824.30M, The Great Crusade.
10 Hours into the Q'orl invasion of the Calligar System.
The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning flesh and melted plasteel. Colonel Samuel Leroy Jaxsen stood atop a makeshift command post, his enhanced eyes scanning the chaos of the battlefield. The massive corpse of a Q'orl Alpha lay nearby, a trophy of their earlier victory, now secured for later analysis. But that victory seemed a lifetime ago.
"Fall back to the second line, you motherfuckers!" Jaxsen's voice boomed across the comms, cutting through the cacophony of battle. "I said fall back, not run like scared little bitches! Controlled retreat, people!"
Around him, the first line of defense was crumbling. The relentless waves of Q'orl warriors had finally begun to overwhelm the Planetary Defense Forces even with Liberty Guardsmen as support. Jaxsen watched as a group of PDFs, their power armor scorched and dented, provided covering fire for their retreating comrades.
"Sergeant Kraut!" Jaxsen barked into his comm. "Get your ass and your squad to sector 7! Those bug-eyed bastards are trying to flank us!"
"Yes, sir!" came the immediate reply. Moments later, Jaxsen saw a squad of heavily armed Liberty Guardsmen sprint across the battlefield, their Pulse Rifles spitting death at the encroaching xenos.
"Incoming!" he roared. "Artillery!"
The sky lit up with sickly green light as Q'orl bio-artillery began to rain down. Globules of acid hissed and sputtered where they landed, eating through armor and flesh alike. Explosive rounds detonated among the retreating forces, sending men and equipment flying.
A deafening explosion rocked the command post. Jaxsen stumbled but kept his footing, his augmented muscles compensating automatically. He turned to see a smoking crater where a bunker had been moments before.
"Somebody get me some goddamn air support!" he roared. "I want those flyboys earning their fucking pay!"
As if in answer, the screech of engines filled the air. A squadron of Warthogs swooped low over the battlefield, their heavy bolters and missile pods unleashing hell upon the Q'orl artillery. The xenos scattered, their chitinous bodies no match for the awesome firepower of the Imperial war machines.
"Colonel!" A vox-operator ran up, his face pale beneath the grime of battle. "Word from orbit, sir. The fleet's engaged with a massive Q'orl force. They're... they're outnumbered, sir."
Jaxsen's jaw tightened. If they lost orbital control, this whole defense would be for nothing. But that wasn't his battle to fight. His job was here, on the ground, keeping his men alive and the bugs at bay.
"Understood," he growled. "Tell them we're holding down here. And tell that son of a bitch Gomez that if he lets those bugs get past him, I'll personally kick his ass from here to Nova Libertas!"
The vox-operator nodded, a small smile breaking through his worried expression as he relayed the message.
Jaxsen turned back to the battle. The retreat was proceeding as planned, but it was a near thing. The Q'orl were pressing hard, their ant-like coordination allowing them to exploit any weakness in the human lines.
"Third Platoon, shore up that gap!" he ordered, spotting a dangerous thinning in their lines. "Martinez, get your flamers up there! I want a wall of fire between us and those bugs!"
The battlefield lit up with promethium flame as the flamer units moved into position. The Q'orl screeched in alien agony as they burned, the fire spreading quickly among their tightly packed ranks.
But still they came.
Jaxsen felt the ground trembling beneath his feet. His eyes widened as he saw what was coming next.
"Burrowers!" he shouted. "They're coming up from below!"
The ground erupted in a dozen places along their line. Massive, beetle-like Q'orl burst forth, their maws lined with razor-sharp teeth. PDF forces screamed as they were dragged into the newly formed holes, their armor providing little protection against the monster's strength.
"Melta charges!" Jaxsen roared. "Seal those holes! Guardsmen, concentrate fire on the burrowers!"
The next few minutes were a blur of action. Melta charges detonated, turning the earth to glass and sealing the Q'orl tunnels. The Liberty Guardsmen's pulse rifles proved their worth once again, their concentrated fire bringing down even the massive burrowers.
Slowly, painfully, they reached the second line of defense. Reinforced bunkers and prefab fortifications stood ready to receive them. Heavy weapons emplacements, already manned and ready, opened up on the pursuing Q'orl swarm.
Now came the hard part: holding this line until reinforcements arrived.
He looked at the hololithic display showing the overall tactical situation. It wasn't pretty, but they were still in the fight.
"Grim," Jaxsen barked to his AI companion, "give me a sitrep on our air support."
The AI's voice was calm amidst the madness. "Air superiority is maintained, Colonel. However, Q'orl numbers are overwhelming ground targets faster than our aircraft can engage."
As if to punctuate Grim's report, a series of explosions rocked the earth. Jaxsen's enhanced senses picked up the distinct whistle of incoming artillery moments before impact.
"Incoming!" he roared. "Get to cover!"
The sky lit up as more Q'orl bio-artillery rained down. Where the rounds hit, earth bubbled and hissed, dissolved by potent acids. Other impacts resulted in explosions that sent shrapnel-like fragments of crystallized toxins in all directions.
Through the chaos, Jaxsen observed a group of Q'orl Warrior Drones. Their antennae twitched rapidly, coordinating their forces with an efficiency that would make an Imperial tactician weep. But their alien coordination was short-lived.
"Beheading tactics, now!" Jaxsen ordered into his vox.
A squad of Liberty Guardsmen responded instantly. With precision they targeted the communicating Warriors. Pulse rifle fire lanced out, literally beheading the alien commanders and sending their forces into disarray.
"Colonel," Grim's voice cut in, "I'm detecting complex mathematical runic symbols in the Q'orl communications. They appear to be using a multi-layered system of data transfer."
Jaxsen grunted, ducking as a stray bio-round whizzed overhead. "Explain it to me like I'm five, Grim."
"They're using visual, chemical, and pheromonal signals simultaneously, sir. It's making our jamming efforts... challenging."
"Challenging, he says," Jaxsen muttered. "Like this whole fucking day hasn't been one big challenge."
He turned his attention back to the battlefield. The second defensive line was holding, but barely. Liberty Guardsmen and PDF troopers fought side by side, A Storm Lord Super-heavy tank, its hull scarred and smoking, provided supporting fire with its Vulkan-Heavy Bolter, turning Q'orl Warrior Drones to dust within a split second it came under it's sights.
Above, the skies were alive with activity. Aircraft screamed overhead, their payloads turning vast swathes of the Q'orl swarm into infernos of burning promethium. But for every hundred xenos they burned, a thousand more seemed to take their place.
"Colonel!" a voice crackled over the vox. "Third line reporting. We've got bugs trying to flank us from the east!"
Jaxsen swore colorfully. "Redirect air support to the eastern approach. I want that flank sealed tighter than a Senator's asshole!"
As he barked orders, Jaxsen's enhanced senses picked up a new sound - a high-pitched whine that set his teeth on edge. He turned just in time to see a massive Q'orl Bio-Titan lumbering over the horizon, its chitinous form bristling with organic weaponry.
"Oh, you have got to be shitting me," Jaxsen growled.
The Bio-Titan opened fire. A stream of corrosive bile arced through the air, melting through the second defensive line like it was made of wax. Screams of agony filled the air as soldiers caught in the spray were dissolved alive.
Jaxsen's enhanced eyes picked out the monstrous form rising above the xenos swarm. "All batteries, concentrate fire on that big motherfucker!" he growled into his vox.
The response was immediate and devastating. The sky lit up as a barrage of smart missiles streaked towards the Bio-Titan, their contrails crisscrossing in a deadly dance. Rail guns thundered, their hypersonic projectiles leaving visible distortions in the air. Artillery pieces belched fire and smoke, adding their earth-shaking fury to the cacophony.
The Bio-Titan didn't stand a chance. In mere seconds, it was engulfed in a maelstrom of explosions. When the smoke cleared, all that remained was a smoldering, melted mess of chitin and flesh.
But the Q'orl was endless.
"Don't let up!" Jaxsen roared, his voice carrying over the din of battle. "Pour it on, people! I want so much fire out there the Emperor himself will think we lit a new sun!"
The defenders responded with gusto. Las-guns whined, sending searing beams of coherent light into the xenos ranks. Pulse rifles added their distinctive "crack-hiss" to the symphony of destruction, each shot leaving a Q'orl warrior with a smoking hole where its vital organs used to be. Bolters roared, their mass-reactive shells detonating inside alien bodies and turning them into gory mists.
Jaxsen was everywhere at once, his enhanced physique allowing him to move with inhuman speed and precision. His disintegration rifle swept left and right, each pull of the trigger leaving nothing but drifting motes of dust where Q'orl warriors had stood moments before.
"Flanking maneuver at sector three!" The vox crackled again. "They're trying to go around our left!"
"Not on my watch," Jaxsen snarled. "Fourth Platoon, swing left! Fifth, I want suppressing fire on that flank. Sixth, you're with me!"
He charged towards the threatened sector, a dozen Liberty Guardsmen falling in behind him. As they ran, the ground shook beneath their feet. A massive Baneblade rolled past, its Baneblade Cannon already tracking towards the Q'orl flanking force.
"Fire!" Jaxsen bellowed.
The Super Tank's main gun spoke, its report so loud it momentarily drowned out all other sounds of battle. The shell impacted among the densest concentration of Q'orl, and for a brief moment, Jaxsen could have sworn he saw the fabric of reality itself ripple from the force of the blast.
When his vision cleared, a massive crater had replaced a significant portion of the Q'orl flank. But still they came.
"Promethium teams, light 'em up!" Jaxsen ordered, his voice hoarse from shouting over the din of battle.
Flamethrower teams moved up, their weapons belching liquid fire. The air filled with the sickening stench of burning xenos flesh and the agonized screams of dying Q'orl.
A flash of movement caught Jaxsen's eye. A Q'orl warrior, larger than the others, was charging directly at him. Its mandibles clicked in anticipation of the kill.
"Oh no you don't, you overgrown cockroach," Jaxsen muttered. He raised his disintegration rifle and fired.
The beam hit the Q'orl dead center. For a split second, the alien's form seemed to waver, as if it were nothing more than a mirage. Then it simply... ceased to be, collapsing into a cloud of drifting particles.
"Colonel!" A voice cut through the chaos. Sergeant Vasquez, her armor scorched and dented, ran up to him. "Sir, we're running low on ammo for the heavy weapons. The Q'orl have cut off our supply lines to the northern depot."
Jaxsen cursed. "Alright, listen up! I want every able-bodied trooper not currently engaged in direct combat to start ferrying ammo. Strip it from the dead if you have to, but keep our big guns fed!"
-----------------------------
Meanwhile in the Void of Space.
Rear Admiral Richard Gomez stood on the bridge of the Heavy Cruiser Dominance, his weathered face illuminated by the flickering red emergency lights. The acrid smell of burned circuitry filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of spilled blood. Around him, his crew worked feverishly, their fingers dancing across consoles as they fought to keep the battered ship operational.
"Status report," Gomez barked, his voice hoarse from hours of shouting orders.
Captain Valerius limped to his side, a hastily applied bandage visible beneath his torn uniform. "It's not good, sir. We're down to 30 ships. The Dominance has taken heavy damage to our port side, and life support is failing on decks 3 through 7. The carrier Intrepid is still operational, but she's running low on fighters. Our remaining Heavy Cruisers are reporting critical systems failures across the board."
Gomez nodded grimly, his eyes fixed on the tactical display. The vast swarm of Q'orl ships filled the screen, their bio-mechanical forms an alien obscenity against the backdrop of space. Despite hours of guerilla tactics, hit-and-run strikes, and brilliantly executed ambushes, the sheer numbers of the enemy fleet were overwhelming.
"And the enemy?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"We've confirmed 100 Q'orl ships destroyed, sir," Valerius replied, a hint of pride in his voice despite the dire circumstances. "But they're still coming. Our latest estimates put their remaining strength at over 200 vessels."
They had bloodied the enemy's nose, at least. But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. The massive Q'orl Mothership loomed in the distance, a 40-kilometer long monstrosity of chitin and bio-mechanical horror. Its very presence seemed to mock their efforts, a testament to the overwhelming force they faced.
"Sir," the sensor officer called out, his voice tight with tension. "The Q'orl fleet is changing formation. They're... they're making a run for the planet!"
Gomez cursed under his breath. He had feared this. The Xenos had realized his delaying tactics for what they were and had decided to press their advantage.
"They're using their lead ships to clear our minefields," Valerius observed, pointing to a section of the tactical display where Q'orl vessels were detonating in fiery blooms of destruction, clearing paths for the main fleet.
The Rear Admiral's mind raced. They couldn't abandon their position. If they left orbit, the Q'orl would commence orbital bombardment, and all would be lost. But staying meant certain destruction for what remained of his fleet.
A plan, desperate and likely suicidal, began to form in Gomez's mind. "Listen up," he announced, his voice carrying across the bridge. "We're going to bait them into orbit. Prepare all remaining torpedoes. We're going to give these bastards one hell of a welcome party."
As his orders were relayed across the remnants of his fleet, Gomez watched the Q'orl advance. The battle that unfolded was a testament to human determination in the face of overwhelming odds.
The Dominance led the charge, its engines straining as it maneuvered to present the smallest possible target profile. Behind it, the remaining cruisers formed a tight formation, their point-defense systems creating a web of laser fire that picked off incoming Q'orl fighters.
The Intrepid, their last Voidcraft Carrier, launched its final squadrons. Pilots, knowing this was likely their last mission, flew with reckless abandon. They darted between the massive Q'orl ships, targeting engines and weapons systems with precision born of desperation.
But for every Q'orl ship they managed to cripple or destroy, more came to fill the the formation. The sheer volume of enemy fire was overwhelming. Gomez watched as the cruiser Indomitable, its void shields finally giving way, was torn apart by a barrage of bio-plasma.
"Sir, we've lost the Vigilant and the Stormbreaker," Valerius reported, his voice tight with tension. "The Intrepid reports all fighters expended."
Gomez nodded grimly. "Order the Intrepid to fall back. They've done their part."
As they neared Calligar Alpha's orbit, the massive Q'orl Mothership finally entered the fray. Its weapon systems, previously held in reserve, now unleashed a fury that dwarfed anything they had faced before. Beams of sickly green energy lanced out, carving through Imperial ships with terrifying ease.
"Evasive maneuvers!" Gomez roared as one of these beams narrowly missed the Dominance. The entire ship shuddered, artificial gravity fluctuating wildly as the helmsman pushed the cruiser to its limits.
They were in orbit now, the curvature of Calligar Alpha visible below them. The Q'orl, sensing victory, pressed their attack with renewed vigor.
"Now!" Gomez commanded. "All ships, launch torpedoes! Empty the tubes!"
What followed was a sight that would have made even the most hardened Naval strategist weep. Every remaining Imperial ship unleashed its full complement of torpedoes in a single, devastating salvo. Hundreds of warheads streaked towards the Q'orl fleet, leaving trails of blue fire in their wake.
The Q'orl, caught off guard by this sudden, all-or-nothing attack, scrambled to respond. Their point-defense systems erupted in a frenzy of activity, swatting torpedoes from the sky. But there were too many.
Explosions blossomed across the Q'orl line as torpedoes found their marks. Smaller ships were vaporized instantly, while larger vessels were left crippled and burning. Even the mighty Mothership didn't escape unscathed, multiple detonations marring its chitinous hull.
For a moment, hope flared in Gomez's chest. But it was short-lived.
"Sir," Valerius said quietly, "that was everything we had."
Gomez looked at the tactical display. While they had bloodied the Q'orl nose, the enemy fleet was far from defeated. And now, his own ships were defenseless, their ammunition expended.
Explosions rocked the Dominance as Rear Admiral Gomez watched helplessly, his fleet's final, desperate salvo spent. The Q'orl Mothership loomed ever closer, its bio-plasma cannons powering up for the kill.
Just as all hope seemed lost, the very fabric of space began to distort. A massive rift tore open in the void, and from its swirling depths emerged a sight that filled Gomez's heart with Relief.
"By the Emperor..." Valerius breathed, his eyes wide with awe.
A battlefleet of over 400 ships poured forth, the sleek, angular profiles of Liberty Eagles vessels cutting through the darkness.
"This is 2nd Captain Steven Armstrong of the Liberty Eagles," a booming voice crackled over the vox. "Stand down, Rear Admiral Gomez. We'll take it from here."
Gomez allowed himself a weary smile. "Gladly, Captain," he replied, before issuing a terse order to his remaining ships. "All vessels, regroup and fall back. The Liberty Eagles have arrived."
As the battered Imperial ships maneuvered to safety, the Liberty Eagles unleashed a torrent of firepower upon the unsuspecting Q'orl fleet. Macro-cannons the size of hive-city skyscrapers thundered, their salvos tearing gaping holes in the enemy formation. Disintegration beams from the Excelsus, the flagship of 2nd Captain Armstrong, lanced out with unerring precision, targeting the massive Q'orl Mothership.
The alien behemoth shuddered under the onslaught, its once-impregnable chitin armor beginning to crack and peel away. Explosions ripped through its interior as the disintegration beams burned through its very structure.
----------------------
Back at the Ground.
Colonel Samuel Leroy Jaxsen stood at the Eastern Gate, his disintegration rifle clutched tightly in his battle-worn hands. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning chitin and the constant, chittering screech of the Q'orl horde. His men, exhausted but determined, held the line with grim resolve.
"We hold this ground in the name of Liberty!" Jaxsen roared, his voice carrying over the din of battle. "For Valorian!"
As if in response to his battle cry, a massive Q'orl Alpha burst through the ranks of its lesser brethren, its mandibles clicking in anticipation of fresh prey. Jaxsen locked eyes with the monstrosity, a weary sigh escaping his lips. He'd faced down these bastards before, but this one... this one was bigger.
Just as Jaxsen was about to engage the Alpha, a curious sound caught his attention. It wasn't the familiar shriek of Q'orl bio-weapons or the thunderous report of Imperial guns. No, this was something else entirely.
Jaxsen's eyes widened as he realized what he was seeing. "Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, a grin spreading across his face despite the dire situation. "That ain't no rain of fire."
Drop pods, hundreds of them, streaked through the smoke-filled sky like vengeful meteors. They slammed into the heart of the Q'orl horde with earth-shattering force, scattering alien bodies like broken toys. As the dust settled, the pods' hatches blew open, and out poured the Liberty Eagles.
The Astartes, resplendent in their Navy Blue and Red-striped exo-suits adorned with stars, charged into the fray with a ferocity that made Jaxsen's heart swell with pride. Power swords crackled with energy as they carved through Q'orl carapaces, while disintegration beams reduced entire swathes of the alien horde to ash.
Jaxsen watched in awe as the tide of battle shifted dramatically. His men, reinvigorated by the arrival of their transhuman saviors, fought with renewed vigor. But the Colonel's attention was drawn back to the massive Q'orl Alpha that had been bearing down on him moments ago.
Before Jaxsen could even raise his rifle, a blur of motion caught his eye. A figure, impossibly large even for an Astartes, plummeted from a hovering Stormbird above. It slammed into the Q'orl Alpha with the force of a falling star, crushing the xenos beast beneath its weight.
As the dust cleared, Jaxsen found himself face to face with none other than 2nd Captain Steven Armstrong. Standing at an imposing 10 feet tall, Armstrong was a sight to behold. His mechsuit, a masterpiece of Liberty Eagle technology, hummed with barely contained power.
"Took you long enough to join the party, Captain," Jaxsen quipped, his tone a blend of relief and respect.
Armstrong's helm pivoted towards him, and Jaxsen could almost sense the grin hidden behind the faceplate. "Wouldn't dream of letting you have all the fun, Colonel," he replied, his voice resonating like thunder. "Now, let's demonstrate to these bugs the consequences of crossing Liberty."
Jaxsen had heard the stories, of course. They called Armstrong the Liberator's Executioner. When diplomacy failed, when worlds proved too stubborn or xenos too hostile, it was Armstrong that Valorian sent to cleanse them in blood and fire. Seeing him in action, Jaxsen understood why.
The 2nd Captain moved like a force of nature, each step leaving craters in his wake. His power fists, now outfitted with modified plasma pistols, carved a path of destruction through the Q'orl ranks. Whatever stood before him was reduced to mere pulp, with no questions asked.
Jaxsen watched in amazement as a group of Q'orl warriors opened fire on Armstrong. Their bio-plasma weapons, capable of melting through reinforced bunkers, splashed harmlessly against a flickering field of energy surrounding the Captain.
"Void shield tech," Jaxsen muttered in awe. "On a personal scale. Now that's something."
Armstrong's response was swift and devastating. The plasma pistols attached to his power fists roared to life, spitting death at a rate Jaxsen had never seen before. The weapons fired in quick succession, each shot followed by a sharp hiss of cooling systems. Some variant of plasma technology Jaxsen wasn't familiar with, but damn if it wasn't effective.
Q'orl warriors fell by the dozens, their chitinous armor offering no protection against Armstrong's onslaught. Those that managed to get close were swatted aside by his power fists, their bodies crumpling like paper under the immense force.
As Armstrong swatted aside the Xenos, his personal A.I. Atlas provided information that made him smirk—a smile that could send any ordinary man running.
Captain Steven Armstrong, the Liberator's Executioner, carved a path of destruction through the Q'orl horde. His power fists, crackling with energy, swatted aside warrior drones as if they were nothing more than annoying insects. Every step of his massive form crushed the chitinous bodies of the dying xenos beneath him.
"Atlas," Armstrong growled, addressing his personal AI, "give me a sitrep on the area."
The AI's voice, cool and clinical, responded in his helm. "Scanning complete, Captain. Interesting energy readings detected beneath the planet's crust. High probability of Standard Template Construct technology."
A smirk spread across Armstrong's face, hidden behind his helm. "Well, well," he mused, "looks like we've got ourselves a little treasure hunt. Father's gonna love this."
As he continued his relentless advance, Armstrong's mind raced with the possibilities. An STC could revolutionize their war effort, give them an edge against the enemies of mankind. And if anyone deserved such a prize, it was Franklin Valorian, the Liberator himself.
"Atlas, pinpoint the entrance to whatever's housing that energy signature," Armstrong ordered, his fists pulverizing another group of Q'orl warriors.
"Entrance located, Captain. Marking it on your HUD now."
A bright marker appeared on Armstrong's display, indicating a heavily fortified bunker entrance not far from his position. As he made his way towards it, he opened a vox channel to his right-hand man.
"Jetstream, you copy?" Armstrong's voice boomed over the vox.
A moment later, Samuel Rodrigues, better known as Jetstream Sam, responded. "Loud and clear, boss. What's the word?"
"Rendezvous at the bunker entrance. Got something interesting down there."
"On my way," Jetstream replied, a hint of excitement in his voice.
Armstrong arrived at the bunker entrance, his massive form dwarfing the fortifications around it. Q'orl defenders swarmed towards him, their bio-weapons firing in a desperate attempt to stop his advance. Their efforts were futile. Armstrong's void shields flickered, absorbing the attacks, while his modified plasma pistols reduced entire squads to slag in seconds.
"Come on, you Xenos scum!" Armstrong roared, his voice amplified by his suit's vox-casters. "Is that all you've got?"
As if in answer to his challenge, a particularly large Q'orl warrior drone lunged at him, its mandibles snapping furiously. Armstrong caught it mid-air with one massive hand, his power fist crushing its exoskeleton with a sickening crunch.
"Weak," he spat, tossing the broken body aside. "You're all fucking weak!"
A blur of motion caught his eye, and suddenly Jetstream Sam was there, his hyper-phase blade singing as it carved through the Q'orl ranks. Where Armstrong was a unstoppable force of nature, Jetstream was a deadly swordsman, each movement precise and lethal.
"Took your sweet time, Sam," Armstrong chuckled as his comrade approached.
Jetstream sheathed his blade, a cocky grin visible behind his transparent visor. "You know me, boss. I like to make an entrance."
Armstrong nodded towards the bunker entrance. "Atlas picked up some interesting readings. Might be an STC down there."
Jetstream's eyebrows shot up. "No shit? That'd be one hell of a prize."
"My thoughts exactly," Armstrong agreed. "You up for a little spelunking?"
"You kidding? I wouldn't miss it for Nova Libertas."
As they prepared to enter the bunker, Armstrong's vox crackled to life. Colonel Jaxsen's gruff voice came through, tinged with concern. "Captain, we've got a situation up here. Q'orl reinforcements incoming, and they've brought something big."
Armstrong exchanged a glance with Jetstream. "Sounds like a party," he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. "You handle it, Colonel. Liberty Eagle reinforcements are coming."
"Understood, Captain. Give 'em hell down there." Jaxsen responded.
The reinforced doors of the underground bunker groaned and buckled under an immense force. With a final, ear-splitting screech of tearing metal, they flew off their hinges, revealing two towering figures silhouetted against the harsh exterior light.
The duo plunged into the labyrinthine corridors, immediately set upon by a swarm of Q'orl warriors. Armstrong charged forward, plowing through the first wave like a bulldozer through balsa wood. Chitinous exoskeletons cracked and splintered under his augmented fists, each punch accompanied by a booming laugh.
Rodrigues moved with lethal speed, his blade a blur of motion as he danced between the insectoid aliens. Each slash left a trail of bisected Q'orl in its wake, green ichor painting the walls in grotesque patterns.
"They're like a bad Terran infestation," Rodrigues quipped, decapitating three Q'orl with a single swing. "Except these ones bleed."
The narrow corridors worked against the Q'orl's superior numbers, forcing them into a bottleneck that Armstrong and Rodrigues exploited mercilessly. Armstrong's laughter echoed through the bunker, punctuated by the wet crunching of his fists meeting alien flesh and the high-pitched whine of Rodrigues' blade.
As they pushed deeper into the complex, the resistance grew fiercer. Q'orl gun-beasts unleashed volleys of bio-plasma, forcing the duo to take cover.
"Played college ball, you know," Armstrong grunted, ripping a section of wall free to use as a shield.
Rodrigues raised an eyebrow. "At some cushy Ivy League school?"
"Try University of Neo-Texas," Armstrong shot back with a grin. "Could've gone pro if I hadn't joined the Astartes!"
With a roar, Armstrong hurled his makeshift shield like a discus, crushing few dozen Q'orls and creating an opening. Rodrigues capitalized immediately, his blade flashing as he carved through the Q'orl ranks with surgical precision.
The duo fought their way down level after level, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Armstrong's Void Shield shrugged off plasma and acid that would have felled a normal Space Marine, while Rodrigues' augmented reflexes kept him one step ahead of the alien swarm.
As Armstrong and Rodrigues delved deeper into the labyrinthine bunker, the air grew thick with an acrid, alien stench. The corridors widened, the architecture shifting from utilitarian to something more... organic. Chitinous growths sprouted from the walls, pulsing with an eerie, bioluminescent glow.
"You smell that, Sam?" Armstrong growled, his enhanced senses on high alert. "Smells like... victory."
Rodrigues, his hyper-phase blade humming with anticipation, nodded grimly. "And bug guts. Lots of bug guts."
Suddenly, Armstrong's helmet display lit up, his AI companion Atlas chiming in with urgent information. "Captain, detecting significant biomass concentrations ahead. Genetic markers indicate... oh shit."
"Spit it out, Atlas," Armstrong barked, his massive frame tensing for action.
"Queen's Guard, sir. Elite warriors, heavily augmented. They're... they're not like anything we've faced so far."
As if on cue, the corridor ahead erupted with movement. Massive Q'orl warriors, their exoskeletons a deep, blood red, burst from concealed chambers. Unlike their lesser brethren, these monstrosities bristled with bio-mechanical implants, their limbs ending in vicious, weaponized appendages.
"Well, well," Armstrong grinned, his nanomachines surging beneath his skin. "Looks like the welcoming committee's here."
The first of the Queen's Guard lunged at Armstrong, moving with shocking speed for its size. But the Liberty Eagle captain was faster. His power fist, met the alien's head with a sickening crunch. Chitin and brain matter exploded in a gruesome spray as Armstrong's fingers closed like a vise.
"Guess you guys aren't used to fighting something that can hit back, huh?" Armstrong laughed, his other arm coming up. The plasma pistol, seamlessly integrated into his armor, roared to life. Searing bolts of energy lanced out, turning two more of the Queen's Guard into smoldering husks before they could close the distance.
Rodrigues, meanwhile, was a blur of motion. His hyper-phase blade sang through the air, parting chitin and cybernetics with equal ease. But even he was pushed to his limits, the enhanced speed of the Queen's Guard forcing him into a deadly battle of blade and claw.
"These bastards are quick," Rodrigues grunted, narrowly avoiding a swipe that would have taken his head off. His blade flashed, and the offending limb hit the ground, still twitching. "But not quick enough."
The battle raged on, the clash of war filling the alien corridors with a cacophony of violence. Armstrong's laughter cut through the cries of the dying Q'orl, as the hum of Rodrigues' blade wove through the chaos. Steadily, the two Liberty Eagles pressed forward, leaving behind a trail of mangled bodies and broken cybernetics.
"Atlas," Armstrong called out as he grappled with a particularly large guard, "how much further to the queen?"
The AI's voice was strained, as if it too was feeling the effects of the prolonged combat. "Life signs indicate... just ahead, Captain. But sir, the readings... they're off the charts."
With a final, bone-crushing punch, Armstrong dispatched his opponent. "Off the charts, huh? Sounds like fun."
Rodrigues, his armor splattered with alien ichor, fell in beside his captain.
The Q'orl Queen was a monstrosity that defied description. Easily the size of an Imperial Knight walker, her bloated form pulsed with malevolent life. Multiple limbs, each ending in vicious talons or bio-organic weapons, writhed in the air. Her head, a hideous fusion of insectoid features and malign intelligence, swiveled to face the intruders.
The cavernous chamber echoed with the chittering rage of the Q'orl Queen, her massive form towering over Armstrong and Rodrigues. But even as they squared off against the monstrous alien, Atlas' urgent message crackled through their comms.
"Captain Armstrong, critical update," the AI's voice was tense with excitement. "Detecting Standard Template Construct signatures directly beneath the Queen's position. Probability of intact STC: 57.3%."
Armstrong's eyes widened behind his helmet visor. It's Beneath the Queen? This changed everything. His initial plan—calling in an orbital strike to carve a massive hole from the surface to the deepest chambers—was no longer viable. He couldn't risk destroying what could be one of the most valuable relics in human history. The thought of an intact Standard Template Construct, a potential addition to the Sector's Database, made his mind race with possibilities. But beneath that excitement, he knew the danger hadn't lessened—if anything, it had grown tenfold. The Q'orl would fight to the death to protect their queen.
Armstrong's eyes widened behind his helmet. "Time to bug-squash and treasure hunt!"
Rodrigues, his hyper-phase blade humming with anticipation, scoffed. "STCs, Queens, it doesn't matter. In the end, we're all just pawns in this cosmic joke."
"Save the philosophy for later, Sam," Armstrong barked, his nanomachines surging beneath his skin. "I'll keep her majesty busy. You carve her up like a Thanksgiving turkey."
"Right," Rodrigues nodded, a grim smile playing on his lips. "Let's dance with the insect royalty."
Armstrong charged forward, his massive frame a blur of tyranimite and crackling energy. His power gauntlets, each housing a unique plasma pistol, came to life. Searing bolts of energy lanced out, striking the Queen's grotesque face.
"Hey, ugly!" Armstrong roared, dodging a massive, chitinous limb. "Ever heard of moisturizer? You look a little dry!"
The Queen's shriek of rage shook the chamber, but Armstrong stood his ground, his nanomachine-enhanced physiology absorbing the psychic backlash.
"That all you got?" he taunted, reaching for his bandolier. "Let me show you some real fireworks!"
With practiced ease, Armstrong lobbed a cluster of plasma and melta grenades directly at the Queen's face. The resulting explosion was blinding, the heat intense enough to melt through the creature's thick carapace.
Meanwhile, Rodrigues had become a whirlwind of death. His hyperphase blade sang through the air, each strike precisely calculated to sever critical points in the Queen's anatomy.
Rodrigues called out as he nimbly avoided a spray of corrosive ichor, "I almost feel sorry for her. Born to rule, only to die for someone else's ambition. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?"
Armstrong grunted, his power fist connecting with a Queen's Guard that had tried to flank him. The alien's exoskeleton caved in like paper under his powerful blows.
"Save your sympathy, Sam," Armstrong shot back, his other fist firing a barrage of plasma bolts. "The strong survive, the weak perish. That's the law of nature, and we're the apex predators!"
The battle raged on, a violent clash of willpower and brute force, orchestrated by the two Liberty Eagles. Armstrong's power fists slammed into the Queen's immense limbs, focusing on the vulnerable joints. Each strike sent a resounding shockwave through her massive body, the crunch of shattered chitin reverberating through the battlefield.
"Come on!" Armstrong roared, his armor blackened and battered but his resolve undiminished. "Is this all the mighty Q'orl can muster? I've had harder fights at Sweet Liberty's parties!"
The Queen's Guards attacked in waves, their bio-mechanical bodies a blur of slashing limbs and organic weaponry. Yet Armstrong was an unstoppable force, every punch and movement honed from decades of battle-hardened experience, his immense strength turning each swing into a devastating blow.
"Sam!" Armstrong shouted over the chaos, grabbing a Guard by its head and swinging it into another like a grotesque club. "This is what it looks like when you back up your beliefs with strength!"
Rodrigues, meanwhile, moved with an almost serene efficiency. His blade flashed in the dim, flickering light, cutting through Q'orl flesh and circuitry with chilling precision.
He weaved effortlessly through the Queen's defenses, exploiting weak spots that even the Liberty Eagles' advanced scanners would have missed.
As the fight dragged on, the Queen's movements grew frantic, her towering form wounded and faltering. Ichor poured from deep gashes, and several of her colossal limbs dangled, shattered by Armstrong's relentless barrage.
The death of the Q'orl Queen reverberated through the hive like a psychic shockwave. Deep beneath the surface, Captain Steven Armstrong and Samuel Rodrigues stood over the Queen's massive corpse, their armor splattered with alien ichor and debris.
"A Successful Regicide," Armstrong quipped, his nanomachines already repairing the damage to his mechsuit.
Rodrigues, sheathing his blade, nodded grimly. "The head of the snake is cut. Time to mop up the rest."
As if on cue, the remaining Queen's Guard, their minds suddenly bereft of the Queen's guiding influence, charged at the duo in a frenzy of uncoordinated attacks. Without the Queen's orders, they were little more than oversized, albeit dangerous, bugs.
As the duo continued their gruesome work, the effects of the Queen's death began to manifest on the surface.
Colonel Samuel L. Jaxsen, standing atop a makeshift command post of twisted metal and alien corpses, watched in amazement as the Q'orl forces suddenly fell into disarray. The once-coordinated swarm devolved into chaos, with warrior drones stumbling about aimlessly or attacking each other in confused panic.
"Well, I'll be damned," Jaxsen muttered, a grin spreading across his face. He grabbed his comm unit, his voice booming across the battlefield. "Listen up, you beautiful bastards! The big bugs down below just pulled off a miracle. Their command is down! I want every able-bodied soldier, whether you're Liberty Guard, PDF, or a civilian with a pointy stick, to push forward NOW! It's time to take out the trash!"
The response was immediate and overwhelming. Liberty Guardsmen, their exo-suits humming with power, charged forth with a battle cry that shook the very ground. The planetary defense forces, emboldened by the sudden turn of events, emerged from their fortified positions with renewed vigor.
----------------------
The Q'orl queen's death throes had torn open the very foundations of the structure, revealing a nightmarish scene below.
Armstrong's enhanced vision pierced the gloom, his eyes widening at the sight. "Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, his voice a mix of disgust and fascination.
Rodrigues peered over the edge, his hand instinctively tightening on the hilt of his hyper-phase blade. "What in the Emperor's name is that?"
Below them, stretching as far as the eye could see, was a writhing mass of Q'orl grubs. But this was no ordinary alien nursery. The grubs, each the size of a small car, were engaged in a frenzied cannibalistic orgy. They tore into each other with mindless abandon, the stronger devouring the weaker in a grotesque parody of natural selection.
"It's a fucking bug bowl," Armstrong spat, his lip curling in revulsion. "Looks like these xenos bastards have their own version of 'survival of the fittest.'"
For several minutes, the two Liberty Eagle warriors methodically made their way around the chamber's edge, crushing any eggs they found and dispatching the occasional adult Q'orl that had survived their initial onslaught. The work was grim but necessary; they couldn't risk leaving any of the xenos threat alive.
A red haze began to creep into the edges of Armstrong's vision. His fists, already deadly, began to strike with increased ferocity. Each crushed grub, each splattered egg, sent a thrill of savage joy through his body.
"You feel that, Sam?" Armstrong called out, his voice tight with tension.
Rodrigues paused, his blade dripping with ichor. After a moment, he nodded. "Yeah, boss. Feels like something's trying to turn up the heat in our heads."
Armstrong grunted in acknowledgment, redoubling his efforts to clear the chamber. With each act of violence, the urge to give in to mindless slaughter grew stronger.
The 2nd Captain of the Liberty Eagles gritted his teeth, feeling the nanomachines in his body surge in response to his heightened adrenaline. Part of him—a primal, violent part he usually kept carefully leashed—wanted to give in to the bloodlust. To lose himself in an orgy of violence and destruction.
But Armstrong was no ordinary warrior. He was a son of Valorian, heir to the ideals of liberty and self-determination. And he'd be damned if he'd let some Warp-spawned influence dictate his actions.
"Stay focused," he snarled under his breath, each word punctuated by another crushed grub. "We're Liberty Eagles, not mindless berserkers."
As they neared the center of the chamber, Armstrong's enhanced senses detected something different—a change in the air, a faint energy signature that didn't match the biological mess around them. Following this new lead, they pushed through the dwindling swarm of grubs.
There, nestled amidst the carnage like some grotesque pearl, sat what appeared to be an STC. The air around it shimmered with heat, and Armstrong could swear he heard the distant sound of battle drums and bestial roars.
"Atlas," Armstrong called out to his armor's built-in AI, "analyze that thing."
A moment passed as the AI scanned the device. "Analysis complete," Atlas reported. "The device appears to be an STC template for Paragon Blades. However, caution is advised. Anomalous energy signatures detected. Warp contamination likely."
Armstrong approached the STC, feeling the aura of rage intensify with each step. The red haze in his vision deepened, and unbidden images of glorious carnage flashed through his mind.
Rodrigues stepped up beside him, his voice strained. "Boss? What's the play here?"
Armstrong closed his eyes, centering himself. He thought of Valorian, of the ideals they fought for. Liberty. Self-determination. The right of all sentient beings to chart their own course, free from the tyranny of gods or demons.
His eyes snapped open, a fierce grin spreading across his face. "The play, Sam, is that we're gonna disappoint some Chaos fuckers today."
With deliberate movements, Armstrong reached into his pack and pulled out a set of melta charges. Rodrigues' eyes widened in understanding.
"You sure about this, boss? That's a genuine STC we're talking about."
Armstrong nodded, already setting the charges. "Liberty Eagle Operations are clear on this, Sam. Any STC corrupted by the Ruinous Powers is to be disposed of. No exceptions."
As Armstrong worked swiftly, the malevolent presence grew stronger, the very air around them seeming to warp and distort. For a brief, terrifying moment, he glimpsed the shadow of a massive, bestial figure—a Bloodthirster, one of Khorne's deadliest servants. Its attention zeroed in on Armstrong, its baleful gaze searing into his mind.
Armstrong, as the Liberator's Executioner, realized with dread that he had drawn the attention of this servant of Khorne. The daemonic influence pressed harder now, not just images but a voice, raw with bloodlust, echoing in his thoughts.
"TAKE THE STC, MORTAL. FORGE WEAPONS OF UNIMAGINABLE POWER. SPILL OCEANS OF BLOOD IN KHORNE'S NAME!"
With the charges set, Armstrong and Rodrigues retreated to a safe distance. The Bloodthirster's influence swelled to a fever pitch, threatening to overtake them. But Armstrong's focus never wavered.
Finger hovering over the detonator, he smirked. This choice—this moment—was his. No daemon, no matter how powerful, could claim that.
"Hey, ugly," Armstrong called, a savage grin cutting across his face. "Got a message from the Liberty Eagles."
He pressed the detonator.
"Fuck off."
The melta charges ignited, obliterating the corrupted STC and vaporizing part of the chamber in a surge of plasma. The psychic backlash hit Armstrong like a freight train, dropping him to one knee. But even as the rage of the Bloodthirster clawed at his mind, Armstrong stood tall, undeterred.
For a heartbeat, the Bloodthirster's fury surged, flooding his thoughts with visions of endless bloodshed. Armstrong met it with defiance, fists crackling with energy.
"You think you can break me?" he growled. "I'm a Son of Valorian—the Great Eagle, the Liberator. I don't kneel to tyrants or demons."
He raised his fist, the energy radiating from him like a shield.
"You want a fight? You got one. Give me liberty, or I'll take it through your blood!"
Slowly, but with undeniable force, the presence of the Bloodthirster began to fade, driven back by Armstrong's indomitable will. The chamber fell quiet, save for the distant rumble of collapsing ruins, as Armstrong stood victorious—not just over the daemon, but over the temptation of Khorne.
"You alright, boss?" Rodrigues asked, his voice shaky but relieved.
Armstrong stood, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. "Never better, Sam. Nothing like telling a Bloodthirster to shove it to really get the blood pumping."
Rodrigues chuckled, shaking his head. "Only you, boss. Only you."
As they made their way out of the now-silent chamber, Armstrong felt a sense of pride. Not just in himself, but in what he and his brothers stood for. In a galaxy filled with daemons and xenos and madmen, the Liberty Eagles stood for something greater.
Freedom. Choice. The right of every being to forge their own path.
And no daemon, no matter how powerful, could ever take that away.
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