The human auction house had turned into a sea of chaos and panic. Aliens of all shapes and species screamed and scrambled to escape, but their hopes were shattered in an instant as their ships—barely airborne—were ruthlessly shot down by the Mobile Suits and Starfighters of the Imperium Caelestis.
> "What do I do!? What do I do!? I only came here to buy a few human slaves! How did it come to this?!"
In the heart of the sprawling city square, millions of aliens were packed together, gripped by fear and desperation. On one side of the plaza loomed a grand slave market—once a place where humans were sold like soulless commodities, stripped of all dignity.
> "The Imperium Caelestis is here! We're saved! That's... the Great Human Empire!"
From behind the iron bars of their cages, human slaves clutched the cold metal, their wide eyes gazing toward the sky, shimmering with newfound hope. High above, human warriors soared through the air in Mobile Suits and Starfighters, dominating the skies with unchallenged force. On the ground, three-meter-tall soldiers clad in heavy armor stormed the city, cutting down alien defenders with brutal efficiency and zero mercy.
> "Damn it! The Imperium Caelestis really came! Kill all the human slaves! Don't let them get away!"
"You're insane! If you kill the humans, do you think the Imperium will let you walk away?"
> "Retreating doesn't mean surrender! We'll fight another day!"
The screams, gunfire, and explosions blended into a hellish symphony that engulfed the entire city. Amidst the carnage, a new figure emerged—a humanoid with pointed ears, draped in ornate white-and-gold armor. His voice echoed across the plaza with commanding authority:
> "Calm yourselves! The Eldar Empire will protect you! We will negotiate with the forces of the Imperium Caelestis!"
At the mention of that name, the fear-stricken aliens paused, their eyes flickering with a sliver of hope. The Eldar Empire—sovereigns of the Central Plains and the Inner Star Domain—were a force both feared and revered. Even if they demanded ten humans as tribute, few civilizations dared challenge the Eldar.
"Activate the city's defense shields! Everyone, prepare yourselves!"
Trivane's voice echoed across the city square—calm, yet commanding. Though he was merely a civilian of the Eldar Empire, his very presence radiated an unspoken authority, a dominance that couldn't be mimicked or challenged. In the outer rims of the galaxy, the name Trivane was both honored and feared. No civilization dared oppose the Eldar Empire...
Except for one.
The Daelaam Protoss.
An ancient race built upon the pillars of honor, power, and spirituality. They never bowed, never submitted. To them, the Eldar were not threats nor overlords, but equals—worthy partners in diplomacy. Their negotiations were born not of fear, but of mutual recognition of true strength.
> "Of course I'll step forward on your behalf. But... I do expect to purchase a few more of these female slaves—these little monkey girls are quite the exotic pets in my region... and across the Eldar Empire."
Trivane spoke casually, as if cracking a joke, yet his eyes gleamed coldly as he grinned at King Aridian of the Solarhelm Empire. He gave a relaxed wink, as though they were merely chatting about a trivial matter.
> "Naturally, Lord Eldar."
King Aridian instantly grasped the implication behind those words—and agreed without hesitation. After all, to their kind, humans were nothing more than dressed-up monkeys—wild animals best kept as pets or sold at auction.
The Eldar were raised amidst an atmosphere of pride and supremacy. Arrogance was their birthright, and looking down on other races was something ingrained from childhood. And to be fair—in many aspects, they had reason for it.
But the Protoss were different.
They upheld values of discipline, honor, and unwavering loyalty. They didn't belittle other races—but neither did they trust easily. They preferred silence over small talk, and when war became inevitable... they left nothing but scorched earth behind.
> "Deploy your forces to establish a defensive perimeter around the city. I will go alone... to negotiate with the humans of the Imperium Caelestis."
-------
"For the Emperor!!!"
Two Space Marines from the Salamanders Legion, clad in gleaming emerald-green power armor that shimmered like fire-kissed jade, leapt into the enemy trenches. With no hesitation, they raised their flamers—unleashing hellfire that reduced Solarhelm defenses to molten slag, as if they were mere candles before gods of war.
> "Follow the Emperor's Angels of Death! For the Imperium!"
James, a Commissar of the Astra Militarum, executed a fleeing Solarhelm soldier with a calm expression. His bolt pistol roared—ripping through the enemy's chest and erasing his existence in an instant. Yet unlike the black-armored or blood-red Legions who often saw the Guard as disposable pawns, the Salamanders were different.
They shielded their fellow humans with ceramite and fire, turning their own bodies into living fortresses.
> "Into the fire, unto the anvil of war!"
"No innocent shall fall while we still draw breath!"
"For Vulkan and the Emperor!"
One of the Salamanders unleashed a stream of fire into a fortified bunker, his voice unwavering as he recited the words of his Legion:
> "We are forged in flame... A symbol of resilience, inner strength, and a long history of suffering in service to mankind."
They were more than mere soldiers—they were sanctified engines of destruction. At the front, the Astartes: the Imperium's blade. Behind them, the Astra Militarum: the warhammer that would shatter all foes into dust.
---
"Hey, brother!"
From behind the rubble, a Space Marine of the Emperor's Children emerged—his golden-purple armor shining beneath the fires of battle. A Sonorus Power Weapon hummed in his hand. He waved, casually, as if greeting an old friend at a tavern—not standing amidst a warzone drenched in blood.
> "You done purging xenos over there?"
The bonds between Legions had grown tenuous. Loyalists and Traitors might clash to the death one day, then fight side-by-side the next. But here on the battlefield… what mattered most was killing efficiently.
---
After the bloodbath, a group of World Eaters emerged—bodies soaked in gore, laughing like beasts long unshackled from sanity.
> "They're acting like they're high on Flakka," muttered one of the Astra Militarum troopers, his hands trembling. "They attack anything that moves... even us."
Many human soldiers preferred facing a predictable enemy over fighting alongside the World Eaters—who might blast your head off just because they were in a bad mood.
---
> "Alright, brothers. We're closing in on the enemy city. Shall we coordinate?"
> "Agreed. Let's resume the hunt."
For the Space Marines, the intensity of the battle so far wasn't even a warm-up. Others called this war. They called it a walk in the park—with napalm.
---
A Concordian trooper came sprinting up to Samk, breathless with urgency.
> "Emperor's Angel of Death, the enemy city is now shielded by an energy dome. Rear artillery units are preparing for a full-scale bombardment."
Samk gave a nod—calm, almost bored.
> "Very well. I'll take a look."
He waved a hand, and the Salamanders fell in behind him. They walked to the edge of a scorched hill, gazing down at the battlefield that was about to become a sea of fire and plasma.
Beyond the shimmering barrier, alien figures from countless stellar empires stood uneasily—creatures whose languages required clicks, hisses, or psychic resonance to even pronounce their names. They stared at the orange hue of the shield, fully aware that the storm of hell was coming, and there was nowhere left to run.
A cold, contemptuous voice crackled through the comms:
> "Eldar representatives demand negotiation, monkeys."
From behind the softly glowing barrier, Trivane emerged—an Eldar civilian, though the way he carried himself suggested otherwise. His psionic robes fluttered as if woven from starlight, every strand gleaming like divine silk. He stood tall, brimming with the arrogance of a race that had seen stars die while humanity still played with rocks.
A small aperture in the energy shield opened, and he stepped through with haughty confidence. His voice rang out, thick with condescension:.
> "Primitive creatures of the human race—rejoice! For today, you will hear the voice of a civilization that traversed the stars while your ancestors still clutched stones and bark!"
Trivane stepped forward, his presence towering like a god standing upon the altar of war. His face remained calm, composed, yet his eyes gleamed with deep-seated arrogance. Raising one hand high, he spoke with a voice steeped in regal authority—laced with contempt.
> "In the name of the Great and Eternal Eldar Empire, I, Trivane, bring forth our will. Bow your heads. Unstop your crude ears. Listen well..."
> "...for these words shall mark the boundary between life—"
He paused, his expression darkening ever so slightly.
> "—and utter annihilation beneath the feet of gods."
With a slight tilt of his head—mocking, disdainful—he delivered the final blow, his tone as cold as the void.
> "Pray that you possess enough wit to recognize the rarity of such generosity."
---
Before silence could settle, a thunderous roar split the air like a crack of lightning.
> "ELDAR!!!"
Captain Samk of the Salamanders Chapter marched forward, each step echoing like the toll of judgment. His eyes locked onto Trivane, and he had heard enough of the Eldar's condescending address. Something ignited within him—rage, white-hot, rising like magma through a dormant volcano. His breaths came heavy, seething, as if even his armor struggled to contain the fury building inside.
The Salamanders at his side, clad in gleaming emerald power armor, their chestplates bearing the blazing dragon sigil, stiffened. Not a word passed between them—but their loathing for the Eldar was so palpable, the very air around them began to tremble.
> "If I were you..." a nearby Space Marine from the Emperor's Children murmured, half warning, half challenge, "...I'd start running. Now."
He remembered.
He knew.
He understood the name Nocturne—the hellworld where Vulkan, Primarch of the Salamanders, had been born. He knew of the human colonies left in ashes, civilians sacrificed in the name of so-called "galactic balance." Of the Eldar who came bearing silver tongues and golden promises... only to leave behind blood and ruin.
> Eldar. Deceptive. Manipulative. Arrogant. Indifferent to who must die, as long as their future was secured.
The Salamanders, sworn defenders of mankind, bore those memories like sacred scars. To them, the Eldar were traitors—unforgivable, unforgettable.
They had not forgotten the Badab War.
They had not forgotten the fallen.
But in the eyes of the Salamanders—bearers of Vulkan's eternal flame—he was nothing more than fuel for the next blaze of their righteous fury.