The sky above Cadia split apart as a Warp rift tore open, spilling sickly red and blue light across the battlefield. Lightning struck the ground, turning rock to glass.

A howl rolled over the warzone, ancient and predatory. Shapes emerged from the rift, towering figures clad in scarred armor draped with pelts. Their eyes glowed gold in the dim light.

Without formation or pause, they rushed forward. Claws ripped through Traitor Marines, fangs crushed armored throats, and black blood splashed across shattered earth. The Black Legion faltered under the sudden storm of violence.

Cadian defenders watched in confusion and awe. Few knew what these beasts were, but it was clear they fought against Abaddon’s forces. The lost sons of Russ had returned from the Warp after ten thousand years, and their hunt had found its prey.

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The Hunt of the Wulfen

The Thirteenth Black Crusade fell upon Cadia like the closing of a tomb. The sky turned black beneath the shadow of the invading fleets, the sun blotted out by warships vast enough to cover continents. The ground trembled with the descent of traitor legions and the shriek of drop-pods tearing through the air. For the soldiers of the Astra Militarum, there was no illusion of victory, no hope of a lasting stand. This was not another war in a long line of wars—it was the end. The air hung heavy with the knowledge that Cadia would not survive what was coming, yet still, they took their positions, weapons in hand, determined to meet annihilation as Cadians always had: unbroken, defiant, and facing the enemy head-on.

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The 13th Crusade

The Phalanx, mighty fortress-monastery of the Imperial Fists, entered the Cadian system like a spear thrust into the heart of the enemy. Its colossal gun batteries thundered, each salvo shattering Chaos warships and sending fragments spinning into the void. The defenders below felt hope surge for the first time in the campaign. Every impact lit the darkened skies with burning wreckage, and the fleets of the Despoiler reeled under the storm.

But of course, nothing is THAT simple... つづく

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The Phalanx Returns

The shattered remains of the Chaos fleet did not drift harmlessly away. Guided and driven by Abaddon’s forces, the wreckage fell toward Cadia. Chunks of metal the size of mountains tore through the atmosphere, heating into blazing comets before smashing into the surface. Fortress-lines collapsed, continents broke apart, and entire regiments were erased in moments. The Phalanx had brought destruction to the enemy, but that victory was turned into a killing blow against Cadia itself. The planet trembled under the assault, and for its defenders, the truth was undeniable. This was the beginning of the end.


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Zero Hour

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Indomitus Rising (The Escape)

The air split open with warp-lightning as if the sky itself had been torn apart by rage. A blast of psychic force rolled across the battlefield, toppling men and shattering walls. From the rift stepped a figure in black and gold, towering in Terminator plate, his presence bending reality around him. The Talon of Horus crackled, and in his other hand, the daemon blade Drach’nyen shrieked a hunger that could be felt like a wound in the mind.

Abaddon the Despoiler had come.

For ten thousand years he had waged the Long War, his hatred for the Imperium burning through ages. Now, with the battle for Cadia balanced between hope and ruin, he had descended to end it himself. The ground shook beneath his advance. Bolter fire struck him and vaporized harmlessly against the black aura of the Warp. Warriors of the Black Legion surged around him in a tide, but even they fell back from his path.

Every step was measured, inevitable. The defenders saw not a man, but a storm given form — the echo of the Siege of Terra walking among them once more. He sought commanders, heroes, symbols of resistance, not to defeat them in battle, but to destroy their very meaning. In the face of his arrival, the courage kindled by the Living Saint began to falter, for Abaddon had come not to conquer Cadia, but to break it.

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The Despoiler's Vengeance

Castellan Sardarkar Creed was a soldier who embodied the spirit of Cadia, not through superhuman gifts or arcane powers, but through determination, cunning, and sheer force of will. Born into the ranks of the Astra Militarum, he rose through skill and steadfast leadership, earning the trust of his troops. When the forces of Chaos besieged Cadia, Creed met them as any man would: with grit, loyalty to his home, and an unshakable belief in the cause he served. He held the line against impossible odds, not because he was invincible, but because he refused to yield, proving that even an ordinary man could stand as the bulwark between humanity and the horrors of the galaxy.

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The Castellan's Oath

The walls were gone and the enemy poured through the breach in an endless tide of black and gold. Smoke and fire swallowed the sky, drowning out the sound of orders with the roar of bolter fire. At the foot of the Castellan, Colour Sergeant Jarran Kell still stood, the battered Cadian banner fixed to his back as it had been for decades.

Every step Creed took toward the evacuation point was matched by Kell’s gunfire, cutting down traitors that drew too close. The Black Legion was not hunting ranks of soldiers now. They hunted the General himself. Kell knew it. Creed knew it. And Kell had made his choice long before.

When the last defensive gate collapsed, Kell stepped between Creed and the oncoming storm. His armor was cracked and blood streaked his face, but the banner remained upright. His eyes told Creed to go and save what was left. Creed hesitated only for a moment before turning away.

The Sergeant lifted his weapon, braced himself against the ruins, and met the charge head on. Around him, the battlefield became a wall of bodies and gun smoke. He fought until his bolter was empty, then with the banner pole itself. When the end came, it was not silent; it was a final roar of defiance that cut through the chaos.

The colours of Cadia did not fall.

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The Standard Bearer

The battle for Cadia was collapsing into chaos. Each front buckled under the endless pressure of the Black Legion. The defenders fought with desperation, the air thick with bolter fire and psychic storms. Above it all, from the vantage point of an untouched command chamber of alien metal, Trazyn the Infinite watched with calm amusement.

The Necron Overlord had not come to save Cadia, but to observe. The movements of armies, the death of heroes, the turning of history’s page were the theater he enjoyed most. As human resistance wavered and Abaddon pressed closer, Trazyn’s claws hovered over the controls of his tesseract vault. Perhaps this moment required more than mere observation.

Ancient stasis fields dissolved with a whispering crackle. From the shimmering gates of captured memory stepped figures in archaic gold and battle-worn armor, their eyes filled with the zeal of a war ten millennia past. Custodian Guard, Heresy-era soldiers, and warriors long turned to dust now strode into the fray as if the Siege of Terra had never ended. They fought with conviction born of another age, striking down Chaos Marines who looked like the traitors they once faced. To them, this was not a myth or a relic of history, it was still the Heresy.

In the distance, Trazyn allowed himself the faintest smile. The past was slaughtering the present, a rare union of war and artistry. When the planet cracked and the battle reached its inevitable end, he would recall his treasures. For this brief act, history itself fought beside the living.

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The Curator's Exhibit (Trazyn's Twist)

The wind changed without warning, carrying the scent of ozone and something older, colder. Across the battlefield, shimmering rifts unfurled like torn silk. Shapes stepped through, tall and graceful, their armor gleaming in muted silver and midnight hues. No craftworld banners flew here, only the sigil of a rising phoenix and the shadowed mark of the death-god Ynnead.

The Ynnari had arrived.

They moved like dancers in a silent hunt, their blades catching the light with every shift, their eyes fixed on the enemy and on those they came to aid. To the Imperium’s soldiers, they were predators from another world. Yet their weapons found the throats of Black Legionnaires and the eyes of daemons with unerring precision. Among them strode a tall, stoic warrior whose presence was as sharp as the sword at his hip, and at his side a woman whose voice seemed to command the wind itself.

They spoke of pylons and ancient machinery, of a war that would swallow every soul if left unchecked. They did not ask for trust and they gave none. But with the tide of Chaos pressing against the defenders of Cadia, their arrival could not be refused. For this battle, and this battle only, the living and the dead would fight alongside the sons of man.

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Whispers of Ynnead

I love experimenting with my trusty Ibanez RG370DXL, and any new toys I can get my hands on. Passion (ADHD obsession..) project - it isn't my day job lol.

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New tracks tagged #Fall of Cadia