On the surface of Throne of Galat, Nix’s tactical mind immediately began analyzing potential defensive locations for establishing a stronghold. The planet was rife with rugged terrain, vast plains, and towering mountain ranges. Among the many strategic choices, one place stood out as the ideal staging ground:
The Spires.
Located near the planet’s equatorial region, the Valley of Blackstone Spires was a narrow, heavily defensible canyon surrounded by jagged, towering obsidian rock formations by the old Imperium logs.
These natural spires were hundreds of meters tall and formed a near-impenetrable barrier on three sides. The valley floor was wide enough to establish a base but narrow enough that any Ork horde attempting to assault it would have to funnel through limited choke points, allowing for devastating defense.
Additionally, the valley housed several old fortifications—remnants of a long-forgotten Imperial settlement—that could be quickly fortified and repurposed for the Cardinals’ needs. An ancient communication tower, though dilapidated, would provide the necessary relays to reestablish contact with the GrimOne in orbit and allow for coordinated planetary bombardments or reinforcements.
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Chapter Master Allteranius Nix, the full might of the 5th Company at his side, and a third of the 10th began their march toward the valley. The Orks had established a crude settlement in the area, their banners of rusted scrap metal flapping in the wind, and their ranks swelling with brutish greenskins eager for a fight. Nix’s eyes narrowed as he spotted the Ork encampment in the distance.
He gripped the hilt of Valour’s Edge, the revered power sword gifted to him by Lord Commander Dante himself. Its blade shimmered with a faint golden hue, a relic of ancient times, its edge sharp enough to cleave through even the thickest of Ork armor.
“Brothers,” Nix spoke his voice a low growl filled with authority, “we will take the valley, this is but a step to take the planet. We will cut through these Xenos like wheat before the scythe. For the Emperor. For the Phoenix of blood Sanguinius.”
The Space Marines stood resolute, bolters at the ready. The 5th Company formed the bulk of the assault force, while the 10th Battle Company moved to flank the valley, ensuring no Ork could escape to rally reinforcements.
As the Cardinals advanced into the valley, the air filled with the roar of Ork engines and the bellowing war cries of the greenskins. Nix led from the front, as was his nature. The first Ork Nob, a hulking brute wielding a massive axe, charged at him with a guttural roar. Nix’s face remained stoic as he raised Valour’s Edge.
In a blur of motion, Nix sidestepped the beast’s clumsy attack and brought the relic blade down in a precise arc. The golden edge cleaved through the Ork’s neck, severing its head clean from its shoulders in a single stroke. The headless body crashed to the ground, With a glance at his feet and a sneer on his lips, Nix didn’t slow his advance.
“Forward!” Nix shouted, his voice carrying over the din of battle. “Purge the filth from this world!”
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The 5th Company, disciplined and relentless, opened fire with bolters, tearing into the Ork lines. Explosions and the crack of plasma bolts filled the air as the Xenos fell in droves. Ork Trukks and Battlewagons rumbled forward, but the heavy weapons teams of the Cardinals responded with precise missile strikes, reducing the crude vehicles to smoking wrecks.
As the fighting intensified, Nix found himself locked in combat with an Ork Warboss—a massive greenskin clad in thick armor plates and swinging a power klaw. The Warboss bellowed a challenge, lunging at Nix with brutal strength. He dodged the blow, the power klaw crushing the ground where he had stood moments before.
The two circled each other, and with a surge of speed, Nix launched his attack. Valour’s Edge sang through the air, striking with lightning precision. The Warboss barely had time to react before the relic blade sliced through its klaw arm, severing the limb at the elbow. The Ork roared in rage, swinging wildly with its remaining arm, but Nix was already inside its guard.
With a final, decisive strike, Nix drove the blade deep into the Warboss’s chest, piercing its heart. The massive xenos staggered, its strength draining, before collapsing in a heap at Nix’s feet.
“Bring up the banners,” Nix ordered, his voice calm despite the carnage. “This valley is ours.”
In no time with the Orks routed and their forces in disarray, the Cardinals quickly moved to fortify the valley. The old Imperial fortifications were restored with the precision and speed of Astartes engineering, and defensive gun emplacements were set up to secure the choke points at the valley’s entrance. A command post was established within the ancient communication tower, which, after some repairs, was brought back online.
Nix stood at the base of the tower, surveying the valley. His mind was already focused on the next phase of the campaign. Orks were relentless, and this victory was only the beginning. The valley of Blackstone Spires would serve as the staging ground for their counter-offensive, a bastion from which they would strike at the heart of the Ork forces on Throne of Galat.
“Relay the coordinates to the GrimOne,” Nix commanded, his voice as cold as steel. “Inform them we are prepared for orbital support. And tell the captains—this world will burn until the Orks are ash beneath our boots.”
“Yes Lord Master” Servitor responded.
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Veteran Captain Illmar stood alone at the helm of the *Sorrows Way*, his massive form framed by the wide viewport overlooking Bitter Hold. The planet hung in the void, its surface bathed in cold, pale light. His gauntleted fingers tapped absently against the hilt of his axe as his mind churned with silent apprehension.
The Chapter Master had been gone for six months—six long, silent months. No word had come from *Throne of Galat*, no vox communication, no astropathic signal. Nothing. Illmar’s thoughts tumbled as he weighed the growing tension against his duty. The Warp storms had cut off communication, of that he was certain, but the time limit to reestablish contact was approaching its grim conclusion.
"Throne of Terra," he muttered under his breath, his voice a low growl of frustration. "The Lord Regent will demand answers."
His eyes narrowed as he considered his options. The *Sorrow's Way* and his company had been left to watch over Bitter Hold and the system, to guard their home in the Chapter Master's absence. But with the warp still in turmoil, any attempt to make contact beyond the system would be fraught with danger.
A flickering hologram on the command console caught his attention. It was a status update—another warning of the ongoing instability in the Warp. The storms showed no sign of calming, the currents as treacherous as ever.
"Those damn Warp storms," Illmar cursed, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. "If they haven't reached us by now, something is very wrong."
His thoughts turned to Lord Commander Dante, the Lord Regent of the Imperium. Illmar could already feel the piercing gaze of the ancient master looming over him, even light years away.
He would have to send a message soon, report the lack of contact and the grim uncertainty of the Chapter Master's fate. The responsibility gnawed at him—was it failure, or simply the cursed fate of the galaxy at large?
Illmar turned, his heavy footfalls echoing in the silent chamber. He activated the command console and opened a vox-channel to his senior officers.
"Summon the command staff," he said, his voice steady despite the tension coiling within him. "We have decisions to make."
He stared once more at the distant planet below. Bitter Hold. Their home. For now, the only world in his charge. But the unknown loomed like a specter, and soon, he would have to decide whether to stand vigil—or to act. Time was running out.