The Siege Begins

Asdrubael Vect stood in his private chambers within the lesser spires of Commorragh, reviewing the hololith projections of his latest prize. The captured research vessel floated in one of his hidden docks, still stubbornly resisting complete subjugation. A smile played across his features – not the practiced, cruel smile he showed his rivals, but one of genuine satisfaction.

"The Independence Sector," he mused, fingers trailing across tactical displays. "Such delicious irony that their very independence makes them vulnerable. No Imperial Navy protection, no Mechanicum fleet support... just their own forces."

The raids had been costly, there was no denying that. Even with decades of preparation, studying patrol patterns, and assembling a fleet large enough to overwhelm their escorting vessels, the Independence Sector's doctrine of overwhelming firepower had reduced his forces severely. But the prize... oh, the prize was worth it.

"Their defenses are remarkable," he admitted to himself, studying the footage of the automated defenders. Soulless constructs of ancient design fought alongside abominations that seemed birthed from the darkest legends of Humanity's Old Night. "Men of Iron and... whatever those muscle-bound horrors are. The Mon-keigh have been busy."

His analysts reported that breaching the vessel's interior was proving exceptionally difficult. Already he'd lost tens of thousands of warriors – Wyches, Haemonculi flesh-crafted monstrosities, even his prized Mandrakes – to the automated defenders trying to take the first corridor and there were 9 more. But the very presence of such protection spoke volumes.

"They wouldn't commit such resources to guard something trivial," Vect reasoned, examining the ship's specifications. "Thirteen kilometers of the finest Mon-keigh engineering, filled with their best minds and most closely guarded secrets. The Nobles of Commorragh focus on their petty games while true power sits in my grasp."

He'd risen from slavery through cunning and patience. Each move calculated, each sacrifice measured. The Noble Houses still saw him as an upstart, a jumped-up slave playing at power. They had no idea how their arrogance would be their undoing.

"They think themselves untouchable in their spires," he sneered, remembering countless humiliations. "But with the secrets this ship contains... yes, technology to rival the Necrons itself. The Mon-keigh may be crude, but their Independence Sector has resources that could shift the balance of power."

The territorial losses to claim this prize had been significant. Both the Mechanicum and Independence Sector would be furious, but what could they do? The Webway was his domain, Commorragh unreachable by Imperial forces.

"Let them rage," he smirked, studying the defensive patterns of the automated guardians. "By the time they marshal a response, I'll have stripped this vessel of every secret, every innovation. The Noble Houses won't know what hit them."

A sudden alert drew his attention – another boarding attempt had failed spectacularly. The defending automata fought with impossible coordination, as if guided by some greater intelligence. Intriguing.

"Their resistance is impressive, but ultimately futile. Here in Commorragh, everything eventually breaks. It's just a matter of applying the right pressure."

His thoughts turned to the Primarch he'd briefly encountered. Franklin Valorian had fought with finesse that seemed almost Aeldari, wielding powers that seemed too similar to Aeldar of Old. A formidable opponent, certainly, but safely distant now.

"Let him rule his sector," Vect decided, already planning his next move. "Once I control Commorragh, perhaps we'll negotiate proper trade agreements." He laughed at his own joke.

If only he understood that he wasn't dealing with typical Mon-keigh bound by the limitations of Imperial bureaucracy and doctrine. Asdrubael Vect, He is a Genius no doubt , however he had made a critical miscalculation. He thought he was the spider, when in fact he was the fly. And soon, very soon, Commorragh would learn why the Independence Sector's motto was "Peace Through Overwhelming Firepower."

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Motherfucking Commorragh. Never thought I'd see this shithole up close. The Lictor Pattern Exo-Armor's sensory suite is feeding me data about every shadow, every movement, and every toxic particle in this Emperor-forsaken place. And there are a lot of toxic particles.

Through my enhanced vision, I watch another Mandrake patrol pass beneath our position. These shadow-walking bastards would be a real problem if our suits weren't equipped with phase-shifting tech stolen from the Necrons another Xenos I could agree that have well beyond our Tech but we are getting there. The things you can do with a good R&D budget and some captured specimens.

"Team Alpha, report," I whisper into the encrypted vox.

"Illmaean defense grid located, sir. Setting up disruptors now. These pointy-eared motherfuckers won't know what hit them when Sweet Liberty opens up."

A grim smile crosses my face. Somewhere up there, that beautiful 10,000-kilometer death machine is waiting for our signal. The Dark Eldar think their precious shadow fields make them untouchable. They're about to learn what Imperial innovation can do.

"Team Beta, status on those superweapons?"

"Multiple candidates located, sir. Found something that looks like a Solar annihilator. Three different reality-bomb variants, a Blackstone Fortress, Some sort of Planet Killer Called Fireheart and a Heavily Guarded Reality Engine, Fuck they've got all sorts of reality ending shit here! And... sir, you're not going to believe this, but we've found what appears to be a contained shard of Khaine. Marking all for targeting solutions."

These sick fucks would have a god-shard. I make a mental note to inform the Primarch about that particular find. He's got a special interest in anything Khaine-related since bonding with that Crone Sword.

My vision zooms in on the research vessel below. Thirteen kilometers of adamantium and archaeotech, surrounded by mountains of xenos corpses. Our eggheads didn't go down easy. The scene before me is a testament to their defensive preparations – Homunculi torn apart by what looks like weaponized cellular degeneration, Wyches frozen in crystal formations that couldn't have formed naturally, and Mandrakes that appear to have been turned inside out by some kind of dimensional weapon.

Activating long-range auspex

"Well, well, well... if it ain't the youngest evil motherfucker in Commorragh himself."

Vect. Looking about as friendly as a Khornate Berserker at a peace convention. He's younger than the archives show him, but that just means he's hungry, building his power base. Data scrolling through my HUD confirms it – power readings off the charts, surrounded by what looks like enough bodyguards to conquer a small sector.

"This is Director Jaxsen. All teams, maintain observation protocols. I've got eyes on Vect at the research vessel. Repeat: Asdrubael fucking Vect is personally leading the siege. Do not – I repeat – do NOT engage. That smug xenos bastard's bodyguard's are way above our pay grade."

I tag his location with a priority marker. The Primarch or one of the Primeborn will have to handle this one. I'm good, but I'm not "Solo the future architect of Commorragh" good. Through my enhanced hearing, I can pick up faint sounds of machinery and what might be voices from inside the vessel. Cawl, Biceps, and Chen are still alive in there, probably cooking up new horrors to throw at their attackers.

"Sir," Team Charlie cuts in, "we've mapped the surrounding area. There are at least twelve major transit points they could use to bring in reinforcements. Want us to start laying temporal mines?"

"Negative. Mark them for orbital bombardment instead. When this kicks off, I want Sweet Liberty to cut off every escape route. These Dark Eldar sons of bitches have been playing their games long enough. Time to show them how we do things Liberty Eagles style."

I take one last look at the research vessel, its hull gleaming with exotic defense systems that are probably giving Vect conniptions. Our eggheads might be weird, but they're our weird. And we're getting them back.

"All teams, complete your marking operations and prepare for extract. Phase two begins when Sweet Liberty arrives, and I want us well clear when those city-sized guns start singing their freedom song."

Just hang in there, you crazy bastards, I think, watching another wave of Dark Eldar break themselves against the ship's defenses. The cavalry's coming, and we're bringing enough firepower to make even Vect shit himself.

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The webway tunnel blazed with golden light as Sweet Liberty's prow emerged first - a continent-sized vessel of gleaming Tyranimite-Auramite, Blackstone and Adamantium breaking through reality itself. Behind her came the rest of Battlefleet Liberty, each vessel a city in its own right, their hulls adorned with eagles and lightning bolts that seemed to move in the ethereal light of the webway.

Fleet Admiral Elena Koshka stood on Sweet Liberty's bridge, her form dwarfed by the hololithic displays showing the Port of Lost Souls in all its twisted glory. Spires of bone and metal reached up like grasping fingers into the artificial sky, while countless Dark Eldar vessels nestled among them like predatory birds in a forest of steel.

"Shadow field generators marked for targeting," announced the targeting officer. "CIA teams report ready."

Elena's lips curved into a cold smile. "Commence Operation Daybreak."

Across the Port of Souls, precision charges detonated simultaneously. The shadow fields protecting the port flickered and died, leaving the Port naked before Sweet Liberty's guns for the first time in its history. Alarm sirens wailed across the port, their sound quickly drowned out by something far more terrifying - the battle cry of Sweet Liberty's weapons awakening.

Elena's voice carried the weight of decades of naval tradition as she gave the order: "All batteries, commence firing. Show them what freedom looks like."

Sweet Liberty's first response was apocalyptic. Macro-cannons larger than cathedrals spoke in harmony, their shells crossing the void to tear through the closest Dark Eldar vessels. The sleek xenos ships, built for speed and stealth, found their advantages stripped away as Liberty's targeting cogitators tracked them with merciless precision.

The Nova Cannons fired next. Each shot carried the power of a small sun, and where they struck, entire sections of the port simply ceased to exist. Spires that had stood since before humanity's birth toppled like felled trees, their wraithbone structures unable to withstand the concentrated fury of Freedom.

"Launch the smart missile swarms," Elena commanded. "Targeting package Epsilon-Seven."

The sky turned to metal as thousands of missiles descended upon the port. Unlike crude explosives, these were hunting packs, each one programmed to seek specific targets. They dove into streets and buildings, threading through architecture like schools of steel fish, detonating with surgical precision against power nodes, weapon emplacements, and command centers.

From Sweet Liberty's launch bays came the Melta Torpedoes, their warheads designed to unleash concentrated thermal energy of unimaginable intensity. Where they struck, matter did not simply vanish—it liquefied and vaporized in an instant, reduced to molten slag and plumes of superheated gas. Ammunition dumps exploded in chain reactions, docking claws collapsed into pools of glowing metal, and defensive batteries melted into unrecognizable ruins. The once-pristine structure of the port became a scorched landscape of twisted, bubbling wreckage, seared with the fury of the torpedoes' devastating impact.

Escort squadrons engaged Dark Eldar fast-attack craft, while strike cruisers methodically eliminated defensive platforms. The void burned with weapons fire, painting the eternal twilight of Commorragh with the colors of Imperial retribution.

"Landing zones Alpha through Delta cleared," reported the ground assault coordinator. "Commencing Monolith deployment."

From high above, massive Pyramid structures began their controlled descent. Each Monolith was a self-contained fortress, bristling with weapons and containing eternity gates. They crashed into the cleared zones with earth-shaking force, their anti-grav systems ensuring they landed perfectly oriented despite the chaos around them.

Blue energy flared from the Monoliths' gates as the Liberty Guard poured forth. Regiment after regiment of Transhumans in advanced exo-armor emerged, their Pulse Rifles already tracking targets. They moved with transhuman precision, securing their positions with practiced efficiency.

In the command throne which was rather large for her, Elena watched the tactical displays with satisfaction. The port's defenses were crumbling, its surviving defenders caught between orbital bombardment and ground assault. Dark Eldar ships trying to flee found their escape routes cut off by carefully positioned squadrons of Imperial vessels.

"My Lady," her communications officer called out, "Word from Director Jaxsen. CIA teams are falling back to extraction points. They report multiple strategic targets marked for destruction."

"Acknowledge their transmission," Elena replied. "Tell them well done. Tactical, prepare firing solutions for all marked targets. Time to clean house."

Sweet Liberty's guns spoke again, this time with target data provided by ground teams. Strategic locations throughout the port disappeared in carefully controlled barrages, each shot calculated to maximize damage to Dark Eldar assets while minimizing risk to friendly forces.

"Status report on beachhead establishment?" she asked.

"All primary objectives secured, My Lady. Liberty Guard forces reporting minimal resistance. The enemy is in full retreat from the landing zones."

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Somewhere Above Lower Commorragh,

The stealth craft hummed quietly as it cut through Commorragh's artificial atmosphere, its advanced cloaking systems rendering it virtually invisible against the perpetual twilight of the Dark City. Inside, Franklin Valorian and his Primeborn Captains stood ready at the deployment bay, the open door letting in the acrid wind of the dark realm.

Below them, through gaps in the artificial clouds, they could see Sweet Liberty's bombardment turning the Port of Lost Souls into apocalyptic artwork. Each explosion lit up the darkness like artificial suns, while streams of missiles traced elegant patterns through the sky. It was almost beautiful, in a devastatingly lethal way.

Franklin stood at the edge, his massive frame filling the doorway as he checked his equipment one final time. Behind him, his Captains – Denzel Washington, Steven Armstrong, John Ezra, Vladimir Mendelev and Henry Cavill – performed their own final checks.

Henry Cavill, the time-displaced Liberty Eagle, looked down at the growing congregation of Dark Eldar forces below, his enhanced vision picking out details of their frantic preparations. He cleared his throat, an oddly human gesture for a transhuman warrior.

"Father," Henry said, his face scrunched in mock concern, "Are you sure jumping right into the middle of that Dark Eldar mob is wise? The Codex Astartes does not support this action"

The entire cabin went silent. Franklin turned slowly, one eyebrow raised in that particular way that suggested he knew a joke was coming. The other Primeborn looked at Henry with varying degrees of confusion and curiosity. Even the ship's automatons seemed to pause in their duties.

John Ezra, ever the serious one, actually started scanning through his mental copy of the Codex Libertatis, muttering, "I don't recall any specific prohibitions against high-altitude insertions into xenos cities..."

Denzel leaned over to Armstrong. "Did our time-traveling brother finally lose it?"

Armstrong shrugged his massive shoulders. "With Henry, who can tell anymore?"

"Eh...more reminiscing da?" Vladimir added.

Henry maintained his serious expression for about three seconds before cracking, a grin spreading across his face. "Sorry, sorry – force of habit. You see, in the future, I used to work with this absolutely brilliant Ultramarine, Captain Titus. Great warrior, better friend. Every time we'd do something particularly outrageous, I'd say that line just to watch him roll his eyes, But he had this one battle-brother, Leandros..."

"Every single time Titus would do something awesome but slightly unconventional, there was Leandros, ready to quote the Codex and tattle to the nearest Inquisitor."

Franklin's serious expression cracked into a grin. "Let me guess – middle management material?"

"The worst kind," Henry confirmed. "You know the type – more concerned with following rules than winning battles. Actually reported Titus to the Inquisition for 'suspected corruption' just because he was able to resist some Warp effects better than expected."

"You're shitting me," Denzel interjected, shaking his head. "His own battle-brother?"

"Straight to the Inquisition," Henry nodded. "No discussion, no benefit of the doubt. Just straight to 'Hello Inquisitor, my Captain's being too competent, please investigate.'"

Franklin moved back to the door, the dark city beckoning below. He turned to his sons, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Just remember, brothers – the Codex Astartes says nothing about dropping onto Vect's head from orbit, Well then, shall we do something the Codex definitely doesn't support?"

"Fuck Leandros?" Henry suggested cheerfully.

"FUCK LEANDROS!" Franklin boomed, and without another word, he stepped backward into the void, his massive form plummeting toward the dark city below.

Henry looked at his brother captains, all of them sharing the same shit-eating grin. "You heard the Primarch."

"Fuck Leandros!" they chorused, following their father into the abyss.

As they fell, their jump packs igniting in perfect sequence, Henry couldn't help but think that somewhere, centuries in the future, Captain Titus would thoroughly approve of this particular breach of Codex protocol.

Denzel's voice crackled over the vox: "You know, brother, I think I'm going to start saying that before every questionable tactical decision."

"The Codex Astartes does not support this action?" Armstrong's amusement was clear even through the static.

"No," Denzel replied as they all activated their stealth fields, disappearing from view. "Fuck Leandros."