Within the eastern reaches of the Ultramar Sector, at the capital of the Vespator, the psychic wail of Astropathic choirs erupted simultaneously across eighty-six star systems.
It was a premonition of annihilation carried from the galactic east—desperate, dying screams filtered through the warp. The last rasping transmissions of doomed worlds cried out: "Machines... Necrons... claws... monsters!" reaching the regional capital of Vespator.
It seemed this beleaguered realm, only recently ravaged by the predations of Hive Fleet Kraken and painstakingly rebuilt under the command of Roboute Guilliman, was fated to face yet another nightmare.
"To arms! Prepare all defensive emplacements at maximum output!"
Captain Decimus Felix of the Ultramarines 11th Company, commander of this vital bastion of the Five Hundred Worlds, barked orders across the vox-channels.
Instantly, the Astartes of the 11th Company and the Ultramar Auxilia, clad in their segmented ceramite plate, dug into their battle positions. Orbital Defense Platforms pivoted, entering full combat readiness. Vespator, though scarred by the Tyranids, remained a vigilant world. Felix, a Primaris Space Marine promoted by the Primarch himself, held the honor bestowed upon him by his gene-father as a sacred trust; he would not allow a single lapse in the defense of his charge.
"Can we identify the foe? Is it the Necrons or... something else?" Felix queried his Librarians. Even the psykers struggled to provide a clear answer, seeing only fragmented visions of iron talons and razor-sharp chitinous maws amidst the shifting tides of the Empyrean.
After a heavy silence, Felix nodded grimly. "Regardless, we shall not fail the Lord Regent's mandate. The 11th Company and the people of Ultramar stand ready!"
As predicted, as horrific xenos vessels emerged from the void, the Destroyer Host of Nekrosor Ammentar, the Source of Destroyer Curse, arrived. Utilizing the "network-hitching" capabilities of their Dolmen Gates to traverse the webway, the Necrons directed their murderous gaze toward this long-suffering Imperial world.
The escort fleet of Vespator launched an emergency intercept. However, a fleet consisting of a mere two cruisers, four destroyers, and four frigates stood no chance against the ancient, primordial curse of the Necrons.
High above the planet, the void burned. Outmatched in both numbers and technological lethality, the Imperial line was punctured almost instantly by Ammentar's fleet. The crescent-shaped xenos raiders moved with the speed of a lightning strike, their emerald Gauss Cannon beams flaying the armored hulls of the Imperial warships as if they were parchment.
Within minutes, two destroyers were silenced in blooms of soundless fire. The remaining ships limped through the vacuum, their structures failing. In less than three Terran days, the Vespator defense fleet was shattered and driven into a disorganized retreat.
With the orbital path cleared, the Destroyer Lord Ammentar prepared to unleash a planetary-scale massacre upon this teeming, "irritating" hive of biological life.
However, much like the age of sail, where ships attempted to bombard coastal batteries, the defender held a distinct advantage: shore-based guns. Under Felix's command, Vespator's sophisticated orbital batteries opened fire. Massive railgun slugs accelerated to relativistic speeds, lancing into the heavens. Several Necron vessels were caught in the barrage, detonating into expanding clouds of necrodermis shards.
"No… vile life must end."
The voice sounded like the grinding of ancient, corrupted gears. Nekrosor Ammentar roared. He had long since modified his physical form into a grotesque engine of murder: his upper torso boasted six limbs tipped with lethal talons, while his lower body had been replaced by a serpentine, repulsor-driven tail.
Behind him, a Shard of the Nightbringer, a fragment of the Grim Reaper itself, rested in a state of agitated, malevolent hunger.
"Forgive me, greatest Nightbringer, God of Death," Ammentar rasped. "This life shall not persist much longer. You shall find true liberation once these weak, filth-ridden beings are extinguished."
The Shard let out a silent, soul-piercing howl and swept its scythe in a commanding arc.
"As you command. Your servants shall once more labor for your magnificent resurrection!"
Ammentar issued the decree. Necrons from several dynasties, forcibly reconstructed by Ammentar into the twisted, life-hating forms of Destroyers, prepared for the drop. These once-noble Necrontyr, now pathetic slaves to a nihilistic madness, were forced to serve their C'tan master just as they had millions of years ago.
Countless drop-pods plummeted from the xenos fleet like a rain of black iron.
"They are coming! Stand fast!"
The Ultramar Auxilia braced. Hydra Flak Tanks roared, filling the sky with a curtain of fire to intercept the pods, but the effort yielded little success. The pods slammed into the earth with seismic force. The Auxilia prepared to face the familiar metallic skeletons of Necron Warriors, but what emerged was far more terrifying.
Instead of the rank-and-file, out poured the Destroyer Cults. Some moved on anti-gravity platforms, others on tripod mechanical legs. They wielded massive Hyperphase Threshers or heavy Gauss Cannons.
Skorpekh Destroyers lunged forward with terrifying momentum, their sturdy necrodermis frames shrugging off the concentrated fire of the Auxilia's lasguns. The Imperial armored regiments responded, Baneblades and Leman Russ Battle Tanks forming a steel wall.
As the heavy cannons boomed, several Destroyers were shattered, but they were answered by Lokhust Heavy Destroyers. Their arm-mounted Heavy Gauss Cannons fired beams of emerald energy that ignored the thickest tank armor. Under this withering assault, the Auxilia was forced into a desperate retreat.
"Exterminate… life!"
As the humans fell back, more tactical space was cleared for Necron reinforcements. Hexmark Destroyers phased into reality, their six arms tracking targets with supernatural precision, disintegrating the fleeing defenders into ash as they advanced toward Vistopa's capital to silence the orbital batteries.
Felix ordered a full consolidation of his forces, drawing back to the primary fortress-complex to wait for reinforcements from the new Master of the Watch, Titus!
…
Meanwhile, the Clan Moulder Nest-Fleet had just emerged from a warp tunnel. Their journey had been remarkably swift, as even Warp Daemons hesitated to obstruct a fleet of such volatile, verminous energy.
However, as the Skaven arrived in Ultramar, Throt the Unclean erupted in a fit of squealing fury. He discovered that the worlds he had intended to pillage for "experiment-meat" were being reduced to silent, barren husks. Many planets still radiated the lingering heat of recent destruction.
"Waste-junk! Throt will not allow it!" the Master Moulder shrieked. He beat his paws against the command console, ordering his pilots to surge forward. He would find the wretch responsible for wasting so much prime biological material, flay them alive, and reclaim his losses in flesh and bone!