The Defense of Black Vault 006

\*EDITOR'S NOTE: I may add something to this, but consider this a collection of P.O.V.s from everyone in the Chapter. Meaning whomever wishes to, may add some event during the story's telling, until someone decides to bring an end with our potential victory (or defeat! Oh noes!)

*Written in this data log is the accounts and events of the battle for O'Magudnis and the dreaded and heavily guarded Black vault #006. A legion's worth of ships had invaded the system in which the Chapter's home world resides. Orks, Dark Eldar, Chaos Deamons, and Traitor Astartes of the Chaos God Slaneesh, had come to pillage the world, its monastery and all of the Golden Age artifacts gathered thus-far. With the much needed aid from the stalwart allies of the chapter: the Space Wolves, the Raven Guard, and the Imperial Fist........ And...... \*groans heavily\* the FUCKING. SMURFS.... The Ultra Marines - BUT ONLY BECAUSE THE ADMINUSTRATUM ORDERED IT. NOT BECAUSE WE **WANTED** THEM. **GOT IT!?!?!***

*This is our story. Read on, and learn well.*

### *In a cathedral beneath the earth, fires are lit.*

McFien surveyed his domain, and drank. His garage was not unlike a cathedral of Old Terra. High vaulted ceiling, massive, trunk-like columns recessed into the walls. He could hear the far distant hum of ventilation fans taking smoke up from the highest reaches of the vault. He did not look at the fires below. He brought a flask to his lips, and let the hot honey of amasec slither down his throat. The burn hit his chest, sending fingers of warmth through his body. He shivered. Even with the press of the fires, his body still felt cold.The amasec helped.

Something *murred* near his head, and needle-sharp claws laced up his back. Mittens weighed over twenty pounds, and McFien's knees shook as the feline perched across his shoulders.

*Murr?*

"Nae."

*MURrrrr*

"Nae a feckin' chance, fuzzy."

A heavy paw *whapped* against McFien's chest. As he coughed, McFien felt a tickle at the back of his mind, a flare in the dust and calm of his consciousness. It grew into a brightness, a dawn lighting in the core of his being, shaking loose the aches and cobwebs.

*Murr?*

"Feckin' Xeno cat. Could hae got a normal pet." McFien kicked off the wall, shrugging his way towards the fires.

The mechanics had set fires down the long axis of the garage, so as to stave off the cold, and give some light. What war vehicles hadn't already been deployed or transferred elsewhere sat lined up along the walls, giving many a solid tank or personnel carrier to lean up against. The far gate to the garage was covered by rather more functional versions. He could see the distant flickers of Chapter Astartes milling around the tanks and turrets in the distance. They'd been so surprised to see a Mastodon tank waiting to guard the garage, engine roaring and guns gleaming. The door would hold, McFien thought. They could plug the hole with the Mastodon, and take the day off.

As he neared the fires, McFien could see that like grouped with like even here. PDF huddled among their own, and Astartes with theirs. Mechanics buzzed everywhere, some tending the fires with rubbish, others stripping and repairing weapons wherever they lay. A squad of greasy overalls had swarmed over a Terminator Marine. They appeared to be wrenching a jagged spike from the armour. A nasty looking job, McFien thought as he passed. The glimmer in the back of his mind surged to brightness, and he stopped. It was so obvious.

"Left oblique pressure seal, lads. Ease th' pressure, ur tha' spike's nae comin' ou'."

The technicians gave him a stunned look, and busied with the task. Sure enough, he heard the sound of whistling air as the armour gave up the pressure difference, and the men drew the spike loose. A quick look back told McFien that the length removed was slick with blood. The Astarte's jaw tightened to the point of breaking, but he gave no note of pain.

McFien marched up to a PDF colonel, and suppressing a reflex instinct to kick him in the shins, demanded a report.

"Generators are still down, sir - *Master*, sorry. Word is the Citadel's unbreached, but the outer walls are hit hard. We still don't know how they got *under* us. Seems like most of the action's on the other side of the fortress, near the Vaults. Damn impressive of you - organizing the garages as a fall back position. I know the men appreciate it."

McFien did not ask the man how he knew of the supposedly secret chambers beneath the fortress, but chalked it up to rank and rumor.

"We need medics, Colonel. An' heat. We're a coople hunder meters belaw groun' haur. It's gonna git damn cold if we do nae gie th' generators runnin' soon - "

McFien snapped his fingers at the nearest technician.

"Lad! Fin' Seamus. Teel heem tae link up th' super heavy engines we're nae usin' tae th' garage power main. We're gonna brin' th' lights oan oorselves." Easy, terribly easy. Why hadn't he thought of that earlier? Why hadn't anyone thought of that hours ago? Mittens nuzzled his neck lazily.

"Master McFien! That's in violation of protocol, and a waste of fuel. You can't hold that out for more than a few hours." The colonel turned a shade of indignant bruised red that McFien hadn't seen in a long time. He took the moment to appreciate the stupidity of it all.

"Calm yerself, Colonel. In a while, th' Terminator squads will hae th' generators runnin' loch a miracle, an' it'll aw be braw. In th' mean time, we're freezin' uir tackle aff doon haur, an' it's makin' everyone aroond feel damned uneasy. Sae tak' a breath... an' sit th' feck doon an' lit me dae mah job." In a display of startling synchronicity, one of the larger and more obviously impatient mechanics layed a hand on the colonel's shoulder, and *oh so gently* guided him to a seat near the fire.

"Good lad, Tommy!" McFien called, and marched his way across his garage. He had people to yell at, recaff to dose with amasec, and lives to save. And the day had just begun. Lights began to come on, all across the garage, to a general roar of approval. He could feel the air begin to warm in gusts from the vents. Without thinking, he put a hand up by his shoulder and began to rub Mittens behind the ears. It purred smoothly, like a clean engine, and McFien was certain he had it all under control. Then the air shuddered with a *BOOM* that ruffled his overalls, and someone yelled *ORKS!*

 McFien sighed tiredly. Nearly. He had it *nearly* all under control.

### ***Inside a war tent, located at the Rolling Green Hills, South of the Vault Monastery***

Madness: this would be the correct word to use for this grand siege. So mad, it made Maximus Omar look sane, and ***that*** was saying something. It happened so fast; first was just the silence of the void - of endless space beyond the planet. Then, by the rightfully shocked reaction of Ms. Forescythe, a legion's worth of enemy hostiles appeared on their RADARS: Orks, Dark Eldar, Deamons and Traitors of Slaneesh. It felt random to everyone, at first. Nearly half of these enemies would be at each others' throats, yet now they fight as one, and strike the home world of the Cardinal Archivists, planet O'Magudnis. They pushed forward, attacking the fleet patrolling the planet from orbit, and then the enemy creates a hole in their defenses, and fire drop-pods planet-side, invading while their fleet remains. But the fleet itself isn't attacking. It was stalling for something. Something else...

To some, this attack was unexpected. But to Maximus, this was planned and carefully calculated. The lessons he learned as an Inquisitor could not be so easily forgotten. "Know thine enemy and their intentions", was what his master taught him. They weren't just attacking the Vault, and they weren't just planning to loot everything either. No, much worse... They sought the Black Vault. Black Vault #006, specifically, it is the one containment facility on the planet, and it is filled with so much dangerous and accursed forms of Human media and entertainment, that the main H.Q. of the Chapter became its soul keepers and protectors. It was only once in his early life as an Astartes that Maximus Omar was shown such a terrible place. It was part of his initiation as a High Captain, and promotion to Special Operations. After, he prayed every night to the Emperor before rest that he would NEVER set direct foot in there, no matter how much it would be needed to. Now, the enemies of Man seek to fling its doors ajar, and take what they were never to have.

'Sigh' the Mad Captain sighs within his mind, 'Even with the advanced warning, there was barely enough time to prepare.' Maximus looks upon a map while standing over a large table. The Orks, as expected, came barreling in first via Roks. Crude, but effective drop pods that they stuff themselves in. It didn't matter if half of them died on impact, so long as they get to destroy someone or something in the process. Then, the Dark Eldar followed behind, followed by Traitors and a dozens of platoons' worth of deamonettes. All near-by cities were evacuated to underground bunkers, first and foremost. The Orks' number pressed hard, but Hans and the supporting Imperial Fists have kept their swell of numbers at bay. But now he was getting reports from his scouts that the Orks' were currently digging below ground, attempting to strike from below. 'McFien, Emperor be with you and your ilk.' Maximus prayed.

The Raven Guard and the Space Wolves would arrive in three days' time. The former expressing their absolute oath to arrive post-haste, and the later not even responding after communication and relaying of the situation was passed on. in fact, four companies had been reported to have just risen from their previous positions, and set course through the warp to O'Magudnis. The Fair Lady had always left an impression on them both. "Captain Omar, sir!" yelled a marine, a subordinate to Omar's squad.

"Report, captain. Word from the High Lords via the Vault's Comm. Station?"

"Yes sir! The Lords of Terra recognize our situation, and have ordered more support to arrive to our planet."

"Good. Will the Sisters of Battle arrive within the week?"

"Ah... No sir. The Sisters of Battle will not be present, I'm afraid."

That was odd. The Sisters are usually helpful towards the Chapter. Maximus asks again.

"Then will the Adeptus Mechanicus lend one of their Ordinatus again?"

"No sir. Not them either."

"The Salamanders?"

"No, sir."

"The Blood Angels, then?"

"No..."

"Not... Not even the Grey Knights?"

"Fortunately, and yet unfortunately, no, sir."

'So if they weren't sending any of our previous allies in battle, and not even the Inquisition's forces, then who are they-?

'O, Holly Emperor of Mankind, no... Not *them!*' Thought Maximus. He knew now *exactly* who was to arrive. This **had** to be by the Inquisition in some shape or form. Of course, they were obligated to help, given his and the chapter's contributions, but it was no secret that they held no real love for the Cardinal Archivists. Maximus recognized the pained look on the subordinate's face, hoping to not say it to his face. There was no escaping the hive tyrant in the room, however.

"Brother. Just. Say it."

"Sir. By the order of the High Lords of Terra, with the support of the Inquisition, the "Smurfs", also known as the Ultra Marines, will be arriving within 24 hours. I am sorry sir."

Maximus powered up his prosthetic power fist and breaks the table and tears the map in half. The **FUCKING** smurfs. Of course! What joy there was to have *them* around. Maximus clenches the bridge of his nose with his normal hand. "Get me a new table and map, and then return to your duties. Dismissed." The marine salutes and leaves the tent. More stress was the last thing Maximus needed, but now the Ultra Marines will be adding to it soon enough. The so called "poster boys" of the Imperium, the Ultra Marines follow the Codex Astartes to the letter, and maintain uniform perfection. Unfortunately for them, not everyone felt walking a straight line and charging in with bells and whistle (at least the ones that didn't blow people up) seldom acted as strategic advantage. They were often in quiet conflict with the Cardinal Archivists, with only the Raven Guard and Space Wolves acting as buffers to their ire. Nevertheless, their records - though debatable at best - showed clear signs of success. That didn't mean anyone here had to like it, of course. Emperor knows how the Lord and Lady are reacting to the news right now.

"Either Lady Snipe is breaking things with her hammer, with Procnir tearing furniture up, or Lord Wib is bending spoons into inconceivable dimensions right now. Heh, possibly all at once." Maximus chuckles sofly.

"Captain Omar."

A voice calls over the astarte's comm. link. He holds his index to his temple over his epidermal implant device.

"Forge Master Kinwrath. Any news on the bikes?"

"Affirmative. I'm glad we had this done before hand, or I'd be forced to have made some sacrifices to the design. You always come up with interesting suggestions, Captain Omar."

"Well, you know how the saying goes: "Variety is the spice of life"!

"Indeed. I'm sure you will bring out such variety quite well today. Emperor be with you, Captain Omar."

"And also with you, Forge Master."

The link disconnects. From the North, Thunder Hawks fly over to the camp and land in the center. The door ramps of the ships lower down and slam on the grassy earth. The sound of engines echoed from the ships, and one by one, several war bikes roll off and out of the ship and drive into formation. What made these bikes special was their modifications. Each bike, from solo seat to duo seats, had below them retractable mounted buzz saws beneath. It took some time to develop and test, but the Forge Master, at the suggestion of the Spec. Ops. captain, created the first war bike, model type "Blender". Essentially, anything within five feet of the side of the bike would be dismembered from the knee up, leaving nothing but crawling torsos. Not necessarily an orthodox assult vehicle, but that wasn't their purpose today.

While the Orks dug below, the other half of the horde pushes above ground, with the deamons and Dark Eldar riding their dirty coattails to the under-monastery. So, Maximus took it upon himself, along with his team, to disrupt the green skins' advance, buying time for reinforcements to arrive. Afterall, it would difficult to run to your target without legs. A wry smile made its way across the Mad man's face.

"Alright Brothers! We have our rides, so now its time to prepare. Board your bikes, arm your plasma weapons, check your melta guns, and everything that can explode louder than a Terran Grand Ball's fireworks display!"

"And before we go, a question for you all: "WILL IT BLEND!?" yelled Maximus.

"LET'S FIND OUT!!!" answered his subordinates. All of the astartes present boarded their vehicles and turned on their engines, bringing their metal steads to life. They each hook up plasma cannons to add to the pain of which they will inflict. Ah yes, plasma weapons. A known weakness and preferred weapon of Captain Omar's. The way they melted hull and flesh, the searing heat they create from the gun when fired, and the absolute destruction the plasma itself leaves behind. To others it was terrifying, but to Maximus it was poetry in motion.

When he returned to his tent, a new table and map were present now. And someone else...

"Lavias, Mile'Ionahd. Still reckless and mad as ever?"

"Alyma. Near and unseen as always? You keep popping up like this, and dear Hans will throw a fit, for sure."

"That "dragon" of yours? Oh, but you know I enjoy watching him huff and puff clouds of anger. It's so cute!"

"I'm sorry, but did you just call an astartes in terminator armor "cute"?"

"Indeed. Though cute as he is in his fits, I have to say he's not as handsome as you. Must be the eye."

"Oh, hohohoho!" Maximus laughs. But after, he returns to a more serious face. "Report?"

"The Dark Eldar and the Chaos space marines are working together, unsurprisingly. The Ork Waagh had been antagonized by them. They're just another blunt instrument to break into your forbidden vault. But that's not the worse part."

"It never is. So what is it?"

"From my reconnaissance, the Dark Eldar are going to help the deamons create a warp gate to bring the enemy fleet into the planet's atmosphere and bombard the surface, bypassing your fleet above. The horde's push to your home with the help of the Emperor's Children is to give them time to complete it. The estimated time to successful execution of the ritual: seventy-two hours at best, forty-eight hours at most."

Maximus slicks back his brunette hair in duress. Magik; a genuine pain in the progenoids. Never mind fighting fair when it comes to the etiquette of warfare, and never mind the hordes of warp-spawn pouring out of the immaterium. Now, they have to deal with a potential short-cut the enemy will use to knock on their damned doorstep. This day was just going down hill further. It almost made Maximus feel ike his actions here were pointless. Almost.

"There is one last thing I have for you."

"And that is?"

"A message. From the Farseer."

The post-human's hearts skipped a beat. Space Marines know no fear. That doesn't mean that can't feel at all, however. A mix of emotions start to flow around his mind: happiness, sadness, regret, hope. His power fist tightens, and he can't help but look over his shoulder to see if anyone was within ear shot. Finally, he breathes in deeply, eyes shut.

"Alright. Do what you must."

Alyma, the Shadow Warrior and messenger to the "North Star" craft-world, bows to the astartes in respect. Maximus kneels before her, and she in turn walks up to him. Both hands cupping the man's large head, gentle and kind, and her forehead slowly moving to his head. When they meet, Maximus is taken to another world.

The Warp. Long ago, it was known as the Realm of Souls, but countless conflicts of unfathomable chaos and death rendered it corrupt, creating now a consistent storm of discord and madness. It was the home of all things Chaos, as well as the Chaos Gods. But there were still some small parts that remained safe every so often. Maximus was brought here by the Eldar through a psychic link while he left his body behind. Alyma would act as a bridge for him while he remained. Where he was, Maximus could not say for certain. What he saw was vibrant colors, but what he felt made him feel like he was here before. Not so much the place itself, but rather the "moment". The moment when he was the most happy. He knew it already, however.

Before him stood a female Eldar, with hair red as the solar flares of the sun, and her eyes shined with a mix of crystal white and blue sky. Her outfit depicted an Eldar Farseer, and a leader. This was not just any Eldar, however. This was Alryna.

"Lavais, j'in lir." Her words echo, yet her mouth does not move.

"Lavais, j'in ra." Maximus replies. He moves forward and reaches his hand out to her. As she does the same, the armor around his real hand shatters like glass and scatters around, allowing his fingers to lace between her's. It felt so real, despite the truth that it isn't. The moment lingers, both savoring the feeling.

\**in Eldar*\* "Maximus. I'm glad you listened to my warning."

\**in Eldar*\* "Don't I always listen to you? A voice as gentle as yours is hard to ignore."

\*" Hmmm. You're one of the few who do listen, sadly. My people hardly ever pay attention to preventable doom and destruction, apart from the ones I lead, that is."

\*"I know... Thank you."

The Eldar Farseer looks away while holding his hand tighter. The hardest part of being an Astartes, is trying to remember how to comfort others. This was as close as he could get, regretably. So much he could do, yet so little at the same time. He breaks the silence,

\*"I know you want to help more. But you must not. You'd be risking your life and your craft-world. There's no way the other chapters, much less the Inquisition, would allow it."

\*"I know. It's not that. It is... J'in lir?"

\*"Yes?"

\*"I saw you... In the Weave of Life-"

\*"Did I die serving the Emperor, then?"

\*"J'in lir! Speak not in such manor. Your life-!"

\*"Is in service to my Chapter and my Emperor, j'in ra. Only in death do I fulfill my duty. That won't change, for certain."

\*"Please! Just listen. For one more moment, before you go." Her eyes showed great worry. Farseers see the lives of all things begin and end nearly every day. It was not often good, but it was a powerful tool to have. Maximus felt that time was short now, so he remained silent, closing his eyes and nodding to her. He kneels before her, eye-to-eye. She cups her hands around his head, and closes her eyes as she nears his face. She whispers,

"Fight for your people. But live. Live j'in lir. Live and keep living. Please; for yourself; for me." Her lips reaches his, and then a flash of light. Back to the real world, Maximus was now alone in his tent. Alyma had left without a trace. There was one last thing to do now.

Maximus and his men look below the hills from where they were situated. Orks and Traitors among the masses marched onward, polluting the earth with their filth in a crowded mass. Good. He wanted to be sure he would get as many as possible. Maximus takes his helmet and puts it on: a Corvus model, followed by his modified Corvus model armor, with Errant model plating and neck guard, specially designed to allow his helmet's nose to fit around it. Everyone loves beakies, after all! He thrusts his power fist into the air and shouts to his brothers, lightining crackling between his knuckles,

"For the Lord and Lady!"

"And the Emperor!!!"

Maximus and his squad of brave, and perhaps equally mad, battle brothers ride their bikes down hill, with the roar of their metal steeds reaching the ears of their foes. What came after was like watching a thresher to wheat; Orks, deamons, Dark Eldar and traitors being chopped and sliced to mince meat. None were spared in their merciless suprise attack. For every one he killed, Maximus made sure to either back-hand or crush the head of his victims, with his giant metallic power fist. Plasma and melta fire added more to the confusion and damage, burning and melting the flesh and steel of the invaders to the bone and wires. Back and forth, from left to right, like a pendulum, Maxmimus and his men would thin the herd. Still, there would be a lot of bodies to cut through before the week ended. No matter. No other way an Astartes would have it!