Paradisum Mundi~Before The Storm

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Battle Details

Type: Battle
Date: 441.009.M31
Sub-Sector:Golloch Cluster
System: Paradiso System
Planet: Paradisum Mundi
Victor: Traitor
Draw:
Influence: 5

Forces:

Loyalists Involved In The Conflict Army:L-VII-2023

Traitors Involved In The Conflict Army:I-ARMY-1325

Battle Summary

The three tanks moved cautiously through the radioactive ruins - around them the buildings had melted like wax, and were so encrusted with ash that they more resembled strange rock towers than anything artificial. Ahead, the Ancient Anrahan picked his way through the drifts of wreckage and glassy soil, the autosenses of his Contemptor checking every ruin for signs of ambush. His voice broke over the vox in the lead Rhino "MOVEMENT AHEAD, PRAETOR"

Cybus Mabaen shifted into battle readiness, combat hormones accelerating his hearts, and all his senses focused with pinpoint precision. "The traitors? How many?"

"UNKNOWN - CASTING"

The Imperial Fist studied the images on the Raider's holoscreen - dozens, no, hundreds of human figures, gathered around one of the half-slumped ruins, obscured by clouds of dust swept up by the approaching rad storm. "No Astartes? Are they auxilia or indigenes?"

His second-in-command checked the auspex, twice. "No sign of Astartes, sir. Ah, no vehicles either. Or protective equipment of any kind."

Mabaen stared at the other Fist incredulously. "That's... insane. They'll be dead within the hour at this level of rad-pollution. What are they doing out here without protection?"

"They appear to be digging sir. Perhaps they've found a vault entrance, or trying to find shelter before the rad-storm hits?"

"I RECOGNISE THEIR UNIFORM AND COLOURS, PRAETOR - TRIBAL WARRIORS FROM KYSHTYM, ATTACHED TO THE XIVth."

The Praetor considered the report. "Death Guard auxillia, then. Either they were abandoned here, or cut off from their masters, or they were sent to unearth whatever is underneath that building. Weapons live - volkites and incendiary - whichever it is, we cannot allow them to leave."

+++

"Dorn's sons have taken the bait, Consul."

"Signal the attack wing."

+++

"They're coming around again, sir!"

Mabaen slashed at the diseased mob in front of him, and stabbed at the ones behind him that strove to drag him to the ground. The human didn't seem to notice, even as his tumorous organs spilled from the smoking gap in his belly, and there were more of the Kyshtym behind - five deep now. Ten. No matter how many he killed, they just threw themselves against his gun and blade, climbing over the piled dead.

The enemy Thunderbolts roared overhead - out of missiles now, thank the Emperor, but lascannon and autocannon blazing. He heard his brothers in the other squad scream, as their armour and flesh were torn apart, and the roared curses of Ancient Anrahan as he tried the bring the fighters down.

"Feculent bastards!" he spat, and killed another four of the enemy. "Brothers! To me! We are Warriors of Inwit and Terra and WE WILL HOLD THE LINE! FOR THE EMPEROR! FOR DORN! FOR TERRA!"

+++

Oleg Thrice-blessed babbled and laughed, as the mob of cannibals swirled and snarled past him and onto the line of yellow-clad marines. He could feel himself dying as he danced, smell the radiation tearing apart his cells, tasted human offal and poison as the duststorm fell upon them. He spread his arms to the deadly sky, and welcomed the Father into his flesh.

+++

Mabaen gagged, as the stench of something long dead filled the space in his helmet. He was overwhelmed, for a moment, with a memory from his childhood on Inwit when the maintenance workers had found the source of a blockage in the hab-block's water supply, and the way the stink of the dead ice-eel had made his gorge rise for weeks. He decapitated the Kyshtym in front of him, and reached up to check the seal of his gorget - had one of the enemy damaged the seal? The squad void link spluttered.

"Guh- what- Praetor! Are they using bioweapons?"

"You too, Saul? I don't know - what - the Hells - is THAT?!"

Something huge was pushing itself between the slumped shapes of the ruins - something still wearing the skin of a man before that skin tore apart an a shower of pus and spores. Four times the height of a man, soft flesh sloughing off against the artificial stone and rusted metal. Static and error signals flooded the display before him - his armour's autosenses could not determine the thing's distance, or composition, but exaggerated the phosphorescence of its decay and the Cherenkov glow of radiation. Mabaen and his brothers fell back, as the Kyshtym pushed forward - a tide of demented, file-toothed cannibals. Saul fell beside him, volkite dragged from his grasp, choking out something incoherent as the lunatic brought a pickaxe down on his helmet, again and again. And the thing *smiled*, and playfully raised a rusted flail as long as Ancient Anrahan was tall.

Skirmish Reports

Skirmishes Added

Skirmish Designation	Victor	Defeated	Faction Victor
Paradisum Mundi~Before The Storm~1497453469	I-ARMY-1325	L-VII-2023	Traitor

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Battle Pictures