The end was fast approaching. With the protective void shields above the city gone, Cult ships had swept in and bombarded the mountains, disabling or destroying all four orbital cannons, albeit at a heavy cost. The skies had lit up with the bright fireballs that were the remains of dozens of enemy ships destroyed by the cannon’s final salvos. The devastation was enormous, with the majority of the anti-aircraft defenses destroyed along with the rest. Promtown had become a blazing inferno, its massed promethium reserves set alight by a massive bombardment.
Thousands of warriors were dropped directly into the city to meet up with the thousands of orks still streaming from the asteroid. Desperate defenders made heroic last stands all over the city, even the Tau, who normally abhorred such tactics. Firewarriors and aspect warriors fought shoulder to shoulder with guardsmen and astartes. All fought and bled and died together, attempting to hold back the massed numbers of the enemy. Though most defensive points were overrun or shattered, their efforts still bore fruit. The main thrust toward the city center was blunted and held at bay, and a defensive cordon had been established and maintained in the Cog District, centered around the main towers of the hive city and the inquisitorial fortress.
Wearied fighters took up artillery-blasted positions, ready to sell their lives dearly to the last. Salvation came in the form of a cryptic astropathic message, received in the Alliance headquarters. It was brief, but the message was clear: a bloody, winged spear thrust deep into a planetary system, accompanied by massive giants that spat fire and death. The Angels had arrived.
On the outskirts of the Jotunfjell system, the peaceful void of space was torn asunder. Rippling tendrils of energy began to whip out of seemingly nowhere, and it seemed as though space itself bent, then exploded with color and light. Out of the tear in realspace, massive figures emerged. A host of Imperial ships clawed their way from the immaterium, immediately forming up and stalking into the system. Many of the ships had clearly seen recent battle, pitted with weapon impacts and blackened from carbon scoring. But at the vanguard of the fleet, a gnarled fist of blood red and white ships was unblemished. The fleet of the Angels of Purity led the way toward the foe, squadrons of strike cruisers and smaller escorts clustered around the two hulking, ugly shapes of battle barges.
Moving past the furthest outlying planet, the fleet readied itself for the battle ahead, forming up into a giant spear.
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"Every man is a spark in the darkness. By the time he is noticed, he is gone forever; a retinal after image that soon fades and is obscured by newer, brighter lights."
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