Ave Imperator


Trooper Wolfgang sprinted across the battlefield, flanked on either side by his fellow Kriegsmen. Sweat dripped below his death mask, stinging his eyes and fogging the glass eyepeices. His breath was heavy, and his ears rung from the roar of artillery and the whine of air support. His Chimera was a smoking ruin, blasted to pieces by the infernal shells of the great despoiler.

The ground shook beneath his feat. Looking up, a towering Warlord Titan strode forward, firing all weapons at the armies of Chaos. The great machine was truly of a God of war, striking awe and terror into the heart’s of the Emperor’s enemies.

But the great Warlord was only an agent of destruction. Unable to push into the dense and unstable urban ground at the edge of the battlefield, the Titan was only able to play a support role. To claim the objectives and hold this world for the Imperium, it was up to the common man to surge forward and raise the Imperial Eagle.

Inspired by this thought, Wolfgang shouted to his companions and sprinted towards the grey ferracrete buildings. Past the smoking ruins of Death Korp vehicles, and under the shrieking Xenos fliers, the Death Korp of Krieg advanced towards the objective, dedicated to their cause with suicidal single-mindedness.

Sheltering at the edge of the urban area, and preparing to assault the ruins, reports came on the Vox of a titanic battle between the traitorous forces and the armies of Gulliman. The Ultramarines were engaged in a terrible battle against all odds, and were taking heavy casualties. Unwavering in even the most difficult of conditions, they too were pushing towards the far objective. With both objectives in hand, this world would be won, and the campaign would be a resounding success. Everything came down to this moment.

The Kriegsman leap the barriers and charged into the dense urban terrain. After taking up defensive positions to defend the objective, the banner was raised, the Aquila defiant against the Smokey sky. As the men looked out across the apocalyptic battlefield, they saw armies in desperate combat. Xenos fliers raced through the air. Hellish fires poured from the guns of the despoiler. Terrible power burst from the Titans.

With time running out to secure all objectives in the name of the Emperor, a sound rang out like a crack of thunder. Arriving on the battlefield at inhuman speed, the dark shape of an unknown flyer rocketed across the battlefield. Slowing and turning at the speed of a drop pod, it was clear that the pilots and passengers were Space Marines – no mere mortal could survive such speeds, much less operate an aircraft.

As the flyer settled above the far objective, cheers came over the vox. The armies of the Imperium had seen the Emperor’s finest warriors take control of the opposing objective, clad in midnight black and burnished silver.

Vicotry was at hand. The combined might of the Imperium had won the day – the crusade was a success.


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