The sky over Terra was a wound that would not close. Every inch of it bled fire.
Kael stood upon the Watcher Above's observation deck as the ship descended through the roiling storm that covered the Throneworld.
The upper atmosphere was a cauldron of burning debris and shattered ships — entire fleets reduced to incandescent wreckage. Through the clouds below, the light of the Palace shone like a dying sun, veiled by smoke and the rising pyres of a dying age.
"Status?" Kael asked, voice steady.
"Outer defense ring breached," Malchion said. "The Iron Warriors have landed en masse at the Saturnine Gate. Imperial Fists and Blood Angels are holding, but they're outnumbered ten to one. The World Eaters are pushing through the Colossi Valley. Death Guard elements advancing through the southern districts—corrosion bombs, plague mortars, whole sectors turning to rot."
"And the White Scars?" Kael asked.
"Skirmishing," Malchion said. "Their stormbirds are running supply corridors and airstrikes. They can't land for long before the warp storms tear their engines apart."
Kael nodded slowly. "The Raven Guard?"
Malchion's helm turned slightly. "Fighting ghosts. They're in the lower hive districts. Corax has them cutting the traitors' supply chains."
"Good," Kael said. "Then the knife still cuts."
The Watcher Above broke through the cloud layer, revealing the battle for Terra in full.
It was not a siege — it was a continent-wide execution.
The walls of the Imperial Palace stretched across the horizon, every battlement alight with muzzle flashes and lasfire. Titans strode through the smoke like walking cathedrals, their shields flickering under endless artillery.
The land beyond the walls was a sea of madness — millions of traitor Astartes, mortal cultists, daemon engines, and twisted machines clawing at the earth as they advanced.
The Iron Warriors led the assault.
Kael could see them even from orbit — gray and brass ranks moving with inhuman precision, siege lines unfolding like clockwork. Their guns were not merely weapons; they were extensions of thought, placed with cold, architectural perfection.
Behind them lumbered daemon-possessed siege engines — walking fortresses of flesh and metal, mouths howling prayers to gods that had no mercy left to give.
Kael's black eyes narrowed. "So that's how far Perturabo has fallen."
Joras leaned over the sensor display, his face lit by the reflection of the carnage below. "It's working. They've breached the outer perimeter at three points. Dorn's forces are falling back to the Saturnine Gate."
Kael's voice dropped to a growl. "Not while we still breathe."
He turned toward the command dais. "Prepare all drop-pods. Malchion, you're with me. Joras, command the Watcher Above from orbit. Provide fire support. Hit the siege guns first — cripple their rhythm. Without it, they're just angry masons."
Joras grinned grimly. "Aye, Captain."
The decks trembled as the pods were loaded. Kael moved through the embarkation bays as his company gathered. Hundreds of Astartes, clad in black and silver, each one a reflection of their commander's quiet wrath.
Their armor gleamed faintly under red light — the Aegis Tenebris whispering as their machine spirits woke.
"Brothers," Kael said, his voice carrying through the vox-network like thunder wrapped in calm. "Below us lies the grave of gods. The Iron Warriors build their monuments from our dead, the Death Guard from our rot, and the World Eaters from our screams. Show them that we do not break. Show them that the night is eternal."
They struck the Aquila — once, twice, the sound echoing like the toll of a funeral bell.
"Night remembers," they answered.
Kael entered his pod, sealing the hatch. The deck fell away.
---
The pods screamed through the atmosphere, their hulls burning white. Kael felt the impact before he heard it. Metal screamed as the pod tore through layers of ruin and flame, crashing into the no-man's-land just behind the Saturnine Gate. The doors blew outward, and Kael stepped into hell.
The ground was mud and blood, strewn with corpses — Imperial Fists, traitor Astartes, civilians, Mechanicum servitors. The air was a constant thunder of artillery.
Shells fell like rain, bursting in gouts of molten stone. The sky was a furnace, streaked with burning debris.
Kael's boots sank into the mire as he surveyed the battlefield. Ahead, the Iron Warriors advanced in perfect formation, firing as they marched.
Siege tanks belched shells the size of drop-pods, reducing fortifications to dust. Above them, gunships bearing the Eye of Horus strafed loyalist lines.
Kael activated his vox. "All units, form up! Hit them from the flank! Cut their engines before they lock firing lines!"
The Silent Company moved like shadows between the explosions, black forms weaving through fire and ruin. Kael's precognition sharpened — flashes of death, motion, bullet trajectories — all fitting into place like the teeth of a machine. Every step, every strike, every heartbeat was calculated.
A shell burst nearby, vaporizing a squad of Imperial Fists. Kael didn't flinch. He walked through the dust and pulled one of the survivors to his feet — a sergeant, blood streaking his yellow armor.
"Who commands here?" Kael asked.
"Captain Phoros!" the Fist shouted over the gunfire. "He's holding the forward line—barely!"
"Then he'll hold longer," Kael said.
He raised his sword, its black blade catching the firelight. "Forward!"
The Silent Company surged with him.
They hit the Iron Warriors flank like a guillotine. Kael's blade severed limbs and armor in single strikes. His company fought with terrifying discipline — silent, efficient, precise. They were predators among butchers.
Malchion's bolter barked beside him, each shot a detonation. Joras's voice came through the vox, calm amidst chaos. "Watcher Above engaging enemy siege platforms. Target one neutralized. Target two crippled. They're adjusting formation."
"Good," Kael said. "They should look at me."
A massive shape loomed ahead — a Contemptor Dreadnought, its frame fused with chains and barbed wire, its sarcophagus defaced with runes. Its multi-melta glowed hot as it turned toward Kael.
Kael's five-second foresight flared. He saw his death three different ways. He chose the fourth.
He broke into a sprint, weaving through the firestorm, the melta's beam cutting inches from his head. The shadows coiled around his feet, lending speed beyond mortal limits. He leapt, landing atop the dreadnought's shoulder, Veilrender cutting deep into the cables that connected its weapon arm.
The dread roared, its machine spirit screaming. Kael drove his sword down through its sarcophagus, feeling the blade sink into the occupant within. The machine convulsed, then collapsed with a final hiss.
He landed lightly as it fell, black eyes already searching for the next target.
"Captain!" Malchion's voice came over the vox. "Incoming reinforcements—Raven Guard dropships! Corax sends his regards!"
Kael looked skyward. Sleek black craft descended through the smoke, disgorging squads of Raven Guard who fell upon the enemy like wraiths. They hit the Iron Warriors' rear lines, cutting through with stealth and speed. Over the vox, Kael heard Corax's calm, cold tone.
"Thought you'd start without me."
Kael smiled grimly. "You always arrive fashionably late."
The two forces fought as one. Silent Company and Raven Guard — shadows against the storm.
But the Iron Warriors did not falter.
Every time a gunline broke, another formed. Every time Kael's men cut them down, new ranks marched forward, their steps pounding in mechanical unison. Behind them came their siege masters — monstrous forms of fused metal and flesh, their armor grown into their bodies. Their voices were monotone, devoid of rage, devoid of humanity.
"IRON WITHIN," they chanted, as artillery shells howled overhead.
"IRON WITHOUT."
The earth shook. From the far ridge, an enormous shadow moved — an Iron Warriors siege titan, its frame twisted by warp corruption. Faces pressed against its armor from within, mouths open in silent screams. Its cannons burned with daemonfire.
Kael felt the tremor before the shot came. His precognition flared white-hot.
"DOWN!" he shouted.
The blast hit like the hammer of a god. The shockwave flattened the trenches, vaporized hundreds. The ground buckled, throwing Kael across a crater.
His armor's shields flickered, runes screaming warnings. When he rose, his vision swam. His right pauldron was gone, half-melted away. His ribs ached beneath the ceramite.
"Report!" he voxed, voice harsh.
Static. Then Malchion's reply, raw but alive. "Still here. We've lost two squads. Joras reports the Watcher took damage to portside arrays. She's bleeding plasma."
"Tell him to keep her in the fight," Kael said. "We're not done."
He looked to the Titan, its cannons reloading, its daemonic eyes fixed on the palace walls. He knew what it meant to hesitate. He couldn't allow it to fire again.
"Malchion," Kael said. "You take the line. I'll take the monster."
"Alone?"
Kael's black eyes burned like dying stars. "It's not the first time."
He ran.
Through shellfire, through screams, through a thousand years of war made manifest. The shadows followed him, wrapping around him like wings. The Titan fired again, the heat searing his armor, but he didn't slow.
He reached its base, climbing the shifting plates of metal and flesh. Clawed hands reached from the hull to pull him down — he cut them off one by one. He climbed higher, the heat from its reactor searing his skin beneath his armor. He reached its head.
"Let's end this."
He drove Veilrender into the Titan's eye. The blade sank deep, cutting through daemonic essence. The creature screamed, a thousand voices merging into one shriek. Kael's shadows surged, crawling along the wound, devouring the corruption.
The Titan convulsed, its cannons firing wildly into the sky. Then, with a sound like the breaking of mountains, it fell — a god-machine brought low.
Kael rode it down, landing amidst the ruin.
Silence followed.
Then the Iron Warriors began to fall back, their ranks shattering under the combined counter-attack of the loyalists.
Kael watched them go, breathing hard. His armor smoked, his blade dripped black ichor.
Corax landed beside him, wings folded, his armor scarred and burning. "You're insane," the Primarch said.
Kael looked up at him, a faint smile playing on his lips. "So I've been told."
Corax's gaze turned toward the palace. "They'll come again."
"They always do," Kael said softly. "But now they know—iron bleeds too."
---
Night fell over Terra, though the sun still burned somewhere beyond the smoke. The Silent Company held the line beside the Raven Guard and the Imperial Fists, surrounded by corpses and ruin. Above them, the Watcher Above circled like a carrion hawk, its hull scarred but unbowed.
Kael stood at the edge of the battlefield, the shadows rippling at his feet, the taste of ash heavy in the air.
The war wasn't over. The traitors would come again, stronger, uglier, more desperate.
But tonight, Terra still stood.
And Kael Varan, loyal son of the dark, whispered into the smoke:
"Keep counting, my Emperor. I'm not finished yet."