Just as it was ten millennia ago, the moment the Hydra's Claws slammed into the surface of Pluto's moon, Nix, trailing plumes of atmospheric fire, the fortress' garrison, scions of loyalty sworn unto the Imperium, clenched their teeth and unleashed a vitriolic counter-offensive against the traitors.
Erupting from the assault pods were the Astartes of the Alpha Legion, their power armor clad in shimmering, teal-colored scales.
While the Alpha Legion's reputation in direct confrontation was often deemed the "weakest" among the Legiones Astartes, that was a metric measured only against their superhuman peers. To the mortal defenders of the Imperium, they were death incarnate. The Alpha Legionnaires swept through the ranks, their bolters spitting mass-reactive shells that tore through the loyalist lines with pitiless precision.
Several Dreadnoughts crashed down from the heavens alongside them, their Storm Bolters raining a relentless tempest of fire upon the cowering infantry.
"Fall back! Retreat to the secondary defense line!"
The mortal regiments facing the Alpha Legion collapsed instantly. These transhuman warriors were no longer merely Astartes; their legs had begun to mutate into digitigrade, reverse-jointed limbs, and long, sinuous rat-tails whipped behind them. They moved with a predatory celerity that far surpassed their original physiology.
They possessed the twitch-speed and hyper-reflexes of the Skaven, yet retained the cold professionalism and tactical cohesion of the Alpha Legion. It was this synthesis that had earned them the dark favor of the Great Horned Rat.
"Akurra, pin them down, do not allow these wretched curs to interfere with the Primarch!" Drazus commanded.
"By your command, Captain!" Solomon Akurra's heart surged with dark exhilaration. As a neophyte less than two hundred and fifty years old, the chance to participate in a grand campaign alongside his Primarch filled him with fanatic zeal.
Their standard bolters had been replaced by Warp-Bolters. The rounds they fired did more than merely explode; upon impact, they detonated into clouds of virulent spores. This was the dreaded rat-plague, bolstered by the foul energies of the Immaterium. Those caught in the blast withered in an instant, their flesh turning black and desiccated as they succumbed to the catastrophic plague.
This was the manifestation of the Clan Pestilens aspect of the Great Horned Rat's ruinous power.
…
Deep within the heart of Hydra Fortress, the Doom Fists Chapter, scions of the blood of Rogal Dorn, had established a formidable defensive perimeter. As a Brotherhood that viewed themselves as the anvil to the Iron Warriors' hammer, none doubted the legendary resilience of Dorn's sons.
"I once told my brother, Rogal, that to destroy the strongest fortress, one does not require a hammer of devastation. A sharp dagger, thrust into the most vulnerable heart, is sufficient."
Omegon gazed upon this cursed ground, the site where he had supposedly fallen ten thousand years ago, and at the scions of the Imperial Fists who now stood before him. His eyes narrowed behind his helm.
His Lernaean Terminators, the Primarch's elite bodyguard, did not clamor for the chance to draw first blood. In the culture of the Alpha Legion, seeking a glorious death in futile combat was considered the height of stupidity. They sought maximum carnage for the minimum price.
Masses of Tempestus Scions and Astra Militarum began a frantic withdrawal into the inner sanctum. They sought the protection of the fortress walls, where the Doom Fists had reinforced the bastions with weapons capable of repelling orbital bombardments and energy shields that could withstand a siege.
The fortress, built by the sons of Dorn, was a monolith of stone and steel. Layered Void Shields and energy grids overlapped in perfect geometric harmony, while the outer ramparts bristled with Battle Cannons and Volcano Cannons.
The loyalists waited for the inevitable storm, but long after the last Imperial soldier had retreated, the Alpha Legion had yet to launch a decisive assault. Even the blackened skies remained silent, devoid of the firestorms usually heralded by traitor warships.
They did not realize that Omegon had already located the ancient Teleportarium, the very one that had once transitioned him and his Lernaean guard into the secret chambers of Hydra ten millennia prior.
Operatives of the Alpha Legion, mortal agents embedded deep within the loyalist ranks, received the Primarch's signal. They began to move, subtly dispersing toward the critical nodes of the fortress's "unbreakable" walls.
One such agent, disguised as a member of the Militarum, crept toward the Void Shield generator array. He lunged forward, intent on sabotaging the reactor.
CRACK!
A Melta beam punched through his midsection, leaving a cauterized, gaping hole.
"Traitor! You dare betray the Throne!" roared a Doom Fists Astartes, his weapon leveled at the dying agent. As veterans of the long war against the XX Legion, the Doom Fists were well-versed in their treacherous subversion and had been hunting for such infiltrators.
But the agent merely collapsed against the massive reactor housing. As a second Melta shot vaporized his head, he pulled the pin on the melta-charge strapped to his chest.
"HYDRA DOMINATUS!!!"
BOOM—!!!
The explosion did not destroy the massive array, but it was enough to cause the Void Shields to flicker and fail for a handful of critical seconds.
In that heartbeat, Omegon felt the shield drop. He activated the ancient teleportation sequence. In a flash of displaced air and ozone, thirty Lernaean Terminators and Omegon himself materialized within the deepest vaults of Hydra Fortress.
This time, there was no Rogal Dorn to meet him.
The Doom Fists guarding the chamber watched in horror as their Auspex units wailed in alarm.
"Intruders? In here?" one Astartes shouted to his battle-brother.
"No... it's a teleport strike!"
As he spoke, a flash of blue-green light blinded them. Figures of titanic proportions stepped from the glare. Even before the spots cleared from their eyes, the teal, scaled power armor told them everything they needed to know. The Alpha Legion was here.
"Die, traito—agh!"
Before the loyalist could level his bolter, the Pale Spear flashed like lightning. It transfixed his chest, hoisting the massive Primaris Space Marine into the air like a common fowl.
Omegon's form had shifted; like Angron or Fulgrim, he was now a towering Daemon Primarch. Twisted horns sprouted from his brow, his legs were reverse-jointed, and several whip-like tails lashed behind him. His speed and strength were beyond the limits of the physical world.
"Traitors!" The remaining Doom Fists roared, unsheathing chainswords and charging the Terminators who loomed over them.
The Lernaeans responded with point-blank bursts of Multi-Melta and Plasma fire. Most of the loyalists were incinerated instantly. Only one reached the line, swinging his chainsword in a desperate arc.
A Lernaean Terminator caught the blow on the haft of his Power Axe, arresting the son of Dorn's momentum with effortless grace. With a fluid pivot, he brought the energized blade around, severing the loyalist's head in a single, clean stroke.
Casting aside the corpse of the Astartes pinned to his spear, Omegon spoke, his voice a rasping chill: "An imperfect vengeance, but a sweet one nonetheless. Let it begin, let the blade of the Hydra pierce the heart of Dorn."
Waves of Alpha Legion Astartes were teleported into the breach. Simultaneously, the mortal agents throughout the fortress initiated a full-scale riot. They detonated ammunition dumps, torched supply lines, and assassinated their commanding officers in the dark.
Under the weight of this total penetration, the "Iron Wall" of the Doom Fists crumbled from within.
Finally, when the Chapter Master of the Doom Fists faced the Daemon Primarch, he did not falter. True to the blood of Dorn, he charged with a roar, screaming his gene-father's name, hoping to replicate the legend of ten thousand years ago.
It was a futile hope. With a casual flick of the Pale Spear, Omegon impaled him, then used a tail to hurl his broken body into the midst of the retreating Imperial troops.
The mortal defenders, though brave, were not "Know No Fear" personified. Terror broke them. As the last of the Doom Fists fell, Hydra Fortress, the gateway to the inner system, was claimed by the Alpha Legion.
"Father," one of his sons stepped forward, "shall we press the assault? The False Emperor's throne is within reach. We can topple this rotting Imperium and replace that hollow corpse with the sacred power of the Lord of Distortion!"
Omegon shook his head slowly. "No. This is enough. Ignite the engines of the Hydra. We withdraw."
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