“Let this fire spread across planets and consume stars. Let all become pyre from which the new age will be born.” -Erebus, the First Chaplain of the Word Bearers
The Great Crusade has finally come to an end. The Emperor of Mankind has united a million worlds under the banner of the Imperium with the help of his sons: the 18 Primarchs and their legions of Space Marines. After two hundred years of crusade the Emperor of Man has stepped down from his duties at the spearhead of the Great Crusade, leaving his favorite son, Horus Lupercal to lead it in his place. But little did the Emperor know, something foul was brewing in Horus, because over the next nine years he would lead eight of his brothers to rebel against the Emperor and his remaining loyalist brothers with the help of the demonic gods of Chaos.
This nine year conflict, which will be called the Horus Heresy, will plunge the galaxy into a new dark age, it will mortally wound the Emperor of Mankind, and it will see Horus Lupercal dead while his dark gods laugh joyfully.
The first battle, The Betrayal at Istvaan III, began thirteen days ago.
This story takes place nowhere near Istvaan III. This story will be inconsequential to the Horus Heresy as a whole. The events that take place in this story, the characters of this story, and even knowledge of The Volk System, will all be erased from Imperial records and forgotten by the servants of Chaos.
But this story will matter to the 20 billion souls of the Volk System. It will be remembered by the people of Volk for as long as it stands. Volk’s mortal armies will stand against both the Imperium of Man and the dark gods of Chaos and they will do so for nothing more and nothing less than their freedom and their safety.
If Volk survives the Horus Heresy it will live in peace. It will be free from the bureaucrats on Terra. It will be free from the terrors of Chaos. It’s laboratories will be free from the oversight of The Cult Mechanicus on Mars. The people of Volk will live in a golden age, nearly every person on Volk will live more luxurious lives than any of their counterparts in the Imperium.
That is, if Volk survives. As we speak Volk is plunging itself into civil war. The Volk Army must silence the astropathic choir in the city of Varntanius soon, or else the Imperium will learn of Volk’s treachery. And if that happens? If the Imperium discovers Volk’s rebellion? Volk will not survive another decade.
And now the stakes are drawn up, the setting is furnished, and our characters are as ready as they’ll ever be. So without further ado, let us begin.
***
M31.004, [Chronometer Error]/Volk Primus, the Volk System/the outskirts of Vrantanius
I stumbled forward, adrenaline slowly wearing off. the crackling power axe still in my hands.
I saw the corpse of a Valkyrie Dropship around a dozen meters away, where a blaze inside illuminated a gory scene: A score of bodies laid motionless on the cargo ramp, their lasrifles still gripped tightly. A handful of similarly equipped men were laying just as motionless a few meters away, only differentiated from the troopers on the cargo ramp by their green shoulder pads rather than the purple I (and my deceased comrades in the Valkyrie) wore.
that was far from the most interesting thing on the battlefield however. Because nearly 70 meters away sat an inert Questoris Knight, a three and a half story tall behemoth of steel and adamantium. I didn’t need to see it now to know that it's livery was the steely gray and a toxic yellow of House Regold.
I looked at a comparatively smaller walker between it and me. It was an Aethon Heavy Sentinel, a staple in the Solar Auxilia (and now, by proxy, The Volk Army). I remembered how the smaller sentinel was brought low by the knight’s massive gatling cannon. I remembered how the little sentinel launched all its missiles in a last, defiant (or desperate, depending on how cynical you are) salvo. I remembered the shriek of the multilaser as it poured everything it could into the adamantium giant.
The sentinel’s defiant (or desperate) last stand did not fell the knight. The knight rampaged on, butchering tens of troopers before it was finished by a passing aircraft’s missile. But from where I stood, in the aftermath of the battle, it looked like the sentinel, on its knees, brought the knight down with it. I wondered if the sentinel’s last stand really had some part in bringing down the knight. I wondered if future generations would tell the story of a knight falling to a brave sentinel pilot’s last stand, even in spite of the truth. I wondered if the tale would be lost to the annals of history.
I wondered if all the small victories, and small battles I saw would be forgotten. Would I be the last person to remember?
I couldn’t think about that. About how all the helmeted soldiers around me would be forgotten. Their sacrifices would just be a number on a dataslate.
Would I be forgotten too? Would that be for the better? Did I want to be remembered? “The greatest soldier on Volk,” would that be me? It felt wrong. That glory would be better spent on those warriors around me who had reached Valhalla. I wasn’t worthy of that much praise, after all I was just a-
I was snapped out of my spiral by almost tripping on a bit of rubble. And when I looked back up I couldn’t remember why I was walking towards the destroyed knight; towards enemy lines. Though, as if a small miracle, a glint of bright green caught my eye through the thick smoke and I remembered the enemy command squad that had fallen. I remembered what I had to do.
I looked around again, it seemed that once the Imperials had retreated our troops had pulled out too. I realized now that I wouldn’t be able to hitch a ride with Max and by extension-
I actually tripped this time. I was glad that my armor was strong enough to handle my clumsy ass. It was while I was re orienting myself when I realized that what I tripped over was exactly what I was here to collect.
Before I collected what I was here for I was entranced by the officer who laid dead before me. Or, more accurately, was entranced by the fact that no one had looted their body.
Even at first glance I could tell that their rank was bought rather than earned (a depressingly common occurrence in the Solar Auxilia). This was due to two facts: one, the fact that their brain matter was painted on the ground behind them, suggesting that they weren’t wearing their helmet, something nobility across the galaxy were fond of. And secondly was that I didn't recognize the sidearm they carried.
After further inspection I noted many similarities between the Volkite Chargers that Hendrik and Lucy carried, and I resigned myself to asking a coggie about it later. I decided that I would give the power sabre to Max, as my melee expertise amounted to knowing that I should stick ‘em with the sharp end. After a few minutes of taking grenades, ammunition and and a few other baubles off the corpse I turned back to what I came here for.
The emerald green of the enemy standard was harsh against the orange and gray which infused the night. The standard stood firmly in a pile of rubble as such so it wouldn’t be uprooted with minimal effort. the pose of its bearer’s body made it clear that putting it here was their last act. So out of respect (and also out of the genuine inability to exert the amount of force needed to uproot the standard) rather than pull the standard out I took my power axe off my back lazily, and cut the banner down with a satisfying crackle of the axe’s power field coming in contact with the wooden beam.
My vision was blurry, my legs were weak, and my will to live was (possibly) at an all-time low. And yet, every step was followed by another. I still persisted onward and after an indeterminate amount of time I stood at the pile of rubble where I last saw Max, Hendrik, Lucy, and Bill. There, in a small pile of rubble was our standard.
It was quite simple as far as regimental standards go, simply a field of purple in front of which stood a large black stripe, and on top of that was a sanguine red circle containing a white crown and a few words:
“The Volk 1st Royal Airborne”
It had to be one of the most beautiful things I had seen in my life. I grabbed the standard, My standard, yet it still felt like too grand a position to hold. Who was I to carry such a beautiful burden? Was I simply-
I snapped myself out of the self deprecating spiral early in order to not waste my newfound will to keep walking towards the evac point, hoping to hitch a ride back to the FOB.
After walking another couple hundred meters I saw luminators in the distance. I was suddenly gripped with fear, what if they think I’m an enemy? What if they’re enemies? What if- I resigned myself to holding the enemy standard a little lower and ours a little higher in an attempt to make my allegiance a little clearer.
Only a few moments later and multiple luminator beams conversed on my position, I thanked whoever designed the armor I now wore that my helmet’s anti-flashbang visor also stopped the luminators from blinding me. I made out at least a dozen figures.
I heard a familiar voice scolding me, but I couldn’t make out the words. Belatedly, it occurred to me that one of my falls, or perhaps one of the melees I found myself in earlier, had damaged my helmet’s built in vox bead.
But I had no more time to ponder the possibility that Max had been looking for me because the man himself walked right up to me and grabbed my wrist. I quickly reminded myself of my loot.
“F-f-for you.” I croaked, dropping the enemy standard to grab the power sabre off my belt and shove it to his chest. Then I processed who the 15 or so people surrounding me were. One of them specifically however stood out to me, marked out by her lack of helmet (though she wore a rebreather to help with the smoke) and her beautiful armor that was topped with a modified version of an officer’s coat.
I removed my wrist from Max’s grip and took advantage of his bewilderment by placing our standard in his now unoccupied hand. Then, in one motion I grabbed the enemy colors off the ground and walked over to the woman without a helmet. With my last remaining vestiges of strength I fell to one knee before her and presented the green banner to her.
I croaked inaudibly while looking directly into her steely blue eyes. I tried to say something, anything, but nothing came out. So instead of making some remark or even acknowledging her status, I simply bowed my head in a fashion which seemed befitting of my reverence.
It felt as if Volk and all of its people had paused, if only for a moment, to acknowledge this great moment. She gingerly lifted the enemy’s colors out of my hands like it was a new born baby. She then held out her hand for me to rise.
She may have said something here but if she did then I didn’t hear it. Because as I rose I abruptly fell unconscious.
