Chapter 177: The Mournival's Moon
"It's quite alright," Angron said, his voice carrying unexpected gentleness that contrasted sharply with his battlefield reputation. The other Primarchs nodded their understanding.
"Thank you for your patience," Sanguinius replied. "Allow me to brief you on our current situation." He turned toward the Techmarine at the chamber's edge and added, "Activate the projection device and display the latest battlefield data for my brothers."
The Machine Spirit stirred to life with a low hum, and light beams danced through the air, weaving together to form a detailed holographic image of the Dyson Sphere and the recent battle's overview.
"Our initial assault wave is complete," Sanguinius began, his voice carrying command authority. "We eliminated six enemy strategic carriers plus numerous escort vessels and fighter squadrons, so the void battle has neutralized their stellar defenses."
He gestured toward the slowly rotating hologram. "However, breaching the Dyson Sphere's interior presents a far greater challenge. Our auspex readings detect endless mechanical signatures within, almost certainly the Necron legions in their full might."
The holographic display unfolded before the assembled Primarchs, revealing the sphere's forbidding metallic architecture. Mountain-sized cannon batteries and vast energy projection arrays dominated the structure, while the weapons bristled across its surface like metal thorns.
Green beams lanced skyward from spire-like projectors, spreading to form an impenetrable energy barrier that not only deflected orbital bombardment but also sealed off realspace itself, preventing teleportation or dimensional assault.
"Any spatial insertion will require destroying those shield emitter towers first," Sanguinius noted grimly.
Even having annihilated the void defenses, the Primarchs understood the truth: the coming surface engagement would demand a fearsome price in blood.
"The Luna Wolves shall serve as the spearhead," Horus declared as he stepped forward with characteristic confidence. "We will pierce their defenses and create the breach for our assault."
"That honor belongs to the First," Lion El'Jonson countered smoothly while moving to face his brother. "The Dark Angels will complete this mission."
"Lion!" Horus's eyes flashed with anger. "We stand before a great battle, and yet you still play these political games?"
"This is no game but the eldest son fulfilling his duty. The First Legion shall bear the greater burden, Sixteenth Brother." The Lion's hand rested casually on his sword's pommel, and his smile was genuinely amused.
"Eldest son? Sixteenth Brother?" Horus's fists clenched. "You claim precedence through mere fortune of numbering. Nothing more."
"Fortune is also strength," Lion replied with maddening calm. "I've explained this before. Perhaps this time you'll remember it for our next meeting."
"Shameless," Horus spat. Each syllable dripped with contempt.
The Lion's smile widened. "The struggle for succession has always been thus, since time began. How can it be called shameless?"
"Lion El'Jonson, I'm here today for one purpose, to curb your arrogance. In achievement, I am your equal. In single combat, I do not yield to you. In campaign and conquest, I surpass you entirely."
Horus's voice rose to a shout. "You want to be the eldest son? Dream on, it will never happen."
"Then let us settle this," Lion suggested with dangerous quiet. "We each lead an assault force and land simultaneously. Let us see who returns victorious first, and who comes back in defeat."
"Agreed," Horus snarled. "I will be victorious."
The two Primarchs locked eyes, neither willing to concede ground. Behind them, their guards shifted hands to weapon hilts, and tension filled the sacred hall like storm clouds.
The other Primarchs watched with varied expressions, some looked concerned while others seemed resigned to this familiar conflict.
Sanguinius stepped between them, his wings rustling softly. "Brothers, set aside this dispute for now. First we destroy the Outsider, then you may resume debating precedence."
Neither Horus nor Lion moved, but their mutual antipathy burned between them.
"Why not grant them their wish?" Angron suggested pragmatically. "Let both Lion and Horus serve as our vanguard, and let them compete for honor in the crucible of war."
"I find this acceptable."
"No objections here."
Guilliman and Dorn nodded immediately. The other Primarchs followed suit.
"Very well. The assault mission falls to you both," Sanguinius addressed his brothers solemnly. "Remember that our Father's blood flows in both your veins, and the bonds of brotherhood cannot be severed by anything."
His voice carried the weight of prophecy. "We must unite to face the coming darkness, for what we endure now is merely tempering before the true war arrives."
With the Angel's words echoing in the chamber, the war council concluded, and the Primarchs returned to their respective flagships to prepare for the coming storm.
Aboard the Soul of Vengeance, flagship of the XVI Legion, the Luna Wolves made ready for war. Throughout countless decks, formations moved with practiced efficiency.
Technicians and crew hurried through corridors while industrial servitors transported heavy ordnance under mechanical arms' supervision.
In a seldom-visited tower crowned by a massive crystal dome, four figures gathered for an ancient ritual. Through the transparent ceiling, they could observe the raging ion storms and cold wreckage drifting in the void beyond.
The Mournival, the informal council of four captains, assembled to provide counsel to their Primarch.
Ezekyle Abaddon, Captain of the First Company; Tarik Torgaddon of the Second; Hastur Sejanus of the Fourth; and Horus Aximand of the Fifth, called Little Horus, gathered in the stark chamber.
The tower's sparse decorations consisted only of poorly rendered alien artwork commemorating past xenocides and crude Cthonian poetry etched into the walls. At the chamber's heart lay a shallow, clear pool where reflected starlight formed a watery moon.
"This will suffice, given our limitations," Abaddon declared. Though his voice carried slight disappointment at the ceremony's simplicity.
"You call this a moon?" Aximand stared at the reflection skeptically.
"We make do with what we have," Sejanus replied. "Let's begin. This battle will determine our Legion's honor. Time to show those rigid First Legion knights their folly in provoking the Luna Wolves."
The four placed their silver tokens beside the pool. Each bore lunar phases representing different aspects of their brotherhood: new moon, half-moon, gibbous moon, and full moon.
"Our name?" Sejanus intoned.
"Luna Wolves," came the unified response.
"Above them?"
"Mournival!" the remaining three roared as one.
Abaddon's voice carried across the chamber. "Bathed in this moonlight, united in purpose, we pledge our oath until death claims us all."
"For the living, we kill."
They drew their blades. Each pressed his sword-tip to his left neighbor's gorget in the ancient Cthonian manner.
"For the dead, we kill."
The ritual concluded. They placed written oaths within their helmets and drew lots. An old tradition where warriors wrote condemnation oaths before battle. Should they fail their sworn duties, the randomly drawn slips would determine their punishment.
Shortly after the ceremony's completion, the Luna Wolves launched their assault on the Outsider's domain. Tens of thousands of drop pods and gunships plunged toward the artificial world's surface, ready to tear it apart from within.
Simultaneously, the Dark Angels under Lion El'Jonson began their own assault. Luther, Astelan, Zahariel, and their battle-brothers joined the drop forces for the surface engagement.
Drop pod retro-thrusters ignited. They spewed flame as a massive thrust slowed their descent. With bone-jarring impacts, the pods struck the Dyson Sphere's metal surface. Their doors exploded outward.
Luther and his Dark Angels charged from their pod. They joined the assault force as green death lanced down from above. Drop pods and gunships traced burning arcs through the hostile sky while emerald beams sought to claim them.
Several vessels were struck. Instantly, dozens of warriors' life-signs vanished from the communication network. Even with their gene-enhanced physiques and combat modifications, overwhelming firepower could still claim the Emperor's finest.
In the distance, Luther beheld the Necron metropolis. Grand and boundless, stretching beyond the horizon's edge.
The closer they approached, the more the ancient city's scale became apparent. Dark, endless walls stretched beyond sight. Their immense scale made even transhuman warriors look small.
Klaxons wailed. An endless tide of Necron constructs surged toward the landing zones. These were more mechanical than typical Necrons. They had seemingly lost all vestiges of consciousness. They were utterly enslaved to their Star God master's will.
"For Lion El'Jonson!" Luther roared, raising his blade high.
The battle cry echoed through Dark Angel ranks. The Necron tide crashed against their defensive line like ocean waves hitting rocks.
Then Lion El'Jonson himself descended from near-orbital altitude. He needed no drop pod or grav-chute. The impact of his landing obliterated every Necron within a hundred meters. The shockwave swept them away like chaff.
Drawing his legendary blade, the Lion moved with casual grace through the mechanical horde.
Each sword stroke unleashed forces that tore through realspace itself and the metal ground beneath. Hundreds of constructs were reduced to scattered debris with every elegant movement.
He walked leisurely through the raging Necron tide as if strolling through a garden. He left only wreckage in his wake.
Necron Lords on their hovering thrones fell easily to his blade. Chronomancers were cast into temporal exile with no hope of return. Elite Immortals proved as fragile as insects before his transhuman might.
A thunderous explosion marked the destruction of a shield generator tower. The Dark Angels' relentless assault had succeeded. The blast cleared several dozen kilometers, reducing magnificent Necron architecture to molten slag and charred debris.
The emerald beams reaching skyward flickered and died. A crucial gap opened in the planetary defense grid.
Imperial teleportation arrays activated immediately. They deposited fresh waves of the Emperor's forces onto the surface. Titan war-engines strode through the dimensional gateways.
Their hellfire missiles loaded with antimatter warheads streaked toward the Necron hordes. Each impact triggered devastating chain reactions that lit the artificial sky with the fires of war.
[End of Chapter]
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