338.M36
SU-76-A
SU-76 System
"Hold your ground! Help is on its way!" Captain of Mantis Warriors bellowed as he slice an Ork with his power sword.
Around him, three squads of his Company are fighting beside him. Bolters killing the Orks that coming into the district, while flamers fill the small corridors the Orks used to attack.
"Captain," A Skitarii Marshall suddenly arrived behind them with a small squad of Skitarii. "We are losing control over the northern district, the Orks have open a new route into—"
The rest of his words vanished in a thunderous blast. A Land Speeder Tornado, wreathed in flame and trailing smoke, came hurtling out of the sky before crashing into the manufactorum wall beside them. The explosion consumed the Skitarii squad in a storm of fire and shrapnel, throwing the Marshal and several Mantis Warriors violently to the ground.
The Captain threw up his arm, his armor's auto-senses dimming the glare as molten debris rained down. He glanced up just in time to see the twisted wreck of the Speeder burning amid the rubble — its assault cannon still whining weakly before exploding again in a shower of sparks. The two Astartes upon it already disappear.
"Marshall, are you still alive?!" The Captain bellowed as he raised his bolter and fire at the Ork that charging in. On his fire, the other Mantis Warriors return to their position and fire their weapons, stopping the Orks from further advancing.
"I'm still here captain." The Marshall said as he fire his Radium Serpenta. "Unfortunately same can't said to my subordinate." He sliced a Ork with his power sword as the surviving Skitarii Vanguards from the squad fire their Radium carbine.
From the twenty Skitarii Vanguards the Marshal had brought, only eight remained standing — their armor scorched, lenses cracked, and mechadendrites sparking as they rejoined the fray without hesitation.
"Then we make their sacrifice count!" the Captain roared, firing his bolt pistol point-blank into an Ork Nob's chest. The creature's torso erupted in a shower of gore and metal plates as the Captain kicked its corpse aside and swung his power sword in a sweeping arc, cutting down two more greenskins that tried to flank him.
"Contain that breach!" he barked through the vox. "Squad Aureon, establish a new barricade! Flamers forward! I want that corridor sealed!"
At once, a pair of Mantis Warriors stepped up, unleashing torrents of promethium into the burning wreckage. The flames surged higher, forming a wall of fire that consumed any Ork foolish enough to charge through it.
Just as the line began to stabilize, the ground shuddered violently. One explosion sounded, then another — and another — until the entire manufactorum complex shook under the rolling thunder of detonations. Columns of fire and smoke erupted from nearby structures, turning the already-scorched skyline into a hellish inferno.
Then came the sound.
A deafening "WAAAGH!" roared across the district — thousands of Ork throats bellowing in unison. It reverberated through the steel and stone, filling every crack and chamber with its savage fury.
Vox-channels crackled to life at once, overlapping in chaos. Screams from Ultramar Auxilia units, distorted bursts of machine-speech from Skitarii Alphas, and calm, clipped reports from battle-brothers all poured through the comms.
The Mantis Warriors' Captain listened grimly, parsing the fragments through the storm of static. Every report, no matter how panicked or composed, carried the same truth.
The defensive perimeter had failed.
"Initiate Defense Plan Beta-3!" the Captain roared, driving his power sword through the chest of a charging Ork before tearing it free in a spray of gore. "All units fall back to the secondary line! I and my brothers will cover your retreat!"
He turned sharply toward the Skitarii Marshal, whose remaining warriors were already firing disciplined volleys into the advancing horde. "Get your men moving, Marshal! Every second counts!"
"Understood, Captain," the Marshal replied, his mechanical voice steady even as another explosion rocked the street. "May the Omnissiah bless you and your men."
The Captain gave a short nod and turned back to the front, raising his bolter. "We need to hold until our back is stabilize! For the Emperor!"
The battle across the district descended into chaos. The Mantis Warriors and Eagle Warriors fought shoulder to shoulder, forming the rearguard as the battered Skitarii and Ultramar Auxilia withdrew to form a new defensive line. The Astartes fought with unyielding fury, their bolters thundering and power swords flashing through the smoke — but the Orks came on in endless waves, their sheer mass threatening to drown the defenders beneath green flesh and crude iron.
Squads were cut off or overrun one by one. Vox-signals winked out mid-sentence. Even the indomitable Astartes began to yield ground under the crushing tide of greenskins.
Then, the sky screamed.
Dozens of burning streaks tore through the cloud cover, slamming into the district with thunderous impact. Drop pods — black, their trims gleaming silver — smashed into the streets and plazas amidst the Ork hordes.
The hatches burst open in perfect unison.
From within, thirty-seven warriors clad in obsidian ceramite emerged — Paladins of the Dark Knights. They charged into the fray with power swords raised high, their blades cutting arcs of silver through the smoke and blood. The first ranks of Orks were cleaved apart before they could even roar.
Behind them came ten Contemptor Dreadnoughts, their heavy footfalls shaking the ground. Each bore a pair of lightning claws, built-in heavy flamers already belching gouts of purging fire into the greenskin ranks.
The burning haze glowed orange as the newcomers tore into the Orks — flame, steel, and fury descending from the heavens.
"Our reinforcement have arrived!" The Mantis Warriors' Captain bellowed into his vox, his voice can be hear across all Imperial vox-channel that still active. "Drive them back! Make them pay for what they did!"
Across the shattered streets and broken manufactora, morale surged. The battered defenders rose once more — Ultramar Auxilia rallying behind makeshift barricades, Skitarii recalibrating their weapons with mechanical precision, and Astartes charge with grim determination.
As they slowly began to reclaim ground, a thunderous roar filled the sky. Atharion had arrived — leading the 1st Company of the Dark Knights. Thunderhawks swept low, unleashing volleys of missiles that annihilated entire mobs of Orks before they could reach the front lines.
Moments later, massive Stormbirds and Thunderhawks descended toward the center of the district, landing amid the chaos. From the lead Stormbird, Atharion emerged — towering in his artificer armor, flanked by ten Seraph Wardens and nearly a hundred Terminators of the 1st Company. As the gunships lifted off once more, a new formation of Thunderbolts touched down, their ramps lowering to reveal ranks of Dark Knights armored vehicles rumbling into position.
The district's proximity to several major Ork strongholds made it the ideal staging ground for a counteroffensive. Atharion intended to strike hard and fast — to destroy the nearby bases, rally the remaining Imperial forces, and then launch the final assault on the Orks' primary landing site: the massive Roks that had crashed onto the world's surface and been reforged into their war fortress, where the Warboss himself commanded the invasion.
From the Thunderbolts, a formation of twenty Land Raiders thundered onto the field, their adamantium hulls scorched by atmospheric entry but unyielding. The ground trembled beneath their advance as their engines roared to life, forming the vanguard of the Dark Knights' armored spearhead.
Accompanying them were twenty Deimos-pattern Predator Infernus tanks, already charging out the moment they get in position to meet the Orks, and fourteen Deimos-pattern Rhinos carrying additional Veteran squads of the 1st Company. Each vehicle bore the black heraldry of the Dark Knights, purity seals fluttering in the heat and smoke.
"Brother Atharion!"
The booming voice cut through the din of engines and gunfire. Atharion turned toward the sound to see a Mantis Warriors Captain approaching, flanked by a squad of his battle-brothers. Their power armor was scorched and battered — plates gouged by cleavers, scarred by bullets, and streaked with ash and Ork ichor. The Captain's helm hung at his side, revealing a face lined with exhaustion and defiance, his emerald green armor dulled beneath layers of grime and blood.
"Thank you for your aid, brother," he said. He and his battle-brothers raised their free fists to their chests in salute.
Atharion inclined his head slightly, his voice calm yet carrying the quiet weight of command. "You and your company have held the line while we mustered our forces. And in doing so, you saved countless lives."
A few meters away, one of the Dark Knights Terminators tore open a jammed bulkhead door with a wrenching hiss of metal. Behind it huddled a group of refugees — men, women, and children — their faces pale and hollow, clothes torn and filthy. Some bore the insignia of local manufactorums, others the rags of displaced settlers from neighboring systems. They flinched at the sudden light, too weak to even cry out.
Even through their grime and despair, the gratitude in their eyes was unmistakable. Many fell to their knees, muttering broken prayers to the Emperor as the towering Astartes loomed above them.
The Mantis Warriors Captain glanced at the sight and exhaled heavily. "We've been sheltering them since the first bombardments. No transport, no food. Most haven't eaten in days."
"But they still have their life." Atharion reply. "And with we're here, they will have a safe transports to safe worlds, with food for them."
He turn towards Viktor. "Inform the fleet to prepare transports and food for the survivors. The moment airspace is clear, extract them all out."
"Yes my Lord." Viktor inclined his head and relayed the order to the fleet. Moments later, the sky above the district filled with the thunder of engines as Devourer dropships descended through the smoke, their hulls glinting in the orange haze.
Each vessel touched down with disciplined precision, ramps hissing open as medical servitors and mortal personnel hurried out to receive the refugees. The starving civilians were guided aboard under the watchful gaze of Voidsmen. Inside the dropships, medicae teams began immediate triage — scanning for wounds, malnutrition, and contagion.
Filtered water and ration packs were dispensed once each group passed inspection. Despite the exhaustion, fear, and disbelief clouding their faces, a flicker of relief began to ripple through the huddled masses as they stepped into the softly lit interiors of the Devourers. For the first time in weeks, they were safe.
As this happening, Atharion received a short debrief from the Captain from Mantis Warriors and Eagle Warriors about the situation. Mantis Warriors, due to their previous deployment before this are understrength, with only 64 Astartes available, they suffer heavy casualties leaving only 47 Astartes standing. Eagle Warriors joining this Crusade with 5 Companies in full strength, only suffer a total of 17 dead, though about 32 are injured.
For the Ultramar Auxilia that come to reinforce Mantis Warriors, they have suffer heavy losses due to their landing zone are overrun by the Orks armoured vehicles within hours of deployment. Now, the survivors of their shattered Regiments only capable for garrison or security duties.
"Understood," Atharion nodded after receiving their short debrief. "Both of you can provide me a list of all the supplies and equipments that your Companies needed." He said towards the two Captains. "My Armoury will supply with anything you needed, at least for those that are inside my Armoury currently."
He then turned toward the sole surviving senior officer of the Ultramar Auxilia — a battle-worn Colonel whose uniform, once immaculate, was now tattered and streaked with grime and blood. The man straightened immediately as Atharion's shadow fell over him, his face drawn but resolute.
"Your service is noted, Colonel," Atharion said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of command. "You and your men have held against impossible odds. The Emperor Himself would see your courage."
The Colonel bowed his head deeply, his voice hoarse yet steady. "My Lord… we only did our duty. The Auxilia stand ready to serve, whatever remains of us."
Atharion studied him for a moment, then gave a single nod. "Your duty continues. Gather your remaining companies and organize them into defensive cohorts. You will hold this district until the last refugee transport lifts off. Once that is done, withdraw and regroup with the second wave of Imperial Guard arriving from the fleet."
"Yes, my Lord," the Colonel replied, saluting crisply despite the tremor in his hand. "We will not fail."
As the Colonel strode away to rally his remaining officers, the Mantis Warriors Captain turned to Atharion. "You intend to hold this ground for the evacuation?" he asked.
"Yes," Atharion replied, his gaze sweeping over the landing zone as the last groups of refugees boarded the Devourers. "This ground must not fall. I will assign a few squads to secure the perimeter and cover the transports, while the rest of us push forward." He finished and glance at Caden, who nodded and begin to assign the squads.
"Report from the fleet." Viktor suddenly said. "Auspex scans indicate the Orks are massing for another assault on the district. But this time, it appears the greenskins have concentrated their forces on one direction — the northern approach."
"Then we will crush them there, and press on to their bases," Atharion answered, addressing Viktor and the captains of the Mantis Warriors and Eagle Warriors alike. "Tell the Land Raiders to form the front; the Infernus act as our mobile hammer."
He hesitated a beat, then asked the practical question that mattered most. "How many of the Land Speeders survived?"
"Of the twenty Tornadoes and twenty Typhons you provided," the Mantis Warriors' captain replied, voice tight, "only eight Tornadoes and ten Typhons remain operational."
Atharion furrow his eyebrows behind his helmet. "Gather all of the remaining Land Speeders, they will attack from the flank with all the when we engaged them on the front. Their objective are to disrupt their back line as best as they can."
Just after ten minutes, the twin-linked lascannons of the Land Raiders already begin to vaporized the Orks and their vehicles that charging at their line. At the gaps between each Land Raiders, Astartes from Dark Knights and Eagle Warriors stood side by side, firing their bolters in disciplined volleys that tore into the advancing greenskin horde. Explosions rippled across the battlefield as krak missiles and plasma bolts slammed into ramshackle trukks and crude battlewagons, scattering flaming wreckage in every direction.
The Orks came on in a roaring, chaotic tide — bellowing war cries that shook the ruins as they charged headlong through the carnage. Shootas barked wildly, slugs ricocheting off ceramite armor. Still, the Astartes line held firm, a wall of iron and flame against the green flood.
As the battle raged, a sudden chain of explosions erupted behind the Ork lines — fireballs blooming across the horizon as fuel depots and looted artillery pieces went up in spectacular detonations.
Amid the chaos, the voice of the Mantis Warriors' Captain crackled over the vox, his tone sharp and exultant. "We have broken through their rear line, and we're currently engaging the Boss that leading this attacks!"
Atharion's helm display flickered with shifting auspex readings — a growing pocket of heat and motion flaring behind the Ork front. The Mantis Warriors had struck deep, carving through the enemy's rear echelon with surgical precision.
"Understood," Atharion replied over the vox, his voice steady amid the storm of noise. "Eliminate the Warboss if possible. We will press from the front and trap them between us."
The ground shook as another explosion rippled across the horizon — one of the Orks' looted battlewagons erupting in a chain of detonations. The Mantis Warriors' Land Speeders and bikes streaked through the inferno, their assault cannons blazing, cutting down mobs of disoriented greenskins as they tried to charge at them.
"Forward!" Atharion ordered through the vox, his voice like thunder over the din of battle. "Crush the xenos!"
He leveled his plasma pistol and fired, the weapon's azure bolt punching clean through an Ork Nob's chest and vaporizing the crude armor beneath it. The beast collapsed in a heap of molten metal and charred flesh.
At his command, the Land Raiders began their advance — massive engines growling like caged beasts as they rolled forward through the ruin-strewn streets. Twin-linked lascannons flared, carving molten furrows through the oncoming horde. At their flanks strode the Terminators of the First Company, their storm bolters barking rhythmic bursts while power fists and chainfists smashed aside any greenskin that dared to close the distance.
To either side, the Predator Infernus tanks surged ahead, their turret-mounted flamestorm cannons vomiting sheets of burning promethium into the ranks of charging Orks. The greenskins shrieked as they burned, bodies thrashing amid the flames before being crushed beneath the treads of advancing Infernus and Land Raiders.
Astartes from Dark Knights and Eagle Warriors pressed forward with grim precision, tightening the noose. The side elements moved to encircle the Orks — driving them into a death pocket where bolter fire, plasma, and flame tore them apart.
Suddenly, a thunderous roar echoed from the Orks' rear lines — but it was not the bellow of greenskin victory. It was the cry of the Mantis Warriors, their triumph reverberating even through the cacophony of battle. Almost instantly, the Ork formation began to unravel. Deprived of their leader's presence, discipline — such as it was among the greenskins — disintegrated. Orks turned on one another in blind fury, arguing, shoving, and firing wildly at anything that moved.
"Brother Atharion," came the voice of the Mantis Warriors' Captain over the vox, his tone brimming with exhilaration and pride. "We have slain the Ork Boss who led this assault. The beast lies dead at our feet."
A brief pause, then he continued, his tone sharpening. "We are driving the remnants toward your line. Ready your forces — our auspex shows a Mega Nob is leading a group of 'Ard Boyz moving towards you, likely trying to regain control of the mob."
Atharion's expression hardened behind his helm, the faint satisfaction of victory replaced by cold focus. "Understood, Captain," he replied over the vox. "Fall back to a safe distance and tighten your formation. We will receive them here."
He switched to the local vox. "All squads, brace for counter-assault. The enemy seeks to rally — we will deny them that chance. Land Raiders, pivot your sponsons to cover the northern approach. Terminators — form the vanguard. The rest, tighten the line and prepare overlapping fields of fire."
Acknowledgments clicked through the vox, a chorus of disciplined responses amid the thunder of battle.
Moments later, the ground began to quake — a deep, rhythmic tremor that rolled through the shattered streets. The smoke parted under the force of the Orks' advance, revealing a wall of muscle and metal thundering toward them. Hulking Mega Nob lumbered at the front, encased in slabs of scavenged armor daubed in crude glyphs, his power klaws crackling with barely contained energy. Around him swarmed the 'Ard Boyz — larger, meaner Orks whose crude plate and rusted weapons clattered as they bellowed war cries that rattled the ruins.
The first barrage came from the Land Raiders. Twin-linked lascannons screamed through the haze, each beam slicing through armor and flesh alike. Explosions blossomed among the greenskins, throwing bodies and debris skyward. Still, the Orks pressed on, heedless of their dead, driven by sheer, savage instinct.
"Hold the line," Atharion's voice thundered through the vox. "Let the beasts break upon us."
He surged forward, his thunder hammer arcing through the smoke. The weapon struck the ground with a shattering crack, crushing a knot of Orks beneath its impact and sending shockwaves rippling through the mud and ash. Beside him, the Seraph Wardens advanced in perfect formation, their storm shields raised, their thunder hammers crushing any who dared approach.
Behind them, the Terminator squads unleashed disciplined volleys — storm bolters barking, assault cannons whirring, and plasma cannons belching incandescent fury. Every blast tore through ranks of charging greenskins, reducing mobs to smoldering ruin. Yet still, the Orks came on, roaring their defiance as they hurled themselves against ceramite and faith.
"There is only one that will emerge victory in this battle!" Atharion's voice boomed, amplified by psychic force until it rolled like thunder across the field. "And it will be ours — ours alone!"
With a surge of psychic might, his eyes flared with pale blue and golden light. Lightning crackled around his armor, dancing along his hammer's haft before erupting outward in a blinding wave. The psychic storm tore through the ranks of Orks, immolating scores of them in searing arcs of warp-born fire — until only the massive silhouette of a Mega Nob remained standing before him, smoke and ash swirling around its ironclad frame.
As the battle in Octarius Sector going on, something have also develop back at Camelarion. A threat that he worries but was forgotten due to the paperwork that flooded him when the development of the realm begin, and also the Crusade that he's planning just after the development completed.
Now, the threat begin to show itself. Though in a interesting way.