A Titan is a terrifying weapon. Even the smallest Titan towers over everything on a battlefield; their weapons are capable of levelling entire cities. But a Titan is more than just a weapon. It is a symbol of the power of the Mechanium and of its alliance with the Imperium. Often the rumour that Titans have been deployed is enough to bring a traitorous planet to heel. On a planet they are beyond compare, but in the vastness of space they are defenceless. Carried in the giant armoured transports of the Mechanium, and delivered to the surface in towering drop ships, they are transformed from gods of war into precious treasures that must be protected at all costs. They are completely dependent on the ships to deliver them safely, and on the unpredictable tides that carry them....
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Princeps Volguolal looked out from a high gantry over his charge, the Warhound Equues Gallius. He had steered his Titan for over 200 years, and since his elevation to Princeps had never known the taste of fear. He did not feel fear now, though a lesser creature might. Instead, he felt sorrow. He had a weapon capable of defeating thousands of the Emperors foes, and he would never get to use it again.
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Aurelium Glovius stood on the bridge of his Battle Barge. Through the elegant windows, he could see the bloated Mechanium transports edging through the void, their precious cargo safely contained within. Despite the inspiring view, he was not meant to be on the bridge of his flagship. He was meant to be on the surface of a world called Varlislia, repelling a Tyrannid invasion. The thought still stirred his martial pride. He could picture standing at the ridge of a blasted plain, leading the full might of the 3rd Company into the Tyrannid swarm, the mighty engines of the Legio Invicta at his back. That should be where he met his fate, not here, hanging in the vastness of space.
Aurelium was the Captain of the Ultramarines 3rd Company, and could rightfully claim to be one of the most important individuals in the Galaxy, but he had never been prideful or excessive in his glory. He felt that often his peers forgot him in their meetings; his Company often posted to long, gruelling campaigns. Aurwlium did not bemoan his lot. He was proud of his accomplishments, but always in his own subdued way.
Varlislia had changed that. As soon as he had received the message from Cassius, asking him to divert from his assigned campaign of laboriously clearly several systems of greenskins, a spark had awoken within him. Varlislia would be the moment for which he would be remembered on banners and in tales for the rest of time. This was to be the victory where he would arrive to save Calgar’s mentor Cassius, and lead the 3rd Company to defeat another Tyrannid swarm that threatened precious Ultmrar.
But Aurelium knew his dream would never come true. His end would be more fitting with his past exploits, unremarked in some forgotten corner of the Universe. Three days after departing from their previous course, the fleet of Space Marines and Mechanium transports had entered some violent warp storms. This was not usual, so they had pressed on. On the fifth day they unexpectedly dropped out of the warp. All attempts to restart the engines, or communicate proved futile. Like the sailors of old, bereft of wind, an impressive show of Imperial force was left useless, light-years from any known Imperial system. If they could not return to warp speed, they would be forced to point their ships towards the nearest Imperial system, calculate where it would be in the thousands of years it would take to get there, and wait for the passing of time to waste their lives away. Aurelium could picture the confusion on the small Imperial trading world when his mighty armada swept slowly into orbit; all they would find within would be the dust of his men, still waiting inside their armour for battle that was denied to them by a cruel twist of fate.
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For a ghost ship, there was a surprising amount of activity on the transport. Once the implications of their situation had become clear, Volguolal had lent his aid to the overseer of the ship in helping to suppress the small groups of serfs who had gone mad at the thought of wasting away in the void. There was much to be done in order to prepare the vessel, and its contents, for surviving a long journey without proper supervision. Power was being rerouted to the shields and impulse drives, non-essential systems were being shut down, restless and irrelevant crew were being broken down to add to the oil reserves. Volguolal had decided that once the preparations were complete, he and his crew would board the Equues Gallius to await their fate. As he took a final look down on his engine, a serf bounded towards him, knocking crates across the deck. Volguolal reached for his sidearm to discipline this wretch, but the serf threw himself at Volguolal’s feet, ‘Please, my lord, they have found something. You are required on the bridge immediately’.
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Aurelium looked at the sensor readings again. The pilot of the scout was right; there was a large object in their path. He had despatched scouts as soon as they had unexpectedly transited from the warp, and now, a week later, the last one had returned. Once clear of the Imperial fleet, the sensors on the scout had managed to get much more accurate readings on the path ahead. This area of space did not appear to be charted on any of Aurelium’s maps, so he had planned to use the data to construct the most efficient course for the fleet to take back to habited space. What he had not expected was a gravity field, reminiscent of a planet, to be a mere three days journey away.
His hearts were racing, could this offer some hope of salvation from their accursed situation? Aurelium had decided to restrict the circulation of the information. There had been enough trouble with the mortal crews already, to raise their hopes and dash them again would lead to more tiresome interventions. He turned to the steersman, ‘Make course for the centre of this disturbance, full power to the engines and make preparations for a ground assault.’
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The fleet hung motionless above a sand coloured orb. It seemed to be a planet, but thick dust storms obscured the surface, and they could get no accurate sensor readings on the structure of the planet. However, Aurelium had all he needed. There was a spike of energy coming from the surface. He would bet the lives of all his men that it had something to do with their inability to re-enter the warp. Fortunately, as their Captain, he was completely entitled to do just that.
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Cavitum used the filters on the visor of his terminator armour to look through the thick dust that swirled around them. He and the other veterans had teleported on some raised areas a short distance from the centre of the energy spike. The rest of the Ultramarines and two of the Legio Invicta Warhounds were deploying slightly further away and advancing across the dunes. The Princeps had been quite adamant that they would be joining this reconnaissance, despite the risk to their engines of entering unknown terrain. Cavitum looked around again; there was something oddly familiar about where he was standing. They were not standing on a line of hills; this was some sort of structure. His intercom beeped with a message from one of the scout teams now converging on their position,
‘In the name of the Emperor, how did they get here’,
‘This is Cavitum, speak clearly brother’,
‘Cavitum, look around you, you are standing on an Imperial hab block!’,
He literally took a step back in surprise, and as he did he disturbed the sand beneath his feet to reveal the unmistakable detail of the wings of an Imperial Eagle.....
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Aurelium could hear the vox-net erupting between the squads of his force as yet more Imperial structures were discovered. He was travelling with several tactical squads in the centre of the formation which was converging on the energy source. As they approached a building, it was clear to Aurelium that his brothers were correct. It was unmistakably a standard Imperial hab structure of the pre-fabricated type often used by Imperial settlers. But, what was also unmistakable were the chunks of masonry missing, and the blast marks on the walls,
‘To all units, ready weapons, we are walking into a trap.’
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As Volguolal heard the Astartes’ message over the vox, he saw sparks of light flaring in the swirling dust. He edged the Warhound forwards towards the wizened stumps of some trees. The lights flared again, and for a moment the dust cleared away, allowing him to see about a kilometre into the distance. He saw the desert churning, as metal forms raised themselves out of the sand, while with surges of lightning, more strange shapes appeared, hovering over the desert surface. Towering over all of them was a burning light. It looked like an impossibility, but as it flickered in and out of his gaze, Volguolal could clearly make out flowing golden robes flowing behind an alien body. It was entrancing, and Volguolal found himself forgetting the desert around him, and the metal forms approaching the feet of his Titan, when a blaze of lightning leapt from the creature’s outstretch hand and into the astartes scouts that were protecting his flank. The lightning ripped through them and sent them scurrying for cover. The spell broken, Volguolal grimaced in anger at being fooled by the xenos trick. He didn’t know what these things were, although he had heard tales of similar abominations, but would not rest until they were stopped. He compelled the Titan forwards, and trained all its weapons on the closest group of enemy skimmers. In a cloud of plasma and mega-bolter shells, the enemy, machines just ceased to exist, the wreckage disappearing from the surface of the shifting sands.
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Aurelium had also seen the creatures attack, but he knew what they were. From the briefings on the Damos encounter, he now knew that they were facing Necrons. He was now convinced that the energy spike was what was trapping them here, and also what had bought them, and likely the unfortunate settlers too, here into the Necron trap. He was no settler though, and these Necrons would rue the day they trapped his fleet and denied him his dream. All around him, his forces were moving to engage the foe, a whirlwind battery sent volley after volley into the approaching Necrons, while a second Warhound bounded towards some sort of giant pylon. As it rose from the sands, it was obviously rusted with age, but it was slowly swinging a giant arc around to meet the charging Warhound. The Warhound leapt onto a cliff to dodge the focus of the arc, and just as the pylon started to glow with energy, it send a hail of mega-bolter shells into some crystalline structures at the base of the arc. The energy flowed out of the pylon, but yet more Necrons were rising from the sands. Aurelium commanded the terminators to head towards the source of the energy, they had to destroy it quickly before the tomb awoke and overwhelmed them.
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Volguolal turned the Titan and ran to hide it behind one of the larger habs. He had been surrounded by a swarm of xenos mounted on floating platforms, and their unworldly weapons had made a mockery of his armour. Several critical systems were damaged, and without support withdrawl was the only option. He watched in dismay as the horde of skimmer men swept down upon the astartes commander.
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Aurelium steadied his men, the Warhound had retreated to lick its wounds and now the destroyers were headed straight for his tactical squads. Bringing their rhinos up in a defensive formation, Aurelium readied his bolter and took aim. Overhead, a formation of Imperial flyers swept down once more to scatter the approaching horde. This might not be Varlislia, but Aurelium felt content if this was to be his fate. At least he would die facing down the Emperor’s foes.
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Cavitum approached the alien structure. It appeared to be a series of small, interlocking pyramids, but at the front, a mass of crystals created a swirling vortex of energy. This must surely be the entrance to the tomb and the source of the energy that had becalmed the fleet. Cavitum ordered the terminators forward. They had to get to the structure and plant the homing beacon so that a melta torpedo from their Battle Barge could annihilate this whole area. As he put his foot on the first step of the pyramids, metal figures began to emerge from the vortex in a last ditch defence of their tomb. Cavitum and the terminators charged, smashing the skeletal figures aside. More and more emerged, but the power of the terminator’s weapons was too much for them to self-repair, so more and more Necrons disappeared in blinks of light. As they melted away before him, Cavitum activated the homing beacon and placed it on the structure, and in a flash, the terminators were teleported back to orbit.
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The destroyers had swept in with a ferocious assault, destroying a rhino and cutting down a combat squad, but now the concentrated fire of the marines was giving them the upper hand, and their heavy weapons were taking a vicious toll on the destroyers. As Aurelium approached their leader, his sword held high in challenge, the Necron Lord stared at him, paused for an instant, then turned and fled back into the swirling dust, taking the few survivors with him.
‘Beacon planted, torpedo eta two minutes. Time to leave brothers. Cavitum out’,
This was all the encouragement Aurelium needed to leave the battle. The Necrons were in disarray and the beacon had been planted. All they needed to do now was return to orbit and see if their plan had worked. As the Thunderhawks swept in to retrieve them, Aurelium heard a thunderous roar, and saw the whole dust cloud light up. The flickering figure of the xenos god howled in anger, as the Imperials blasted off the surface of his rusting planet.
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A fine layer of sand covered the whole of the bridge, Aurelium and his commanders had rushed straight there upon their return, not caring for the serfs who would spend the rest of their lives cleaning sand out of the ship. The head navigator was there to greet them,
‘The light of the Astronomican is clear once more my Captain, we are preparing to re-enter the Great Ocean’,
‘Do so at once, nobile, we have a planet to save’.
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