OST - Dawn at the Great Pyramid - Symphonic Led Zeppelin
For Whom the Bell Tolls?
Choirs of angels and daemons, shapeless entities, souls and spirits of the dead and unborns, a primordial bubbling brew howls impious on the outskirts of Ivanor. Rise to the red and hellish sky hosannas and liturgies, while a gray and evil mist gets up from the ground, thickening towards the central sector, pervaded by bluish and scarlet lightning; and vermilion thunders while humanoid shapes crawl, giant shapes in the mist, huge skulls of wild forgotten beasts open wide their mouth, before to vanish in a curl of smoke. Ethereal claws, and thousands of anthropomorphic eyes open and close their pupils, swollen and greedy, curious of death and power; in the desire to stretch their evanescent hands in the precious, beloved, greedy Materium. Slimy and sensual tentacles, swollen buboes bubbling, blood red anger and dark magic formulas, a mathematics that is not of this world thunder in the mist. Symbols, runes, glyphs, languages not yet invented, and other dead from millions years. Shadows of lost civilizations, kings, emperors, generals, appear on the horizon of that sticky and unspeakable fog, unbearable vision, a vision that leads to madness. The order comes immediate from the Royal Palace to all the Imperial Guard forces: "Don't look into the mist!". Infamous voices whispering, moaning and echoes of distant conspiracies, conflicts, controversy, cheering and crying, screaming and pushing, trying to break in mass, increasingly overflowing. They want this dimension, the materium, and they want to swallow it.
Roosters, snakes, goats and symbionts half men and half beast. Feminine laughters and taureans grunts, the cacophony adds in the dancing hell in the mist. A veil, disclosed, besides the known, beyond the laws that govern the mortals universe, a door in which threshold the impossible peeps, primordial soup, unstoppable, inscrutable, terrifying. Abominations whose name, if only pronounced, it's source of eternal damnation. Tribal rhythms and majestic orchestras, trumpets and trombones, flutes and castanets, great and unclean harmonies frantically follow each other, passing by the harmonic to the cacophonous, in perpetual motion. Instruments played by lost fauns, primordial spirits and hostile entities. This is only an infinitesimal part of the warp, and it's already enough to shake the universe. Never unite what has been divided by unknown and divine hands. Don't look into the mist. Don't do it!
OST - BSO Dracula. Track 12- The Ring Of Fire
<< For da' fangs of Mork! It's incredible! >> << Sons of Istanor VII! Is your King Minos III speaking. The shadow will not devour the golden gate and the white temple! Strive as our ancient! Remember Sparta! Remember Athens! Remember Rome and the Holy TERRA. Non praevalebunt! >> << King of Fenris to all the wolves! Ready to face whatever comes out from this devilry. King Minos III, I had the honor to fight alongside your father and many of your ancestors, going back in time so much that you men history becomes legend, but never until now we have had to face such a threat. I am proud to be here, King Minos III. You carry with dignity the weight of the Istanor VII crown. Eternal loyalty to the Emperor. For the God Emperor, For Russ and the allfather! For the whole mankind, we will prevail! Courage sons of Istanor! Courage sons of Russ and sons of Odin! The black bell of the Ragnarøkkr thunders and cries vengeance! >> << Commissar Nelson, deliver this order at all the imperial regiments: "From General Daikun, don't look in the mist! Categorical prohibited. Use the radar and infravision devices." Eldar witch! What the hell is going on? >> << It happens that what is to be, now goes to completion. >>
Those few, wretches, who through misfortune or folly, among the human soldiers, who watched the mist now walk towards it, dazed and happy, heedless of enemy fire or thundering explosions. They walk and disappear in the fog, hot, hellish, welcoming. A single step, to leave their mortal remains and reborn to new life, according to the changing whims of the deceptive chaos gods.
The hells bells thunder festively, today is the day when the unclean breaks into the world, this is the hour in which time and space, flesh and steel, angels and demons descend to earth, already dyed red blood and red flames to celebrate their eternal, unstoppable struggle.
The big hunt is about to break into Materium.
The Armageddon is here. The end is near.
For Whom the Bell Tolls?
For those who have disappeared into the shadows, into the darkness of the warp from which no one should ever return. Yet, we can already hear the distant litany and magic spells, while fierce howls echoed in the eternity.
OST - Metallica - For Whom The Bell Tolls (Lyrics)
<< As promised, Liberator and King of Istanor VII, for the final Sabbath a powerful ally has come, now the victory is certain. Magnus The red is here! >> << What an honor! But I fear, my sorcerer, that he has not come alone. Is there anything else, in the mist. And IT growls ferociously. >>
Late is the Hour, now. The heart of the city, now disfigured by unspeakable hours of clash, shakes again under the massive steps of the warlord titans of the Legio Cariosus, under the mighty steps of Rex Foetidum, although badly damaged, it advances and opens fire to Ignis Divine. Its morbus cannon and plasma destructor pierce the many void shields of the Legate Titan, now there are no more compromises, no expectations. Only battle, direct, frontal.
Ignis Divine regroups, recovering the maximum of his void shields and opens fire, along with the few remaining leman russ tanks, against his arch enemy, on the battlefield like him from the first hour: Gargarism. An ineffective fire, however capable to scratch some void shields from the rotten metal beast. Nonetheless, no time to regenerate his shields that the Tzeentch aviation rushes on him, breaking down again all his void shields and leaving him naked against Gargarism's fire.
And Gargarism fires, with extreme fury. The rotten beast unleashes a terribile firestorm, unleashing its plasma destructor and its morbus cannon who miraculously fails the target. On the carapace of Ignis Divine appear huge flaming breaches, while his apocalypse missile launcher is irreparably damaged.
Ignis Divine, his fate is now sealed. In front of him, the destruction. However, the great avenue of Splendours, now a dantesque path littered with debris, flames and death, also trembles when Emundans, the assault warlord titan, advances taking ahead of Ignis Divine, defending with his own mass the leader of his battlegroup. Legio Metalica against the Legio Cariosus. As ten thousand years ago. The Horus Heresy is never over. Emundans advances and opens fire against Rex Foetidum, a single shot. Victory, or Death. No chance of error, its volcano cannon takes aim and fires, a devastating blow directed to the plasma reactor of Rex Foetidum. Blessed by the god machine, the shot penetrates the belly of the enemy, and unleashes another chain reaction out of control inside its reactor. Deus est machina.
The invasion is now unstoppable. The horde of Slaanesh cultists rushes forward and crosses the line of sight of the ordinatus mars, in overwatch. A trap, a damned trap, where the allies generals don't fall. If the ordinatus had broken its overwatch, it would be stuck in front of Ebola, the emperor titan of Nurgle, before certain destruction. Thus, the horde of Slaanesh advances and is perched in the abandoned fort of the destroyed loyalist plasma annihilator cannon ground, opening fire on Emundans, knocking down half of his void shields.
From the city high, on the western square, a Deathwheel advances fast and reach with its battlecannons too Emundans, breaking down the last void shields of the Titan. Now, both the Legio Metalica warlord titans stand without their void shields, in the front line.
There is no time to lose, if ever there was. The priority now is to save the ordinatus mars, so with a quick movement the ancient relic advances, hiding behind the large building near their space port. The sonic cannon lights, like a huge lighthouse, a sonic blast hurled the Titans of Nurgle, damaging both and creating havoc between the two steel colossus.
The sky is dark red above Ivanor, the sky is torn again, but this time is the millennium falkork, which again leads a handful of stukas against the enemy hordes. The orks pounced on one of the two Shadowsword super heavy tanks in open ground, pestering it with a storm of missiles, a rain of destruction. The superheavy tank disappears in a cloud of fire, destroyed.
<< For foreign people and distant Aquilonian, Their big city near the river in strong torment: Daughter without powers will have too different tomorrow, Chief taken, for not adequately armouring. >> Constanze the Prophetess, burned as a Heretic 687.M38.
The orks aviation, ignorant and effective, for hours over the Royal Sector, losing dozens of planes, leads and led disruptive actions against the enemy hordes. One of the two shadowswords was destroyed by the blood axes missiles, but the second forward, aims Emundans and opens fire. A cannon shot that penetrates in its carapace, damaging it.
The battle rages, now the Sector is bubbling, among dozens of missiles, tremendous explosions, thunders and lightning, while an obscene mist stands in the center, a horrible scene, a vision of madness. And as a god, a lesser god, but only in size, the last revenant titan with a leap jump out the Royal Palace walls, and lands, in balance on one foot, on the tip of the orbital cannon, in equilibrium, a dance of death and beauty, it opens fire from that crazy position, damaging Gargarism, and with the same impossible naturalness, with another leap is again inside the walls, where it started is dance of death, while the morbus cannon of Gargarism collapses to the ground, destroyed.
<< Holy Rogal Dorn... General Daikun... have you seen what the hell did... >> << For the Emp... fire! Commissar Nelson! Order at the last vortex missile launcher to open fire against the insect Titan! This is the moment! >>
The last loyalist vortex missile reaches its target. Gargarism is centered in the chest, a devastating explosion that leaves it partially destroyed, also damaged in its reactor. Now both the chaos titans are on fire, their reactors damaged, but still standing.
The invasion of the chaos hordes is unstoppable, and while the tactical marines of the drop pods march and position themselves within the walls of the Golden Gate, the marines of the mole mortars open fire against the horde of slaanesh perched on the fort, a savage shelling but after the smoke dissipates, it turns bitterly how little damage it inflicted.
From the Royal Palace is launched another sortie. The falcon grav-tanks fly above the roof of the large building near their space port, and pelt the Deathwheel, destroying all its void shields. The mighty armor of the warengine however resists the attack, and before anyone could react, even the falcons fly back into the walls, from where they started. Hit and run, a tactic only due to the unreachable eldar technologies. Moments later, around the Deathwheel comes the huge company of black legion devoted to Tzeentch.
From the courtyard of the Royal Palace the manticores battery opens fire against the massive horde of cultists of Tzeentch. Twenty cultists are torn, along with some unmentionables daemons, a chaos spawn and a big mutant, but with the dismay of all the allies generals, the losses are immediately replaced by another horde of daemons that magically appear among their ranks, evoked by the evil altar, and the immense mass forward, unrelenting.
When the Tzeentch cultists horde arrives, the Khorne coven marches down the access ramp, in a fierce run from the top of the Sector, arriving at the foot of the loyalist warlord titans. The ork tankaz and the devastators company break their overwatch, Killing some cultist and chaos hounds, but it's not enough. The encirclement was completed. The horde of Slaanesh directly threatens the Golden Gate, while the horde of Tzeentch is a step away from overwhelm the loyalist titans, also besieged now by the Khorne coven, who now also threatens the ordinatus mars, the ork tankaz and the devastators. The pilots of the warlord titans communicate each other in an obscure language, secret, binary, encrypted, unreadable: "Bring to hell as much as possible of this bastard before to fall!". For the Liberator, victory is at hand.
But not all that glitters is gold, sometimes the graves of gold hide only rotten worms, and of gold sparkles, for a moment, an immense light behind the army of chaos. The plasma reactor of Rex Foetidum fibril, emits an immense burst of fire, that as a tongue of fire impacts on Gargarism, fueling the internal explosion of its critical damage on its reactor. The two titans of Nurgle emit an ultimate, beastly roar, the instant when both of their reactors melt down in a ball of fire of millions degrees that incinerates totally Rex Foetidum, investing and devouring Gargarism, who dies as a praying mantis, it remains standing, its insectoid eyes off, burnt and smoldering, destroyed. A shout of joy rises from the Royal Palace, shout the Eldar, cry the men, growl the orks. But maybe it's just a dream, tomorrow they will return enemies, destined to slaughter each other in a senseless and eternal war. But today, now, they share the same fate. Mocking and indecipherable is the whim of Tzeentch.
Among the mist you see now protrude the spiers of Ebola, advanced with his army over the fallen loyalist outer walls, in the smoking ruins of the black legion class luna space ship; As a god, the god of destruction and ruin, in the midst of the greatest ruin, and destruction. Now all the pieces are on the chessboard, for the last and decisive siege of the Royal Palace. There, the crown and the book ahead, glittering with gold and diamonds, illusory and damned.
The Golden gates, the hellenic, golden gates of the Minoan dynasty. Symbol of power, imperial, light and hope, herald of intelligence, wisdom, mercy, progress, of a lost mankind, before this darkness, before this dictatorship, before the tyranny of the High Lords of TERRA and the Holy Inquisition. Beyond the golden gates the warhound titan Ardens Rapax advances and shoots with its two vulcan mega bolters against the hordes of Slaanesh, but it's useless. The losses are laughable. And yet, however, it came out as the last bastion on the access ramp that leads to the gates. His lord, Ignis Divine, will die. Emundans will also die. The Prince of the warhound, his name has been lost or maybe deleted from the holy Inquisition, looks under him on the bottom square, beyond the Avenue of Splendours, if his battlegroup will fall, he will fall with it, not in eternal death, from which no one should ever return, but in legend. A nameless horror is about to explode on the sector emerging from the mist, for millennia those golden gates were left open, a sign of welcome, never, never the archenemy had come this far. The Golden gates close behind its carapace.
The Siege of the Royal Palace has begun.
Astra inclinant sed non necessitant.
In the control room of the Starcruiser Ophelia tension is skyrocketing, the same flagship is engaged to defend itself against constant attacks, completed by both long-range weapons from the colossal enemy cruisers, from dozens of smaller vessels, as well as hundreds of fighters. Admiral Nalin Sampath is at the helm, bleeding from the right arm, calm. His smoking pipe dulls his view and distracts him from pain, there is no time to suffer, there is no time to rest, to mourn fallen friends and to curse the hostile doom, there is no time at all.
<< Admiral, you can not believe at your eyes. This, this is a cosmic rebirth! >> << What the hell are you saying, Lieutenant Williamson! >> << I'm saying that we are losing contact with the Royal Palace, simply because, at least so says the machine spirit, is fading from our dimension. No longer responds to any detection technology, time has already folded, and the space now escapes to the laws of our universe. Admiral, in this mist nothing can now no longer penetrate, the capital is cut off. A fog wraps the city, like a cyclone in which eye lies the Royal Palace sector, as concentric rings, bends space and time, and is expanding. Istanor is changing... >> << ...Is changing into a daemon world! it's over! Now, us and them, we are all in the hands of the God Emperor. Or the claws of the black gods. >>
In the battered heart of the capital, ravaged by endless hours of carnage and destruction, In the battered heart of the capital, now a cauldron on fire, as the blacks pits of hell, In the battered heart of the capital once again ring in celebration the antiaircraft sirens while on the upper town flashes, screams and roars wiggle restless.
OST - Silent Hill Siren (Zombie Outbreak Siren) **Long Edit** (Now with Download Link)
TURN 24 - OBJECTIVES
ALLIES Stronghold:allies hand ALLIES HQ's Huge Gates:allies hand ALLIES Space port:allies hand - 1st turn
CHAOS Stronghold:chaos hand CHAOS HQ's Huge Gates:chaos hand CHAOS Space port:chaos hand - 1st turn
What is dead, should remain, forever. Shaking the pillars of the world when the metaphysical rushes in the materium, the chains that hold it vibrate, now stretched to the limit, while the first rings begin to yield. Yet few, devastating hammer, and reality finally flake off. If the great goddess of mercy will have compassion, maybe something will remain of this world; planet that had the immense misfortune of being chosen as the scene of an eternal clash. The eternal struggle of Loki and Wotan. An endless battle that reincarnates from age to age. Neverending, as the night over Istanor. Ragnarök is at the gate.
OST - Metallica-Master Of Puppets (Lyrics)
Prospero burned and will burn forever.
Beyond the halls of amber, the columns of mirror and the giants of obsidian, beyond the labyrinthine paths of illusion and deception, for paths whose only vision instantly lead a man to madness, he has come. Hunted for over ten thousand years. Disfigured, indefinable, terrifying, as his lord. Intangible, ever-changing, powerful. The lure of the book of Aristotle moved him more than any other booty, and he is eager of knowledge, rather than all the blood of the universe. As a big hunt, as a macabre dance, that will never end. He bursts, and with him, his thousand sons.
From the Great Crusade to Ivanor, over the doors of the night, is a blink, ephemeral chimera.
The mist discloses its horrors, and on the city high, at the gates of the Royal Palace, the thousands sons with their tall Flying towers appear, with the perseverance of a colony of worms that devour the carcass of a king for ten thousand years they arrived.
And a demigod, to lead them all. A whisper, like a hiss, meanders into the bowels of the foundations of the Royal Palace, a whistle which differ only two words:<< Aristotle... the book... >>.
No man nor beast could best the Wolf-King, No tribe could stand against his armies. Within Russ' kingdom a truce Existed between man and wolf, His court was attended by the fiercest of Warlords and the most beautiful of maidens. – from "The Saga of the Wolf-King". Primarch Leman Russ of the Space Wolves
OST - Bathory - Vinterblot
When the massacre rumbles over the valley of the dead, sometimes they come back, attracted by an uncompleted destiny, trapped in a non-place, eager for revenge, blind and inexorable. heavy souls, avatars that should never be awakened. Lost souls, wandering souls. Fierce. Bestial. Primordial. Trembles the world as tremble the pillars of heaven and hell. Never unite what immortal hands devided. He came, and with him his thirteenth great company.
A chorus of screams echo in eternity, damned screams which become screaming growl.
While a Demigod marches among his best. He calls them the blood, he call them the revenge.
Blind shadows of rage and fury.
The gates of the hell unleashed their horror, the mist dissipating shows with dismay from both sides two unbeatable armies, only a little part of them, but enough to upset the mere mortals who trample on the sacred soil of Ivanor. The armies of the hell emerged from where no one has ever returned. Ephemeral as a dream, cruel as Death.
“That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die.” The Nameless City by H. P. Lovecraft
The endless Hunt.
<< Captain Håkon! They are daemons! >> << No, Captain Gunnar, they are wolves! >> << No, my brave commanders. Trust your King. They are the thirteenth legion, and they will fight among us. >>
OST - Veigar - Eternal Empire+ (extended remix)
"Hail, Æsir! Hail, Asyniur! And ye, all-holy gods! all, save that one man, who sits within there, Bragi, on yonder bench"
In the warp, where a thousand years are a blink, and a second an endless eternity, restless souls and shadows dragging between nightmares and dark worlds of madness, there. Where even death may die, demigods hovering at the shadow of dark entities, through the door that the Eldar, in their arrogance and folly, opened at the price of their slaughter. And the sleep of reason produces monsters. Monsters of magic, monsters of rage. Whether dream or madness, no one can ever say it, but what the eyes show, today, are two demigods, eternally struggling. Two destinies unfulfilled, and that perhaps, are not intended to pass, but to remain there, suspended, undefined, incomprehensible. Crazy the one who looks beyond the door of the night to groped to understand what streak in the dark. If you look into the abyss, the abyss will look into you.
<< The thousand sons of Magnus! The thousand sons of Magnus!! Holy Rogal Dorn! We're screwed! So, Commissar Nelson, What we have on the field? Send me a brief tactical report on the screen B-24! >> << General Daikun, outside the walls of the Royal Palace, the warlord titans Emundans and Ignis Divine are within range of engagement from the coven of khorne, which also threatens the ordinatus mars, the ork tankaz and the devastators detachment, and from the covens of Slaanesh and Tzeentch. The horde of Tzeentch and Khorne is under the direct line of fire of the ordinatus mars. The warhound titan, in front of the gate, can open a substained fire on the enemy infantry horde on the Avenue of Splendours. The thousand sons appeared from the mist will not be able to siege us now, but threaten directly the troops out the walls, on the avenue... >>
<< ...Inside the walls we have a detachment of mole mortars and one detachment of rapiers of the space wolves; then ten sky claws, forty stormboyz and forty dark reapers to defend the gates and the walls. In the courtyard, a detachment of land speeders and a Phantom titan and as last defense in our Palace, to defend ourselves, the few royal guards and a guardian warhost. The revenant Titan, the falcons and fireprism grav-tanks, and the storm serpent super heavy grav-tanks are ready for action outside the walls, but we must coordinate with the Alaitoc witch, always damn indecipherable... the storm serpent super heavy grav-tank is a strange vehicle, in the records of the Astra militarum appears sometimes as a transport fortress, other as a suppor fire fortress, but undoubtedly were reported dozens of incidents in which aspect warriors warhost appeared near this vehicle, so it is supposed to serve as a web-way portal. We are clearly talking about fantasy, but I would not rule out completely that can jump out from this fortress precious eldar reinforcements, in our favor. >>
<< ...However, the walls are directly threatened by Ebola, the emperor titan of the Legio Cariosus, which is escorted by five leman russ tanks, ten warbikes of the black legion, forty bersekers of Khorne and a Deathwheel that for sure will occupy our space port. We have lost our support from orbit, I suggest not to rely on it. What they will do we don't know: if they will proceed forward to siege us or whether they will return back to defend the Liberator; and their plasma annihilator ground cannon. The firepower of the Emperor titan can wipe out the entire Royal Palace in a few hours... >
<< ...The thousand sons of Magnus came with four silver towers and a warp palace, they have a rapid army, mounted on rhinos, with a great ability to redeploy. Already now threatens the troops on the Avenue of Splendours, and in the next hour can safely arrive at the foot of the golden gates... >>
<< ...Now our opponent, his spaceport is defended by a platoon of stormtroopers and an infantry regiment, entrenched in bunkers and in the buildings under the walls of the Astra Militarum stronghold. Their flak tower is still working, and they still possess a bombard artillery, perched in the ruins of their outer walls. A force that can easily turn back to defend their gates... >>
<< ...And if what we see is not a dream, an army of the space wolves thirteenth legion appeared on the western square of the city high, and probably will break at the crossroads that leads to the enemy plasma annihilator ground cannon and the enemy stronghold. To defend the sector there are only few land raiders of the black legion and fifty cultists of Nurgle perched in the palace at the crossroad, they will not stand the shock of the only advance of a similar army... >>
<< ...The enemy ground cannon is defended only by twenty black legion scout marines, easy prey for the terminators that we still have mounted on the thunderhawk or the devastators detachment that we, ready for action, have on the landing vessel. Troops jealously preserved by the wise tactic of Logan Grimnar; and now we have to conquer it! Otherwise, they will have time to turn it against the thirteenth legion. Only the space marines can accomplish this mission.... >>
<< ...And finally the enemy stronghold: the Astra Militarum HQ. It's defended by an infantry regiment on the walls, their yard is patrolled by four sentinels; a thunderhawk with forty raptors inside patrol from above, a warhound titan on the courtyard, four vultures, an entire platoon of stormtroopers on valkyrie, four Defilers and a basilisks company. The thirteenth legion, and anyone who comes near shall be immediately under their terrible indirect fire, from both the enemy artillery: Defilers and basilisks. We have still three stukas, those legendary stukas... but what other devilry has in the deck Magnus the Red we can't know, now. Might have their rubric terminators, still unrevealed... >>
<< ...What do you think, bro' ...I'm sorry, Sir General? >> << I think that our reinforcements, a little infantry force, are travelling in a class buffalo from the western sector, but I fear it will be too late. The game is played here and now. When you arrived at the limit, when you don't sleep now for more than forty hours, where, tell me where you can find the strength to go on? I'm about to collapse, Nelson, but we must stay on stage until the curtain falls. Time to nut up or shut up! >>
Now or Never. Emundans moves, and with it the last hopes of the allies generals who from the Royal Palace seen clinging to the balcony's railing the events outcome. The warlord titan bursts in the lines of the coven of Khorne, its power fist lights of flashes and thunders, crushing cultists, trolls, minotaurs and some land transporters while its laser burner cooks dozens of traitors and the last remnants of the company, now destroyed and annihilated by the support fire of Ignis Divine and the devastaors detachment. Emundans emerges victorious, marginally damaged, from the holocaust of the Khorne hordes.
The retaliation comes, like a Dantesque picture, like a horror of Hieronymus Bosch, as a nightmare of Francisco Goya. A singsong horde of demons of Tzeentch, blue and pink horros, flamers and other nameless spirits led to victory by their Lord of Change. A huge horde moves, between lightning, thunders and wonders of power and horror, behind them the altar, like a huge spell of lightning and fire the horde breaks out against Ignis Divine and the leman russ tanks at its feet. Emundans opens a powerful support fire, but also the huge coven of Slaanesh moves, a sinuous and diabolical charge of daemonettes, incubus, succubus lead to massacre by their Greater Daemon, the Keeper of Secrets, the wave impacts at the foot of the warlord titan. Few, intense, terrifying minutes of battle turned the Avenue of Splendours in a shimmering cauldron of death, destruction and horror. Ignis Divine collapses forward, defeated, destroyed, at the foot of Emundans, sweeping away the last few leman russ and fleeing imperial guards. The hordes of chaos have paid a high price, hundreds of cultists, dozen land transporters, daemons, including the Keeper of Secrets rest on the ground, charred, mangled, defeated; but the horde, which consolidates after the victory, is still immense.
The ordinatus mars has before it a horde still immense. Maybe this would be the time to retreat, and survive, it, living temple of wisdom and lost technology. Forgetfulness or defeat. Inexorable it opens fire, a substained fire against the hordes of Tzeetnch and Slaanesh. The sonic cannon lights, and a blast of unprecedented power impacts in the enemy ranks, hurling through the air for hundreds of meters hundreds of cultists, demons and a dozen trucks. Such is the devastation that a huge crater tears the Avenue of Splendours, as a horrible and bloody wound. Today, the Gods choose the oblivion. Deus est Machina.
Ardens Rapax, under it, its legate fell. Ignis Divine fell. It, a warhound titan, last defense in front of the golden gates of the Royal Palace. With a quick movement aims both its vulcan mega bolters against the horde of Slaanesh, and opens fire. A substained fire. No retreat. No surrender. Today, only death, honor and glory. Or the eternal damnation of a planet swallowed in the belly of dark and cynical gods.
The Royal Square, along the Avenue of Splendours, swarms of impiety, while hosannas and unspeakable curses climb up to the top of the Royal Palace, a drumming and howling terrifying cacophony, that paralyze hearts, hands and minds.
OST - Tom Player - Blade Of Blood (Massive Driving Hybrid Action)
Per aspera ad astra.
<< It isn't possible! It isn't possible! Tzeentch, you'll be damned! What do you have in mind, nemesis of deception? Whether you're ninety-nine nine times damned! Ross! We have to draw back our legions and wait for reinforcements, we must... >> << Ross? Our legion? These legions obey only me! I am the Liberator! I! Not you, sorcerer unnamed. Calls back your black legion retinues if you want, but the cultists hordes of Omeros will advance, Magnus what he will do, we can't know, but if he brings me back the crown in a silver platter, it will be something pleasant. Under our armies and His thousand sons the Royal Palace will collapse, and in a short time. Alert all forces inside the Astra Militarum fortress, let prepare to repel the thirteenth legion. Obey me! Obey me all! Worship me! I am the future! I bring the freedom! I am the new hope for humanity! ... and history will prove me right. Today, Nameless, you'll observe as a "mortal" defeating a demigod will become God himself. >>
The thousand sons move. Obscure and archaic empty armors moved by damned souls. Emundans is caught from behind, the enormous and incredible Palace of Tzeentch flies from the square of the city high up to the top of the large building near the allies space port. A flying saucer, a flying palace. A wonder of a mystical magic spinning on itself unleashes a firestorm upon the warlord titan, now devoid of all its void shields. A magical storm, lightning and thunderbolts crash on its carapace. Its Laser Burner is uprooted from its shoulders, while a third of the carapace is ripped off and thrown to the ground. Emundans can't turn around that a detachment of rubric marines is advancing rapidly with its rhino tanks to the Titan's foot. The princeps of Emundans, whose name has vanished in the archives of the imperium, looks dumb with terror. How can to rattle a steel god? What, what horror can shake the colossal steel legs of such a machine of death and destruction? In the midst of those undead marines, a bluish flame, a changeable thing, illusory, unattainable up to the sky a huge magic bracket, at the end of which a greenish globe lights of arcane power. The power of the stars, the power of the underworld, the power of the Lord of Change is manifested within terrifying, multicolored thunderbolts. The beam makes inroads into the chest of the warlord titan, passing it from side to side. The head of the warlord titan is eradicated from within, like a tongue of flame that writhes around, while in a few moments after the detonation of the plasma reactor incinerates what remains of Emundans. At the allies headquarters arrives just a confused, trembling whisper: "Magnus the Red is here". Then, the silence envelops the black flame and vaporized steel. A black shadow, a terror panic spreads in the allies war room. Only the King of Fenris and the Alaitoc Queen hold the unspeakable terror, knowing that nothing is in their power, now, to stop that demigod come to punish them and to steal the book, as it's clear what prompted him to date. The book, sacred knowledge, another, unreachable power. He has come, a multicolored shadow, like a black hole that swallows everything: light, knowledge, hope. Petty and deceitful are the ways of Tzeentch.
<< A shadow of lightning and storm, light and mutable horror is at my gates. King of Fenris! >> << And for this, King Minos III, call His Name. There is no military victory against Tzeentch, the only possible victory consists not to fall in his many tricks and pitfalls. As soon as the reaction becomes action, he has already won; and he brings those who dared oppose on changing paths, deceptive labyrinths from which no one has ever returned. These was the last words of Bjorn the Fell-Handed, three weeks ago, before I swell the sails to come this far. Call His Name: call the Name of our Emperor! >>
Oh! Magnus the sage, Magnus the wise, Magnus the Red.
On the ruins of Emundans the ork tankaz advance, firing against the hordes of cultists of Tzeentch and trying to reject the thousand sons. A few moments later, the devastators detachment opens fire, a substained fire. The last land raider aims the altar of Tzeentch, and opens fire. Two devastating lascannon blows affect the altar in its top, a lucky shot, in this darkest hour. Long, deep howls are heard on the battlefield, brought by a fierce wind, harbinger of death, destruction... and fortune? Yet, that one shot, against all odds, centers the altar and the flying discs, interrupting their arcane magic dance and breaking the spell. One of the two flying disk crashes to the ground, the beast and the wizard killed, while the second vanishes over the dense and dark clouds of Ivanor, while the altar, to the dismay of its cultists, falls to the ground it too, destroyed. The careless hordes of Tzeentch, now decimated, are rejected and take refuge in the ruins of the north tower, the one destroyed by the Nurgle titan legion hours ago, still in flames. Their daemons disappear, and the Lord of Change vanishes in a blaze of blue light.
The hordes of Tzeentch are retreating, but behind their escape the high Slaanesh Knights advance, opening fire on the devastators. A rain of fire, a rhino is destroyed, but the sons of Russ still resist. The will of the Liberator is a merciless, beating hammer. His hammer resonates of the triumph of his will. Beats, and still beats on the anvil of his stubbornness.
From the top of the square of the city high, the luminescent silver towers rise from the ground and unleash a terrifying arsonist storm, a firestorm of flame and lightning upon the ordinatus mars, alongside the devastators on the Avenue of Splendours. His numerous void shields are vaporized, torn away by a desire of magic and horror that doesn't obey the laws of this universe, and before it could react the last traitor shadowsword advances rapidly. Its volcano cannon aiming the ordinatus, powerful but helpless in front of such a weapon of destruction. The volcano cannon hits the immense warengine, which collapses to the ground, destroyed, in a flame triumph. Its sonic cannon shattered, forever lost. Lost, the last of the three ordinatus fell, and now mankind is even more helpless. Beats, pounding beats angry the Liberator hammer, merciless, crazy, blind of desire and perfection. A perfect society, Wasn't this what he always desired? At any cost? At any price? Look! Look with your own eyes his new paradise. His dreams are being fulfilled all, one after the other, under his enchanted eyes.
The devastators tighten at cohort, a handful of marines and a few vehicles. Over the flames of the two destroyed Lord of battles emerges a formidable Decimator of the thousand sons. The meat grinder from the thirtieth millinnium opens fire. The land raider barely holds the blow, while the few remaining marines are decimated. A razorback is destroyed, another rhino tank falls. tighten at cohort, Marine! tighten at cohort, sons of Russ! No retreat, no remorse, no surrender. From here to eternity.
In less than half an hour the battlefield exploded in ferocity and violence, everything is now action, jump, attack, raid and massacre. The warlord titans have fallen, as fall the gods and yet, the battle hasn't met its maximum fury. Now, for both, the loot is at hand; and for both fortresses is now arrived the hour of the extreme defense. Which one will fall first? The fate, over the door of time, mocking looks with countless eyes, enjoyed of the immense slaughter. And billions are already dead, on a whim. The whim of Tzeentch.
<< This is the hour of the wolf. Seventh detachment devastators, you know your mission and your duties, execute them all! Follow the howls, follow the north wind of fortune and conquest and open the way for the thirteenth great company! Conquer the plasma annhiliator ground cannon and turn it against the Liber... this bastard traitor! For the Emperor! For Russ and the allfather! >> Logan Grimnar. King of Fenris.
OST - Tron Legacy - Soundtrack OST - 07 Rinzler - Daft Punk
The huge landing vessel hurtling above the tallest spiers of the Royal Palace, its shadow, for a moment, through the courtyard. Moments, endless seconds. Bated breath, dumb. Fixed pupils over the balcony, and in the holographic device. it passed over, beyond the Royal walls.
Ebola is in front of it, the hydra flak tanks of the leman russ company open fire. It has been hit! It was hit, it falters, loses altitude, No! Beyond the blaze of flames its stabilizers still hold it, and it exceeded the seventy times seven damned Ebola: the ground cannon is in sight.
Few, long seconds. A perfect task at minimum price. The sector of the traitor plasma annihilator ground cannon falls within seconds, snatched from the hands of the black legion that had left only a forlorn hope in its defense. A handful of devastators and a rhino fallen, but the massive weapon is now in the Allies hands. A simply message arrives on the Allies HQ: Mission Accomplished.
And so, the thirteenth great company, having free the way bursts at the crossroads. A detachment of Long fangs, bestial creatures angrily brandishing their old heavy weapons, get escorted from their land raiders and rhinos at the foot of the large building where are perched thirty cultists of Nurgle. Three black legion predators and a Land Raider in open ground on the street break the overwatch, destroying a land raider, a rhino and killing five long fangs, which return fire, destroying a predator tank. Moments later, a pack of Fenrisian wolves, or their ancient primordial ancestors, a forgotten species, pounce on the cultists inside the building, swarming inside. Fierce cries, horrible screams, groans and terrifying growls fill the air, then everything returns silent, when from the building three of the six huge beasts emerge and join the long fangs, blood on.
The assault of the long fangs and the fenrisian wolves wasn't just the first landslide of an avalanche that breaks now at the crossroads. The first of the two great company is advancing rapidly over the large building just cleared, four land raiders and three predators open fire, tanks ancient of ten thousand years, unleashing a firestorm at the gates of the Astra Militarum. The numerous void shields collapse rapidly, and force to activate the emergency systems to regenerate as much as possible. The siege of the Astra Militarum stronghold has begun.
Once again whizzing in the sky the legendary stukas, by hours on the battlefield. Follow the trail of the space wolves landing vessel, but this time the hydra flak tanks at the foot of Ebola break the platoon, knocking down three fighters. The last of the legendary stukas gets up in the sky, and aborts its mission. No one can stand forever.
OST - Position Music - Saviour (Massive Hybrid Action)
“Barbarianism is the natural state of mankind. Civilization is unnatural. It is the whim of circumstance. And barbarianism must ultimately triumph” Robert E. Howard - 930.M2.Holy-Terra.
The siege of TERRA, an event that is in the DNA of every single man in the universe, an event that echoes in eternity. Even now, at times, listening at the scream of the dying and the thunder of the guns, you can still hear, carry by strangers and traitors winds, the echo of the largest and most terrifying siege that humanity has ever known, yet, however, Its shadow is projected on the golden gates of Ivanor, at the foot of the Royal Palace, the Hellenic glory, Minoan jewel, temple of wisdom and unabashed grandeur. For a moment, the wind whispers words of glory to the ears of the space wolves, holed up on the battlements of the courtyard walls, and in unison, mole mortars, rapiers and even the forty eldar dark reapers open fire, a firestorm against the unholy hordes below, the latest bombing to reject them back. Dozens die and disperse among the ranks of Tzeentch, under the heavy bombing of the mole mortars, while the horde of Slaanesh retreats in the fort of the destroyed allies plasma annihilator ground cannon. Still blows, and whispers words of glory, the wind of hope that emanates from the golden throne, for those who have ears to hear.
<< Fool! You are Fool! You must call back all our forces! Call back Ebola, we must sweep away the thirteenth company before it's under the walls, engage it, keep it away... there is something in the midst of those demons wolf, something that... there is a light, blinding. An undying willl among those ranks. A light that haunts me for thousands of years in my dreams. I must... >> << How fast, how much anxiety, my nameless mentor. Let order at the basilisks company to open fire, don't fear, my dark fortune-teller, we will have first the book and crown, that them our hearts. Have faith in our ultimate victory. >>
The basilisks company opens fire with unheard anger, a terrible bombing that pierces the western square of the city high. The second great company is hit hard, rhinos and marines fall destroyed and killed, and a hole opens on the road; However, the column of tanks is ready to go. They look like demons, but they follow old strategies and tactics, according to a regimented code precursor to the current one, huge battalions. Armies created for one purpose: to conquer the universe and stand in front of the abyss.
The Avenue of Splendours, the main Avenue of the Kings and the Emperor, is now up to the gates of the Royal Palace a trail of death and destruction, strewn of smoking craters, countless carcasses and flaming, smoldering wreckage. The commander of the flying discs, a wizard hiding in a scarlet robe, watches it and uttering a cry from his corvine head launched the onslaught of discs against the blood axes big tankaz, a bloody assault, which ends with the complete destruction of the ork tanks, and the death of three flying beasts.
The retaliation comes immediately. The tactical detachment together with three rapiers opens fire on the flying beasts of Tzeentch, a hail of bullets strikes the discs, forcing them to retreat to the side of the large Avenue.
The fury of the liberator rages unabated, the hour of the final assault came, with all its unprecedented violence. The traitor leman russ at the foot of Ebola open fire on the Royal Palace and began to scratch its void shields, while the deathwheel on the square of the city high moves down the access ramp and lays siege to the palace, shooting down other void shields. The target suddenly changed, now the Royal Palace itself is under attack!
While the Palace is under attack, the hordes that protect Ebola throw themselves forward. The black legion warbikes march right on the Avenue of Splendours, while the bersekers of Khorne occupy the large building next to the loyalist space port, ready to throw themselves in the next massacre of the devastators below, the last allies force left in open ground to defend the walls and the space port.
<< Liberator, damn you! ...Colonel Commissar Dietrich Von Reubenstein to the allies headquarters. The Deathwheel in front of us has just burst in the space port. The air support is lost. To all the space port guards and operators, break ranks. Scatter, and abandon the control tower. Move towards the Avenue of Splendours, and wait for my future orders. We can't stand in front of it. Attention! The Seventy-seven times cursed is about to open fire! >>
Taking advantage of the general confusion, the second Deathwheel forward, breaking in the allies space port. The few remaining auxiliary forces retreat, avoiding a useless sacrifice. For a few soldiers and a handful of air-force operators, face the warengine is simply certain death. The allies space port fell.
His voice is thunder, his anger is flame, his will rottenness. He is the Doomsday Machine, dropped on Ivanor to make it his, in a filthy, rotten and eternal damnation. With the fury of a god all the heavy artillery of Ebola opens fire. The Royal Palace is trembling in every hall, from the walls to the summit of the highest spire. All its void shields are wiped out, and only thanks to the lightning intervention of the techpriests assigned at the void shields generator the fortress can withstand the impact, and to regenerate a small part of its shields. King Minos III winces, the void shields held up the first broadside, but how long it can still hold up? Already the second may be that fatal.
The stormboyz horde, on the direct line of fire in front of Ebola, abandon the walls, guarded by a detachment of land speeders, and clutter behind the Golden gates. The blood axes forces is lead there, recalled from their warrior instinct, which made them victorious and feared throughout the galaxy, as it will soon be right there that will rage the apocalypse!
The action is frantic now, the dice is more than cast. The Alaitoc army moves: first the falcons, then the fire prism grav-tanks and the storm serpent super heavy tank, a firestorm directed against the Slaanesh knights and the deathwheel below. Two knights collapse destroyed in the smoking ruins of Ignis Divine and Emundans that wickedly were trampling, while the deathwheel is severely damaged, retreats of a dozen meters, but then stops, ready again for battle. The enemy pressure is becoming unstoppable, the noose ever tighter.
<< A good King, or a wise Tyrant, has always preferred that the inevitable hum of his populace is expressed with laughter, instead of uprising; and only the fool has crushed the satire with censorship. >> Excerpt from "The third book of Aristotle". Aphorism censored. Holy Inquisition diktat No. 688-AD94-6846Z-DER9786.77.
OST - Tron Legacy - Soundtrack OST - 14 Fall - Daft Punk
From the gloomy doors of the Astra Militarum Stronghold, Pustola the warhound titan of Nurgle moves down the access ramp and opens fire on the thirteenth great company, a first column of land raiders. The tanks resist fire, hulls and armor thousand years old, hardened in battle, vehicles that have crossed worlds whose only description, as far evanescent, would lead a man to imperishable madness.
From the traitor space port the garrison forces, an infantry regiment and a stormtroopers platoon, are moved to the new front line, all the forces in the Sector now converge against the thirteenth great company.
Under the astonished eyes of the seventh devastators detachment, arrived to conquer the plasma annihilator ground cannon, the thirteenth great company advancing en masse, a gray avalanche against the doors of the Liberator. Fangs, claws, and a fury of those who no longer belongs to this universe. For a few moments, among the horde of wolf-demons, the captain sees a giant, blond, fierce, between two huge wolves. A blur, blurred between scarlet lightning, shadows and ghosts. A mirage, perhaps. An illusion. Yet, the company moves following tactics ancient ten thousand years. Four contemptor dreadnoughts move down the ramp and destroy a black legion predator on the second crossroads, forcing the last three tanks to retreat inside the imposing traitor gates.
An avalanche of grey fury among a terrifying and howling mist.
An illusion. Is That a trick of Tzeentch? The blond giant arrives among his bests, a terminators company and a great company, in front of them the Nurgle warhound titan takes a step back, driven by a primordial instinct tries to escape, to retreat inside the stronghold, but the doors are cowardly closing behind it. Nameless himself delivered the order!
A whisper, a sinister hissing snakes out the golden gates of Ivanor, a promise of revenge, loot and power, an enchanting call, magical words spoken by a red wizard. A signal that immediately attracts its thousand sons to the doors, and even a company of black legion devoted to Tzeentch comes disobeying the orders of their Nameless sorcerer. A demigod, today, is calling them to himself for write their names in black glory. Three rubric detachments and a massive black legion company rush at the foot of the access ramp that leads to the Golden Gates.
The Phantom and the last revenant titan advance, escaping from the line of sight of Ebola, moving to the right of the golden gate. The phantom's pulsar and the revenant's pulse cannons open fire, a massive firestorm hits the black legion company, a dozen rubric marines fall to the ground, a rhino is destroyed, but the malignant, multicolored and orchestral wave is barely been scratched. it's late. too late.
With a deafening noise of plates that rotate on themselves the enormous ground cannon wheel ninety degrees, shifting its aim from the shoulders of Ebola to the warhound titan outside the walls. The cannon glows of immense, when a roaring thunder overhang the thousands of screams, curses, blasphemies, cannonades and explosions. But an evil hand, arcane, a red will of power, with wry smile, deflects the shot, so that the Titan is sideswiped and still stands. There, where all the probability of this universe wanted it a smoking wreck.
The Great Wolf was standing on the top of the generators spire, overseeing the tragedy about to unfold at the gate. The air was filled with radioactive ash, noxious fumes and the biological remains of the dead. “Grimnar to Lor’skold. The vile followers of the blood God are upon you sergeant, do you require extraction?” The Great Wolf looked upon the battlefield, to see the revenants of the Long Fangs cadre surrounded by the Great Traitors’ forces. They were the last force the Alliance had outside the fortress walls. “Nay Sir, we are fine. Proceed with the preparations to repel the attack, we’ll show this scum the fangs of doom. Until next winter, Lor’skold out.” Until next winter. That was the way of the Space Wolves to bid the last farewell to their brothers. “Understood, may He and His Father be at your side.” Grimnar knew there was no escape for the heroic veterans who kept the Chaos forces at bay for longer than any Rune priest could have predicted. A swift and honourable death would be probably the best end in such a situation, he thought. The Fabricator Provost Esten 01_65r, an eerie combination of spider-like steel legs, augumetics and voice static stood immobile at his side, a single red laser beam tracking the battlefield from above the spire. “The Beasts of War of the Omnissiah had taken the fight to the heart of the enemy,” said in strange, melodic feminine voice, “We will perform our duty, Lord Grimnar, the blasphemous will pay the highest price before they reach the spire.” This time his voice sounded raucous and distant, much like the voice of an old general remembering his past deeds with his comrades. There was no fear, nor anticipation in it. Just mathematical certainty drown from millennia of war. That was indeed inevitable, thought the Great Wolf. With the arrival of the traitors’ reinforcements, time and space started misaligning, warping distance, shapes and colours as in a painting done by a child, or one the craziest followers of the Lord of Change. The giant that led the massive assault was something the Great Wolf could not identify. In his long and glorious career, he fought and bested many warp entities, from the least to the most powerful. Yet, this one was something entirely different. Shrouded in an ever changing haze of colours, he felt almost ...familiar, emanating an aura that made the blood of all Space Wolves nearby boil without restrain. “Sons of Russ, keep your positions until further orders, we shall unleash the fury of Wolves soon enough.” A bright red rune suddenly appeared on the Old Wolf helmet, signalling an incoming transmission from the large devastator company manning the conquered orbital plasma destructor. “Njold Stormbringer reporting Sir.” “Go ahead my friend, is the assault proceeding as planned?”, asked Grimnar. The connection with the leader of the relief assault force started failing, statics cutting through the words of the Wolf Lord. “...taken with minor losses ...failed ...thrice-cursed warp magic ...Lor’Akar ...” “Grimnar to Njold, I’m not reading you brother, is the blitz proceeding as planned?” “Rune priest Snowhisper... They came! They came to us as pre... tales of the ancient... He seems to... back... machinations of the enemy... be wary ...alpha predator! ...The Wolf King!”
The space wolves landing vessel lifts off, rising first of fifty meters vertically thank to the reactors under its hull, an impressive flying battlefortress takes off; and with a blaze its rear reactors push it away, far away from any retaliation. The battle is not over yet and still far from won.
The Allies. The Royal Palace, last bastion of human civilization.
The Liberator, The Astra Militarum Stronghold, the first of the unclean fortresses of an apocalyptic future to avoid at all costs.
The Avenue of Splendours! Oh, how wonderful, sung by thousands of bards and celebrated in the most glorious history books of the imperium. It was said that those who had put in your way, certainly would come to the golden throne. Oh, Avenue of Splendours, where took you, how the human folly reduced you? The legions of hell have come to the doors of the Minoan house, and if this fall, they will be closer to the eternity gates of the Holy TERRA. Non prevalebunt.
And a prince, one of the greatest princes of the warp is now on its doorstep. And he will not stop, until everything has been changed, According to the will of His indecipherable Master, who transforms everything, to throw it in ruins forever. The book of Aristotle is a palm of his hand.
TURN 25 - OBJECTIVES
ALLIES Stronghold:allies hand ALLIES HQ's Huge Gates:allies hand ALLIES Space port:chaos hand
CHAOS Stronghold:chaos hand CHAOS HQ's Huge Gates:chaos hand CHAOS Space port:chaos hand - 2nd turn: 3 Swifthdeath interceptor + 2 helltalion bombers
Missiles Silos area:DESTROYED Heavy Ground cannon:DESTROYED Ground Plasma Annihilator - size chaos:allies hand - fire Ground Plasma Annihilator - size allies:DESTROYED Psychic tower:DESTROYED
VICTORY CONDITION: not achieved (turn 25 on. ACTIVATED)
<< Luna fell into deep darkness, Its brother grey tint: The great hidden for a long time in the night, He puts his claws in the ancient wound. >> Constanze the Prophetess, burned as a Heretic 687.M38.
<< Oracle, tell me, sing me my fortune! >> The Liberator.
On the enormous command table, on the darker war room of the Astra Militarum Stronghold, maps and battle plans rest scattered over the interactive panel that nearly fills the entire table, a device that emits a bluish light illuminating from the bottom the black and dark faces of the fieldmarshal and his most faithful and best among his high commanders. Behind him, a black nameless sorcerer, back off. The terror in his eyes. The Liberator, the hands of the Daemon Prince of Slaanesh grope holding the Emperor tarot, frantically aligning, invoking, summoning them; and his eyes sparkle when a card ends up in his hands: The emperor. Vanity and Victory, victory and vanity. A thought illuminates of immense his vanity: I will be the new emperor. He is dead and I am the embodiment of his new flesh and spirit! Vanity and Victory, victory and vanity. His eyes light up of vainglory and desire, eager for victory while a cold wind, the icy north wind spilled from the gates of Valhalla, blows into the war room, bringing bestial howls and a promise of death. But he is deaf. Victory and vanity and Victory is there, sparkling, pompous, sung by an hellish orchestra, and Magnus will deliver it to him.
OST - Immediate Music - We Made This War (Dark Choral Hybrid Action)
An undying flame burns raging at the center of the courtyard of the Royal Palace, the flame of Khaine blazes fierce for the second time, and so immense are the forces of warp summoned in this tragic hour, summoned by furious horns echoed in eternity, that the gods and their champions are hurled at each other, in a titanic clash in which the materium by a miracle still holds. The dying sun of Ivanor dims before such and such majesty. A new flame is born, Kaela Mensha Khaine is here. Flames and death.
A lightning, and the materium is distorted, bending, twisting above the roof of the Astra Militarum Stronghold, while fifty thousand sons terminators appear to defend the headquarters of the Liberator while outside the walls, twenty scouts of the thirteenth company occupy the large building at the crossroads.
And the horn rang once.
OST - Russ Horn
The air is fraught with tense silence, for a few seconds, maybe a minute, all is quiet at the foot of the dark fortress, only in distance you can hear distant screams and explosions. Warp's lightning Strike wildly and sweep the skies mingling with the fiery red background of a city, Ivanor, in flames. Then a horn, a blond giant pulls out a huge horn, one ring, only one, and moments later an avalanche of tanks burst onto the access ramp, the first great company arrived at the second crossroads, heading Pustola, the warhound titan of Nurgle. From the battlements of the fortress is unleashed a massive support fire and the firestorm destroys some vehicles and kills some wolf-demons, but well before the warhound titan can react, it is thrown in flames down from the ramp, falling into ruin at the foot of the fortress. In the shadow of his Helm blue eyes of burning coal flare.
But another warhound titan, alone and last of its battlegroup, is going to meet its fate. Ardens Rapax observes the Tzeentch hordes underlying getting closer and closer, carried to victory by their informs legend. The red wizard opens his huge wings while below them swarming forward a detachment of thousand sons. The damned armors assault the warhound, and within moments all hell breaks loose.
From the stands of the walls the dark reapers, the gunners of the space wolves light artillery, the skyclaws, a tactical detachment and every creature that still breathes among the allies ranks opens fire, a fierce storm, but like a wave breaks on the unstoppable bodyless armors.
The warhound titan is fighting like a lion, its void shields are wiped out, and throws a rhino with a kick down the access ramp. Death! Death! Death to the traitors! His mighty armor is in tatters, but still holds, still... still... When the one eye demigod rests on it.
From the top of the towering massive walls, Torin Stormfist, a skyclaw, could see the heroic last stand of Ardens Rapax, the warhound-class titan defiantly blocking what seemed to be a tidal dark wave of blue armoured traitors. Only decades of training and directed raged prevented him from directly assaulting the traitors first line, the Beast within screaming to emerge and devour the Archenemy. The Beast of War of the Omnissiah fought with the skill and ferociousness of Morkai itself, the two-head Wolf guardian of the gates of death. Again and again the cursed Thousand Sons unleashed their finely, yet grotesquely decorated heavy weapons and their vile black magic against the raging beast, but to no avail. The agile and cunning marvel of the Machine God evaded their melta fire, meeting the dark bolts and deadly winds of death head on, the resolve to protect the emperor’s honour driving him to deeds of glory Torin had rarely, if ever, seen before. Just as the assault started to lose its momentum, the defenders on the wall opened fire on the chaos forces, joined by the deadly torrent of heavy calibre shells of Ardens Rapax. For a brief moment, Torin thought the allied forces might prevail, the valiant giant warrior repelling assault after assault. With a booming thunder, a pair of flickering beams of blue lights pierced through the head of the titan, searing its metal flesh with the easiness of a knife cutting through warm butter. With a last, defiant move the titan staggered towards the enemy lines, crashing on the first line of the Thousand Sons. Through the fire of the burning war machine, Torin saw a towering monstrosity pointing the endings of his deformed claws in the direction of the defenders, his outline blurred by powerful multicoloured layers of dark magic. The Father of the Archenemy has entered the battle field. The False God was here, and Torin knew his deeds of courage will be soon written in the annals of the Chapter.
And the horn rang twice.
OST - Russ Horn
A second huge summon, like an immense thunder rumbles overhanging the terrifying cacophony of the battle, and the blond giant, alongside his two beasts, launches the assault at the head of the second great company and a terminators detachment. The column of land raiders and rhinos advance right up to the mighty traitor gates, still closed. A detachment of valkyries breaks their overwatch and together at the entire infantry regiment on the walls opens fire, destroying a couple of rhino but the avalanche is unstoppable. The horde of Marines is thrown on the walls. Beasts, half-men half-wolf, with primordial fury, began to climb the walls, gaining meter by meter with their claws, under the incessant fire of the traitor imperial guards on the battlements. The blond giant, with a leap, climbs over the parapet of the gate's roof, and in a flash his two huge wolves are thrown with him into the fray. Dozens, hundreds of soldiers perched on the gates, the walls, are overwhelmed by the twenty terminators, and no more than thirty marines. And a demigod. Yet, for the forces in the courtyard, they seem a whole legion. An atrocious massacre, mercilessly, executed with unprecedented fury, is consumed in a few, long minutes. The traitor forces can't even conceive what is happening, that the entire perimeter of the walls collapsed, completely annihilated. No survivors. No time to sound the alarm, that the demons-wolf army is already inside; but their legendary Leader is bleeding in his left arm, wounded. And if he bleeds, this means he can die.
OST - Sci-Fi Sound Effect - Intruder Alert
<< Then go, coward! Flee! Coward! Are not arrived the best Magnus' guards to protect us? Go away, Nameless, and disappear from the chronicles of my new kingdom. I have a new and far more glorious sorcerer to advise me, now. The Primarch of the Thousand Sons! Go away as a tramp in the night! >>
Nor demons, neither marines. Yet, the tactics, maneuvers, strategy and wit in the Nameless' eyes, now runaway from the fortress, clearly show a sublime as perfect military maneuver. Who leads them still has a very clear military doctrine of the thirtieth millennium. A ghost, a shadow, a nemesis of pure ferocity, revenge and glory. While the terminators and marines in the wake of the giant consolidate their position on the wall, a huge company of skyclaws, regimented as is not seen by ten thousand years, launches an assault at the basilisks company, bypassing the walls and assaulting them with the support fire of their comrades. The artillery company, damned, responsible for thousands of deaths, pounding for hours death and destruction on the entire sector is overwhelmed and completely destroyed.
OST - Two Steps From Hell -- 01 Freedom Fighters [HD] [HQ] -- Invincible
<< General Daikun, I know you hear me. Remember, this was my vision. The New Ivanor, the New Istanor VII. A perfect society, the mirror of all the forces of the universe. A true democracy, where all entries, from the emperor to those of the deities of the warp would be represented. Fools! Slaves, you are slaves only able to defend the chains of your executioner. The new Ivanor. You Have unleashed these bestial demons against me, these wild beasts, but it's not enough. Already I hold the fountain pen with which I'll write the history, and you, fools, you will be thrown into oblivion. You, and all those to come, until we march on TERRA in a new, delicious as perfect light! The new Ivanor, the new Istanor ...this was my vision, and it is even now. >>
<< Bullshit Ross. History masticates us; and it will eject out, to be forgotten forever. Billions of people have died in less than a month at your hands; and those billions who still live not a hour goes by that don't curse your name, for all the suffering you've unleashed on them. You will have the damnatio memoriae. Warp beast! And in less than a century, all this will be but a faint shadow, a vague memory, a massacre among millions in this damn galaxy. >>
Who can stop now the red Devil from conquering the walls? Non praevalebunt!
The devil is at the gates. An unstoppable demon at whose feet lies in scrap the legio metalica battlegroup. Destroyed, annihilated. Men, Marines, eldars, close side by side on the walls; from the top of the battlements observe the rapid advance of this terrifying legion of Tzeentch. Magnus, at the head of the column, shining like a god, advances relentlessly, indecipherable, indefinable.
From the Royal courtyard are sent to slow the enemy's advance the fireprism grav-tanks, which overcome the walls and land in front of the gates, opening fire on the approaching deathwheel. But it's useless, it's all useless! The Deathwheel resists and comes out unscathed by the eldar fire, and advancing repeatedly strikes the Royal Palace, bringing down the few void shields still in protection of the walls.
Who can stop now the red Devil from conquering the walls? Non praevalebunt!
The devil advances, and with him his army of fearless armors. The fireprism grav-tanks are destroyed, destroyed at the foot of the walls. They are close, and closer. Torin Stormfist and other nine skyclaws activate their jump packs, while on the horizon a diabolical Lord of Change appears next the red wizard, along with dozens of flamers and other obscene horrors. The doomsday is here. The end is near.
Torin Stormfist and all the skyclaws are thrown over the wall toward the magic horde, now at the gates, followed by the tactical detachment: thirty marines and two dreadnoughts. The dark reapers, from the top of the gates, along with the space wolves light artillery, five mole mortars and three rapiers, unleash a fiery firestorm, but on the access ramp an unspeakable oblivion was released. The thousand sons and the black legion marines are fighting wildly, resisting at the support fire, the chainsaws, the bolters, the lascannons, inflicting death and destruction to their enemies, when suddenly from the sinister figure of the wizard a flash of iridescent light opens on sunburst, encircling the entire perimeter of the gates.
With the power of a million lightning, all the void shields of the fortress are wiped out, and the entire upper structure of the gate blazes of blue light, for then explode into a volcano of flames. In few terrifying moments, forty dark reapers and all the marines light artillery are completely vaporized.
The walls have fallen. At his feet, only death, at his feet, only heroes. And glory.
Who can stop now the red Devil from conquering the walls? Non praevalebunt!
Torin Stormfist, ripped in two, now little more than a human torso that drags himself on amid of a mountain of corpses, in the few seconds that are left is dazzled by a great light, glorious, that wrap the gates. An immense light, divine. A light that forces to a step back the army of Tzeentch and the red sorcerer, who don't advance. They still don't dare to enter, don't violate the sacred walls of the Hellenic, Minoan dynasty of TERRA. Non praevalebunt!
From the courtyard, a land speeders detachment arrives to hold the ground, once again, the space wolves control the gate!
The liberator, from his gloomy war room, looks angry the development of events, hitting wildly the control panel. Now all his magic circle of commanders is close to him, always at his command, always worshiping, praising his greatness, his glory, his goodness. With anger is given the order to Ebola: destroy all the Palace's defenses, the rotten Tyrant. The huge machine of death, once again, opens fire this time with the full power of his arsenal. The colossal artillery strikes on the Royal Palace, completely destroying the structure of the void shields that come invested and completely incinerated by the fire of the plasma annihilator. In the heart of the Royal Palace an immense explosion brightens up for a few moments the entire courtyard and the walls, and then come swallowed by a huge column of black smoke and bubbling explosions. The void shields generator of the Royal Palace is destroyed.
Fire! Fire! Fire!
OST - Katyusha Rockets - USSR
The detachment of manticores, for the umpteenth time, unleashes its full firepower. A salvo of missiles rising from the courtyard, a parable of death that can break this time over the central sector; and takes by surprise the traitor valkyries in the Liberator's stronghold, now under massive bombing. Three valkyries are destroyed, and the rest of the platoon retreats inside the tower of the Liberator. One after another, the forces of the liberator fall back inside the fortress, overwhelmed, defeated. And for the first time, frightened.
A miracle. While the columns of tanks of the thirteenth company begin to swarm at the gates of the black fortress' courtyard, a first, glorious ray of light penetrates the neverending night, striking directly at the heart the lost bastion. In no man's land, beyond the gates of the night from which no one can return. A miracle, immediately engulfed by thick red clouds, but a light of hope penetrates in the hearts of all the defenders. Hopepeak. Then, maybe, a hope, still exists!
Fear the Emperor Wrath. Not for Him, but for it strikes with the tears of billions of innocents and the glory of millions of heroes.
But the light, as well as cracked the dense cloud over Ivanor, quickly vanishes, plummeting the sector in the darkest darkness, a hellish night illuminated only by the glow of the explosions, the shine of the bullet and red flame of a city that burns. From the building next to the access ramp of the Astra Militarum Stronghold, a building occupied by a monstrous and horribly huge chaos spawn, a shapeless gurgling and sprawling mass that comes out as a rotten cancer from dozens of the upper windows, the traitor infantry regiment perched inside opens fire on the gray legion in advance, destroying only a few rhino tanks. The grey river is unstoppable.
<< My warriors! Strive with them! Strive with the sons of Russ! The thirteenth company needs us! Ride! Ride for Him! Ride to the glory! >> Logan Grimnar. King of Fenris.
A thunderhawk gunship, the last operating in the sector, hurtling over the Royal Palace, surpassing the Warp Palace of Tzeentch and the silver towers. A thunderhawk, carrying fifteen terminators, those who fought annihilating and resisting at the hordes of Slaanesh and Khorne next the fort of their now destroyed plasma annihilator ground cannon, and ten skyclaws. The last of the legendary defenders of the loyalist outer walls, when there were still the loyalist outer walls, now just a pile of rubble at the foot of Ebola, the rotten tyrant. That thunderhawk, and its cargo of heroes, exceeds the imperator titan, resisting the massive flak, and quickly the assault goes directly into the courtyard of the Astra Militarum Stronghold, while bestial howls bless their assault on their shoulders, vengeful screams of their lost brothers of ten thousand years ago. A few moments, the traitor vultures, sentinels and Defilers are hired into the fray. A furious close combat. Three vultures are destroyed, assaulted by the skyclaws with their jump packs. Also falls a sentinels, but thanks to the support fire of the fifty thousand sons rubric terminators, the assault is rejected. The thunderhawk is destroyed. Twenty-five dead. Twenty-five heroes. Their sacrifice managed to create another breach in the last defensive belt of the evil tower. The Devil's tower.
A hissing whisper, running in the air, made fizzy from lightning and terrifying thunders, a hissing takes power, shape and glory, riding the lightning: "the book". Flying palaces, castles and immense towers fly wrapped by the power of the storm, wrapped in mystery, magic, power. The flying Palace advances forward. It flies, bringing its huge structure over the Minoan's walls, standing menacingly in the red neverending night, and the night is tinged with blue. A terrifying lightning storm strikes upon the falcon grav-tanks, ravaging them in a terrifying fire. Ride the lightning! Magnus is here!
The Alaitoc princess observes the devastation, and with indecipherable thoughts orders at her forces, the last defenders of the Minoan house and the book, to prepare for the ultimate defense. From the massive storm serpent super heavy tank a magical glow around it, a strange and illusory prism from which, in a few moments, forty warp spiders, like mirror images appear and disappear, to teleport inside the Royal Palace. Hurry! Hurry up!
The relentless enemy advance now overwhelms the last loyalist bulwark outside the walls. The legendary devastators detachment on the avenue of Splendours is alone. Alone, on an avenue that is now the center of a cauldron on fire, the valley of death. The bersekers, from the great building next the space port raise their red blood axes and chain-swords to the red blood clouds, and launch the assault. The devastators fight like lions amid the smoldering ruins of the ordinatus armageddon. The murderers burst over the last five marines and the few tanks, all killing, all destroying. The detachment is completely obliterated. The support fire of the Warp Palace concludes the devastation.
The Avenue of Splendours. The Avenue of Splendours sings today the wonders of the underworld.
Lightning and magic, while the colors of a dead rainbow flare up alongside the Warp Palace, the wonderful Tzeentch flying machines advance towards the conquest. The Silver Towers, from the eastern square of the city high fly up, and quickly lead to the side of the warp palace, on the Avenue of Splendours: the grave of all the defenders' forces. Their circular shadow is projected on the ruins of Emundans and Ignis Divine, the two warlord titans destroyed on the ground, while their roaring flames rise against them, in an attempt to intertwine, even in death, those evil damned machines. The storm serpent grav-tank tries to intercept them, but the towers open fire, a storm of lightning bolts, scarlet rays and anathemas run wild from the towers, reducing the super heavy tank to a smoldering wreck, crashed on the walls of the Royal Palace. The hooked hand of Tzeentch is closing, chitinous and horrible, around the Royal Palace, strangling the last hopes of the defenders.
The Phantom titan moves. Now or never. With infinite agility the Titan opens fire in motion, destroying some rhino tanks of the black legion retinue joined by Magnus, while the revenant titan, standing firmly, opens fire too. But the evil and misleading magic of Magnus pervades the area. The fearsome Titans' blows are diverted, deflected. deceived by illusory images and mocking deceptions. The Phantom titan ends its movement at the gate of the castle. It is the last defense before everything collapses.
The light of the immense Royal gates fades, and with it the defenders' hope. From the Avenue of Splendours, on a carpet of debris and corpses fast forwards a decimator of Tzeentch. The super heavy tank stops at the beginning of the access ramp, and devastates the battlements already devastated of the gates. Of the six land speeders three are destroyed, falling to the ground and at the foot of the gates, piling on the mountain of wreckage and space wolves corpses killed in the recent clash. The land speeders left try to escape the fire, but the traitor leman russ tanks at the foot of Ebola move, moving in range of fire. And with a last, terrible fire the other three are swept away, leaving the gates again undefended. Death, death everywhere.
<< What the hell it means that the Royal walls isn't our? Break down the damn gate! Bring it down! Now or you all bastards will know my wrath! >> The Liberator.
The last traitor Shadowsword advances past the ruins of the north tower, and aiming the huge imperial eagle, with an unprecedented rage, makes roar its volcano cannon. The huge cannon strikes on the gates incinerating more than half of their structure. A terrifying broadside that shakes the entire structure and with it the heart of King Minos III. His home, thousands of years of history, are ready to fall.
OST - Air Raid Siren Sound Effect
King Minos III goes immediately to the holographic device, when the anti-aircraft siren sounds chilling. The air force of the black legion is above them. Now there are no more void shields to protect the Royal Palace, and for the first time the great tower, the Royal Palace is shot in its heart. A terrible bombing hits the castle, decimating the warp spiders and the guardians warhost. The holographic device briefly fibril, is about to go off, but the secondary power system supply is immediately activated. The devil is here. Almost no one dares to speak, except in rare and sporadic orders to the last few remaining forces. the dice is cast. The end is here.
Nearby the Astra Militarum Stronghold four contemptor dreadgnoughts burst among the ranks of an approaching traitor stormtroopers platoon. The traitor flak tower of the space port opens fire, but the colossal dreadgnoughts are unstoppable, The stormtroopers are decimated, and one dreadgnought falls destroyed. The latest wave of the space wolves lunges forward as the Thor's hammer, a beast create to shake the eternal fire.
With aghast eyes the traitor imperial guards perched in the building next to the access ramp see twenty scouts, the long fangs and four other contemptor Dreadnoughts of the daemon wolves legion advance rapidly and conquer the access ramp, when the long fangs detachment of Logan Grimnar march and follows them without fear in battle. The tail of the avalanche breaks into the inner courtyard of the Liberator, sweeping the last sentinels. But the finest troops of the thousand sons countercharge and at the foot of the atrocious will of the liberator a terrific battle takes place.
The fifty rubric terminators move forward and burst into the courtyard. An unstoppable column of terminators armours, wrapped in bluish flashes and sinister cries rails against the long fangs, all: demons and Astartes, while behind them an endless horde of horrors appears, flooding lightning and flames upon their opponents. The wolves are taken head on, troops of long range firepower, not ready for this brutal mêlée, and for them there is no hope. A terrible massacre takes place under the burning coal eyes of the blond giant, Saxony beast. Motionless, fearsome, a shadow of flames that from the traitor gates keeps his prey. He hunts his prey. From ten thousand years he hunts it. A great hunt ten thousand years long.
Logan Grimnar with proud gazes the black horizon in front of him, eyes of ice. He doesn't speak, from his vox device comes, among the confusion of the battle, the chant of his long fangs. Now those long fangs don't belong no more to him, each of his warriors, overcomed the iron curtain of the holocaust in center field, all his detachment near the traitor castle by hours responds to another will. A chant, a prayer that accompanies every hero of Fenris to the gates of Valhalla:
“Lo, there do I see my father. Lo, there do I see my mother, and my sisters, and my brothers. Lo, there do I see the line of my people, Back to the beginning! Lo, they do call to me. They bid me take my place among them, In the halls of Valhalla! Where the brave may live forever!” ― The Viking Prayer.
<< Down! Down! For the devil's tail hurry up! Bring it down here and now! >> The Liberator.
Pushed by the terror of their Liberator all the remaining dark forces are thrown against the gates. The coven of Slaanesh advances and embarks on their vehicles, carrying at the foot of the access ramp, and the last detachment of thousand sons also advances, embarked: a battalion ready to jump over the wall. The land raiders, the second Deathwheel and the last engine of Slaanesh together with their land transporters open fire. A terrifying and devastating bombing.
A light. Then a thunder. Like the roar of a lion. The Royal gates that hold for millennia, now are torn apart. Collapsing to the ground, they bury dozens of black legion marines during their fall. Fallen, broken, felled at the foot of Magnus the Red, who now looks over directly to the palace, but between him and his booty stands in extreme defense the blue phantom titan, that as a paladin opens in defiance its power fist against the holy beast, ready to fall, in glory, and follow the last of its race, in a glorious Death.
The stormboyz, thirty at all, are now the last bastion to defend the royal gate. With their rough jump packs the blood axes orks fly from the courtyard directly on the battlements, planting their flag with two axes on the top of the destroyed gate, as if to say that now here reigns Kundra Von Grinda, the Ork king. But the enemy is upon them.
A black legion Thunderhawk full of forty raptors flies on the gates on fire. The thunderhawk is targeted by the flak of the eldar Titans, but even before landing it releases its cargo of death against the orks, that leaping into the air with their jump packs accept the challenge. A spectacular battle rages in the air, flying and equally bloodthirsty warriors. Ignorant. The orks are decimated by the fury of the black legion Marines, but the raptors and the thunderhawk are completely destroyed by the raging support fire of the eldar troops, and the Titans behind the fallen gates. it's over. Now nothing stands in the way of the red wizard. The palace, the book and victory are there.
The powers of the warp now roar, and as a stormy sea lapping the high walls of the Royal Palace, greasy tongues, sinuous tentacles, eyes full of envy and desire, gurgle and now wrap around, exhaling from the valley of the dead under the walls, from the avenue of splendours, in a cyclone of hell, ready to swallow the palace, Ivanor and the entire planet...
...but for the second time, a light penetrates the gurgling clouds, the beast and the unheard horror. And it's a light of hope, and glory, that illuminates the evil stronghold of the Liberator. Alea iacta est.
TURN 26 - OBJECTIVES
ALLIES Stronghold:allies hand ALLIES HQ's Huge Gates:allies hand ALLIES Space port:chaos hand
CHAOS Stronghold:chaos hand CHAOS HQ's Huge Gates:chaos hand CHAOS Space port:chaos hand - 1st turn
Missiles Silos area:DESTROYED Heavy Ground cannon:DESTROYED Ground Plasma Annihilator - size chaos:allies hand - slow fire Ground Plasma Annihilator - size allies:DESTROYED Psychic tower:DESTROYED
VICTORY CONDITION: not achieved (turn 25 on. ACTIVATED)
"Without courage, all other virtues lose their meaning." Anonymous commander, Allies HQ.
OST - Tron Legacy - Soundtrack OST - 19 Arrival - Daft Punk
In the grim darkness of the far future there is only war.
<< Admiral! Admiral Sampath! The clouds above Istanor are giving! The light penetrates! The neverending night is broken! Admiral, we have to open a channel with the generals in... Admiral! Ad... >> Dart missiles in the icy void, shines away, in the dark, lascannons, and beams of unspeakable power. Burn burning ships adrift. How long he was now silent? Lieutenant Williamson, and all his crew now at their battle stations execute unspoken orders, understanding perfectly the will of their Admiral. But he is there, silent. Anchored to the seat of the supreme command, his hands fixed on the control-desk, his smoking pipe wraps him in a cloud of smoke confusing his figure, his terrible wound in his right arm no longer bleeds. He still stands, his eyes, proud and now off, look at the horizon perhaps scrutinizing a different future from this terrible Middle Ages, observing perhaps a more rightful world, more compassionate, more humane. His presence still radiates security, almost fatherly. He is dead, but by hours and still now leads the allies fleet. << Liutenant Willia... Admiral Williamson from starcruiser Ophelia to all ally generals. The clouds above Istanor are breaking. The light penetrates the planet. There is still... hope. >>
OST - Epic Action | Tom Player - Takedown (Position Music) - Epic Music VN
Quickly the lightning darts in a colored storm like a dead rainbow. Chasms swollen of magic, blasphemous horrors and entropy are summoned from the enormous staff of their prince, who at the foot of the Golden Gates, destroyed, leads them all to victory. The Greater daemon of Tzeentch protude its horrific neck forward, and with a raspy hiss the legions of hell burst beyond the walls. The golden eagle no longer shines, trampled by the feet of the traitor Astartes. Two detachments of thousand sons and one of the black legion, all devoted to Tzeentch, burst into the courtyard while the internal security siren sounds in vain. It plays for the dead, as the defenders of the walls are all fallen.
OST - Sci-Fi Sound Effect - Intruder Alert
The phantom titan opens fire, and the whole guardian warhost does the same. By now everyone are in the battlements. Logan Grimnar, Daikun, the Eldar princess, Kundra Von Grinda and the same King Minos III have shouldered their rifles, and from the Royal balcony shoot wildly on the courtyard below. King, servitors, today are all the same. Victory, or Death, for all.
The Royal courtyard becomes a boiling and luminescent hell.
Magnus the Red, Magnus the sage, Magnus the wise. His hideous magic permeates everything in the moment when the lights of a thousand illusory mirrors and the madness of hellish labyrinthine depths amass around the orb of his staff. The energy of millions of lightning shrinks inside, and it's the apocalypse. An apocalypse of light and flame, fire and death is unleashed on the courtyard, it invests the Phantom titan, the revenant titan, the last land speeders, the guardians war host and the warp spiders. Vehicles, men, Eldars, the last orks are vaporized, instantly. Crushed thier souls as their bodies, but their retaliation is fierce.
OST - Position Music - Saviour (Massive Hybrid Action)
In those brief moments, all is fire, everything is death, everything is explosion, but you can clearly distinguish the Phantom titan advance through the enemy lines, and bring havoc on dozens and dozens of marines, land raiders, rhinos. The giant escapes the Death one, two, one houndred times! It is a fleeting, elusive shadow. Its Holofield is a dance, a dance of death. Now the Titan is blazing of flames, alone. The revenant fell, around it there is only flames. And Death. And flames. It's on the verge of destruction.
Twice Magnus unleashed upon it the power of his staff, but the phantom titan, now a walking scrap, is still there. Last, immense defender, last bastion of hope. Magnus is going to turn up for the third time his staff against it when...
...the horn rang for the third and last time.
OST - Russ Horn
A gray avalanche, unstoppable. Savage, bestial. Led by a man, that became a god. For than became a man, and then an holy beast. The blond giant charge forward, followed by his two huge and ravenous wolves, behind him his terminators, and his whole legion breaks against the gates of the evil tower.
Fly up the skyclaws, forty bloodthirsty wolf-demons land on the roof of the Stronghold, slaughtering demons, traitor imperial guards, everything that walk or crawl on the roof.
The courtyard of the Astra Militarum Stronghold becomes a burning coal. Fifty rubric terminators against the whole legion are fighting fiercely, along with three Defilers, a terrifying as unspeakable clash, but that soon, very soon, comes to an end. The forces of the liberator shrivel against the Emperor's will, burning light embodied in gray howls and bestial claws that tear apart everything, everything devastate and everything destroy.
The avalanche is unstoppable, and now the blond giant is at the door of the black tower, while the last enemy forces, routed, abandon the sector. The few cameras still operating, intercepted in the war room of the Royal Palace, show for a while yet the courtyard of the Astra Militarum Stronghold, a last image, the gates that are uprooted by the demon-wolf terminators, and stamped with a kick from their king. Then, silence. The signal is lost.
After hours, endless hours of war, under unspeakable bombing, under the most ferocious destructive fury. His eyes have seen fall the black legion space ship Class Luna, to vanish in a mushroom of atomic fire, the fall of thousands soldiers on the outer walls, while these crumbled under the blows of the most awful bombing. He is alone now, in the midst of a handful of soldiers, Colonel Commissar Dietrich Von Reubenstein observes the unbeaten Emperor Titan, with huge strides, turn its backs, and escape forever from his sight, but not from his dreams. It will accompany him forever, immense as damned war machine, when the day comes to an end, in his dream. It's over. His legs give way, he sits before a fire and watches the weight of victory. Only the strenght to open his vox device:
<< Colonel Commissar Dietrich Von Reubenstein to Gen. Aristoteles Daikun and the allies HQ. The space port is ours, me and a handful of brave preside over the surrounding district. The emperor titan is leaving the sector, I repeat, The emperor titan is abandoning the battlefield. >>
OST - BSO Dracula. Track 12- The Ring Of Fire
A flash, then a spiral, then a column of vermilion smoke like an hurricane, in twisted spirals, like the gnarled arms of a hellish tree, obscene, screaming, bestial. At the speed of light the column rises up to touch the sky, impacting against the neverending night it creates a huge vortex, like the throat of the Eye of Terror. Choirs of angels and daemons, shapeless entities, souls and spirits of the dead and unborns, a primordial bubbling brew howls impious on the outskirts of Ivanor. Rise to the red and hellish sky hosannas and liturgies, while humanoid shapes crawl, giant shapes, huge skulls of wild forgotten beasts open wide their mouth, before to vanish in a curl of smoke. Ethereal claws, and thousands of anthropomorphic eyes open and close their pupils, swollen and greedy, curious of death and power; in the desire to stretch their evanescent hands in the precious, beloved, greedy Materium.They wanted this dimension, the materium, and they just lost it. Screams, shouts and damned curses, cries and anathemas, the hellish brew ride up beyond the clouds and swells, swells, swells and finally explode! With a tremendous roar, not in the materium, but in the immaterium, the entire blanket of clouds on the planet is wiped out. A divine judgment, a psychic wave that sweeps away like shadows, ghosts, illusory images all the entities of the warp that had made of Ivanor their new home. As dry leaves, like sand in the wind disappear million demons and aberrant creatures. Magnus, at the gates of the Royal Palace and its legion vanish, swallowed by a mute silence, echoing ancient chants and dark curses. The wolf demons, the blond giant, everything.
The immense psychic wave reverberates throughout the star system of Istanor VII. The spell is broken, the rite too. The liberator fell and the nightmare is over!
OST - Popol Vuh - Vergegenwärtigung (Part 3)
<< Free me! Liberator! Libera me! liberator! Libera me! >>
The thunderhawk lands in the middle of the Astra Militarum Stronghold, a fortress to purge with fire. The beeps device don't indicate any movement, the entire structure is empty. The entire structure is dead. The tactical detachment moves toward the torn doors of the castle, in the wreckage of dozens of vehicles and the corpses of a thousand imperial guards. Their bodies horribly mangled, torn, destroyed. Victims of a violence that goes beyond the mere intention of kill. Huge scratches and grooves permeate the entire structure, and yet, there is no trace of the thirteenth company, and what is even more strange, are not found even the bodies of the space wolves. Only their armor, empty. Taken away, in the warp, from their comrades of ten thousand years ago. The wrath of God fell on this fortress. The captain and the thirty marines cross the threshold, and start to climb the long stairs to the war room. In the distance, and getting stronger they start to hear a moan, closer and closer. As a desperate cry, continuous. Level after level, the Marines become more tense, when they finally arrive at the massive steel door of the war room, torn by an inhuman strength. Crossing the threshold: the horror. The Liberator is there, tied to an obscene and twisted tree that like a mushroom is born on the side of the room, a horror of chaos, now burned. The liberator is there, his arms uprooted thrown to the ground, the horrible head bowed, like a dead god with only one worshiper. And there he is, from there comes the voice, crying. The last of his commanders on the ground, arms raised toward his dead god, his master. Hosannas and cries, cries and hosannas.
<< Free me! Liberator! Libera me! liberator! Libera me! >>
...when a gust of icy wind, an icy north wind sweeps the room, throwing up maps, battle plans, and his last will among the emperor tarot. As arid and dead leaves the tarot and all the rest raised in the air as to rise from the oblivion into which they fell, for fell again all in the mud. Yet, all the tarot fall reverse on the back, leaving veiled their faces, all but one, which falls showing Its cruel grin right to the liberator: Its long scythe, Its skeletal smile, a severed head and a broken crown at Its feet, a wry grin. A long black coat, dressed in funeral. Then. Silence. A final burst of bolter silences that last, insane lament.
"All fled, all done, so lift me on the pyre; The feast is over and the lamps expire."
Oh, what a great show, that delightful ritual, in a deep abysmal cavity called Helldorado, the youngest among the lost deities sketches a sadist as wicked smile, bored, hungry and eager goddess. His champion liberator fallen from the firmament of the righteous in the pool of the damned. Another fallen knight in search of the Eldorado. The echo of his cruelty rises to the vaults of heaven, celebrating her triumph. How much unnecessary death, how impious cruelty was done to satisfy the sloth of Slaanesh and celebrate his, her triumph.
Gaily bedight, A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long, Singing a song, In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old- This knight so bold- And o'er his heart a shadow Fell as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength Failed him at length, He met a pilgrim shadow- "Shadow," said he, "Where can it be- This land of Eldorado?"
"Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride," The shade replied- "If you seek for Eldorado!"
"Eldorado" by Edgar Allan Poe
TURN 27 - OBJECTIVES
ALLIES Stronghold:allies hand ALLIES HQ's Huge Gates:allies hand ALLIES Space port:chaos hand
CHAOS Stronghold:allies hand - VICTORY CONDITION ACQUIRED! CHAOS HQ's Huge Gates:chaos hand CHAOS Space port:chaos hand - 2nd turn
Missiles Silos area:DESTROYED Heavy Ground cannon:DESTROYED Ground Plasma Annihilator - size chaos:allies hand - slow fire Ground Plasma Annihilator - size allies:DESTROYED Psychic tower:DESTROYED
VICTORY CONDITION:ACHIEVED! (turn 25 on. ACTIVATED)
