Savior's Transport Ship – Living Quarters
Drenin and the others had just begun to get a rough understanding of the combat armor they'd soon be using when a gentle hymn began to play inside their room—one of the Savior's sacred songs.
A synthesized voice followed:
Lights-out in fifteen minutes. All soldiers were instructed to complete their personal tasks quickly and prepare for rest.
The group immediately moved to clean up.
According to the Codex of the Savior, posted on the wall, all soldiers were required to maintain proper hygiene while in camp.
The ten articles of this codex were monitored by dedicated logistics officers. Each dormitory and barracks section would be scored for how well they adhered to the code, and those who violated it would be penalized.
Of course, groups who performed well would receive honorary banners and public commendations.
These scores were integrated with training results, battlefield performance, and other metrics to form a comprehensive evaluation system—for both squads and individuals.
The most outstanding soldiers would even have the chance to join the Imperial Ascension Festival and be personally honored by the Savior.
Drenin and the other veterans from the Astra Militarum, though they didn't fully grasp the reasoning behind such a system, clearly understood the rewards it offered.
Everything was transparent.
Every good deed earned a tangible response.
That in itself stirred their competitive spirit.
As battle-hardened veterans, they couldn't afford to lose to green recruits or other dorms.
And since scores were tied to group performance, no one wanted to be the one dragging the squad down.
More importantly—these were laws.
The Imperium was known for its harsh justice.
Though they didn't yet know what punishments the Savior's forces imposed, as veteran Guardsmen, they understood the consequences of breaking codified rules.
Usually... it meant death.
"Hurry up! Let's move!"
"Together, now!"
To save time, the Cadian veteran and the loud-mouthed Catachan stripped off their reeking clothes and charged into the shower room.
The Catachan was practically shouting:
"Emperor's teeth! This kind of water, for bathing? I must be dreaming! This is aristocrat-level luxury!"
"Back home, water this pure sells for a ton of creds!"
"What's this foamy stuff? Smells kind of nice—"
"Dammit, hurry up!" the Cadian snapped.
"Krieg boy's still waiting!"
Seeing the Krieg soldier hesitate at the door, they didn't force him to join. He seemed a bit unsure.
A short while later—
The Cadian and Catachan emerged, wrapped in towels. Their bodies were covered in scars—deep and shallow, some obviously life-threatening.
But to them, these were marks of valor, proof of honor.
The Krieg soldier hesitated briefly, then slowly removed his respirator and gas mask.
He peeled off his water-resistant cloak.
Everyone turned to look.
His body was marred with red scarring from radiation exposure, crisscrossed with deep wounds. One side of his face was nearly destroyed. He had no ear.
He noticed their stares and looked over, puzzled.
No one said a word.
They simply gave him warm smiles.
Silently, the Krieg trooper entered the shower.
He moved quickly, washing up at near-record speed, and emerged shortly after.
For soldiers like him—orders were to be obeyed absolutely.
After everyone had changed into their dark-green barracks uniforms, marked on the chest with a skull and Aquila—the symbol of the Storm Group—the lights-out order came through.
They climbed into their bunks.
"By the Emperor... This mattress and blanket are soft!"
The Catachan bellowed again, "Man, I wish my boys back home could enjoy this too..."
"The Savior really knows how to treat his soldiers," the Cadian commented.
Drenin inhaled the unique scent on the bedsheets and thought to himself:
If I survive this war... I'll go back and tell the Commander. Tell him to bring the Consecate brothers here—to fight for the Savior!
After all, they were still fighting for the Imperium.
The Departmento Munitorum had cut off their supplies, and worse—they were sending the Consecate Honor Guard to die.
Better to serve a merciful Primarch.
And strangely...
Drenin no longer felt so afraid.
Maybe under the Savior's protection...
He'd survive the Apocalypse-class warzone.
A soothing version of the Savior's sacred hymn played.
It was the official signal for lights-out.
When the music ended—
The lights went dark. The room fell into blackness.
"Hey guys…" the Catachan tried to speak—
But the Krieg soldier, in a rare move, interrupted in a low, rigid voice:
"Silence is required after lights-out…"
He'd just finished reading the Code on the wall—
Article IX-2 specifically mandated silence after lights-out.
After speaking, he fell silent once more.
The Catachan's eyes widened, then he slapped a hand over his mouth, stricken with guilt.
Then—
A stern voice echoed from outside:
"Room 1313, maintain silence. One point deducted for post lights-out noise."
Instantly—
The room fell utterly silent.
The Catachan didn't dare speak again.
He looked utterly remorseful.
After a long moment...
A whisper, barely audible:
"My bad, brothers…"
Another quiet voice responded:
"We're all brothers."
…
The Next Morning
Drenin was awakened by the Savior's hymn.
He immediately followed protocol and began folding his blanket into a perfect "tofu block," as the Code described.
The others were doing the same.
The Krieg trooper had already finished, now tidying up his uniform.
The Catachan, however, was struggling—his blanket a crumpled mess, sweat pouring down his face.
"By the Throne, this is impossible!"
He turned to the Krieg trooper:
"Hey brother, give me a hand?"
The Krieg soldier hesitated briefly, then swiftly folded the bedding in mere moments.
After all, the Code didn't prohibit helping others.
Once the beds were done and hygiene complete, the four soldiers of Room 1313 made their way to the designated assembly point.
Along the way, they saw other soldiers in brand-new equipment.
Most troops had already been issued their full loadouts—dark green exo-armor with embedded ceramite plating, covering nearly the entire body.
Only a few, like Drenin's group, still wore standard uniforms.
In truth—
The regular units had already received all-new gear, including armor, rifles, and heavy weapons. They had even been assigned to specific warzones.
They would now undergo intense training to familiarize themselves with battlefield terrain and directives—
So that once they reached Baal, they could fight immediately.
After a short assembly and briefing—
Drenin's stomach growled.
To their delight, the Storm Group Army offered three full meals a day!
When they arrived at the mess hall, they were stunned.
The dining hall was enormous—
Rows upon rows of steaming food trays:
Porro bread, amino cereal porridge, eggs, Steggalo milk, Proine fruits...
Drenin walked through, the rich aroma invading his nostrils and making his mouth water.
"Holy Emperor, even nobles don't eat like this!"
The Catachan wiped his chin.
If this was breakfast...
What would lunch and dinner be like?
Were they here to fight... or to vacation?
Finally—
They reached the dining hall reserved for the combat armor units.
The food here was even more lavish.
On top of everything else, there were Skeglow beast steaks.
They even received vitamin supplements and mild nerve-calming meds.
As they devoured the finest meal of their lives—
The Cadian veteran suddenly said:
"No matter what happens in this war… we've got to give it everything we've got."
Everyone else nodded in solemn agreement.
These veterans had seen too much misery.
They knew how rare and precious this all was—
And how much blood was required to protect it.
In truth—
Soldiers and civilians in the Savior's domain understood this well.
They had seen the horrors outside—
Through dispatches, documentaries, and firsthand missions.
It made them fiercely protective of what they had.
They were determined to give everything in service.
No one wanted to lose it all and fall once more into the abyss—
To suffer under xenos, heretics, and despair.
...
Battle Armor Deployment Zone
Inside the Armory Institute, a mechanical sage bowed deeply to the Savior's projected image.
"Lord Savior, we are ready. The large-scale deployment trials of the combat armor can now begin."
Eden nodded with satisfaction. "Good. Use this opportunity to refine the suits even further."
This wave of equipment upgrades for the Storm Group Army was thanks in large part to a generous gift from the T'au Empire.
The Universal Mortal Combat Armor had been developed by combining the T'au's battlesuit technology with Imperial power armor systems.
Under the Savior's guidance, its angular silhouette had been refined—more closely resembling the iconic CMC armor from Starcraft.
These suits dramatically enhanced a regular human's combat capabilities—approaching the effects of true power armor.
Of course, they were still a notch below in terms of raw performance.
According to current data:
A 12-man veteran squad wearing these suits could just barely go toe-to-toe with a standard Astartes.
But against legendary warriors like Carter or Big Barrel … they'd stand no chance.
Those giants had nearly limitless might, capable of singlehandedly tearing through armies and dueling Greater Daemons.
Fortunately, what the suits lacked in performance could be compensated by scale.
Not everyone could wear true power armor—Astartes required gene-seed and long genetic processes. They couldn't expand quickly.
But the combat armor required almost no prerequisites. Any mortal could wear one and see massive gains.
So long as there were resources, you could create an endless tide of CMC's —
A steel storm to drown the enemy.
The only downside?
These suits were still in the prototype phase, and costs remained high.
At present, one suit cost roughly a third of a full set of power armor—a staggering price.
Eden gritted his teeth and allocated half the entire Storm Group Army's budget to the Armory Institute.
The result:
100,000 Universal Mortal Combat Armors.
Nowhere near enough to equip the entire force—so they were prioritized for veteran units.
For a long time to come, the Savior's realm would have to scramble for more resources to expand these armored battalions.
Thankfully, the Webway Development Plan was progressing steadily.
The Savior's Webway would eventually become a galaxy-spanning trade and logistics nexus, drawing endless resources.
Its benefits would be felt across all civilized Imperial worlds.
But even with this promise—
There remained one critical flaw in the armor: no real protection against Chaos.
Even wearing the suit, mortal minds were too weak, their will too feeble, to withstand the horrors of the Warp.
The Armory Institute had proposed a solution:
Using Blackstone to create anti-Warp shielding modules to enhance suit resistance.
But Blackstone was rare.
And the main veins were located in the Vigilus System.
If the Savior wished to overcome this limitation, he'd have to take Vigilus from Abaddon—and survive a brutal war against Chaos, Tyranids, Aeldari, Necrons, Orks...
Only then could the armor be perfected—
To become fit for any battlefield.
Eden reviewed the situation briefly before ending the transmission.
The projection faded, and the mechanical sages of the institute resumed their preparations for mass deployment.
To them, no amount of simulations or lab tests could match the harsh crucible of real war.
This would be the first deployment of 100,000 combat-armored soldiers—
A blood-soaked opportunity for data.
As the electronic commands echoed—
Row upon row of veterans marched toward the armament chambers.
Outside the chamber—
"Praise the Savior!"
Drenin stood shirtless in line, his muscular torso gleaming with sweat. He couldn't help but mutter a reverent exclamation.
The past days of training had taught him what this armor truly meant.
It was a gift—
A divine blessing from the merciful Savior.
It allowed them lowly mortals to grasp a sliver of the power normally reserved for the Emperor's Angels.
Even that sliver was an unimaginable grace.
Now, he was about to don this sacred armor and face the Tyranid swarm on an Apocalypse-class battlefield.
He strode down the incense-scented corridor, accompanied by binary-coded hymns.
Zzz—
As he reached the chamber door, the hiss of steam marked the opening of the mechanical gate.
Inside was a chamber etched with Mechanicus scripture.
In its center: a mechanized platform surrounded by six servo arms, the scent of machine-oil heavy in the air.
The voice spoke:
"Soldier. Step onto the platform."
Drenin took a deep breath and obeyed.
The door shut behind him.
A screen lit up with his portrait, identification, history, and current unit data.
He followed instructions, stepping into the ceramic steel boots on the platform.
The boots clamped shut, securing his feet.
The platform whirred and rose.
Two arms gently raised his arms.
The servo arms began their sacred work—
Piece by piece, armor components were fitted onto him.
Electrodes connected, promethium injected, screws locked, seals welded.
At last—
"Combat Armor: equipped."
Fwoooom—
The back vents of the armor hissed, releasing steam.
Drenin raised his arms and seized a descending boltgun with both hands.
He snapped on the crimson-lensed helmet.
When the door opened again—
A golden-armored figure with glowing red eyes strode out.
Drenin's entire body trembled with excitement.
He could feel the power inside this suit.
He knew—this would let him kill far more bugs.
In the deployment hall—
More and more combat-armored soldiers emerged.
Beyond the standard suit, there were other variants:
Heavy assault types with bulkier frames.
Defenders wielding massive shields.
Snipers with shoulder-mounted autocannons.
These models could form flexible 12-man squads or operate as massive armored battalions.
Their firepower would be overwhelming.
The new soldiers marched toward the training fields to begin their drills.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Drenin blew apart airborne targets with his bolter, then activated his jump-pack—
Crashing through a cement wall.
He drew his chainsword and faced down an incoming training automaton.
With his extensive battlefield experience, he quickly mastered the armor's basic systems and unleashed its full potential.
After training—
Drenin flexed his arms and downed an energy drink.
For the first time—
He was eager for war.
Days Later—
The super heavy transports finally arrived in orbit above Baal.
Wave after wave of landers descended, delivering tens of millions of Astra Militarum to the surface.
The surface of Baal now bristled with a defense network spanning hundreds of kilometers.
Fortress walls and iron bastions rose from the dust, dividing the battlefield into operational sectors.
Millions of artillery pieces lined the emplacements.
Each force held its designated zone.
On the outer frontlines—
Redeemer-class Titans, Imperial Knights, and Baneblade formations stood ready.
Under the glow of the supergiant star, their steel armor gleamed blood-red.
In orbit—
Nearly a thousand major warships, plus numerous support fleets, encircled the system—casting shadows that eclipsed the stars.
In one void sector—
The T'au Defender Fleet arrived, surrounded by its coalition allies.
Kroot Warspheres were scattered like stars.
Nicassar dhows drifted between them.
They were ready to fight for the Savior.
Vrrrr—
The grinding whirr of drills echoed.
The green-skin Rogue Fortress had arrived—led by WAAAGH! Rogg.
Its giant underbelly drill, nearly a kilometer long, spun wildly—threatening to tear through mountains.
Inside the fortress—
Orks howled with excitement, banging on armor plates and priming weapons.
They were eager to bash some bugs in the name of the Savior.
With so many forces assembled—
The Apocalypse-class war against Leviathan was about to erupt.
Meanwhile—
Warp Space – Khorne's Realm
The crimson sky was ablaze.
Lava rivers snaked across scorched lands.
Mountains of bones loomed everywhere.
Woooo—
The horns of war howled.
Bloodletters, Skullcrushers, Wrathbeasts, Brass Bulls, Daemon Engines—
A hellish tide stretching beyond the horizon.
This was the daemon legion of Ka'Bandha—Khorne's most favored.
Atop a throne of skulls—
A monstrous figure, wreathed in fire, sat in silence.
Towering over ten meters tall, with massive horns and brutal runes carved into his hide—
Surrounded by eight Greater Daemons—
There was no mistaking it.
Ka'Bandha himself.
He stared down at his assembled army with satisfaction.
After centuries—
The chance had come to annihilate the Sons of Sanguinius once and for all.
Through dark sorcery, Ka'Bandha had learned the Blood Angels were massing at Baal.
A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!
"Heh… Once I'm done with the Sons of Sanguinius… I'll find a way to kill the Devourer too."
Ka'Bandha sneered.
He believed in his own strength again.
Though—
As he muttered "the Devourer", his body involuntarily trembled.
A moment later—
He reconsidered.
Perhaps… that part could wait.
First, the Blood Angels.
ROAAARRR—
Ka'Bandha rose to his feet, unleashing a thunderous roar that stoked the flames of the blood skies.
He had mobilized his greatest legion yet.
This time—he would destroy Baal.
He would slaughter everyone.
And deal a crippling blow to the Imperium.
Then the name Ka'Bandha, Supreme Bloodthirster, would rise to new heights!
...
Baal – Savior's Temporary Sanctuary
"Wait, Ka'bro, sent all his daemon forces? AND borrowed more from other Bloodthirsters?"
Eden read the intel from the spy daemon Bary with glee.
"Ah... Such loyalty," he murmured in admiration.
(End of Chapter)
[Check Out My Patreon For +20 Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!!][[email protected]/zaelum]
[+500 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]
[Thank You For Your Support!]