Random stuff

Omegon

A shake. Rumbling. The sight of a large chamber made of ceramite and adamantium shook as the dust fell from the walls and ceiling. The sight of a tall, heavily armoured figure walked across it as Serfs and Servitors went here and there.

The light of the lumenglobes flickered as another strike hit the structure from outside.

"I, am Omegon. Brother to Alpharius, and current Commander of the Iron Serpents Legion. Ten thousand years ago, my father led the charge against Mankind's enemies. To reunite us, to bring us back into the fold. He created my brothers and I. Twenty demi-gods with which he would lead the Imperium of Mankind into glory and salvation."

He walked some more, passing by three marines who hurriedly passee by him, dressed in intricate armour with serpentine designs, with the primary colour of silver, secondary black, tertiary gold, and bearing helmets resembling knights and spartans. They held Bolters, coloured in the same way, with barrels shaped like a serpent's head.

"We led Mankind into a glorious new era. Brought peace and prosperity to its millions of colonies. And along the way, he found more ways to benefit humanity, making sure not to repeat the mistakes of the past. He gave us legions, armies of thousands of heavily-augmented super-soldiers with which he would have as his sword and shield."

A stronger explosion, somewhere in the structure. The Primarch's armour was hit by dust, adding an older feel to the power armour of the same colour scheme as his legion.

"And then, eight thousand years later, under our very noses, my brothers betrayed us."

The scene moves as the Primarch looks to a screen to his left, showing the devastation of the battlefield beyond. What could only be described as a wasteland. Iron Serpent Marines fought, won, and died in a sick cycle as their trenches and defensive networks were lost, taken, and retaken over and over. No vegetation remained, and the corpses of four different factions littered the battlefield. Flames and explosions were everywhere, and the sound of bolters, volkite, plasma, graviton, and several others could be heard as battlecries were constantly shouted.

"Ten legions. Ten Primarchs. The first to fall was my brother, Amon. He had been my father's favourite, and was one of the strongest psykers in the Imperium. His Legion, The Hands of Fate, convinced my brothers to turn their backs on humanity."

The Primarch's fists clenched. He then walked to what seemed to be a very large chamber, a motor pool of sorts. Land Speeders, Jetbikes, weapons, ammunition, repairment, transports, marines, and the Legion's Auxillia went in and out in waves.

"And now we fight. Enemies, who were once our kin."

A decorated marine led four others who carried a large container to the Primarch, before kneeling and placing it down. The decorated marine was Ademar the OathKeeper, who wore armour heavily inspired by ancient Greece.

"My Primarch. Your weapons." He said, kneeling and head down. "Rise, my child. This is no time to kneel." The Primarch said, offering a hand to his Lieutenant and friend, bidding the others to rise as well. They did so, and looked to their father.

"We shall push them back. Together." He said, opening the container with his interface. A large storm shield, circular in shape, along with the symbol of the Iron Serpents, a sword with three serpents wrapped around it. And beside it was a gauntlet, not as large as a Power Fist or Lighting Claw, but larger than the Primarch's hand. It had one blade on it, to serve as the Primarch's weapon, and a smaller Volkite weapon with two barrels above it.

The Primarch put them on, the blade retracting as he grabbed his Storm Shield. He was then passed a long Power Ax, nearing half his height.

"But we will not falter. We will not yield. They can come at us, tear us apart, rend our minds and souls to pieces and take away our homeworld! But we, sons and servants of the Emperor, shall not yield! No mercy! No remorse!"

Omegon activated his power ax and storm shield, the two crackling to life as fields surrounded both. All eyes went to him, as a whir came from his ax. The Primarch raised it high, his custom Terminator Armour seemingly shining under the correct lighting.

"For Arianus, and the Emperor!" Omegon shouted, the vox-speakers of his helmet amplifying his voice even further. Cheers, chanting, the hitting of melee weapons on the floor, along with the same battlecry soon taking over the sound of the battles outside.

And now, the enemy shall fall in droves. For as of now...

"Omegon, joins the fray. On me, my Honour Guard! My Amelar!"

The gates open, letting in the heat, air, sounds, and sight of the battle outside. More than one thousand marines were ready to come out for this wave, and another two hundred with the addition of the Amelar, the Iron Serpent Primarch's own Terminator Honour Guard. Dressed in intricate and extremely effective power armour and Terminator Armour, wielding weapons and equipment that other Legions could only dream of having in such numbers.

Eight squads of Terminators dressed in Gurevan, a Pattern of Armour that rivaled the Custodes', formed up directly behind his form, their storm shields and weapons identical to their gene-father crackling and whirring as their piercing cyan visors glowed brightly.

None shall stand in their path. The Siege of Terra will end. Tonight. And with it, the end of this heresy. An incredibly loud horn was blown from the walls, and some of the fighting had ceased as their brothers, his sons' cousins, his nephews, stopped to look at us. For them, the Primarch can only imagine that confusion arisen, but quickly replaced by eagerness as their foes continued the fight, a great many gunning for the gap in the walls as Omegon and his legion appeared.

The Iron Serpents roared, cursed, and yelled their battlecries as they charged, their Primarch and his Amelar charged, whilst those in Terminator strode forward, shields taking the damage of bolterfire and other projectiles, and Omegon drew this wave's first blood, cutting a heretic in half, the stained blood, bile, and guts of the Death Guard splattering onto the now-broken remnants of the Imperial Palace's Outer Walls.

They were to break the enemy, in body and mind, at all costs. To the last man, to the last bolt. Horus would not break them, for the Emperor Protects.

"Forward!" He'd shout, breaking into a sprint despite being in Terminator Armour, shield raised and yet still speeding past the Imperial Fists, Blood Angels, and Imperial Army forces guarding the frontlines. "For the Emperor!"