13th Black Crusade - The Siege of Cadia Secundus: At an unseen signal, bright sparks marred the brooding silhouettes of the Black Fleet. With a thunderous roar, the first bombardment wave hammered past the descending drop-ships -- heralds of death for the slaughter to come.The bedrock of Cadia Secundus, already battered from the first invasion by the Forces of Chaos, churned anew beneath a storm of Macrocannons, Melta Torpedoes and hellfire. Void Shields buckled under the implacable storm, Skyshields crackled. Some held, others collapsed in bursts of brilliant light, secondary explosions coming close behind as the barrage swept the stones behind clean of life.Outbound fire blazed from the bastions of Kasr Kraf, the fortress' Defence Lasers and Skyfire batteries scouring the heavens for incoming drop-ships. Most fired blind, but accuracy mattered little -- the Despoiler's forces swarmed like flies come to a feast.West of Kasr Kraf, the macro batteries of Kasr Stark roared one last time, the bellow of the guns consumed by a deafening thunder-crack as a Melta Torpedo pierced the subterranean magazine. To the north, the wreck of the Sword of Defiance roared a broadside into the skies, the spread of cannon-fire destroying a skull-prowed drop-ship and sending its Heldrake escorts pinwheeling away. Valkyrie gunships of Clavin Strekka's Howling 119th Regiment screamed into pre-arranged clear-fire corridors between salvoes, then broke away across the furious skies, braving fire and counterfire as they hunted their prey. Across the redoubts of Cadia Secundus, anxious hearts prayed that the foe's nerve would break, that the siege would be won in the skies and not upon the walls of Kasr Kraf and its outliers.Such was a vain hope. The drop-ships were too many, and the defences too few. The southernmost spur of Kasr Kraf's Martyr's Rampart shattered as its Void Shields failed. Fresh salvoes crashed home to exploit the weakness, unseating guns the size of hab-blocks and burying hundreds beneath charred rubble. Creed saw the destruction, and sent orders for the survivors to withdraw. Kasr Kraf yet had three unbreached and thinly-defended curtain walls about its central keep. There was no sense in losing lives in a wasteland when fortifications cried out for defenders.At once, the Cadian defenders abandoned the Martyr's Rampart, risking the bombardment's fury to reach the comparative shelter of Kasr Kraf. Fortune abandoned hundreds in that hour. Soon the churned field between the southern rampart and first curtain wall was a field of smouldering wrecks and scorched corpses. But for every stalwart soul who perished, another four reached the outer curtain. Officers bellowed instructions, and the survivors rallied to fresh defences. Only the Black Templars made no move to retreat. Marshal Amalrich spat on Creed's orders. He had chosen his ground, and would defend it to the last.As the drop-ships closed for final approach, their Heldrake escorts peeled away, strafing the ramparts of Kasr Kraf and the makeshift redoubts of the Shrine of Saint Morrican. A new sound filled the air -- a shrill wail like sinners burning in the fires of damnation, but multiplied ten thousand times over. Seconds later, the first Dreadclaw slammed onto the walls of Kasr Kraf. Ramps crashed down, disgorging warriors of the Word Bearers and the Alpha Legion into the heart of Creed's defences. At first, the massed volleys of the Astra Militarum defenders drove the invaders back. But then blasphemous icons rose high into air choked with smoke and dying screams. The fabric of reality cracked, and howling daemons joined the fray.Everywhere the tale was the same, the roar of Traitors' Bolters joined by the bellowed battle-cries of blood-slicked daemonkin. Gun emplacements fell from within even as they traded fire with the foe, their defenders torn apart by hellblade and claw. Some platoons, stricken with terror, threw down their arms and fled. Most fought and died to the last, urged on by the fiery sermons of their Adeptus Ministorum priests, their resolve stiffened by the certainty that there was no escape in this hour. In that bloody charnel, a soldier's only freedom was to choose how he died; most clutched their weapons tight, and met their doom with defiance.Nowhere in that initial onslaught was the fighting harder than the Shrine of Saint Morrican. The tang of the Sisters of Battle's faith was both irresistible and anathema to the rampant daemons, and the lure of it goaded them time and again onto that ground. But alone perhaps of those who fought that day, the Order of Our Martyred Lady never wavered, never took a backward step. Under the twin gazes of Canonesses Genevieve and Eleanor, they met the yowling horde with Bolter and holy flame, driving all taint from the walls of the shrine. For those who watched the embattled walls of Kasr Kraf, it seemed that the smoke-spume of war found no purchase on the Shrine of Saint Morrican, driven back by the golden light dancing about its spires.To the east, the first landing craft touched down in the cratered valleys. Daemon-possessed war engines rumbled across the broken ground, driving hard for Kasr Kraf's eastern curtain walls. Battle Cannons roared from concealed emplacements as the tanks of the Cadian 252nd opened fire. The Black Legion spearhead disintegrated in a tangled mass of metal and corrupted flesh, but theirs was a tide without end. Chaos Baneblades rumbled on, their treads crushing the wreckage of their forerunners, their shells hammering at the curtain wall. With a mighty rumble, the eastern outer wall partially collapsed, the rubble crushing three squadrons of Leman Russ Tanks. Their growling engines drowning out the roars of victory, a swarm of skull-bedecked Chaos Rhinos broke cover from behind the mighty Baneblades and drove hard for the newly-formed breach.Far to the north, the patchwork defences of Kasr Jark shuddered beneath the shell-fire of an Iron Warriors siege battery upon the Kolarak Plains. Unwilling to wallow behind the walls, Orven Highfell ordered his brothers to their transports. Warsmith Krom Gat had come prepared for a counter-assault, having fortified his position with drop-bastions and lines of cursed aegis designed to slow any attacker long enough to bring the big guns to bear. But caution had never been Highfell's way, and no spawn of the daemon-forges would stay the fury of the Fenris-born. Sweeping aside all in their path, the Ironwolves descended into Krom Gat's citadel, using its own trenches and bastions as cover against the raging artillery.Hours passed. Solar Days. Still the battle raged. Some defenders seized what snatches of sleep they could in the fighting's sparse lulls and the hush that fell between the bombardments. Most remained awake, pushing health and sanity to their limits with whatever chems they could scrounge, rather than suffer the nightmares blowing like the wind over Cadia Secundus.The walls of Kasr Kraf were swept clear, only to come under fresh assault from the horrors of the Warp. Kasr Jark, so lately saved from Krom Gat's bombardment, perished at the infernal sorceries of Elek Stane's Cyclopia Cabal. Three times did the blood-mad Berzerkers of the World Eaters hurl themselves at the Sword of Defiance's wreck. Three times did Master Korahael rally the Battle-Brothers of the Dark Angels' 4th Company. Three times were the scions of Khorne hurled bloodily back, only for their feral chant to rise again in the darkness beyond the Cruiser's crumpled hull.They came again as night fell, a pack of howling beasts in blood-red ceramite across the eastern rise. The survivors of the Dark Angels' 4th Company no longer needed Master Korahael's instruction. Forty Battle-Brothers halted, forming a double ring about the tattered company standard. Bolters roared defance. The searing hiss of plasma crackled through still air."Blood for the Blood God!"The first wave never reached the 4th, their broken bodies hurled back into the darkness by the disciplined Sons of the Lion. The fate of all Traitors. The second wave, lost to madness, surged over the bodies of the slain."For the Lion, and for the Emperor!"Korahael levelled his Plasma Pistol. The shot took a snarling Berzerker in the chest. The brute took two more steps, then dropped, limbs twitching. The first Flamers fired, gouting bright Promethium into the night. Fresh notes of pain sounded amongst the fury.An incensed Berzerker, his armour ablaze, launched himself at Korahael. The Chainaxe hacked down. Sparks ﬂew from the Power Sword's amethyst blade as Korahael swept aside its strike. The Berzerker roared a wordless challenge, one mad eye blazing hatefully from a ruined ceramite helm.Letting go his pistol, Korahael set a second hand to his sword's hilt, and slammed his shoulder into the Berzerker's chest. The Traitor stumbled back, then fell into sudden silence as Korahael's sword swept his head from his shoulders.Korahael glanced around for another foe, but the attack had ended as swiftly as it had begun, its prosecutors now dead upon the wind-blown plains. A twitch of white robes drew Korahael's eye. Apothecary Caraphon, moving with customary solemnity, recovering the gene-seed from the slain.Korahael gazed down at the headless Berzerker, just one corpse amongst dozens. Even after two hundred standard years of service, he could not fathom why such warriors abandoned discipline as readily as they'd cast aside their loyalty. Discipline won battles. Discipline, and duty. But then, indiscipline was a plague all of its own. There were plenty amongst the Adeptus Astartes who bore its curse, who took trophies to assuage their pride, who rejoiced in tallying those they had slain.Korahael retrieved his pistol and triggered his comms. "Report condition."His sergeants sent in their casualty reports, Korahael's mood darkening with each one. Another three Battle-Brothers slain. It was little consolation that the 4th had reaped a far greater tally than it had suffered. They were being bled to death by Traitors without number. Fifty Battle-Brothers had set out from the wreck of the Sword. Now fewer than forty remained, and they had covered barely a third of the distance to the walls of Kasr Kraf. But what choice was there? The 4th would march on to its last if need be."Brother Caraphon, is your duty done?" asked Korahael."They are with me."Korahael approved of Caraphon's choice of words. No brother was truly lost if their precious gene-seed was recovered. "Then we keep–"There was a wail of tortured metal and the thunder of cannon-fire. Autocannon shells stitched a furrow in the dirt towards Korahael, further mangling the bodies of the slain. He threw himself aside, shoulder crunching against rock as he rolled clear, fragments of red-hot stone pattering off his armour.Above, the Heldrake pulled out of its near-vertical dive and climbed away in preparation for another run."Bring it down!" Korahael bellowed. "Bring it down!"His brothers knew their duty. Plumes of white smoke gouted from missile tubes as Squad Klarion's Devastators engaged the new threat. One missile lost lock almost immediately and spiralled away into the night. The second detonated against the Daemon Engine's port-side wing in a spray of fire and ichor. As the Heldrake reached apogee, the wing tore away. Its climb became a cacophonous dive, ending in a thunderous crump amidst the distant hills.But Korahael found no cause for celebration. Brother Caraphon lay motionless in the dirt, his armour rent and his Reductor a bloody, mangled mess. The slain of the 4th were now truly lost, and the Chapter forever diminished."Traitor contacts to the north!"Korahael dragged his gaze northwards at Sergeant Aramael's shout. The canyon mouth to the north was no longer empty, but choked with the dust trails of blackliveried bikers. And behind them, the dark silhouettes of Predator battle tanks. So it had come to this. "Reform the line! The Lion stands with us!"A storm of Bolter fire heralded the bikers' approach. Korahael's armour shuddered; his left pauldron cracked, but the ceramite held. His Plasma Pistol shrieked in reply, sending bolt after bolt into the mass of bellowing engines.Bikers crashed from their saddles, their corpses hurled into bone-crunching cartwheels across the plains. Plasma-fre reduced the lead Predator to fused scrap. Sergeant Baphon threw his hands to his neck, fingers clawing at the spiked chain around his throat. Then an engine roared, and he was dragged into the night, bellowing defance. Brother Traesal fell, his severed hand still clutching the company standard.Korahael seized the fallen colours and hoisted them high. A Predator's lasfre blazed past him, searing Brother Malacas in half. The ceramite redoubt shrank inwards, the growl of engines growing ever louder. Korahael gripped the sacred standard tight. The enemy would take it only with his death.The growl of engines became a roar. The Traitor Predator exploded in a blinding ﬂare of light. A thunderclap tore through the mass of bikers, then another, and another. To a chorus of jubilant howls, a spearhead of slate-grey battle tanks crested the eastern rise. Wolf-tail talismans streaming from trophy poles, they surged into the fray.Korahael knew the markings. The Great Company of Orven Highfell. Undisciplined, like all the Sons of Fenris. Seekers of glory. Everything Korahael despised in a warrior. But just this once, he was glad to have them at his side...Despite the intercession of the Knights of House Raven, the breach in the outermost eastern curtain wall was torn wider. Raptors and Night Lords terror-packs were swift to take advantage, screaming into the space between the walls in search of prey. To their honour, the defenders retreated in good order, one regiment laying down covering fire long enough for another to withdraw. But the Raptors were too swift, too hungry for slaughter. They overtook the stragglers, and then the rearguard.Creed ordered the gates of the second curtain closed, sacrificing thousands to save ten times their number. Eight of the mighty portals slammed shut, severing the line of Imperial retreat. Hundreds perished at their bases, desperate souls howling pleas for deliverance at the comrades atop the gothic barbicans, the stoic readying their weapons for one last stand. But two of the gates remained open.In the east, the barbican's commander held the gate too long, so desperate was he to preserve each and every soul who clamoured for the safety of his fortifications. As the gates at last rumbled closed, Helbrutes hurled themselves forward, holding the passage open through the strength of their daemon-forged sinew. Desperate fire rained down from the barbican's crest. The Helbrutes roared and fell, Power Scourges thrashing as vile life left them, but their sacrifice had bought time for a vast warband of Possessed to slip beyond the gates. Who knows what the cursed warriors would have wrought if not for the joint sacrifice of the Novamarines' 2nd Company and the Cadian 403rd Regiment, who held that daemonic onslaught in the shadow of the Jorus Redoubt long enough for the massed battle tanks of the Cadian 185th to pound the Traitors to bloody ruin. Scarce a hundred Conscripts of the 403rd survived, and the last Novamarine succumbed to his wounds before the echoes of Battle Cannon fire faded away.In the west, the gate mechanisms failed, eaten away by a decay that sprang from no earthly cause. The barbican's commander ordered the 113th Death's Heads Baneblade company to plug the gap with their armoured bulk, but he was an age too late. A swarm of Chaos Cultists, inured to pain by their heresy in the service of the Plague God, hurled themselves into the flesh-shredding storm. And they kept coming, by the hundreds -- by the thousands. Heavy Bolters overheated, Autocannons ran dry, the weapons of war unable to keep pace with a horde uncaring of blood and pain. Only when the last cultist perished did the Black Legion advance amidst the carnage, a tide of hatred far beyond the weary defenders' ability to stem. The west gate fell, and with it the second curtain wall was lost."The gates are sealed, Lord Castellan."Creed waved the lieutenant away from the topographic hologrid -- the only source of light in the gloomy bunker. He didn't know the man's name. He didn't expect either of them would live long enough for it to be worth the effort. Six solar months, that had always been the joke of the 8th. If you survived six solar months under his command, then General Creed wouldtrouble himself to learn your name.The siege went poorly, and yet as well as could be expected at the same time. In his pride, Abaddon sought to humble Cadia once and for all, even though it would cost him dearly. But were the two of them so different, in that regard? Pride would not allow Abaddon to pass on by, just as it had prevented Creed from yielding Cadia in the face of insuperable odds.And then there was the matter of the null-array, buried beneath the command bastion. Whoever had stabilised it had brought Cadia these precious days. But who, and why? Magos Klarn either didn't know, or wasn't saying. Kasrkin search parties had scoured the tunnels, but to no result. Creed supposed he should be grateful, but the knowledge that some outside force had free reign of his fortress made his skin crawl. Faith of any kind no longer came easily to the Lord Castellan. Kell understood, of course. But the others?No matter. Hope was a self-sustaining fire. Maintain the illusion long enough, and it would become the truth. And maybe, just maybe, Cadia would defy the Despoiler just one more time...Creed turned his back on the hologrid. "Lieutenant? Your name, what is it?"The young man's brow wrinkled in surprise. Surprise, and perhaps a little worry. "Kormachen, sir. Of the 88th."Creed nodded. "Walk with me, Kormachen. It's past time I saw this battle with my own eyes."The seventh solar day of the siege of Cadia Secundus opened with the roar of a new bombardment. Too long had the Sword of Defiance stood vigil over Kasr Kraf's northern flank, and now the invaders took steps to silence its guns once and for all. Shell after shell rained down, pulverising the downed Cruiser and unseating its few remaining guns. Even then, Korahael would have held firm, for no Scion of Caliban yields his ground willingly. But this was no ordinary bombardment -- it hailed from the diseased bulk of the Terminus Est, flagship of Typhus. Each shell that burst amidst the Sword’s hallowed halls brought with it unspeakable contagion -- diseases potent enough to take root even in the augmented flesh of the Adeptus Astartes. With his brothers liquefying inside their armour, Korahael had no choice but to abandon the Sword of Defiance. Alas, the plains still teemed with World Eaters, hungry to spill the Lion's blood.Faith yet burned bright at the Shrine of Saint Morrican, but mortal might grew ever shorter in supply. That outpost alone had seen unremitting assault since the opening days of the siege, and all inside were bone-weary. The basilica had cowed assaults it had never been intended to face, but even for blessed redoubts there comes a breaking point. For the Shrine of Saint Morrican, that breaking point took the form of three Lords of Skulls, unleashed from the heart of Abaddon's own daemon-forges to overcome the shining beacon of faith. Warp-crafted cannons belched and roared, drowning the stones of the sainted basilica in boiling blood. Scores of Battle-Sisters boiled alive in their armour, dozens more were swept away. Still the Daemon Engines ground on, bones and rubble alike crunched to dust beneath their leviathan tracks.Her sword raised high, Canoness Genevieve led the counter-assault, the fury of her Seraphim cleaving aside daemons so that the massed fire of Adepta Sororitas Retributors could fell the rumbling behemoths. Melta-beams converged, putting out the lead Daemon Engine's black heart. With a yawning thunderclap, the Lord of Skulls' reactor went critical, its fiery demise consuming one of its dark brothers, and the entire northeastern corner of the shrine. The basilica's walls could take no more. Inch by inch, the stones split apart, arches that had withstood millennia falling away into ruin. As the wounded Genevieve was borne away to the Hospitallers, Canoness Eleanor made preparations to retreat.On the Kolarak Plains, the Space Wolves at last won their mighty victory against Krom Gat. After days of brutal trench warfare, the Warsmith was torn apart, and his body cast into the fires of his once-proud citadel. The price had been high. Fully half of the Ironwolves lay dead, and the Land Raider Ironfist would never see another battlefield. Yet even as the Sons of Fenris roared their victory, their Scouts sighted new foes advancing from the Gehennis Ridge: the Chaos Titans of the Legio Vulcanum. Highfell burned to test himself against the newfound enemy, but the wisdom of his trusted Wolf Guard, Olaf Ironhide, prevailed. Recovering their fallen, the Ironwolves took once more to their transports and fell back towards Kasr Kraf.One by one, Kasr Kraf's outposts had fallen, but far to the south defiance yet burned. Marshal Amalrich's Black Templars had sworn to defend the Martyr's Rampart, and defend it they did, with every iota of the zeal and fury for which their Chapter was known. Though the walls were little more than rubble, they fought on -- an island of stalwart steel amidst the shifting tides of Chaos. Black Legion, Word Bearers and more sought to overwhelm Amalrich's outnumbered band with Chainsword and hellfire. Battle-Brothers perished in ones and twos, and their Crusade banner many times toppled from the crest. But the living found fresh strength in the sacrifice of the dead, and each time the banner fell it was raised higher than before.By the dawning of the eighth solar day, the walls of Kasr Kraf came under direct bombardment from the wastelands, and its defenders' valour ebbed. Too many had witnessed the fate of the far-flung outposts, or else had heard rumours of the slaughter upon the curtain walls. None truly knew the scope of the onslaught, and that ignorance fanned fears to a bright and hungry flame. Neither priest nor Commissar could still the whispers, no matter how loudly they chanted the canticles of faith, or how brutally they suppressed dissent. Too swiftly, the belief spread. Cadia had endured too much. It could endure no more.But for Ursakar E. Creed, the fortress might have fallen. The Lord Castellan knew well that the only way to combat unseen horror was not by speech, or by threat, but by example. Thus Creed forsook his command bunker and joined his soldiers upon the walls. He ate with them, stole what little sleep he could alongside them. As assault after assault crashed into the golden Kriegan Gates, Creed stood his turn behind the aegis lines, firing volleys alongside the common soldiers with a borrowed Lasgun. Those moments of theatrical defiance were the only times he looked upon the foe. At all others, he kept his back towards the carnage, a deliberate gesture of disdain. He took to pacing atop the grand bastion, even though its Void Shields had never recovered from the initial bombardment. He walked the ramparts where Skyshields had imploded, risking the raking fire of Heldrakes with those he commanded. And where Creed went, Kell went also, the tattered colours of the Cadian 8th Regiment rousing those hearts Creed's example could not.Under Creed's gaze, the Kriegan Gates endured. But in the east, the fate of Kasr Kraf teetered on the brink.There, at least, there was no shortage of resolve. The surviving Valkyries of the Howling 119th had ferried what remained of the north and eastern garrisons behind Kasr Kraf's walls. Battle-Sisters now took their place on those ramparts, the wounded Genevieve amongst them, and more of the black-liveried assault carriers braved the angry skies to carry the remnants of the Ironwolves and Korahael's 4th Company inside the stronghold. Yet not all the Ironwolves had returned, or so it was said. Rumours abounded of feral warriors prowling the killing ground beyond the wall, and wild howls touched the ramparts whenever the wind was in the east. If Orven Highfell knew anything of this, he offered no explanation.The Legio Vulcanum ground on, implacable, unstoppable. The Traitor Princeps Malas Tiron had honed the business of war for ten thousand standard years, and knew exhaustively the corrupted God-engines under his command. Indeed, his consciousness flowed through them all -- a gift from the Dark Gods for his unswerving devotion. Possessed Warhounds were his eyes and ears, the Warlord Titan Vessel of Damnation his strong right arm, the Reaver maniple the bunched fingers of his left fist. When confronted by a foe, war machines across the formation combined their fire with uncanny accuracy. As Void Shields faded under the defenders' fire, Tiron reconfigured his formation, letting Titans as yet undamaged bear the brunt. Thus the vanguard of the Legio Vulcanum crept ever closer to the walls of Kasr Kraf, the God-machines all but unscarred, despite the ferocity of their foes.The defenders of the eastern walls were saved, just as they had been before, by the intervention of the Howling 119th. With munitions running low, and barely a dozen flight-worthy assault carriers, the squadron took wing one last time, diving hard for the advancing Titans.The skies about the Legio Vulcanum swarmed with Heldrakes, but the pilots of the 119th had learned a great deal about the Daemon Engines in the preceding days. Not enough to stand any chance of clearing them from the skies altogether, for their numbers were legion. Nor even for surviving more than a few solar minutes before being shredded by Warp-forged talons. But then, survival was not in the 119th's plan. Clavin Strekka, commander of the 119th, had noted how the lesser Titans seemed almost in thrall to the will of the lead monstrosity, Vessel of Damnation. Destroy the Warlord, or so Strekka reasoned, and the others might fall also.Three Valkyries were ripped asunder by Heldrakes before they even entered weapons range. Two more strayed into the path of a Volcano Cannon, blasted to cinders before their crews even knew their danger. The others sped on, buffeted by surface-to-air fire, armour clattering beneath the roar of Hades Autocannons. Another Valkyrie disintegrated, but the first Hellstrike Missiles were away. Vessel of Damnation's Void Shields flared and guttered as the missiles struck. The 119th banked away, strafing clear of ground-based Autocannon fire, and prepared for another pass.Only three Valkyries of the 119th remained, but Vessel of Damnation's Void Shields were down. Alas, for Strekka's last throw of the dice, the strikes of his squadron's Multi-lasers were but pinpricks against the God-engine's hull. A third pass, and Strekka was alone, his wingmen torn from the skies. Knowing he'd not live to make a fourth, Strekka commended his soul to the Emperor, set a collision course, and triggered his Valkyrie's afterburners.The fireball marking the last act of the 119th blossomed skyward, clearly visible from Kasr Kraf's eastern ramparts. Vessel of Damnation juddered to a halt, green fire gouting from its ravaged skull. The remaining Titans lurched, suddenly directionless in the midst of battle. One Warhound came to a complete standstill long enough for Macrocannon batteries to track and blow it to scrap. Cheers rang out, but faded as the God-engines of the Legio Vulcanum recommenced their advance. Only Vessel of Damnation remained unmoving, its helm lost amid belching smoke.Then came a black thunderbolt from the skies above. The defenders' cheers died ashen on their lips as the battle's architect at last took a personal hand in its prosecution. This was not the Despoiler himself, but his lieutenant, the Daemon Prince Urkanthos. Commander of the Black Fleet, and Scourgemaster of the Hounds of Abaddon, Urkanthos had been entrusted with securing the destruction of Cadia. But Abaddon's patience was not without limit, and Urkanthos sought to deliver victory before it was entirely expended.As the black miasma of the Traitors' teleport beams crackled into nothing, a great howl arose amongst the mangled bodies beneath the golden Kriegan Gates. Urkanthos spread his wings wide, and the Hounds of Abaddon hurled themselves at the golden gates. Behind them came a fresh wave of Daemon Engines, Warp-spawned weapons spitting death at the battlements.Up the bloody ground the Hounds surged, trampling the dead of both sides, heedless of the defenders' fire. Their war-cry was a booming bellow, more like the growl of a beast than the speech of men. Blood! Blood! Blood! Macrocannon shells burst amongst the formation, hurling broken bodies down the hills of corpses. Still the Hounds came on. Blood! Blood! Blood! Creed bellowed orders from atop the barbican, and the approach blazed brilliant with las-fire. Still the Hounds came on. Blood! Blood! Blood! By prearranged signal, a new bombardment began. The vessels of the Black Fleet pounded the approach to the Kriegan Gates, uncaring of their dark brothers' lives. Tortured Skyshields flared and died. Defenders were snatched into the abyss, or cast from their shattered strongholds. Traitors perished too, slain by the capricious fury of their own warships, but still the Hounds came on.Inch by inch, Urkanthos gained ground, at last reaching the unsullied foot of the Kriegan Gates. The Hounds ignored wounds that would have felled lesser men; they disdained the burning Promethium that set their flesh ablaze. They would have nothing less than victory that day. Victory for Abaddon, Warmaster of the Eye of Terror, and blood for the Lord of Battles. Charges were set, and the Kriegan Gates -- weakened by the eighth solar day bombardment of starship and artillery fire -- finally tore asunder.With a roar of triumph, Urkanthos swept into Kasr Kraf, the Hounds of Abaddon hard upon his heels.