! Leave none of these heretics alive! Bring me the head of the traitor Siobar!'

pict 7b 116 - Plains of Ira - orbit 77b

Captain Harkol was viewing the battle through his scope. Vast explosions and thunderous fire echoed out over the ruined city. On his left a super heavy tank of some kind went critical. He was temporarily blinded by the white-hot flash. Debris launched hundreds of metres into the sky. The shockwave must have lifted the chimera off the ground. Harkol felt his bones rattle. Harkol couldn't help but feel the Scorpions had made a tactical error. Charging head-long into the teeth of these misguided guardsmen was a fools errand. Beset by revenge, Azeron had abandoned tactical doctrine thought Harkol. It was chaotic. oOders and comms came in at an impossible rate. All harkol could do was relay co-ordinates as calmy as possible. His artillery crews were well trained. The quad guns chattered away sending artillery shots far into the distance. With each barrage the battle field cacaphony was lessening. They were hitting their targets. It was going to be a long day. 

Hammerhand sat still in the ruined command post, his hands slick with dark blood. The torn corpses of his enemy lay strewn about. The thudd of  single bolter shots rang out sporadically as his remaining marines dispatched the wounded survivors. Hammerhand gazed into the palms of his hands, He could see his reflection in the slick red blood. His terrifying visage was something to behold. 'Has it really come to this he thought' as he looked around at the guardsmen he'd slaughtered.  He thought of the False Prophet, that priest who had caused so much chaos with only his words. It wasn't guilt or regret. Just sadness... a tragedy. He had personally vanquished Siobar, his old friend, with a burst of pure psychic energy so powerful it ravaged the very fabric of space. There were still a number of traitor Scorpions that had escaped. One of them would no doubt take up the mantle. This wasn't over yet.

His thoughts were interrupted by the hulking terminators of the 1st Cohort. They were carrying a huge golden blade, the very thing the Krieg were after. It had been exposed by the winds. Strange voices called out to any who passed it. A strange item indeed thought Hammerhand. He wrapped his bloodied hands around the handle and held it aloft, inspecting the keen edge of the might sword. The blood on his hands seemed to be absorbed into the handle. Hammerhand felt something, pride, strength....power! Hammerhand heard the voice that had plagued him for months. 'yessss...yessss.... now we can finally begin' He silenced the voice. It was but a nuisance. He remembered the dying words of that blue armoured warlock he disemboweled on Warren's End. He remembered the gurgling low gothic the filthy witch uttered 'Beware your fate horned one, within you... two seeds...one of darkness and one of light...what grows... you must decide'

 'My lord' said the sergeant nearby. 'We have the prisoners we need for interrogation. Enemy force neutralised. Some retreated into the valley to the east. Orders?'
Hammerhands eyes glowed brighter than usual as he gazed into the blade. 'Pursue them, leave none alive'