13th Black Crusade - The Emperor's Light: She came wreathed in holy fire, an angel cast from the Emperor's hand and into the horror of war. Down she swept, a thunderbolt shrieking from a golden star newly arrived in the skies of Cadia. As she drew closer to the beleaguered walls of Kasr Kraf, the defenders gave voice to a name. It began with the survivors of the Order of Our Martyred Lady, but it spread like wildfire, borne upon the lips of the faithful, uttered in reverence and in jubilation.Celestine. Prayers had been answered. The miracle had come.She smote the muster fields without slowing, the firestorm of her wake scouring besiegers from the stones. On Celestine swept, her sword a blur of silvered light amongst the spiralling smoke. Daemons scattered before her, seared from reality by the blade of one who was a blazing counterpoint to their unfathomable darkness.Strength returned to weary limbs. Defenders who had forsaken all hope forged new mettle from despair. The Emperor was with them still. Why else would He have sent His Living Saint to guide them to victory? United, they rose for one final effort, no fear remaining in their hearts. Even Creed, lost to seething emotion, forgot the threat of the Blackstone Fortress in distant orbit and fought alongside his men. With the exception of the zealous Black Templars, only the warriors of the Adeptus Astartes felt no stirring at the sight of Celestine. The Imperial Creed was not their faith. Theirs was a bond of brotherhood, of duty to long-dead Primarchs, but if the homilies of the Adeptus Ministorum would deliver victory that day, then so be it.For one moment, one glorious moment, the attackers' ranks shuddered. The Baneblade Vicanthrus, still locked in sightless combat with the nanomachines shredding its system, vanished beneath a zealous tide of humanity. Cultists scattered, their apostatic dreams dispersed by the Living Saint's arrival. Then the Black Legion met the defenders’ newfound fury with their own blasphemous resolve. Despite their resurgence, outnumbered and outmatched, the defenders' counterattack stalled.But faith renewed was not the only gift Celestine had brought to Kasr Kraf. Plasma Drives roared in the darkness. Landing gears crunched onto plascrete. The discordant notes of battle-hymns swelled, the chimes of blessed bells echoing along the walls. Even more than faith, even more than hope, the defenders of Kasr Kraf had needed reinforcements, and the Living Saint had provided.Celestine had found them in the Warp, their transport's Plasma Drives all but dead through a Traitor's act, its Gellar Fields failing: five companies of the Order of Our Martyred Lady, thought lost some fourteen hundred standard years. Her light served as a beacon through the Empyrean, drawing the wounded vessel into the path of another craft and binding the two until realspace claimed them both once more. Now they came forth as her fiery sword, and to avenge a seeming-eternity adrift amidst the Immaterium. With their onset, the battle shifted once again -- this time in the defenders' favour.Urkanthos lurched through the Egressium Gate, his wings scattering the ashen remains of what had once been men. The cursed machine holding the Blackstone Fortress' wrath at bay was no more. The Despoiler's will had been done. Cadia waited to die, and Urkanthos had no desire to die with it. It was time to depart and claim his reward."Die, abomination!"A Guardsman ran headlong towards the Daemon Prince, bayonet lowered. Urkanthos eviscerated the mortal with a single savage swipe. Licking blood from his talons, he let the body fall upon theremains of the black-clad prayer-witches who'd sought to bar his ingress.Slaughter still raged across the muster field, the tempo and scent of it somehow different. Urkanthos longed to join it, even though to do so was to risk annihilation beneath the Blackstone's gaze.In a swoop of wings, she landed before Urkanthos, her armour glittering in the golden light of her halo. At last, the Daemon Prince recognised the altered stench -- the battlefield stank of her faith, her certainty."The corpse-bride," he growled.The angel raised her sword, the point steady as a rock. "Your hour is done, beast."Urkanthos laughed, the sound of it a rough peal of thunder. "It has only just begun. You are nothing. The echo of a false god. I will break you in half and set your skull upon Khorne's throne."Agony wracked the Daemon Prince, a white heat searing the veins of his chest. Through slitted eyes, he saw the corpse-bride regarding him, unmoving. The pain passed. As ever, Urkanthos felt the stronger for it. Another trial endured."I am the Scourgemaster of the Black Fleet, the Right Hand of the Despoiler. You cannot match me alone."Urkanthos pressed a taloned hand to the site of the faded agony. Something was wrong. The sword in his ﬂesh -- the prayer-witch's sword -- had gone. He spun around. Two prayer-witches stared back, their faces alive with light, their golden armour as radiant as a sun. Urkanthos, who never forgot those he slew, knew their faces. The twins he'd killed upon the threshold. His seething ichor dripped from the leftmost’s blade. The blade so lately trapped in his ﬂesh. The first glimmer of uncertainty trickled into the Daemon Prince's bartered soul."I am not alone," said Celestine. "And your hour is done."With a roar, Urkanthos swept back his wings, and pounced.Beyond the eastern wall, Baroness Vardus had marked the fire in the skies, but knew nothing of its meaning. She knew only that her bid to blunt the fury of the Legio Vulcanum had failed. Too many of her lance-mates were dead; all that remained was the glory of an honourable death. Yet as Vardus keyed her Knight's reactor to overload, gold-liveried Thunderhawks and Stormhawk Interceptors roared from the skies. The starboard quadrant of Vessel of Damnation 's carapace disintegrated under brilliant Turbolaser beams, and the Thunderhawks peeled away. With a grim smile, Vardus secured her reactor from overload. A suicide run was the strategy of the hopeless, and her hope was reborn.In orbit of Cadia, the weapons batteries of the Imperial Fists' newly-arrived battle-fortress Phalanx rumbled to life. Already the Black Fleet was reacting to the presence in its midst, but Phalanx's ageing shield generators held firm beneath broadside after broadside. Captain Garadon didn't care. In recent days he'd fought alongside the spectral Legion of the Damned. He'd torn the heart out of his own sacred charge to prevent it falling into the hands of the foe. And he'd witnessed a crippled Imperial Navy transport dock with Phalanx's forecastle amidst the tumult of the Warp. So many things he'd been sure he’d never see. So many events he swore he'd never understand. But this? Phalanx alone against the Black Fleet? This was retribution long overdue. But where was the Legion of the Damned? As Phalanx had entered realspace they'd faded to nothing, as silent in departure as arrival.Phalanx bore down on the Will of Eternity, shields crackling as it brushed aside the leading edge of the Black Fleet. At Garadon's command, flank batteries engaged the Traitor Battleships, but its formidable prow guns lay silent. Phalanx had suffered too much from the ravages of time and its recent sacrifices, and its master sought to make sure that first planet-cracking salvo counted.Another vessel would have perished already, battered into drifting scrap by the fury of the Black Fleet, but Phalanx was the Fist of Dorn, his first and greatest gift to the Emperor of Mankind. Even decaying and under-crewed, no other vessel in all the heavens was its peer. Even without the Escort fleet that was its right, the mighty battle-station held its own. But it could not do so forever. Already, sensor panels lit up in warning as the main body of Abaddon's fleet broke orbit to engage. Garadon paid those warnings no heed. There would be no surrender, no retreat. If this was to be Phalanx 's last battle, then so be it. Thus Garadon held his course, straight into the Will of Eternity's black maw.The hammer of Sven Bloodhowl's Bolt Pistol clicked down on an empty chamber. Cursing his mistake, the Wolf Lord slammed another magazine home and squeezed off a round. The daemon's skull shattered, its black blade skittering across the polished black stone. Red eyes blazed in the darkness."Morkai's teeth!" Bloodhowl roared. "We can't stay here forever!"As if to prove the point, the gates of the castellum yawned wide, and a ragged mob of mutated crewers surged across the narrow causeway. Heavy Bolters cut them down, reapers amongst the chaff.Solvik Whitemane fell and did not rise, a gaping hole above his primary heart."What choice do we have?" snarled Jarn Frostclaw. "Those emplacements will tear us apart."Bloodhowl recognised his own frustration in the Wolf Guard's tone. The solar hours since Firemane's Fang's destruction and the strike of the boarding torpedoes were a blur of never-ending battle, of brothers lost, and desperate marches through the darkness to outpace pursuit. Had it been solar days? Weeks? Bloodhowl no longer knew. Only that their duty was not yet done. His dozen survivors were only alive because the Traitors didn'tseem to know the full capabilities of the Blackstone Fortress, and because the vessel itself seemed determined to aid the invaders. Bulkheads had unsealed. Automated defences disengaged without warning. Whatever passed for a Machine Spirit in the Will of Eternity wantedthem to succeed. Like a frost wolf bloated by disease, it wanted to die.Bloodhowl leaned around the bulkhead and tossed his last Frag Grenade into the screaming mass. It exploded with a dull crump, hurling bodies into the gantried abyss. "If that is our duty."Frostclaw scowled, but nodded. "If that is our duty."What made it worse was to fail with the objective in sight. Beyond the castellum, twisted cable-clusters betrayed the presence of a power interchange, a legacy of the Blackstone's service in the Imperial Navy before the Gothic War, now subverted by its crew of Traitors to channel power to its shields and weapons batteries. Destroy it, and a portion of the Will of Eternity would go truly dark. Perhaps even enough to give the remnants of the Cadian ﬂeet a chance to bring about its destruction.A shift in the light drew Bloodhowl's gaze to the cracked viewport. Blue sparks chased across a golden prow the size of a star fort."Phalanx," he laughed. "So Dorn's stiffnecks want to play, do they?"New shapes ﬂickered into existence around Bloodhowl, their sable Power Armour edged with ﬂame and mouldered bone. The newcomers advanced on the castellum, Bolters screeching ﬂame.Bloodhowl raised his Chainsword high."For Russ, and the Allfather!"Thus did the Firehowlers of Fenris go one last time into glory.Flame suddenly gouted from the Will of Eternity's flank. It was the tiniest of pinpricks, insignificant against the Blackstone Fortress' vast bulk. But with it, the shields across the lower portside quadrant sputtered and died. From the strategium of Phalanx, Garadon witnessed the moment of weakness; witnessed, and embraced it. The vessel's main batteries, dormant for centuries, roared with a fury to make their long-dead creator proud. The first salvo cracked the Will of Eternity's gleaming armour. The eleventh pounded it to dust.Traitor Cruisers drove hard for Phalanx's main batteries, their captains ramming headlong into the fortress in the hope of halting their fury. Some guns fell silent, but not enough. Never enough. Phalanx gnawed at the Blackstone's obdurate hide, battering ever closer to its heart, inch by unforgiving inch. Garadon ignored the wailing klaxons warning of hull-breaches and the worried reports from his strategium crew. This was the Blackstone's hour to die, and Phalanx was to be its executioner.Another salvo, and something inside the Will of Eternity shattered. A crack split the Blackstone's core, brilliant purple light bleeding across the stars. As the battered Phalanx limped to safety, the rupture spread, swallowing those vessels nearest to it. With a silent scream that echoed through the minds of every living soul across the Cadian Gate, the Will of Eternity broke apart, its arcane engines dissipating in dazzling aurorae across the outer atmosphere. By the time the glow faded, a third of the Black Fleet was gone, snatched into the Immaterium. Yet more voidships lay strewn across Cadia's southern pole, their blackened carcasses smoking. By some fluke of fate, the empty and cracked husk of the Will of Eternity remained in orbit, a dark and lifeless moon staring blindly down at its former prey.Planetside, the Knights of House Raven joined their fire to that of the Imperial Fists' Thunderhawks, their volleys unceasing until Vessel of Damnation was naught but fused and blasted scrap. The Cadian 8th and the Sisters of Our Martyred Lady at their head, the defenders of Kasr Kraf drove the Heretics from the muster field. As Kell planted the flag of the 8th Cadian atop the reclaimed Kriegan Gates, Celestine and her Geminae Superia --- the slain Canonesses Genevieve and Eleanor, reborn through the divine glory of the Living Saint -- cast the lifeless corpse of the Daemon Prince Urkanthos from the walls. It was impossible to say whether it was that or the coruscating flare of purple light in the heavens that broke the will of the Traitor horde, but it broke all the same.Harried by the Ironwolves, and by Baroness Vardus' Knights, the besiegers fled south. Cultists and Heretics, their apostasy spent, threw down their arms and begged for forgiveness, but the only mercy they found was that of holy Promethium. Thousands died, but as many escaped. Despite Phalanx's victory in the heavens, air superiority remained with the Despoiler's forces. Chaos Dropships swarmed the skies, gathering the scattered warbands in readiness for a new assault.In the shattered remains of Kasr Kraf, Creed drew fresh plans. He knew this was no victory. At best, it was survival. Cadia held its breath.Far above Cadia's surface, the Vengeful Spirit's iron-bound viewport afforded an excellent view of failure. The blue-white gem of Cadia hung suspended against the sea of stars. Sullied. Defiant. Whole.Not so the shattered hull of the Will of Eternity. The once-mighty Blackstone Fortress was now a trail of debris stretching for leagues. The double-hull had fragmented into three substantive shards, the lesser of which was easily four times the mass of the Vengeful Spirit itself. All else was dust, or had been drawn into the Warp by the same cataclysm that had consumed so much of the Black Fleet. Prozus Ghael, the Will of Eternity’s captain, had survived that disaster where thousands had not. He would yet live for Terran centuries more before death was allowed to claim him, each moment of agony in the Vengeful Spirit’s dungeons amplifed a thousandfold by technicians of the most exquisite pain."Urkanthos has failed." Abaddon did not turn to address the warlords assembled at his command. Let the servants wait upon the whim of the master. Instead, he watched the drop-ships and transports swarming like insects, mustering the forces for the next assault. Hated Phalanx had withdrawn beyond the equator, running like a wounded cur from the fury of a blooded pack. Surprise had been the antiquated battle-fortress' chief weapon, and it was now spent.At last, Abaddon turned to regard his lieutenants. Zaraphiston. Zagthean. Skyrak. Korda. All with gazes carefully averted lest the Scourgemaster's failure prove infectious. Glory and downfall. Two sides of the same blade, and one that cut indiscriminately. Who would be the first to risk the one for the other? Zagthean, perhaps. His rivalry with the banished Daemon Prince was as well known as that between their chosen divine patrons. Skyrak was too cautious. Korda too focussed on reclaiming his place in the Emperor's Children.Zaraphiston ... Zaraphiston had probably cast the auguries, and already knew how the coming days would unfold. His silence as likely sprang from threat as from fear. Ygethmor would have spoken by now, eager to prove his worth, desperate to snatch scraps from the table. But Ygethmor was long dead. It mattered not. They mattered not. The decision was already made. Too often, the Vengeful Spirit had borne witness to failure. It would do sono longer."Lord Abaddon." Zagthean stepped forward as the Despoiler had known he would. "Grant me the burden of the next onslaught, and I shall lay the broken bodies of your enemies before your throne.""No." The word reverberated around the chamber, inviting discord.None came."For ten thousand years, this world has defied me. No more." Abaddon ripped Drach'nyen from its scabbard. The daemons within the blade cackled at his rage, their faces twisting mirthfully at the prospect of slaughter. "Gather your warriors. I will see Cadia unmade, and its armies broken for all time."Zaraphiston leered, his manner as ever that of one who knew the answers to questions unvoiced. "And if not?"Abaddon stabbed the daemonsword into the rusted deck, and set it quivering at his feet. "Then I will be dust, and you will fight like dogs for my throne. But one way or another, this ends."