Logis-Expurgatus: Chrono-Historia of the Vindicta Zeth

Chapter 1: Trizekiel Zeth, The Birth of Vindicta Zeth 

0.001.567.M31

Magma City had always been a marvel—an ode to the union of purpose and power that defined its builder, Koriel Zeth. Gleaming halls and precisely machined passages spoke to progress and efficiency. These grand corridors were filled with the hum of machinery, their order a stark contrast to the chaos that would soon unfurl. Trizekiel Zeth, once an archivist, now stood at the cusp of becoming a figure of vengeance.

From his hidden archive base, he watched the chaos unfold—the city he had devoted himself to crumbling beneath the bombardment of Dark Mechanicum forces. The walls were cracking, and the very foundation was being ripped apart. No herald announced the doom—only the shriek of collapsing metal and the screams of the corrupted. It was then that the binaric message came through—simple, clinical, final:

"Initiate Vindicta Protocol."

The order left no space for hesitation. The great Koriel Zeth had already erased his existence from her records, a precaution for the inevitable. Trizekiel began rerouting power, diverting resources from archival transcription to protein production and organic replication. Everything became preparation for a long, long wait. The memory of Koriels work must be preserved. Non-augmented personnel were flagged for conversion—they would become something more, something durable in the face of war. Systems dimmed their energy fields, precautions to prevent detection in the war that loomed above.

Trizekiel moved down the shadowy halls of the archive, his cloak rustling against the walls as he considered his predicament. How had it come to this? The scrapcode—it had brought ruin where only order should have prevailed. He had been fortunate enough to isolate it, but others had succumbed, the great forges of Mars falling one by one. The fury in him boiled beneath the metal of his augmentations, restrained only by the sheer enormity of his task.

He saw it—the very moment when Magma City was swallowed by the seething flow of lava, its towers disintegrating into molten rock. He listened through the vox as Knights of Tempestus and Taranis announced their deaths—one by one pinging out of existence, their oaths of loyalty carried to their final moments. He turned off the external relays when the heretic Las Taol broadcasted looping claims his dominance over Mars—a blight upon their world.

Hours later, the console beside him flickered to life, the machine spirit bringing grim news.

"Sir: proximity alarm." The central cogitator brought Trizekiel back from the weight of his grief. "Two knights of House Taranis approach. Receiving authentication codes from one Rho-mu 31."

The words hung in the air, reverberating through the steel of the archive walls. A protector from Magma City. There were survivors somehow—the Vindicta Protocol’s success quotient attempted to update. More data would be required.

"Scan for scrapcode." He commanded, his voice flat, the barest hint of anticipation hidden beneath the mechanical drone. 

"None detected."

"Open vox channel." Trizekiel's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, staring at the approaching figures on his monitors.

"Identify yourselves."

From beyond the massive external blast lock, a voice returned, crisp with static yet unmistakably noble.

"This is Raf Maven—Rider of Equitos Bellum and Knight of House Taranis. I have a Rho-mu 33 here who says the Vindicta Protocol is in effect…”

Trizekiel allowed himself a brief moment of relief. "Open the gates."

The blast lock groaned as it shifted, mechanical actuators whirring in compliance. As the massive barrier slowly parted, Trizekiel couldn't help but think that perhaps it wouldn't take a thousand years to bring Mars back to compliance after all. Two Knights would update their functional parameters. More could be trained.

Raf Maven entered first, his towering knight somehow in perfect condition, the emblem of House Taranis resplendent on its armor. A Knight Paladin loped in beside him.

"You honor us by accepting the call," Raf Maven's voice echoed through his vox grill, reverberating in the cold metal chamber of the archive.

Trizekiel looked up at the imposing knight, the satisfaction in his voice carefully masked by the mechanical neutrality of his tone. "We stand on the precipice of a thousand-year war, Raf Maven. This is only the beginning."

Rho-mu 33 dropped from the Knight’s hatch, walked towards the Tech Priest and inclined his head. "The heresy that has overtaken Magma City will not be the end. It will be the fuel for our vengeance."

Trizekiel nodded. "The Vindicta Zeth will rise, and we will bring ruin to those who have betrayed us. Please, come inside.”

The echo of their determination reverberated in the metal halls. The Vindicta Protocol was in effect, and Trizekiel Zeth would stop at nothing to see it fulfilled.

Chapter 2: Archmagos Georgeius Secundus

0.345.810.M38

Five thousand years to rebuild a planet, reunite its forces and forge the means of its revenge. The great docks of Mars stood as towering monuments to the ambition of the Mechanicum, an intricate labyrinth of scaffolding and machinery enveloping colossal vessels suspended in the act of their creation. It had taken them generations to reclaim Mars, but they had done it. The Dark Mechanicum had been driven out, and they had rebuilt. 

Among these titanic forms rested the newly forged arc ship, Expugator, its hull glistening over the dim red light of the Martian sky. The great vessel was armed with plasma arrays and data-purging technologies, a declaration of wrath to those that had defied the Omnissiah.

Archmagos Georgeius Secundus gazed upon it with a satisfaction only the union of function and faith could bring. His optics zoomed in and out, a rapid analysis of the ship’s integrity, followed by a deep scan of its noospheric presence. The results pleased him. His mechanical fingers curled slightly, his augmented mind flooded with binaric hymns of praise and dedication.

The ship was ready.

Georgeius stood on the dockyard platform, looking down at the barren red landscape of Mars below. The planet, once teeming with the hopes of technological evolution, was now marred with scars that stretched as far as his augmented eyes could see—remnants of the Horus Heresy, vestiges of the betrayal that had ripped the heart of the Mechanicum asunder.

His voice broke the mechanical silence, the words a mix of reverence and cold determination.

"Our world bears the scars of betrayal. The taint of the Dark Mechanicum festers like an untreated wound. We must purge it."

There was no immediate response. The words seemed to linger in the air, reverberating through the noosphere, searching for an answer.

Then, with the soft crackle a binaric burst found its way to his mind within the vast network of the Martian noosphere. An echo of something.

"Vindicta."

The Archmagos allowed himself a flicker of something akin to surprise—a binaric glow in the deep corners of his mechanical thoughts. They would not cease until the galaxy was cleansed of the heretical scourge. Georgeius turned, his robe swirling around him, the crimson of his fabric contrasting sharply with the gunmetal gray of his augmentations.

The Expugator was a vessel of vengeance, and he would see it fulfill its sacred duty.

He moved towards the inner sanctum of the dockyard, the massive blast doors opening before him with a hiss of depressurizing gas. The chamber beyond was a command center of organized chaos. Servitors shuffled to and fro, busy with the endless tasks required to keep the mechanisms of war turning. Adepts monitored cogitator banks, adjusting levers, spinning dials, and analyzing data readouts.

In the center of the room, a hololithic display flared to life, showing a projection of the Martian system, its void lanes teeming with the red markers of Mechanicus vessels. Georgeius watched as several of these markers began to move, forming a tight phalanx around a larger icon—the Expugator, preparing to depart.

His voice carried across the room, a command that brooked no hesitation. "Prepare the plasma arrays. Ensure all data-purging balasts are prepared. We shall not leave Mars until all systems show full readiness."

A junior adept, his face obscured by the wires and tubes snaking from his temples, looked up from his console. "Archmagos, the Expurgators Machine Spirit has acknowledged your command. All systems show optimal performance."

Georgeius inclined his head, the faintest glimmer of satisfaction barely perceptible beneath the blank stare of his optical implants.

The air was charged with a sense of grim anticipation, and the clattering of mechanical limbs and servos filled the silence as the adepts continued their preparations for the boarding procession. The Archmagos observed, a mechanical overseer orchestrating the various aspects of the impending campaign. To serve the Omnissiah was to embody His will, and Georgeius was but an extension of that divine purpose.

A sudden chime echoed through the command center, and Georgeius turned, his optics zooming in on a smaller display where a new communication was appearing. The display lit up, showing a request for a secure noospheric channel. The sender’s identification code scrolled across the screen: Trizekiel Zeth.

"Patch the transmission," Georgeius ordered, stepping towards the communication console.

The screen flickered, stabilizing into the image of Trizekiel, his bionic eyes glowing faintly in the low light of his chamber. "Georgeius, preparations are complete. We are ready to bring justice to the traitors."

Georgeius allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction before his voice, cold and metallic, filled the room. "Justice, vengeance, and cleansing fire, Trizekiel. The Expugator is ready. We shall be the torch that lights the void."

Trizekiel nodded, his mechanical augmentations catching the light as he spoke. "The Vindicta Zeth will rise. Let the heretics know fear."

The transmission cut, and Georgeius turned back to the hololithic display. He raised a clawed hand, gesturing towards an adept standing by one of the cogitator banks.

“Commence boarding proceedures and set course for the Agrapinaa sector as soon as we arrive. The time for reckoning is upon us."

The adept nodded, his voice a whisper of reverence. "By your command, Archmagos. The Emperor protects."

As the Expugator began its departure from Mars, the Archmagos could not help but feel a sense of finality—a certainty that, from this moment on, there could be no turning back. They would hunt down the enemies of the Mechanicum, and they would purge them in fire. For Magma City. For the Omnissiah.

The Vindicta Zeth would have its vengeance.

Chapter 3: Sir Nerpl of House Taranis

0.973.784.M41

The ice stretched in all directions, an endless expanse broken only by the lurching figures of the Knights of house Taranis, their imposing forms magnified by the cold twilight. Princeps Kyrige Nerpl of House Taranis moved cautiously, his Knight Castellan, Purity of Sol, striding across the frozen landscape with the resolute confidence of a titan on the hunt. Beside him were three Knight Lancers, each a testament to the indomitable spirit of House Taranis. Logical Conclusion, piloted by Odo Amorak, Irrefutable Theorem piloted by Kos Olympia, and Undeniable Hypothesis, piloted by the ever irascible Fatez Bikage moved in a rotating triangle around him with a sense of purpose that mirrored Nerpl's own. Between them, a dozen Warglaives plodded through the ice. His honor guard. He could sense their hunger for battle, it had been a long march. 

The bitter winds whipped at their armored exteriors, the cold clinging to the ancient plating of the three Lancers that had been recovered from the ruins of Magma City. The Lancers had been rebuilt by Trizekiel himself, their machine spirits still burned with memories of the fall.

"This should be the place," Nerpl rumbled, his voice transmitted through a vox-channel, the biting cold of the plateau evident even through the machine-augmented tones.

From behind them, a sacristan walker emerged from the mist, guided by a quiet intelligence and flanked by half-frozen kataphron destroyers, its steps careful yet assured. A single ping from the vox confirmed the location—the buried menace beneath the ice they had come so far to find.

A resonance of sonaric waves propagated through the air, an eerie chime that sent vibrations through the icy crust. For a moment, the silence of the plateau seemed endless—an unnatural hush that heralded the impending storm.

"Brace for hostiles," a raspy, ancient mechanical voice voxed from within the sacristan.

The ice ruptured in a plume of ice and smoke. Chaos emerged from hidden hatches in the ice. Hulking Skitarii, their bodies twisted and tainted by scrapcode erupted from beneath the frozen crust—ogre-like in size, their eyes glowing a sickly green. The ground heaved as corrupted walkers lumbered forth, amplifying the scrapcode signal that emanated from the monsters.

In unison the Lancers bristled with fury at the very sight of the corrupted Skitarii. These machines had watched the fall of Magma City. Echoes of their fallen remembered the bitter taste of scrap-code and demanded redemption. Odo, Kos and Fatez had trained their entire lives to embrace these echoes. Memories of Magma City flooded their minds once again, and they embraced it. The three Lancers pivoted towards the beach, shields raised, lances sparking with energy. 

His honor guard in place, Nerpl swung the Castellan’s twin-linked plasma decimator in a wide arc, unleashing a torrent of superheated energy that seared past the Lancers and through the ranks of corrupted Skitarii. The plasma scorched the icy surface, melting through armor and circuitry alike. Beside him, Logical Conclusion charged the enemy lines with its lance, while Irrefutable Theorem and Undeniable Hypothesis brought their weapons to bear, each strike precise and devastating.

“Maintaining suppression fire," Nerpl commanded over the shared vox, his tone unwavering. "Odo, hold the line. We cannot afford to let them breach our formation."

Amorak’s voice crackled through the vox, gritty and determined. "Acknowledged, Princeps. We will not falter."

The Knight Lancers moved in perfect synchrony, their weapons delivering swaths of devastation. The ice beneath them trembled under the weight of their war machines, but they held their ground, the combined power of their chassis too much for the corrupted to overcome. Despite their bestial strength, the Skitarii were cut down in the hundreds, their bodies dismembered by power lances or vaporized by plasma and volcano fire. Missiles erupted from the Purity of Sol’s back, fire blossoming among the enemy ranks.

Yet for every Skitarii that fell, another seemed to take its place. The corrupted walkers amplified the scrapcode signal, attempting to overwhelm the loyalist Knights' machine spirits. Nerpl could feel the growing pressure, the interference thrumming at the edge of his consciousness. It was like a persistent whisper, gnawing at his resolve.

"Machine spirits, remain steadfast!" Nerpl bellowed, his voice reverberating through the cockpit of Purity of Sol. The Castellan's machine spirit responded with a surge of power, the targeting reticule shifting as if it, too, shared in the desire for vengeance. Plasma coils charged and unleashed, sending out radiant destruction.

Hours stretched on, turning the endless battle into a grim endurance trial. Warglaives fell, their pilots giving everything to delay the enemy, their reactors melting the corrupted Skitarii around them in a final act of defiance. The plateau was littered with shattered metal and frozen corpses, the twisted remains of both enemy and ally.

Nerpl’s armor was scorched and dented from the hours of relentless combat, but he stood resolute. Undeniable Hypothesis slew the last Skittari with a wide sweep of his lance. As silence fell back upon the frozen wasteland, only two Warglaives remained standing. The three Lancers stepped back from the hatch, making way for the Sacristan walker to approach.

From the depths of a sacristan walkers hatch, a figure emerged—robed in crimson and gold, his face obscured beneath a hood. He moved with a calm that seemed unfitting for this desolate battlefield.

"Heretics deleted, we will handle those left within" the figure intoned, his voice echoing across the plateau, the static laced with a sense of grim satisfaction. He raised a clawed hand, gesturing for Nerpl and Amorak to stand down. "My thanks, Pilot Nerpl.”

Hours later, the tech priest re-emerged with another. His robe was ragged, his augmentations flickering in and our of function. He crossed the frozen tundra, step by step, until he reached the towering knights of House Taranis. The figure lifted his hood, revealing the cold, augmented features of a Tech-Priest. His bionic eyes glowed a soft crimson, and he spoke with measured clarity. Could it be? Unbidden, Purity of Sol lifted its Magma Lance in salute. The three Lancers kneeled, their pilots barely stifling their surprise. “It’s him Princeps, it’s. this is Trizekiel Zeth…” 

The Knight Lancers stood tall, their machine spirits echoing the silent fury that resonated among their pilots. As the mist of the frozen battlefield settled, Vindicta Zeth rangers emerged from the dark mechanicum stronghold.

The battle was far from over, but Nerpl felt a sense of purpose that transcended mere survival. The leader of Vindicta Zeth still lived, and their fight had only just begun. Every blow struck here was one step closer to reclaiming the honor of House Taranis and purging the galaxy of the corrupted heresy that had brought their noble house close to ruin.

Sir Nerpl activated Purity of Sol’s external vox, blaring across the tundra: 

”For Magma City, for vengeance!”

Chapter 4: Sir Willem Zaus, Cadian 8th

0.502.823.M41

The war-torn landscape of the Elysian Fields was a scarred wasteland, filled with the wreckage of war machines, shattered fortifications, and craters still smoldering from the recent barrage of enemy fire. The once fertile world had become a grim testament to the price of survival. The Cadian 8th Regiment, one of the last bastions of the Imperium's indomitable spirit, stood resolutely amidst the chaos.

Major Willem Zaus surveyed the battered remnants of his regiment. The men and women of the Cadian 8th were weary, their armor scorched, their faces hardened by the struggle for survival. They had been holding the line for weeks now, fending off wave after wave of Dark Mechanicum forces. Each assault had taken its toll, but the Cadians remained unbroken, their will as strong as the rockcrete walls they had built to defend their position.

Willem adjusted the strap on his lasgun, the weight of the weapon familiar in his hands. He looked out across the wasteland, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. The sun was setting, casting a blood-red glow across the battlefield, as if the very world was bleeding from the wounds inflicted upon it. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning promethium and the metallic tang of blood.

A distant rumble echoed across the plains, and Willem's gaze shifted towards the sound. In the distance, he could see the towering forms of Imperial Knights, their silhouettes framed against the setting sun. House Taranis had arrived, their lances raised high, the azure lightning wheel standard of their house fluttering in the wind. The Knights advanced with a deliberate pace, their massive forms a sight that filled Willem's heart with a mixture of awe and hope.

The vox crackled to life, and the voice of Princeps Kyrige Nerpl echoed through the channel, his tone filled with a grim determination that matched Willem's own.

"Major Zaus, this is Princeps Nerpl of House Taranis. We are here to fulfill our oath. The Dark Mechanicum will fall."

Willem keyed his vox, his voice steady despite the exhaustion that weighed upon him. 

"Understood, Princeps. The Cadian 8th stands ready. Together, we will drive these hereteks back into the shadows."

The ground beneath Willem's feet trembled as the Knights drew closer, their mighty feet crushing the remains of enemy fortifications beneath them. Beside him, the soldiers of the Cadian 8th looked on, their expressions a mix of relief and determination. The arrival of House Taranis was a beacon of hope, a reminder that they were not alone in this fight.

The Dark Mechanicum had entrenched themselves on the far side of the battlefield, their twisted war engines and corrupted Skitarii forming a defensive line that bristled with weaponry. Willem could see the flickering of unholy energies that surrounded their position, the telltale sign of corrupted machine spirits at work. The hereteks had defiled the land, twisting the very essence of the Mechanicum's sacred technology into something vile and profane.

"Cadians, prepare for the assault!" Willem's voice rang out across the lines, his command echoing through the vox as the soldiers moved into position. Heavy weapons teams set up their autocannons and lascannons, while the infantry formed firing lines, their lasguns charged and ready.

The Knights of House Taranis moved to the front, their weapons coming to life with a hum that resonated through the air. Plasma coils glowed with an intense blue light, and the barrels of their thermal cannons began to spin, the heat radiating from them palpable even at this distance. Princeps Nerpl's Knight Castellan, Purity of Sol, took the lead, its massive bulk a shield for the infantry behind it.

"For Cadia! For the Emperor!" Willem's rallying cry cut through the noise, and the Cadian 8th responded as one, their voices raised in a unified shout of defiance. The Knights advanced, their weapons unleashing torrents of plasma and explosive shells, the ground shaking beneath the sheer weight of their firepower.

The Dark Mechanicum responded in kind, their corrupted war engines belching forth streams of corrupted energy, the air crackling with the unholy power of their defiled machine spirits. Skitarii moved forward, their augmented bodies glinting in the fading light, their weapons aimed at the advancing Knights and Cadian infantry.

The battlefield erupted into chaos, the clash of Imperial might against the twisted forces of the Dark Mechanicum. Willem moved with his men, his lasgun firing in controlled bursts, each shot aimed with precision. He could see the twisted forms of the enemy Skitarii falling under the combined fire of the Cadian lines, their corrupted bodies crumpling to the ground.

The Knights pressed forward, their massive feet crushing the enemy beneath them. Purity of Sol fired its plasma decimator, the superheated energy vaporizing a cluster of enemy war engines in a blinding flash of light. Beside it, a trio of Knight Lancers advanced with unwavering resolve, their lances striking down the corrupted machines that dared to stand in their path.

Willem's vox crackled again, and the voice of Canoness Olivia Dominica of the Order of Our Martyred Lady came through, her tone filled with righteous fury.

"Major Zaus, the Sisters of Battle are moving to flank the enemy. We will cut off their retreat and cleanse them in the Emperor's name."

"Acknowledged, Canoness," Willem replied, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a cluster of enemy war engines attempting to regroup. "The Emperor protects."

The Sisters of Battle moved with precision, their bolters roaring as they advanced on the enemy's flank. The corrupted Skitarii found themselves caught between the hammer of the Knights and the anvil of the Sisters, their lines breaking under the relentless assault. The air was filled with the roar of engines, the crack of lasfire, and the screams of the dying.

Willem felt a surge of hope as he saw the enemy lines begin to falter. The Cadian 8th pressed the advantage, their lasguns cutting down the fleeing hereteks as the Knights and Sisters of Battle closed in from both sides. The Dark Mechanicum's defensive line crumbled, their war engines reduced to smoldering wrecks, their Skitarii lying in heaps amidst the ruins of their fortifications.

Princeps Nerpl's voice came through the vox once more, his tone filled with the grim satisfaction of victory. "Major Zaus, the enemy is routed. We have purged this sector of their filth."

Willem nodded, his gaze sweeping across the battlefield. The ground was littered with the remains of the enemy, the once formidable force now nothing more than twisted metal and broken bodies. The Cadian 8th had held the line, and with the aid of House Taranis and the Sisters of Battle, they had driven the hereteks back into the shadows.

"Cadia stands," Willem said, his voice filled with pride. "We will honor our fallen, but our fight is far from over."

The soldiers around him cheered, their voices filled with a renewed sense of purpose. They had faced the darkness and emerged victorious, but they knew that the war was far from over. The Dark Mechanicum was a blight that would not be easily eradicated, but as long as they stood together, as long as they held the line, they would continue to fight.

The Vindicta Zeth had found another ally in the Cadian 8th, and together, they would bring the Emperor's light to the darkest corners of the galaxy.

Willem looked towards the horizon, the setting sun casting long shadows across the battlefield. The fight for Agrapinaa had only just begun, but with allies like House Taranis and the Sisters of Battle, he knew they stood a chance. The Vindicta Zeth would have its vengeance, and the Cadian 8th would be there every step of the way.

"For Cadia. For the Emperor," Willem whispered, his eyes filled with determination as he turned to join his men, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Chapter 5: Canoness Olivia Dominica, Order of Our Martyred Lady

0.623.830.M41

Canoness Olivia Dominica stood atop the ridge overlooking the vast wasteland below, her eyes narrowing as she took in the twisted landscape that stretched for miles. The terrain was scarred by the passage of war, deep craters and shattered debris bearing witness to the unrelenting violence of the Dark Mechanicum. Olivia’s face was obscured by her helm, its red eye lenses glinting in the dim light of a sun hidden by dark clouds of ash and smoke.

Her armor, adorned with holy symbols and purity seals, glistened with an almost divine glow, its blackened metal polished to perfection. She carried herself with the authority that came from decades of unwavering faith and service to the Emperor. Around her, the Sisters of the Order of Our Martyred Lady stood in silence, their bolters held ready, their faces hardened by the countless battles they had endured.

Their task was clear—their mission divine. They were to cleanse this world of the heretek's taint, and they would do so with the fire of the Emperor's wrath. Olivia raised her hand, signaling the advance, her eyes never leaving the battlefield below.

"My Sisters, today we bring the Emperor's light to those who have forsaken His grace. Let none escape our judgment," Olivia declared, her voice carrying across the vox channel with a fierce conviction that inspired all who heard it.

The Sisters moved as one, their armored forms making their way down the ridge, bolters held ready as they descended upon the enemy's position. The Dark Mechanicum had entrenched themselves within a ruined manufactorum, the once mighty forge now a corrupted fortress of heretical technology. The manufactorum's spires, once proud testaments to the Omnissiah's glory, now twisted and warped, were covered in grotesque symbols that spoke of corruption and blasphemy.

The roar of bolters filled the air as the Sisters opened fire, the explosive rounds tearing into the hereteks' defenses. Olivia moved with purpose, her stride confident and unyielding. She could feel the presence of the Emperor guiding her every step, her faith a shield against the enemy's unholy weapons.

"Advance, Sisters! Let none stand before the Emperor's will!" Olivia's voice rang out once more, and the Sisters responded with fervor, their bolters spitting death as they advanced across the open ground.

The enemy responded in kind, their corrupted Skitarii emerging from the shadows, their augmented bodies twisted and warped by the vile scrapcode that had infected their machine spirits. The hereteks unleashed a barrage of firepower, their weapons crackling with unnatural energy as they tried to halt the Sisters' advance.

Olivia's eyes narrowed behind her helm, her senses heightened by her connection to the Emperor. She raised her plasma pistol, the weapon's coils glowing with an intense blue light, and fired, the superheated bolt vaporizing an enemy Skitarii in an instant. Beside her, the Sisters advanced with unwavering determination, their bolters tearing into the enemy ranks, their flamers turning the corrupted defenders into little more than ash.

"Canoness, the left flank is holding, but the enemy is entrenched near the central spire," a voice crackled through the vox, the voice of Sister Superior Miriam. "Requesting permission to bring the Immolator forward."

Olivia turned her head, her gaze shifting towards the central spire where the enemy's fire was heaviest. She could see the flickering of corrupted machine spirits, their presence a blasphemy that could not be allowed to stand.

"Permission granted, Sister Superior," Olivia replied. "Bring the Immolator forward. Burn them out."

The rumble of the Immolator's engines grew louder as the armored vehicle rolled forward, its twin flamers coming to life with a roar that drowned out the sounds of the battlefield. The Sisters of Battle moved to clear a path for the Immolator, their bolters continuing to lay down covering fire as the tank advanced. The flamers unleashed a torrent of promethium, the liquid fire engulfing the hereteks' position, reducing them to charred husks.

The manufactorum's central spire, once a symbol of Mechanicus ingenuity, now became a beacon of the Emperor's cleansing wrath. The flames licked at the corrupted structure, the unholy symbols blackening and crumbling in the purifying fire. The screams of the hereteks echoed across the battlefield, their dying cries a testament to the Emperor's judgment.

Olivia pressed forward, her eyes locked on the entrance to the manufactorum. She could see the twisted forms of Dark Mechanicum tech-priests, their bodies augmented with vile, corrupted machinery, scuttling back into the shadows of the forge. They would find no refuge there.

"With me, Sisters!" Olivia called, her plasma pistol raised as she led the charge. "Purge the darkness from this place!"

The Sisters followed her without hesitation, their faith driving them forward. The manufactorum's entrance loomed before them, and with a wordless roar, Olivia charged, her power sword igniting with a crackling blue energy as she crossed the threshold.

The interior of the manufactorum was a nightmare—a twisted parody of a sacred forge. The once-gleaming machinery was corrupted beyond recognition, its once-sacred functions twisted to serve the Dark Mechanicum's vile purposes. The tech-priests within scrambled to defend themselves, their mechanical limbs twitching as they activated the manufactorum's automated defenses.

Turrets emerged from the ceiling, their barrels glowing with energy as they swiveled towards the advancing Sisters. Olivia moved with purpose, her plasma pistol firing with precision, each shot striking true as she targeted the turrets, reducing them to smoking wreckage.

The tech-priests screamed in binaric, their voices a discordant cacophony of fear and hatred. Olivia felt no pity for them—these hereteks had turned their backs on the Emperor's light, and they would face His wrath. She closed the distance to the nearest tech-priest, her power sword swinging in a wide arc, the blade slicing through corrupted metal and flesh with ease.

"For the Emperor!" Olivia shouted, her voice echoing through the manufactorum as she struck down another tech-priest, her blade cleaving through the heretek's chest, the blue energy of her power sword searing the flesh beneath.

The Sisters moved with precision, their bolters firing in controlled bursts, their flamers purging the manufactorum of the taint that had taken root. The corrupted machinery sputtered and failed, the once-mighty forge now a burning ruin, its twisted functions brought to an end by the fury of the Sisters.

As the last of the tech-priests fell, Olivia lowered her plasma pistol, her breathing heavy but controlled. The manufactorum was silent now, the fires of purification casting flickering shadows across the ruined interior. She could feel the presence of the Emperor within her, His light guiding her actions, His will made manifest through her deeds.

A movement caught her eye, and Olivia turned, her gaze falling on a figure emerging from the shadows. Archmagos Trizekiel Zeth stepped forward, his crimson robes flowing around him as he surveyed the burning manufactorum. His augmented eyes glowed softly as he regarded Olivia, his expression unreadable behind the cold mask of his augmentations.

"Canoness Dominica," Trizekiel intoned, his voice carrying a mechanical severity. "Your timing is impeccable. This manufactorum was a significant node in the Dark Mechanicum's network."

Olivia inclined her head, her voice steady as she replied. "The Emperor guided us here, Archmagos. The darkness cannot stand before His light."

Trizekiel nodded, his gaze shifting to the ruined tech-priests scattered across the manufactorum floor. "Their knowledge, twisted as it was, may yet hold value. We must recover what we can and ensure no corrupted data escapes."

Olivia's eyes narrowed behind her helm. "We do not bargain with heresy, Archmagos. All traces of their corruption must be purged."

Trizekiel raised a hand, the mechanical appendage whirring softly. "Fear not, Canoness. I do not intend to bargain. Only to extract what can aid us in hunting the rest of their kind. Knowledge, even corrupted, can be a weapon in the right hands."

After a moment, Olivia nodded, her stance relaxing slightly. "Very well. But be swift, Archmagos. The Emperor's work is not yet done, and we must move on."

Trizekiel turned to the adepts that had accompanied him, issuing a series of rapid binaric commands. The adepts moved quickly, their mechadendrites extending to interface with the manufactorum's cogitators, extracting what data remained while the Sisters stood watch.

As the adepts worked, Olivia turned her gaze back to the battlefield beyond the manufactorum's shattered walls. The fight was far from over, but they had struck a blow against the Dark Mechanicum this day—a blow that would echo across the stars.

"The Emperor protects," she whispered, her voice filled with conviction as she watched the fires of purification burn. The Vindicta Zeth had gained a powerful ally in the Order of Our Martyred Lady, and together, they would see the hereteks brought to justice.

"And His light will never falter."

Chapter 6: Captain Dimachaerus Nox of The Blood Revenants 

0.789.847.M41

The interior of the Expugator was a labyrinthine maze of reinforced steel corridors and utilitarian bulkheads. The ship’s atmosphere, filtered through the Mechanicum’s respirators, was thick with the scent of sacred oils and ozone. The hum of the ship’s plasma reactors was a constant, low thrum that seemed to reverberate through the bones of all who walked its halls. Archmagos Trizekiel Zeth moved through these corridors with purpose, his robes flowing behind him, his mind focused on the upcoming campaign against the Dark Mechanicum presence in the Agrapinaa sector.

Suddenly, the ship shuddered violently, and the lights flickered as a massive impact resonated through the hull. Trizekiel paused, his optics adjusting as he connected with the ship's internal systems to assess the situation. The red warning glyphs that flashed across his visual overlay brought an immediate sense of urgency.

"Emergency override, vox-channel alpha," Trizekiel intoned, his voice commanding the immediate attention of the bridge. "Report, what is the source of this disturbance?"

The reply was immediate, the voice of a junior tech-adept crackling through the vox. "Archmagos, multiple boarding pods detected. The ship is under assault.”

Trizekiel’s eyes narrowed as he processed pictures data from the affected bulkheads. The Black Legion… servants of the Arch-enemy, had dared to board the Expugator. He moved swiftly, his mechadendrites curling and unfurling with agitation as he sent orders through the noosphere.

"Activate internal defenses. Deploy all available Skitarii maniples to sectors twelve through fifteen. We must not allow this Black Legion filth to reach the warp core.”

A perfect ambush, at a time when their allies were away. They had been hunted for some time.

The corridors of the Expugator were filled with the sounds of battle, Vindicta Veth Skitarii moving to intercept the Black Legion forces. Bolter fire echoed through the halls, the sharp retorts of the enemy's weapons mixing with the mechanical whirring of Skitarii galvanic rifles. Trizekiel moved towards the command sanctum, his mind racing with calculations and probabilities. The Black Legion’s objective was clear—they intended to disable or destroy the warp core, and with it, the heart of the Expugator.

As Trizekiel approached a blast door leading towards the ship's engineering section, he could hear the distant roar of chainaxes and the screams of the fallen. The bulkhead in front of him sealed shut with a hiss, the internal defense systems buying him precious time, but he knew that the heretics were relentless. The Black Legion would not stop until they had either achieved their goal or been purged entirely.

"All forces, secure command deck and converge on the warp core," Trizekiel ordered, his voice filling the vox. "We cannot allow them to reach it."

The situation was dire. The Black Legion were masters of destruction, and their Terminators known for their resilience and brutal efficiency. Trizekiel keyed into the ship's internal sensors, monitoring the movements of the enemy as they advanced through the lower decks, cutting down any who stood in their path. The Skitarii, though formidable, were being pushed back by the sheer ferocity of the assault.

Suddenly, a new signal appeared on the ship’s auspex, and Trizekiel’s optics flickered with surprise as he analyzed the incoming data. More boarding pods, but these were not of the Black Legion. Their transponder codes were unfamiliar, yet the identification came swiftly.

"Attention Mechanicus vessel, this is Captain Dimachaerus Nox of the Blood Revenants. Withhold anti-aircraft fire in designated zones. The traitors will pay."

The Blood Revenants—a chapter of Astartes known for their ferocity and their struggle against the pull of the Black Rage. Trizekiel’s gaze shifted to the tactical readout, his mind processing the new variables. He opened a vox-channel, his voice crackling through the ship’s speakers.

"Captain Nox, your assistance is acknowledged. The command deck is secure but Black Legion forces are attempting to breach the warp core. They must be stopped at all costs. Transmitting coordinates.”

Three dozen Blood Revenant boarding pods slammed into the Expugator, their retro-thrusters firing to decelerate their descent. Moments later, portions of the massive ship shuddered again, this time with the impact of ceramite-shod boots striking the deckplates. The Blood Revenants had arrived, and with them, the promise of retribution.

Captain Dimachaerus Nox led the charge, his power sword crackling with azure energy as he moved through the corridors with practiced precision. Around him, the Blood Revenants spread out, their bolters barking as they cut down Black Legion forces that had dared to board the Mechanicum vessel. The terminators of the Black Legion, once seemingly unstoppable, found themselves caught between the wrath of the Skitarii and the unrelenting assault of the Blood Revenants.

Trizekiel moved quickly, his mechadendrites interfacing with the ship’s systems as he worked to close off access points and direct the flow of reinforcements to critical locations. He could see through the ship’s internal cameras as the Blood Revenants advanced, their assault coordinated and brutal. They moved with the precision of warriors honed through centuries of battle, their every strike calculated to deal maximum damage.

Captain Nox led his men towards the engineering sector, his vox-channel open as he communicated with Trizekiel.

"Archmagos, we are nearing the warp core. The traitors have barricaded themselves behind blast doors."

"Understood, Captain. I am rerouting power to override the security systems. Stand by," Trizekiel replied, his fingers dancing over the console before him. The ship’s Machine Spirit resisted for a moment, reluctant to grant access, but Trizekiel’s will was ironclad. With a burst of energy through the ship’s noospheric network the blast doors opened with a hiss, revealing the Black Legion terminators beyond, their armor dark and menacing, their eyes glowing with the baleful light of Chaos.

The Blood Revenants surged forward, their battle cries echoing through the chamber as they charged the traitors. Captain Nox was at the forefront, his power sword cleaving through the corrupted ceramite of a Black Legion terminator, the blade biting deep into the flesh beneath. The enemy fought back with a desperate fury, their chainfists roaring as they swung at the loyalist Astartes.

The chamber was a storm of violence, bolter fire and the hum of power weapons mixing with the screams of the dying. Trizekiel watched through the ship’s sensors, his augmented mind calculating every possibility, every outcome. The Blood Revenants fought with a ferocity that bordered on madness, their desire to prove themselves against the servants of Chaos evident in every strike, every roar of defiance.

Captain Nox moved with purpose, his every movement a testament to his skill and his devotion to the Emperor. He struck down another traitor, his power sword leaving a trail of crackling energy in its wake. He turned, his gaze locking onto the last of the Black Legion terminators, who had taken cover behind a cluster of machinery near the warp core.

"For the Emperor!" Nox roared, his voice filled with the fury of the Blood Angels as he charged, his power sword raised high. The terminator turned, its weapon coming up to meet him, but it was too slow. Nox's blade struck true, cutting through the traitor's helm and splitting it in two.

With the last of the Black Legion terminators dealt with, Nox turned to the warp core, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the surrounding area. 

"Archmagos, the warp core is secure. The traitors have been purged."

Trizekiel allowed himself a moment of relief, his mechadendrites retracting as he disconnected from the ship’s systems. 

"Well done, Captain Nox. Your assistance was timely. The Expugator owes you a great debt."

Nox stepped forward, his expression unreadable behind his helm. "We fight for the Emperor, Archmagos. No debt is necessary. We have been sent to aid your cause. The Dark Mechanicum is a blight that must be eradicated, and the Blood Revenants will see it done."

Trizekiel nodded, his mechanical voice carrying a note of respect. "Then we are united in purpose, Captain. Together, we shall see the heretics brought to justice."

The Blood Revenants had come to the aid of the Vindicta Zeth, their fury and devotion to the Emperor adding strength to the Mechanicum's crusade. The battle for the Expugator had been won, but the war against the Dark Mechanicum was far from over. With allies like the Blood Revenants, Trizekiel knew that their crusade would only grow stronger.

"The Emperor protects," Nox intoned, his voice filled with conviction as he looked towards the warp core, the light of the Emperor's divine will reflected in his eyes. "And we will be His sword."

Chapter 7: Captain Gunthor of the Angels of Wrath

0.912.859.M41

The dense jungle of Grudash V was alive with the sounds of an alien world, the cacophony of unknown creatures and the rustle of leaves mingling with the distant rumble of the Imperium's war machines. The air was thick with humidity, every breath seeming to stick in the throat. It was an unforgiving place, and it had become the hiding ground for the heretical forces of the Dark Mechanicum.

Captain Gunthor of the Angels of Wrath, a successor chapter of the Dark Angels, stood at the edge of the clearing, his bolt pistol in one hand and his power sword sheathed at his side. The Angels of Wrath had always been a secretive and zealous chapter, even among the other Unforgiven, and today their purpose was clear: to cleanse this world of the taint of the Dark Mechanicum and recover any artifacts that had fallen into enemy hands.

Gunthor's green armor was marked with the white insignia of his chapter, the Angels of Wrath sigil standing out proudly against the dark metal. His face, hardened by centuries of warfare, bore the expression of a man who had seen too much but remained steadfast in his duty. Around him, his brothers moved with the silent precision of warriors trained in the arts of death. Their armor, though battered and scorched, was kept meticulously clean, their devotion to their chapter visible in every ritualistic movement.

"Brothers," Gunthor spoke through the vox, his voice steady and commanding. "Our enemies have taken refuge within the ruins ahead. The corrupted tech-priests and their Alpha Legion allies believe they can hide from the Emperor's wrath."

He paused, his eyes narrowing as he gazed into the shadows of the jungle. "They are mistaken. We will bring His light to them, and we shall recover what they have taken."

A chorus of affirmations echoed through the vox as the Dark Angels advanced. Alongside them, a Knight Acheron from House Taranis strode forward, its flame cannon ready to unleash devastation upon the enemy. The sun and spear of House Taranis adorned its shoulder, a symbol of its loyalty to the Imperium and its determination to see the hereteks purged.

The massive war machine moved with a surprising grace for its size, its feet crashing through the underbrush as it burned a path for the advancing infantry. The dense foliage, which would have slowed the progress of any ordinary army, posed no challenge to the flame.

Gunthor raised his fist, signaling for his men to hold position. The jungle ahead opened into a clearing, and beyond it lay the twisted spires of a once-proud Mechanicum facility. The symbols of the Dark Mechanicum had been carved into its walls, and the unholy glow of corrupted machine spirits flickered in the windows like the eyes of beasts waiting to pounce.

"Captain Gunthor," a voice crackled through the vox. It was Archmagos Georgeius Secundus, his augmented voice carrying a weight of authority. "The Dark Mechanicum forces are attempting to shield themselves behind a network of corrupted cogitators within the facility. We must destroy them before we can proceed."

Gunthor nodded, though Georgeius could not see him. "Understood, Archmagos. We will purge the heretical constructs."

He turned to his men, his expression hardening. "Brothers, advance on my mark. We shall destroy the cogitator nodes and cleanse the facility."

The Angels of Wrath moved as one, their bolters raised and ready. They crossed the clearing, their boots pounding against the ground, their forms moving between the towering trees and thick underbrush. Gunthor led the charge, his senses heightened as he scanned for any sign of movement from the ruins.

As they approached the facility, the silence was shattered by the roar of enemy fire. The Alpha Legion forces that had taken refuge within the walls opened fire, their bolters spitting death as they sought to drive back the loyalist forces. Gunthor reacted instantly, his bolt pistol coming up as he fired a burst at the enemy, the explosive rounds detonating on impact and sending two traitor marines sprawling.

"Take cover!" he barked, his voice a harsh command that his brothers obeyed without hesitation. The Angels of Wrath moved into position, finding cover behind the twisted remains of machinery and the broken statues that lay scattered around the entrance to the facility.

The Alpha Legion, with their talent for misdirection and ambush, had made the facility a veritable fortress, the darkened windows filled with snipers and heavy weapon teams that rained fire upon the Imperium's forces. The jungle itself seemed to become an extension of the enemy, the thick foliage concealing their positions until it was too late.

Gunthor activated his vox, the signal encrypted with the complex cipher of the Unforgiven. "Sir Noa, focus your fire on the western wall. Break their lines."

The response was immediate, the Knight Acheron's flame cannon roaring to life, the blast of heat and energy striking the wall with an impact that shook the earth beneath their feet. The corrupted stonework melted away, the heretical symbols turning to slag as the force of the shot tore a gaping hole in the defenses.

"Advance!" Gunthor ordered, his power sword igniting with a flash of blue energy as he led his brothers through the breach. The Angels of Wrath charged forward, their bolters firing in controlled bursts, each shot aimed with deadly precision.

The enemy within the ruins fought with a desperate fury, the Alpha Legion and their corrupted tech-priests refusing to yield. Gunthor moved through the chaos with the practiced grace of a veteran of a thousand battles, his power sword cutting down a traitor marine, his bolt pistol firing at another who sought to flank him.

The sounds of battle were deafening, the roar of gunfire and the clash of blades filling the air as the Angels of Wrath pressed forward. Gunthor could see the cogitator nodes that Georgeius had spoken of, their twisted forms pulsing with a sickly green light. He knew that these nodes were the key to the enemy's defenses—they had to be destroyed.

"Brother-Sergeant Valen, with me!" Gunthor called, his voice barely audible over the din of battle. Valen, his armor marked with the honors of countless campaigns, nodded and moved to Gunthor's side, his plasma gun at the ready.

They moved towards the nearest cogitator node, their steps swift and purposeful. The enemy seemed to sense their intent, and a group of corrupted Skitarii moved to intercept them, their galvanic rifles raised as they unleashed a volley of fire. Gunthor moved with practiced ease, his power sword deflecting the shots that came too close, while Valen returned fire, the plasma gun's energy bolts reducing the Skitarii to smoking heaps.

Reaching the cogitator node, Gunthor raised his power sword high, the blade humming with energy as he brought it down in a powerful strike. The corrupted machine shuddered under the blow, sparks flying as its internal mechanisms were torn apart. Valen followed up with a burst from his plasma gun, the superheated energy burning away the remaining components.

"One down," Gunthor said, his voice a grim reminder of the work still to be done. "Press on, brothers. Destroy the remaining nodes."

The Angels of Wrath moved through the ruins, their bolters barking as they cut down the enemy, their power weapons striking with the fury of the Emperor. Gunthor could see the second cogitator node ahead, its presence an affront to the sanctity of the Mechanicum's technology. He charged forward, his power sword cleaving through a corrupted tech-priest who sought to protect the node.

The battle raged on, the loyalist forces pushing deeper into the facility, their determination unwavering. Gunthor could feel the weight of his duty pressing upon him, the knowledge that the fate of the Imperium rested on their success. He would not allow the Dark Mechanicum to corrupt what was sacred—he would see their works destroyed, their heresy purged.

As the last of the cogitator nodes was destroyed, a sudden silence seemed to fall over the battlefield. The enemy, their defenses shattered, began to falter, their will to fight breaking in the face of the Emperor's wrath. Gunthor stood amidst the ruins, his power sword still crackling with energy, his breath coming in heavy bursts as he looked around at the devastation.

"Captain Gunthor," the voice of Archmagos Georgeius Secundus came through the vox, the tone filled with satisfaction. "The corrupted cogitators have been purged. The enemy's network is broken. We have succeeded."

Gunthor nodded, his expression hidden behind his helm. "Indeed, Archmagos. The Emperor's will has been done this day."

The Angels of Wrath began to regroup, their bolters held at the ready as they ensured that no enemies remained hidden among the ruins. The Knight Acheron, its thermal cannon still glowing from the heat of battle, moved to stand beside the Dark Angels, its pilot acknowledging Gunthor with a respectful tilt of the war machine's head.

"Captain Gunthor," a voice called from behind him. Gunthor turned to see Archmagos Georgeius Secundus himself, flanked by a group of tech-priests. The Archmagos's crimson robes were stained with ash and grime from the battlefield, but his mechanical eyes glowed with the satisfaction of a mission accomplished.

"Archmagos," Gunthor greeted him, his voice filtered through his helm. "The cogitator nodes have been destroyed, and the facility is under our control."

Georgeius nodded, his mechadendrites moving with an almost serpentine grace as he gestured towards the ruins. "There may yet be valuable data buried within the corrupted archives. We must salvage what we can before we purge the rest."

Gunthor frowned beneath his helm but nodded in agreement. "Do what you must, Archmagos, but be wary. The taint of the Dark Mechanicum runs deep, and we cannot allow any of their corruption to escape."

Georgeius turned to his tech-priests, issuing a series of rapid binaric commands. The tech-priests moved with purpose, their servo-arms and mechadendrites extending as they began to interface with the shattered remains of the cogitator nodes. Gunthor watched for a moment before turning his attention back to the battlefield, his senses alert for any sign of remaining threats.

The sounds of the jungle began to return, the alien creatures once again making their presence known now that the din of battle had subsided. Gunthor felt a sense of unease—there was something unnatural about the silence that had fallen over the battlefield, as if the jungle itself was holding its breath.

"Captain," Brother-Sergeant Valen spoke through the vox, his voice low. "Do you sense it as well? Something is... off."

Gunthor nodded slowly, his eyes scanning the treeline. "Remain vigilant, brothers. The Alpha Legion are masters of deception. We may not have seen the last of them."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a sudden explosion rocked the ruins, the ground shaking beneath their feet as a hidden cache of explosives detonated. Gunthor turned, his bolt pistol coming up as he scanned for the source of the attack. From the shadows of the ruins, a group of Alpha Legion operatives emerged, their armor blending seamlessly with the environment.

"Ambush!" Gunthor shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos as the Alpha Legion opened fire. The Dark Angels reacted with the precision of warriors who had faced the unexpected countless times before. Bolters barked in response, the explosive rounds tearing into the enemy as the Angels of Wrath fought to repel the sudden attack.

The Knight Acheron turned, its flame cannon charging as Sir Noa brought the war machine's weapons to bear on the new threat. The cannon fired, the blast incinerating a group of Alpha Legion operatives who had taken cover behind a section of the ruined wall.

Gunthor moved swiftly, his power sword cutting through an enemy marine who had attempted to flank him. The Alpha Legion were relentless, their attacks coordinated and deadly, but the Angels of Wrath held their ground, their faith in the Emperor unshakable.

The battle was brief but intense, the loyalist forces pushing back the Alpha Legion until, at last, the enemy began to fall back, disappearing into the jungle from whence they had come. Gunthor watched as the last of the traitors vanished into the shadows, his grip tightening on his power sword.

"Cowards," he muttered, his voice filled with disdain. "They strike from the shadows and flee when faced with true warriors."

Archmagos Georgeius Secundus approached, his mechadendrites retracting as he regarded Gunthor. "The data we have recovered may prove valuable, Captain. It appears the Alpha Legion were attempting to mask something deeper within the archives."

Gunthor turned to the Archmagos, his expression unreadable behind his helm. "We will analyze it aboard the Expugator. For now, we must ensure this facility is rendered useless to the enemy."

Georgeius nodded in agreement. "The Emperor's light will purge what remains. We shall leave nothing for the heretics to reclaim."

Gunthor raised his power sword, the blade crackling with energy as he looked to his brothers. "Brothers, prepare the charges. We will reduce this place to rubble. The Dark Mechanicum will find nothing but ashes should they return."

The Angels of Wrath moved with purpose, placing melta charges at key points throughout the facility. Gunthor watched as his brothers worked, his heart filled with a fierce pride. They had faced the enemy and emerged victorious, but the war was far from over. The Dark Mechanicum and their allies would not rest, and neither would the Angels of Wrath.

As the last of the charges were set, Gunthor signaled for his brothers to fall back. The Knight Acheron moved to cover their retreat, its weapons trained on the ruins as the loyalist forces withdrew to a safe distance. Gunthor turned, his eyes fixed on the facility as he raised his vox.

"Detonate the charges."

The ground shook as the melta charges detonated, the ruins collapsing in on themselves as fire and smoke rose into the sky. The twisted spires of the Dark Mechanicum facility crumbled, their corruption reduced to nothing more than dust and ash.

Gunthor sheathed his power sword, his gaze lingering on the ruins for a moment longer before he turned to his brothers. "The Emperor's will has been done this day, but our work is far from over. We return to the Expugator—there are more battles yet to fight."

The Angels of Wrath and their allies moved back through the jungle, the sounds of the alien world once again filling the air as they made their way to the extraction point. Gunthor's heart was filled with a grim determination—there would be no rest until the Dark Mechanicum and their heretical allies were purged from the galaxy.

The Vindicta Zeth would continue their crusade, and the Angels of Wrath would be at the forefront of the fight, their faith in the Emperor driving them ever forward.

"The Emperor protects," Gunthor whispered, his voice filled with conviction as they disappeared into the shadows of the jungle. "And we shall be His wrath."

Chapter 8: Brother-Captain Khyvar Zorn of The Grey Knights

0.995.865.M41

The desert world of Xonn stretched endlessly in all directions, a vast expanse of parched wasteland under a sky that seemed forever darkened by the ash storms that swept across its barren surface. The wind howled through the wasteland, carrying with it the dry, acrid taste of dust and decay. The towering wreck of the space hulk loomed in the distance, its twisted form half-buried in the sands, a grim reminder of the dangers that lurked in the void between stars.

The Vindicta Zeth had followed the trail of corrupted transmissions to this desolate world, and Archmagos Trizekiel Zeth now led the vanguard that marched towards the hulking ruin. He moved forward in his sacristan walker, the mechanical legs crunching across the rocky desert floor, his optics focused on the towering form of the derelict vessel ahead. The space hulk was an unholy amalgamation of ships from countless eras, welded together by the tides of the warp, its darkened corridors hiding secrets that had no place within the light of the Imperium. With the pulse of dark energies surrounding it, it seemed with every moment to become somehow more alive. Dark tendons were forming across its myriad hulls, a Chaos Titan slowly threatening to emerge.

Around Trizekiel, the forces of the Vindicta Zeth moved in disciplined formation. Mechanicus skitarii, their armor battered and dust-covered, advanced with their galvanic rifles held at the ready, while Knights of House Taranis lumbered forward, their massive forms casting long shadows across the desert. The Sisters of Battle, their bolters gleaming under the dim light of the ash-filled sky, moved with grim determination, their hymnals echoing across the battlefield as they advanced.

At the forefront of the march was Sir Kyrige Nerpl, piloting his Knight Castellan, Purity of Sol. The massive war machine, equipped with its array of plasma and melta weaponry, strode forward with an air of indomitable power. Beside Purity of Sol, three Knight Lancers—Logical Conclusion, Irrefutable Theorem, and Undeniable Hypothesis—moved in concert, their machine spirits bristling with barely contained fury. These Knights had been salvaged from the ruins of Magma City, and their hatred for the Dark Mechanicum ran deep, their machine spirits resonating with the wrath of those who had once defended the sacred city.

The forces of the Vindicta Zeth pressed onward, the space hulk growing larger and more imposing with every step. Trizekiel could feel the malign presence emanating from the ancient wreck, a sickly aura that seemed to seep into the very air around them. Somewhere within the hulk, the Dark Mechanicum had established a foothold, and it was here that they would find the source of the corrupted scrapcode that had infected the systems of Chalanth.

As they approached the base of the hulk, Trizekiel keyed his vox, his voice a harsh, metallic rasp. "All forces, prepare for combat. The Dark Mechanicum will not give up their hold on this place without a fight. They cannot be allowed to finish their conversion of this blasphemous machine or untold worlds will burn."

The response was immediate, the Skitarii and Sisters of Battle readying their weapons, the Knights adjusting their positions to form a protective perimeter around the Mechanicus forces. The air was thick with tension as they prepared to enter the heart of darkness, to face the corrupted forces that had defiled this world.

Suddenly, the auspex readings shifted, and Trizekiel's optics flared as he analyzed the new data. A powerful scrapcode signal was being transmitted from the uppermost reaches of the hulk, its malign influence spreading across the battlefield like a tide of corruption. He could see the signs of it already—Skitarii faltering, their movements sluggish, as the corrupted code sought to override their programming.

"Sir Nerpl," Trizekiel voxed, his voice urgent. "The scrapcode transmitter is located at the top of the hulk. We must destroy it before it overwhelms our forces."

"Understood, Archmagos," Nerpl replied, his voice filtered through the vox. "Knights, with me. We will clear a path to the peak."

The Knights began their ascent, their massive forms clambering up the side of the hulk, their weapons blazing as they cut through the waves of corrupted Skitarii and heretek war engines that emerged to bar their path. The Sisters of Battle provided covering fire, their bolters barking as they laid down a barrage of fire, while the Skitarii formed a defensive perimeter to hold off the enemy reinforcements.

The climb was arduous, the wreck of the hulk a twisted maze of rusted metal and broken corridors. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and the constant crackle of the scrapcode signal filled the vox, its discordant tones grating against the minds of those who heard it. Yet the Vindicta Zeth pressed on, their determination unwavering as they fought their way towards the peak.

As they neared the summit, Trizekiel felt the air grow heavy, an oppressive weight that seemed to press down upon them, sapping their strength. The source of the scrapcode was close, and with it, the presence of something far more sinister—eight greater daemons of Khorne, their monstrous forms towering above the wreckage, their blood-soaked weapons ready to rend and tear.

The Knights hesitated for a brief moment, their machine spirits recoiling at the sight of the daemonic presence. Yet Sir Nerpl did not falter. "Knights of House Taranis, we will not be cowed by the servants of the Dark Gods. For Magma City, for the Omnissiah, we shall destroy them!"

The Knights charged up the side of the space hulk, their chain swords and lances crackling with fury as they thundered towards the daemons, their weapons clashing with the hellish blades of their foes. The ground shook with the force of the impact, the sounds of metal against metal mixing with the roars of the daemons and the defiant cries of the Knights.

The battle was fierce, the daemons striking with a fury that seemed to defy reason, their every blow seeing honorable warglaives brought crashing to the ground. The demons held their ground, the surviving knights falling back to the security of the lower slopes of the battle barge. Fire rained down from the peak as the imperial forces prepared for another, perhaps final push.

Amidst the chaos, a sudden flash of light lit up the battlefield, momentarily blinding Trizekiel's optics. He recalibrated his vision, his gaze focusing on the source of the light. There, standing in a wide circle amidst the wreckage, were three dozen Astartes clad in silver armor—the Grey Knights, their presence a beacon of hope amidst the darkness.

The lead Grey Knight stepped forward, his voice echoing across the battlefield, his words filled with authority. "Honored Knight of Taranis, if you would place a thermal shot at the coordinates I am transmitting to your auspex."

Sir Nerpl did not hesitate, his Knight's voncano cannon charging as he adjusted his aim, the targeting reticule locking onto the coordinates provided by the Grey Knight. With a roar, the cannon fired, the shot striking the center of the circle, tearing a hole through the twisted metal of the hulk, revealing the glowing green light of the scrapcode transmitter below.

The Grey Knights moved as one, their forms dropping into the breach, their weapons ready as they descended into the heart of the corrupted vessel. Trizekiel watched through the ship's sensors, his optics focused on the Grey Knights as they fought their way towards the transmitter, their Nemesis force weapons cutting through the corrupted machinery and the daemonic guardians that sought to bar their path.

The battle within the hulk was intense, the sounds of war echoing up through the breach as the Grey Knights fought to destroy the source of the corruption. Trizekiel could feel the presence of the Emperor within them, their faith a shield against the horrors they faced. He could hear the daemons faltering, their sick laughter flickering out as the Grey Knights pressed their attack,  weapons striking with divine fury.

Finally, with a blinding flash of icy blue light, the scrapcode signal ceased, the transmitters energy source below destroyed by the righteous fury of the Grey Knights. The daemons, their connection to the warp severed, began to fade, their monstrous forms dissolving into nothingness even as they attempted to slay as many as they could, their blood drunk fury undiminished by their impending defeat.

The Grey Knights reemerged from the breach, their armor scorched but their resolve unbroken. The lead Knight approached Trizekiel, his voice echoing through the vox. "Archmagos Trizekiel, we have eliminated the source of the scrapcode. Your actions here have prevented a great catastrophe. The Emperor's light shines upon you."

Trizekiel inclined his head, his voice filled with respect. "The Vindicta Zeth are honored by your aid, noble Grey Knights. Together, we have struck a blow against the darkness that threatens the Imperium."

The Grey Knight nodded, his gaze shifting to the horizon. "There is more yet to be done. The enemy is relentless, but we shall be His sword, striking down those who would bring corruption to His realm. Aid has been called, and aid has come. We will fight as one."

Trizekiel turned to his forces, his voice carrying across the battlefield. "Vindicta Zeth, we have purged this world of the taint of the Dark Mechanicum. Our mission here is complete, but our crusade continues. For Magma City, for the Omnissiah, we will carry on!"

The forces of the Vindicta Zeth, their spirits lifted by the presence of the Grey Knights and the victory they had achieved, raised their weapons in salute. The Knight Lancers of House Taranis raised their lances, their machine spirits roaring in triumph, while the Skitarii and Sisters of Battle shouted their praises to the Emperor. Sir Nerpl fired a massive volcano lance shot into the sky in triumph, its roar amplified by the shouts of loyalists across the now-dead battle barge.

The battle for Xonn had been won, but the war against the Dark Mechanicum was far from over. The Vindicta Zeth, now joined by the Grey Knights, would continue their crusade, their determination unbroken, their faith in the Emperor guiding them through the darkness.

Chapter 9: Interrogator Agent Écuyer the Incorruptible

0.110.871.M41

Frigonus IV, a forge world in the Yublaksis system, had once been a bustling center of the Mechanicus. Massive manufactorum complexes churned out war machines for the Imperium, their assembly lines working tirelessly to meet the ever-growing demands of a galaxy at war. Today, however, the complex was at a standstill. The air was filled with an unnatural silence, broken only by the occasional clanking of machinery and the whispered prayers of tech-priests, their eyes nervously darting around the shadowed corners of the manufacturing floor.

The factorum was in the midst of a sacred rite of awakening, a new line of Land Raiders being commissioned in a complex ceremony that had drawn the attention of planetary officials and Mechanicus adepts. Tech-priests chanted binaric prayers, their incense burners swinging rhythmically as they moved through the rows of dormant war machines. Menials scurried to ensure that everything was in its proper place, while the high lords of the planetary government looked on from an elevated observation deck.

Suddenly, the solemn ritual was interrupted by a sound that sent chills down the spines of all present—the sharp, unmistakable crack of las-fire. The chanting stopped abruptly, the tech-priests freezing in place as shouts of alarm echoed across the manufactorum. From above, a force of Tempestus Aquilons descended, their grav-chutes activating with precision, allowing them to land in the center of the complex with the grace and skill only the elite could manage.

The Tempestus Aquilons moved with ruthless efficiency, their las weapons and melta rifles blazing as they cut down a dozen tech-priests in moments. The air was filled with the acrid stench of burnt flesh and the mechanical screams of dying servo-skulls as the Aquilons moved through the ranks of the Mechanicus personnel, executing those who dared to resist. The remaining tech-priests, momentarily frozen by the shock of the sudden attack, scrambled to react.

"By the Omnissiah! We are under attack!" a high-ranking tech-priest shouted, his voice filled with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

As the Mechanicus forces attempted to rally, a secure binaric message was transmitted across the noosphere, overriding all other communications. The message, succinct and direct, bore a code that was unmistakable—Archmagos Koriel Zeth.

"Operation in progress. Halt function until update."

The loyalists among the Mechanicus froze in place, their augmentic eyes wide as they processed the command. The authority of Koriel Zeth could not be questioned, even in her absence. However, not all present were loyal, and a handful of tech-priests, their robes marked with the symbols of the Dark Mechanicum, moved to brandish their weapons.

Shots rang out once more as the Tempestus Aquilons responded without hesitation. Their precision was unmatched, each shot finding its mark as they cut down the traitorous tech-priests, their bodies crumpling to the ground in a heap of blood and shattered metal. The silence that followed was deafening, the echo of the last shot fading into nothingness.

The leader of the Tempestus Aquilons, Interrogator Agent Écuyer the Incorruptible, stepped forward, his eyes scanning the room from behind his helmet. His voice, modulated through his vox-grille, was cold and commanding. "Infiltration of Dark Mechanicus forces has been purged. Commence heresy containment protocols immediately. Data packets attached. The Emperor protects."

The remaining tech-priests nodded, their mechadendrites moving quickly to interface with the nearby cogitators. They began to execute the protocols that had been provided by the Tempestus Scions, their fingers moving with practiced speed as they worked to purge the taint of the Dark Mechanicum from the manufactorum systems.

Écuyer looked around the manufactorum, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. The bodies of the fallen lay scattered across the floor, their lifeless forms a grim testament to the price of heresy. He could feel the weight of his duty pressing upon him, the knowledge that the fate of the Imperium rested on the actions of those like him—those willing to do whatever it took to preserve the Emperor's realm.

He activated his vox, opening a channel to Archmagos Trizekiel Zeth aboard the Expugator. "Archmagos, the heretical elements within the manufactorum have been eliminated. The rites of awakening have been halted, and the Mechanicus personnel are executing the purge protocols."

Trizekiel's response was immediate, his voice filled with a mechanical coldness. "Well done, Interrogator. The corruption of the Dark Mechanicum must be eradicated at all costs. Ensure that all data related to the taint is transferred to the Expugator. We will analyze it to track down any remaining heretical elements."

"Understood, Archmagos," Écuyer replied, his gaze shifting towards the elevated observation deck where the high lords of Frigolnus IV watched in stunned silence. He could see the fear in their eyes, the realization of how close they had come to being tainted by the influence of the Dark Mechanicum.

"High lords," Écuyer addressed them, his voice carrying a note of warning. "The Emperor's light has shone upon this place today, but the darkness remains ever vigilant. You would do well to remember the price of complacency."

The high lords nodded, their faces pale as they took in the words of the Interrogator. They had seen firsthand the ruthlessness of the Aquilons, and they knew that their loyalty to the Imperium was the only thing that stood between them and the same fate as the heretical tech-priests.

With the situation under control, Interrogator Écuyer signaled for his men to regroup. 

The Tempestus Aquilons turned with practiced precision, their grav-chutes activating as they ascended once more, disappearing into the shadows from whence they had come. The manufactorum, now a silent and empty shell, bore the marks of their passing, the price of heresy etched into the walls in blood and fire.

As the Aquilons departed, the tech-priests continued their work, their focus unwavering as they executed the purge protocols. The rites of awakening had been halted, but the manufactorum would rise again, cleansed of the taint that had threatened its sacred purpose. The Vindicta Zeth had struck another blow against the Dark Mechanicum, and their crusade continued, the fires of vengeance burning ever brighter.

Interrogator Écuyer's voice echoed across the vox, his final words a reminder of their sacred duty. "The Emperor protects, but only through our vigilance. Let none forget."

Chapter 10: The Lamenters' Plea 

0.150.875.M41

The bridge of the Expugator was a massive chamber filled with the hum of cogitators, the glow of lumen-strips, and the ever-present whisper of Mechanicus data-chatter. Its walls were lined with sacred machine iconography, and servitors moved to and fro, tending to their duties under the watchful eyes of the Archmagos. At its center, a grand table projected a holo-map of the surrounding sectors, flickering with the points of interest that had drawn the attention of the Vindicta Zeth.

Captain Dimachaerus Nox, the Blood Revenant, leaned silently against a wall, his presence both stoic and imposing. Interrogator Agent Écuyer the Incorruptible stood close by, his eyes scanning the room, observing each participant keenly. Brother-Captain Khyvar Zorn of the Grey Knights was present psychically, his shimmering projection casting an ethereal glow on the bridge. Captain Gunthor of the Dark Angels, his bearing as stern as ever, completed the formidable presence of the assembled commanders.

The atmosphere on the bridge was tense as the main doors opened, and a small group of Astartes entered. Their yellow armor was battle-worn, but meticulously maintained, the emblem of the bleeding heart with a black tear marking them unmistakably as the Lamenters. The leading marine, Chaplain Castinus, removed his helm, revealing a face lined with scars and weary resolve.

"Archmagos Trizekiel, commanders of Vindicta Zeth," Castinus began, his voice echoing across the chamber. "I am Chaplain Castinus of the Lamenters. We have come with dire news that demands your immediate attention."

Trizekiel adjusted his optics, their blue light glowing brighter as he analyzed the newcomers. "Speak, Chaplain. We are in the midst of planning our next offensive, but if your words warrant urgency, you shall have our audience."

Castinus took a step forward, his expression somber. "The Chalnath Expanse. We have uncovered proof of a Dark Mechanicum presence across multiple systems—one more pervasive and dangerous than any we have seen in recent campaigns. The corruption is deep, and it festers like a wound that must be cauterized before it spreads beyond the system."

Georgeius Secundus interjected, his voice mechanical, yet laced with curiosity. "What is the nature of this proof, Chaplain? Have you physical evidence, or is this merely conjecture?"

"We bear testimony from survivors of an unknown conflict," Castinus continued, producing a small data-slate. "The recordings contained here document transmissions intercepted by loyal tech-priests—messages encoded with the unmistakable binaric cant of the Dark Mechanicum. They speak of an assembly in the Chalnath Expanse, a congregation of heretek forces, and a plan that would threaten the entire sector."

Canoness Olivia stepped forward, her gaze unwavering. "The Lamenters have always fought with honor. If they bring us such intelligence, we must heed it. We cannot afford to underestimate any threat from the Dark Mechanicum."

Sir Nerpl nodded, his voice resonating through his helmet's vox. "We have seen the cost of inaction. The Dark Mechanicum must be purged wherever it takes root. House Taranis will ride in support of this mission, should it be sanctioned."

Captain Dimachaerus Nox, who had remained silent until now, spoke with a voice filled with barely controlled fury. "We have bled across countless worlds to cleanse the corruption of the Dark Mechanicum. If this threat is as great as you say, then we shall go. We will be their doom."

Brother-Captain Khyvar Zorn's projection shimmered as he spoke, his voice resonant with authority. "The Grey Knights have seen firsthand the threat posed by the Dark Mechanicum. This cancer must be excised. I stand in agreement—we cannot allow this threat to fester."

Captain Gunthor nodded, his expression hidden behind his helm but his voice carrying the weight of his conviction. "The Angels of Wrath shall march with you. We have sworn an oath to rid the galaxy of such darkness, and we will not falter."

Trizekiel raised a mechadendrite, and silence fell. "Then it is decided. We shall set course for the Kassandras system. Chaplain Castinus, your Lamenters are welcome to join us. Together, we will bring the Emperor's light to that forsaken place."

Castinus bowed his head, gratitude in his eyes. "The Lamenters are honored, Archmagos. We will fight alongside the Vindicta Zeth until every trace of heresy has been purged."

Trizekiel turned to the holo-map, his optics glowing brightly as he adjusted the display to highlight the Kassandras system. "All forces will prepare for immediate departure. We move with the full might of the Vindicta Zeth. For Koriel Zeth, for Magma City, and for the Emperor. We shall cleanse the Kassandras system, or we shall burn in the attempt."

The commanders nodded, a sense of unified purpose filling the room. The Lamenters took their place among the gathered warriors, their faces reflecting the shared determination of all present. The Expugator's engines roared to life, and the bridge vibrated as the colossal vessel began to alter its course.

The Vindicta Zeth and their allies were now bound for the Chalnath Expanse — a network of systems they would illuminate with the fires of vengeance. There would be no retreat, no mercy, and no respite until the task was complete. Through his vox-grille Trizekiel’s ancient voice was clear:

"Through fire, we purge. Through plasma, we cleanse. Her vengeance burns eternal."