"In the ruthless universe of the far future there is only war."
That is something that Kanan Scott knew very well. After two hundred years or more, as he never counted, he thought that his death would give him the opportunity for eternal rest in the...
Several minutes had passed since the Calixus Crusade forces descended on the surface of Atem III and Commissar Harrus and his detachment under the command of Colonel Tairon had barely met with the Storm Astartes. Those were not men... Those were the angels of death of the Emperor of humanity. Glorious warriors eight feet tall wearing their peculiar white armor with scarlet red details.
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[Sorry for the crappy photo. But there is literally nothing about these guys. Since I don't have information from these guys, I'm going to use the combat doctrines of their former legion]
Those born of the second founding of Space Marines, in whose veins ran the blood of the primarch Corvus Corax, looked up at such a peculiar noise, and before their eyes, an endless green tide gushed from the land itself wrapped in a hunger for violence and war. like few had seen.
But they did not hesitate, they were Astartes, warriors who smile in the face of death and do not bow down in the face of adversity. Unlike the Astra Militarum forces whose fears had to be quelled by Colonel Tairon's commanding voice, and the Krieg soldiers who eagerly awaited their redemption, these eight-foot-tall hulking men simply...disappeared.
Colonel Tairon couldn't believe his eyes. For just a few seconds he was talking to the captain of the chapter, an Astarte similar to his battle brothers, whose only difference was his distinguished red helmet, which marked his rank within his unit. The huge marine, along with the rest of his company, had simply... vanished. Like dust before a strong gust of wind.
But the colonel's doubts and his astonishment could not last long. Before the rumble of the millions of footsteps that rushed towards them like a green avalanche, Tairon deployed his troops in a long battle front that could barely find cover in such a desolate plain. Behind the endless columns of the Astra Militarun, the soldiers of Krieg, masters of the trenches, began to desperately fight while their comrades in green and gold put up a desperate resistance. The only problem was that it would take them at least ten minutes to dig mediocre trenches to protect themselves, and they didn't have that much time.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield, leading the impotent green tide was the Murrey. Greenskin forces surged from deep below the surface, advancing in their thousands from the crevices of the rugged subsoil of a world as fractured as Atem III, or any other industrial world.
The greenskins screamed and roared with excitement, especially with the heavy metal that their comrades were playing in the background, but this would not be a simple unbridled charge as they were so accustomed to, because Murrey would not allow it. Oh no. Kanan himself gave him the opportunity to become the master of the orchestra of such a peculiar Regisida board, and he would give everything he had to claim a perfect victory.
At the head of the formations were the war squads. Huge metal chariots, spikes and firearms that fired non-stop towards the enemy positions, closely followed by the orks, who used them as cover to advance through the unprotected plains. If what the leader said was true, it would take the humans about ten minutes to position their artillery before attacking, and apparently, he had not been wrong, since the only thing that returned the enemy fire were the mediocre shots of the Astra Militarum, which They barely damaged the armor of the floats or managed to hit one or another unsuspecting Ork. Slow but constant progress. And from a distance, the warlord's hand watched the battle with euphoria.
