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Chapter 6 – The Blade Drawn
🕑 Added 2025-08-11 08:39:23 +0000 UTCChapter 6 – The Blade Drawn
The strategium of the Oath of Rectitude was a place of calculated purpose.
Here, wars were not fought, they were designed. Star maps burned in hololithic blue, while the faint hum of the ship’s systems throbbed through the deck like the pulse of a living beast.
Brother-Captain Gaius Maximor Thassor stood at the center, armored in the deep cerulean of the Ultramarines, helm cradled under one arm. His gaze swept the semicircle of warriors before him, ten veteran Astartes, two newly assigned Primaris reinforcements. The light caught the gold trim of their pauldrons, reflecting off lenses and armor plates polished to a mirror’s gleam.
“Brothers,” Gaius began, his voice a steady, ironclad presence. “You know my name. You know my record. I will not waste time on reputation. We are here because the Helisar Reaches burn, and no one else can quench that fire.”
A starfield shifted on the hololith, centering on three highlighted worlds.
“Helisar-III: Agri-world. Breadbasket for five surrounding systems. Now silent.
Helisar-IV: Forge-world. Its forges are cold; its manufactoria now serve the enemy.
Helisar-V: Agri-world. Vast plains, now ash. Scans show atmospheric toxins, no natural cause.”
A ripple of static marked the change in display, pict-captures of jagged fortifications, spiked banners, and armored warriors daubed in the blasphemous marks of the Ruinous Powers.
“The enemy is entrenched,” Gaius continued. “Likely Chaos Space Marines. Expect mortal auxiliaries in number. But they have made a mistake, they think these worlds are theirs. They are wrong.”
He stepped forward, letting his shadow cut across the hololith.
Our objectives:
Eliminate the enemy’s leaders. Chaos warlords, dark champions, or daemonic entities, all must fall. When the head is cut, the body dies.
Disrupt their command structure. Destroy their strongholds, cripple their ability to coordinate, and leave them leaderless and blind.
Prepare the field for the fleet. We are the knife in the dark; the crusade fleet will be the hammer. Once we strike, they will finish the work.”
He let the silence hang for a moment.
“You will operate under my command. No hesitation, no deviation. I lead from the front, as always. We strike fast, we strike hard, and we do not stop until the enemy is broken beneath our boots.”
The veterans nodded, grim-faced, their trust in him unspoken yet absolute. Even the newly-forged Primaris warriors, taller, bulkier, but young in the measure of the Adeptus Astartes, gave silent, unwavering nods.
In the darkest corners of the galaxy, the name Gaius Maximor Thassor carried weight enough to still doubt and stir courage. Even amongst storied heroes like Commander Dante, his deeds had been whispered with respect, though Gaius was younger, the blood he had shed for the Imperium had already carved his name into its endless war.
He gave the final words with cold certainty.
“Ready yourselves. In twelve hours, we make planetfall. And when we do… we leave nothing of them but ash.”
The strategium’s lights dimmed as the warriors dispersed to prepare. Gaius remained a moment longer, staring at the star map, memorizing every contour of the enemy’s holdings.
War was coming, and he would meet it with a blade in hand.
Elsewhere…
The faint smell of machine oil hung in the air of Tony Stark’s home workshop. It was late, or early, depending on how one counted time when submerged in engineering, and the room was dim but for the glow of monitors and the angular silhouette of the Mark III armor.
Pepper Potts stood at the edge of the workbench, hands clasped nervously. “You wanted to see me?”
Tony, still half-bent over the armor, glanced up with that disarming, almost careless smile. “Yeah. Field trip for you today.” He pulled open a drawer and fished out a small USB stick. Sleek. Unassuming. Deadly in the right hands.
“Pepper,” he said, stepping closer, “I need you to do something. Something… slightly illegal. Okay, very illegal.”
Her brow furrowed. “Tony”
“Relax. You’re just going to borrow some files. Stick this into Obadiah’s computer, pull everything, and get out before he notices. Simple.”
She gave him that look, the one that could cut through his bravado faster than any bullet. “And why am I doing this?”
Tony’s smile faded, replaced with a rare seriousness. “Because I think Obie’s been playing a deeper game. I want to see if he’s innocent… or if he’s the reason I was out in that desert in the first place.” (obie = Obadiah)
Pepper hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll do it.”
“Thank you, Pepper,” Tony said lightly, trying to mask the knot in his chest.
Later…
Pepper’s heels clicked quietly against the polished floor of Obadiah Stane’s office. The man was absent, just as she had hoped. She slid into the leather chair, pulled the USB from her pocket, and plugged it into the terminal.
The download bar crept forward. She kept glancing toward the door, the faint sound of the city outside pressing in against the silence.
The moment the download finished, a folder opened, full of contracts, intercepted communications, and encrypted files. Her eyes caught one unencrypted video…
A video, of the Ten rings, holding Tony Stark tied in he middle, then a member saying that, "Tony Stark has been captured, but to kill him, the price has increased."
Confirming it was obadiah who ordered Them the kidnapping of Tony Stark.
Her stomach tightened. It was him.
She pulled the USB free, stuffed it in her purse, and left before the bile in her throat could rise.
That night
Tony was back in the workshop, the hum of the arc reactor in his chest filling the quiet. He was so focused on the armor’s servo system that he didn’t hear the footsteps until a familiar voice spoke.
“Working late again, Tony?”
Obadiah stood in the doorway, smiling, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t reach the eyes.
Tony straightened. “Obie. What brings you here?”
“Oh, just checking in. You’ve been… busy. Very busy.” He stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back. “You know, I always thought of you as a son. But lately? You’ve been making it… hard.”
There was an edge now, not anger, but something colder.
Then, without warning, Obadiah produced a small metallic device and pressed it near Tony’s ear. A sharp, high-pitched whine cut through the air.
Tony gasped, every muscle locking as if his body had been frozen in ice. He collapsed into the chair, eyes wide, breath shallow.
“Neat little toy, isn’t it?” Obadiah crouched down, his voice almost gentle. “You think you’re the only one who can build clever things? I’ve been pulling strings from the start. The board. The weapons contracts. Even your little vacation in Afghanistan. All me.”
Tony tried to speak, but only a strangled gasp came out.
Obadiah reached down, his fingers curling around the arc reactor embedded in Tony’s chest. “This? This is what’s going to change the world. Not in your hands, of course… but in mine.”
With a twist and a pull, the reactor came free. The sudden emptiness in his chest was like falling into a vacuum, every breath a war he was losing.
Obadiah stood, pocketing the reactor, and walked toward the door. “Goodbye Tony.”
The door shut behind him.
[Multiversal Chat – Incoming Transmission]
The flicker of icons lit up Tony’s peripheral vision. Somehow, impossibly, the interface burned in midair, visible even as his sight dimmed.
[System Message]:
Mission: Save Tony Stark.
Target: Obadiah Stane, Kill or capture.
Objective: Stabilize Stark and cure palladium poisoning.
Reward: Postal System unlocked, members may send items to one another.
Somewhere, in other worlds, Others were already seeing the same message.
For Tony, the words blurred, fading into darkness as he slumped in the chair, the sound of his slowing heartbeat echoing in the empty workshop.
(Bro, writing on two novels, are quite hard, i have to back read each, so i don't break continuity)
Comments
Noctis123
if you have to take a break on one and work on another some other time and maybe switch off to the other
