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Chapter 179: Let Us Crush Our Enemies
🕑 Added 2025-09-26 10:41:26 +0000 UTCChapter 179: Let Us Crush Our Enemies
"...As expected of the Lamenters."
After reviewing the battle-report submitted by Titus, Romulus couldn't help but murmur his admiration. The engines of the Dawnlight hummed with a deep, powerful thrum as the warship cut through the void at sub-light speed, racing towards Estelia.
The Dawnbreakers dared not delay; any necessary discussions could happen en route. The situation on the planet was far too complex.
He turned his attention to another report, this one just transmitted from Ramesses, containing the testimony of an Aeldari Farseer named Hector. It revealed the planet's dual identity: not only was it an Imperial garden world, but it was also a sacred maiden world to the Exodite Aeldari. The environmental needs of both races had, for the most part, prevented conflict. The Exodites needed to preserve the planet's ecology to sustain its World Spirit, which in turn protected their souls from the predation of Slaanesh. Humanity, in turn, desired a paradise world of pristine beauty.
It was a rare case of coexistence, though not unheard of. While the Imperial and Aeldari definitions of "paradise" differed, their shared desire for a beautiful environment had become an unlikely point of consensus between the two species.
Beep.
Closing the report from Ramesses, Romulus looked at the tense face of Inquisitor Aglaia on the comms channel. She owed the Lamenters a great debt of gratitude. If not for their steadfastness, this planet would have already been scoured by atmospheric incinerator torpedoes.
"My Lord?" Titus's voice came through, a low query.
"We will reclaim this planet," Romulus announced. "Every garden world is a precious asset of the Imperium."
The decision was made. It was hardly a question. Even with their fleet divided, they still commanded a force of over two thousand Astartes, composed of Blood Angels, Flesh Tearers, Dark Angels, and Alpha Legion, not to mention their fully mechanized Solar Auxilia pattern regiments. Including the might of the Dawnlight itself, flattening a planet in short order would be a simple matter.
The intensity of the conflict on this world did not compare to Pierdra, and the operational environment was better. The Lamenters, with only four hundred warriors, had held out for a considerable time.
"Strike Force Talassar is ready to engage," Titus replied instantly, simultaneously signalling for his captain to link their ship's command systems with the Dawnlight's fleet network. The captain hesitated for a fraction of a second before complying. He stole another glance at Titus. For some reason, he could clearly sense that Sergeant Titus was... excited.
Excited. Of course, he was excited.
Titus clenched his fists. It wasn't the kind of reverence one held for a gene-father, but a profound respect for proven ability, an acknowledgement of a self-evident truth. The non-Codex tactical primers were proscribed texts within the Ultramarines Chapter, but due to Calgar's own ambiguous stance, they were merely confiscated rather than destroyed. As such, Titus himself had studied every version of the Tactical Primer on Tyranid Warfare multiple times. He had followed every related battle-report with intense focus. The Chapter Chaplains who oversaw the mental well-being of the battle-brothers often had talks with him, but he saw no reason to change his views.
Through every analysis, every after-action report, Titus felt as if he were a single frond of seaweed in a vast ocean. He needed only to move with the powerful currents to realize his own potential. He had sincerely hoped that one day he would have the chance to serve under such a commander.
It wasn't that Calgar was incompetent. Titus respected his Chapter Master and acknowledged his strength and command ability. But this was different.
Staring at the powerful form of Romulus on the display, Titus stood tall. The rumours circulating within the Ultramarines Chapter had never ceased. He didn't believe them, but that did nothing to diminish Romulus's standing in his eyes.
"Thank you for your cooperation, Sergeant Titus. I am honoured to have the opportunity to command Guilliman's finest sons," Romulus said with a slight smile and a nod.
Titus had to fight to keep his expression neutral. He was starting to be thankful he had been demoted and sent to the northern fringe. During a previous engagement, Titus had violated the Codex Astartes by commandeering the wargear of a mortal regiment to achieve a tactical breakthrough. Though he had won the battle, he was reported by another battle-brother in his squad. Due to the exigent circumstances, the local Inquisitors had little interest in arresting an Ultramarine, but Titus still faced pressure from within the Chapter. To protect him, Calgar had sent him and a few other troublemakers to assist the Maelstrom allied forces.
Thank you, Lord Calgar.
Titus re-integrated his command terminal into the bridge's main console. Ignoring the baffled look from his captain, he turned and led his squad towards the hangar bays.
"It seems the Mortifactors couldn't dodge their fate in the end, could they?"
Aboard the Silent Vow, Ramesses watched the Mortifactors' movements and sighed. That Chapter had done their duty and more. They had rapidly evacuated the population of the human settlements, immediately transferred them to safety, and then moved on to reinforce other worlds. They weren't avoiding a fight or deliberately abandoning their allies. They just, on a deep, instinctual level, did not want to be anywhere near the Lamenters.
The Mortifactors were indeed a strange lot. Their collective meditation ritual, meant to commune with their Primarch for wisdom and guidance, was certainly not connecting them to the psychically-null Guilliman, but their premonitions were unnervingly accurate. Yet, for all their efforts to avoid it, misfortune had found them in the end.
997.M41. The Third War for Armageddon. The Maelstrom Wars had cost the Imperium the fighting strength of three Astartes Chapters, forcing them to dispatch the Mortifactors from the distant Realm of Ultramar to provide support. The Mortifactors answered the call, for their omens had foretold that their presence was essential for the war's outcome. In that same year, the Mortifactors' homeworld of Posul was overrun by a splinter of a Tyranid Hive Fleet and rendered a dead world. From that day on, the Mortifactors became a fleet-based Chapter, joining the Scythes of the Emperor—whose Chapter had been annihilated when their homeworld of Sotha was invaded—as brothers in misfortune.
"But their attitude is understandable," Arthur said, nodding from beside him. "If I met a well-intentioned but cosmically unlucky person in the real world, I'd run as far away as I could too."
If not for their own "transmigrator's arrogance" and their unique advantages, they wouldn't dare get involved with the Lamenters either. At most, they'd drop off a shipment of wargear and leave. The Mortifactors' avoidance showed they had a clear understanding of their own limits. They knew they couldn't withstand the maelstrom of bad luck that followed the Lamenters. What was a tragic but survivable battle for the Lamenters would mean utter annihilation for any other Chapter.
BOOM!
A continuous tremor ran through the warship, causing the hololithic images of the men to flicker. The acceleration of Imperial vessels was immense, capable of sustaining sub-light cruising speeds for extended periods. In the short time they had been talking, the fleet had already arrived in the planet's outer orbit. Macrocannons and plasma batteries began to erupt, tearing into the dense swarms of Tyranid bio-ships in the lower orbital sphere.
Arthur glanced at the chaos outside the view-portal. If things had proceeded as they should have, this planet would have been destroyed. The Lamenters would have suffered immense casualties to save a fraction of the population, and then, amidst the gratitude of the survivors and the uncomprehending stares of their brother-Astartes, they would have marched on to their next sacrifice.
"But we are here now," Ramesses said, cracking his knuckles. "Same plan as always. Master Arthur and I will handle the Chaos problem." His gaze fell upon the Aeldari twins beside him, who were sharing a single body, their xenos features concealed. The twins instinctively flinched. Fighting Slaanesh right out of the gate was a bit much. But their bodies were honest, and they obediently made their way towards the Wraithknight, which now bore an Imperial Aquila and was encased in an Imperial-style shell.
"War engines, prepare for deployment. Testing protocols complete," Romulus commanded, his voice crisp. "Flesh Tearers Chapter standing by for drop, begin heavy vehicle fire-plan coordination."
Romulus nodded, beginning to issue orders.
"Titus." His voice reached the sergeant as he entered his Thunderhawk.
"Lord Romulus!" Titus, fully armed and armoured, answered immediately. He had kept his comms channel open to the Dawnlight.
"Bring Strike Force Talassar aboard the Dawnlight," Romulus said, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked at Titus's standard-issue Mark VII power armour. It was obsolete. The Crusade Fleet had already fully transitioned to Mark X; older patterns were now purely ceremonial.
"First, you will be re-equipped."
"Yes, my Lord!"
Under the efficient coordination of the fleet's command, the war machine of the Dawnbreakers began to turn at incredible speed. That efficiency became a tangible reality as a storm of human ordnance began to descend upon the world being ravaged by xenos and daemons.
The Mortifactors sought greater efficiency and feared the very real curse of the Lamenters. Their actions were understandable.
Strike Force Talassar held fast to their duty. Though they could not engage alone, they provided all possible aid to the Lamenters' efforts. Their actions were understandable.
The Lamenters, following their calling, sacrificed themselves to carve a path of survival for humanity. Their actions were more than understandable; they were worthy of the highest respect.
The problem, then, was self-evident.
"All forces, advance," Romulus commanded, his hand dropping in a sharp, decisive motion.
"Let us crush the enemies of Mankind."
This was no longer a planet to be saved by a razor's edge.
And they were no longer who they once were.
