Imperium Ascendant

Book II: The Great Crusade

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Last Hold

Location: The Nocturne System

Date: 864.M30

Seated upon a throne of Jade and Obsidian the Primarch commanded the beast. His mind connected to the Dragons by powerful telepathic bonds. This was no simple beast or flesh puppet. The Dragon was claimed by Vulkan from cooling ashes. Decades ago the Emperor had tasked Vulkan with claiming a distant system known as Nocturne. Telling the XVIII Primarch the volcanic world held secrets precious to many. Which Vulkan would claim for mankind.

The Primarch arrived too late and found the Nocturne system in its twilight. The XVIII Legion searched the system for any survivors or clues to whatever catastrophe befell the humans upon Nocturne. All they found across the ruins of seven cities were signs of suffering and the touch of darkness. In the form of sadistic displays and signs of Eldar weapons. The greatest clue to the identity of whatever Xeno faction destroyed Nocturne came within the remains of the city of Hesiod. A mountain of skulls piled high as a Knight-Walker stands. Left in the city-center with a signature in the Aeldari lexicon inscribed on each skull. Reading "He Who Hunts Heads"

The bodies recovered across the planet were cremated in a great ritual of burial by the XVIII Legion. Creating a great conflagration that attracted the only survivor of the Eldar's handiwork. The last Firedrake from deep within the Nocturne. Drawn up by the heat, seeking any warmth upon this once burning world. The great reptilian beast did not seem to notice the Astartes and Imperials tending the pyre. It dived into the flames and stayed there for several hours. Vulkan was alerted and watched the colossal beast hide in the funeral blaze. After many hours it crawled forth. Scales glowing with heat. Vulkan and his honor-guard tracked the titan-sized wyrm across the ruined wilds of Nocturne to a great Volcano. Now snuffed out by Aeldari technology and glowing with only the faintest embers.

The Fire Drake worked its way through the great lava-tubes and caverns of the volcano. Burrowing into the deepest most hidden depths of the mountain. Signs of battle and of death filled the subterranean chambers. The scorched remains of Eldar warriors and broken craft littered the tunnels. The transhuman senses of the Primarch and his guard tracking the Fire Drake with relative ease. The XVIII was not created for these duties, but like all of the Emperor's Angels they could adapt. At long last they found the Fire-Drake within the still glowing heart of the mountain. A great caldera littered with bones and broken stone. Here the beast squeezed its scaly bulk into a hidden antechamber. Curling itself up into a nest of lava.

Vulkan watched as the Fire Drake let the intense heat from its scales radiate into the hollow in the rock. Heating the cooling rock and revealing the chamber's purpose. The Drake had coiled itself around a clutch of obsidian eggs. Each the size of an Astartes. It suddenly made sense to the Primarch. The heart of the mountain had been where these great Drakes had nested and raised young. Needing the great heat to incubate the eggs. The Eldar had raided this mountain and taken or destroyed all other eggs. Leaving one remaining mother and her brood. Hidden away in the darkest depths she sought any heat to save her eggs. Drawn to the pyre of Nocturne, hoping to steal its fire to warm her nest.

Slowly Vulkan approached the resting Queen. The Primarch could feel the ancient intellect of the beast. The Fire Drake was no simple animal. She appraised Vulkan with fiery reptilian eyes, a deep warning growl issued from the Drakes jaws. Vulkan paid the warning little heed. His father had taught him long ago that sometimes things must be protected whether they like it or not. The XVIII Primarch did not know why the Emperor sent him to Nocturne but he would not pass up the opportunity in front of him. In his left hand, he held a powerful flamer of his own design. The other lay open, in a sign of peace towards the Drake. Slowly Vulkan leveled his flamer at the clutch of eggs. If the Fire Drake needed a flame for its offspring, he would provide it.

In the dim cavern, the Fire Drake saw the glint of raising metal and lunged. She had long learned at the hands of Drukhari raiders to fear such implements. Vulkan did not move, holding his free arm up even as the beast's jaws clamped around it. The Fire Drake could have swallowed Vulkan whole, out of trepidation or something else she instead latched onto his arm. Teeth designed to pierce armored scales ground into Vulkans forearm. Punching through the Primarchs armor and sinking into the meat of his arm, warp infused blood poured into the Fire Drake's gullet as she worked to rip the Primarch's arm from his body. Greatsword sized teeth ripped through metal, skin, and muscle, only stopping when they pressed into the Vulkan's bones. The fangs of a Death World apex predator could rip apart armored vehicles with ease, but could not scratch the biological perfection of a Primarch's skeleton.

Ignoring the pain, Vulkan walked towards the drake's eggs, dragging the massive beast latched onto his arm with him. Despite the monster's efforts, it was hauled along by the inexorable strength of Vulkan. Muttering soothing words to the scared queen, the Primarch ignited his flamer and let gouts of fire wash over the eggs. The stone around the eggs quickly started to glow with heat. A nest of melted rock for the queen's brood. Flames started to lap at the Fire Drake as well, warming her scales and invigorating the beast. Letting forth a growl like a Titans engine the Fire Drake gnashed her teeth. Biting down even harder, seeking to rip the Primarchs limb from him.

Vulkan felt his arm bulge out of its socket. Readjusting his grip Vulkan tried to pull his arm free. Giving the Fire Drake the opportunity it had been looking for. Moving faster than its great reptilian bulk should allow. The Fire Drake spun its body and yanked its mighty jaws upward, ripping Vulkans arm clean off. The Primarch's limb torn from its socket and its sinew shredded. Swallowing the morsel whole, the drake spun around. Its massive tail smashed into Vulkan, slamming the Primarch against the chamber wall.

Rising from the cracked stone, Vulkan looked down at his bleeding stump with a look of mild annoyance. Larraman Cells quickly clotted over the wound and a spike of growing bone jutted from the scab. Vulkans perpetual nature granted him regenerative powers beyond most of his brothers. As bone tapered out of his shoulder and muscle started to wrap around the regenerating limb, Vulkan approached the beast.

"I have no desire to hurt you great beast, but you are leaving me few options," Vulkan said in his soft, rumbling baritone. "So I apologize in advance for this"

Vulkan charged forward, his hulking form barreling towards the Fire Drake. The drake roared a challenge and shot forward, its mouth opened wide to swallow Vulkan whole. While the Lord of the XVIII lacked much of the grace and speed of his brothers, he could still dodge the beast's lunging bite. Landing next to the drake's head as its jaws shut on empty air, Vulkan's uninjured arm shot out. His vice-like grip locking onto one of the Drakes mighty horns. Yanking on the horn with all his power and slamming the drake's massive head into the cavern floor. Without pause, Vulkan then smashed his forehead against the Drakes scaled skull, knocking it out cold.

By the time the brief exchange of blows was over, Vulkan's arm had completely regrown. Testing the dexterity of his new fingers, Vulkan grumbled slightly to himself as he inspected the limb. It would be a chore to reacquire the calluses on his hands that he had worked so hard to obtain. His tools would feel strange in that hand for a while. Rubbing the spot on his head where it had collided with the drake, Vulkan poured over new information. What he had done was more than a simple headbutt. It was a crude form of telepathy. He had literally smashed information into the Drakes head and at the same time ripped pertinent data from the beast. Now he knew he needed to know about caring for the drake's eggs. Hopefully, when the Queen awoke, the message of peace and care he had implanted would not be affected by a mild concussion.

Voxing his flagship. Vulkan ordered one of the unused Titan bays of his vessel to be repurposed. These forge-vaults had been designed to stop a rampaging avatar of the Omnissiah. They would act as a new nest for the Drakes. Soon an Imperial Lander touched down near the mountain. A combination of mining equipment and Titan maintenance craft pulled the unconscious Fire Drake onto the surface. With her eggs stored in a field-cremator repurposed as an incubator. It took several hours to get the beast and her brood up onto the XVIII Legion flagship.

Extensive scans of the Nocturne were conducted. Searching for more Fire Drakes or similar treasures. Gene Samples from a view mummified Drakes hid deeper within the mountain were the only product of this endeavor. Soon it came time for the XVIII Crusader Fleet to depart. As the cooling ember of a world faded from view. Vulkan swore he would avenge Nocturne and that he would protect its last gift.

In the ensuing weeks of the Warp-travel, the Primarch worked to tame the Fire Drake. Awaking nearly one solar day after being knocked unconscious the beast was a maelstrom of fury. Nearly killing two Astartes unfortunate enough to be caught in her ire. Upon detecting her eggs. Safe and simmering in an incubator hot enough to carbonize flesh. The Fire Drake calmed down and became surprisingly receptive. With great effort, Vulkan managed to form a bond with the Drake. The strength and compassion of the Primarch winning over even a primordial god-like beast. Naming her Ayida after a fire serpent of ancient myth, Vulkan was bound to a beast of war without comparison. A telepathic link was forged between Drake and Demigod. The Primarch of the XVIII soon took to riding her into battle, becoming a fearsome sight to behold for any enemy of mankind. Eventually, the clutch of eggs rescued from Nocturne hatched. Each wyrmling was bound to one of Vulkans most trusted lieutenants. Starting a new legend, of the Drakelords of the XVIII Legion.

As the years wore on and the Great Crusade raged through the stars, Vulkan started to notice a change in Ayida. A hunger had been ignited within her, one that seemed to be unquenchable by normal foodstuff. Upon the battlefield she would devour entire light tanks whole, digesting both machine and meat. She began to go as far as to raid fuel deposits and heaps of scrap for inorganic food. The already massive drake grew with each of these meals. Her exotic stomach acids and strange innards worked to turn steel and ceramite into scales and claws.

Examinations by Magos of numerous fields and even experts of both the Aeldari and Chaos were consulted. The results were always vague but lockstep: something had triggered the start of a metamorphosis. Ayida was entering the next stage of her life cycle, becoming something unknown to the Imperium and missing in the fossils of Nocturne. Imperial Adepts had determined the Fire Drakes of Nocturne were unaffected by the damages of time. They grew larger and more intelligent with every passing year. With the end of this cycle there was no decay or injury, but slumber. The Fire Drakes would grow too large to move or even wake. They would fall into a living death below the great mountains of Nocturne. The Aeldari had killed or captured these volcanic leviathans, leaving the titanic husks of now eternally sleeping titans for the Imperium to research.

What was happening with Ayida was not like the fire drakes of old. She grew neither sluggish nor stagnant. With each ton of draconic muscle added to her frame, she only grew stronger and more alive. Magnetic scans started to show the development of new organs and even limbs within Ayida. Immature wings started to grow from her back and her crocodilian form lengthened into a more serpentine shape. ᚱа𐌽оBÊŜ

The answer to the mystery of the Fire Drakes evolution came when a particularly brave genewright managed to get samples of Ayida's stomach tissue. Fragments of incomprehensible DNA were interwoven with the Drakes innards. Fragments that were acutely familiar to the XVIII Legions apothecaries. Somehow, defying all logic and reason, Vulkan lived within his drake. The arm torn from the Primarch in his first encounter with Ayida had survived. The flesh and bone of the Emperor's son had fused with the drake, protected from digestion by constant regeneration. A constant flow of psychic energy and transhuman tissue fused with Ayida, awakening a long-buried secret within the great beast.

Vulkan had long suspected this connection, but could never be certain. In the years since Nocturne, the Primarch had often experienced what could be called 'Phantom Perptualhood'. He had often awoke from his sleep with the sensation of returning life and reknitting flesh. He could feel himself regenerate from wounds that did not exist. It had bothered Vulkan and he was glad to have an answer, even if it raised more questions. The discarded tissue of a Perpetual rotted like a mortal's, sometimes even faster than what would be expected, as if the Universe sought to erase evidence of the impossible. Somehow the limb stolen by Ayida's jaws resisted this natural decay. The font of energy that powered Vulkan's soul steadily leaked into the fire drake, provoking a long forgotten metamorphosis.

This was truly the next stage of a fire drake's existence. The slumbering titans that once populated Nocturne were stunted failures, malnourished children who had long forgotten the truth of their existence. A drake was simply a young dragon, robbed of the key ingredient of their life-cycle, an ingredient Vulkan had accidentally provided.

In prehistoric ages, when reptiles had ruled ancient Terra and the Aeldari were young. Stellar Dragons swam the Void. They were one of the eldest creations of the Old Ones. A species woven from the mysteries of flesh and souls. Their enigmatic creators had designed them to be the ultimate guardians and stewards of treasures and wonders. The Stellar Dragons were reptilian godlike beasts of unmatched power. bound to their creators and masters through biological necessity. Clutches of dragon eggs could survive on any world, hatching as adapted drakes for that world. For these drakes to become dragons, they required the power of a Called God. Something Vulkan had given through his flesh and soul.

Ayida became so massive that her size began to rival the Hammerfall, the Gloriana-Class Flagship of the XVIII Legion. Feeding off the wrecks of Orkish and other enemy ships, the Drake Queen became something unseen to the galaxy for millennia. With eight mighty wings that bled flame, ten taloned claws, and a serpentine body long enough to coil around the XVIII Legions flagship. She had become a Stellar Dragon.

When the Old Ones faded into myth, the dragons had faded as well. Unable to hatch new members of their kind, their failed descendants populated the galaxy. Each bastard breed inherited a shadow of the Stellar Dragons' glory. Crotalids plunge into the Warp with idiotic uncertainty, where their ancestors swam the Sea of Souls. Exodite Megadons being little more than exotic pets born of spliced genes. The Children of Draugnir were limited mimicries. With only Ayida and her children inheriting the legacy of the Stellar Dragons. For the first time in an age, dragons thundered through the heavens, bound to the Imperium and the XVIII Legion. Inspired by their bond with these ancient titans of legend, Vulkan and his legion took the name the Dragonforged as their own.

Location: The Elder Bridge of Khazrik Hold

Date: 889.M30 (Imperial Standard Time)

At her master's bidding Ayida the Stellar Drake snaked her way through the ashen skies of Karag Grungron. Great reptilian eyes scanned the assembled Orkish WAAAGH, looking for the best place to strike. Accelerating through a mix of gravitational manipulation and organic rocketry she charged. Entering a shallow dive to strafe the center of the tide of green monsters, the atmospheric displacement sent squalls of burnt wind across the Orks' ranks. Jaws large enough to swallow a Titan widened and a rumbling roar poured from between Ayida's fangs. The air from her gullet pushed out a tide of fire. The great biological reactor within the Dragon did more than produce flames for flight. It could unleash dragonfire.

A geyser of molten death erupted from the Stellar Dragon. With an almost lazy ease, the dragon burnt a line into the WAAAGH. Waves of flame rolled off from points of impact, swallowing Trukks, Wagonz and swarms of greenskins like some apocalyptic flood of ancient Terran myth. Energy equal to multiple thermonuclear detonations smashed into the Orks, and soon the screaming started and it nearly matched the roar of the flames. Orks fear little, but the cleansing wrath of fire brought forth the instinctual terror of their fungal roots.

Storms of dakka poured from the Orks, filling the air with lead and plasma as the greenskins panicked. Primarch-forged shields and Old One born scales proved more than a match for the Orks' wild shooting. Grunhag left the disemboweled form of Ur-Dammaz, mounting his squiggoth beast and screaming orders and charged into the Greentide. Any effect the Warboss might have had was lost when the next wave of the Imperial offensive came. The Stellar Dragon had managed to slip through the Orkish fleet, inciting panic wherever her flames or claws met greenskin ships. She was far from alone in this fight. The XVIII Crusader Fleet and the Dragonforged Legion now clashed in the Karag system.

The Orkish Fleet was massive beyond words. Thousands upon thousands of ships dotted the firmament. Easily outnumbering the Crusader Fleet 50:1. Yet the Orks were scattered across the system. With the vast majority of the WAAAGH upon Karag Grungron. If the Orks could have regrouped and attacked the Crusader Fleet as one they could have easily overwhelmed the Imperials. This would not be the case. The Greenskin ships scattered across the system were composed of late-comers to the WAAAGH and those Grunhag deemed unworthy to besiege Khazrik Hold.

Ayida easily weaved her way through the disparate Greenskin fleet, allowing the Dragonforged to smash each of the scatterings of Orkish vessels with ease. Weapons plucked from the dreams of the Emperor's Smith, as Vulkan was sometimes called, and his own gene-sons opened fire, reducing the Greenskins to cosmic debris. Naval battle groups hunted the Orkish fleets as Legion barges thundered towards the Last Hold. The Crusader Fleet smashed into the Orkish orbital presence, blasting scavenged asteroids and hulking scrap ships, widening the hole left by the Primarch's dragon.

This hole allowed the Angels of Death to enter the battle upon the planet's surface. Steel Rain poured from bombardment cannons and Stormbirds plunged into the atmosphere. As the Orks busied themselves running from dragonfire, the Legio Astartes made planetfall. Oogenera Pattern drop pods of the Primarch's own design smashed into the Greentide, filled with shock-absorbing fluid and equipped with additional armor. These pods slammed into the ground at full reentry speed, hitting like oversize artillery shells and cracking open to unleash Dragonforged Astartes.

The fluid inside the Dropods ignited as they opened. The shock-absorbing substance becoming a jellied fuel-source. Pouring from the pods as they opened, a deluge of flame. Followed by the Dragonforged. Covered in liquid fire and striding the battlefield like primordial giants. Maritan Drop-Keeps, Stormbirds accompanied by interceptors filled the sky. Countless dropods, landers, and teleportation strikes unleashed the XVIII Legion. All while Dragonfire rained down on the Orks.

Then a signal powerful enough to reach every Squat array across the Last Hold started. Across a million screens and receptors, the image of a demigod flared into being, sitting upon a throne of green and gold and clad in ornate power armor designed to mimic the scales and horns of draconic myth. The giant on the throne was easily the size of a Squat war-walker. At first, the Khazkhun watching thought him a statue or silicon creation until the giant's eyes opened. Helmless, his skin was polished ebony with scaled patterns running across his scalp. Eyes of fire, volcanic embers set in deep sockets. The face of some ancient forge god or mountain spirit cast in flesh. Despite the giant's unsettling appearance, a sense of calm certainty radiated from the demigod. The look of a dignified man, please to aid an old friend.

Speaking with a voice that resonated through the bones of all those who heard it, the giant addressed the Last Hold.

"I am Primarch Ogadin Vulkan, son of the Emperor of Mankind, servant of the Throne and Lord-Perpetual." he boomed. "The Imperium of Man has heard your calls for aid. The XVIII Astartes Legion stands ready to defend the Khazrik Hold!"

The Squats did not respond. How could they? After the betrayal of Craftworld Zandros, the possibility of any aid or allies seemed impossible. Within the ancient council chambers, a fierce argument broke out. The elders of the Last Hold clashing over what action to take. Was this some trick? An attempt to profit from the damage done to Ork and Squat by each other? The creature that called itself 'Vulkan' was clearly not a Squat nor even human. Was it some abomination born of Old Night seeking conquest and death? The Living Ancestors were split as well. The power of Vulkan radiated in the Sea of Souls and unnerved them. Some saw a great beast of fire and metal. Others saw the incarnate of ancestral dreams.

With no clear decision, the Council declared it would not fire upon this new force as long as they did not cross the Elder Bridge. Khazrik Hold would defend itself from any invader. Be they greenskinned brutes or bastard scions of mankind. Countless weapons of the Last Hold opened fire upon the Orks. The throng mustered to fight alongside Ur-Dammaz retreating into the cavernous gatehouse.

Vulkan had expected this. Caution bordering on paranoia had kept many worlds alive throughout the Age of Strife. It was wise of the Squats to prepare for the worst. Earning the Last Hold's trust would be difficult. Vulkan did have an idea on how he could prove his noble intentions to the Khazkhun. He would break Grunhag the Flayer before the Squats and offer the Warboss' skull as a token of friendship.

The Dragonforged focused their efforts to take the Elder Bridge's ork controlled side, engaging their enemy to establish a point of contact with the Squats and cornering the Primarch's prey. Entire chapters of Astartes smashed and burned their way towards the bridge, hacking through the greentide to face Grunhag's nobz. Squat artillery rained down on the Orks and Imperial armor alike as they landed across the planet. Cohorts of Auxilia and entire Titan Legions smashed into the surface, preparing to smash the numerous Ork fortresses across Grungron, all while closing in upon the main body of the WAAAGH!!!

The Astartes worked to draw the Ork's attention and work to eliminate Nobz and Weirdboyz. Using the most advanced weapons and armor available to the Imperium like the Wyrmbreath-Pattern fusion gun.This coordinated effort between the Mechanicsus and the XVIII Legion was capable of spitting veritable eruptions of plasma and molten metal to destroy armored targets or unleashing gouts of crimson flame to incinerate anything in its path. Hardy beyond the already superhuman standards of Astartes and equipped with devastating weapons, the Dragonforged burned through the Orks like an unbound flame through kindling.

If Grunhag had the opportunity to rally his forces and wield the WAAAAAAGH!!! as he had before, the Imperium could not hope to triumph. They needed to kill the Orks' momentum and stop any chance of them getting it back. They needed a single decisive blow against the Orkish horde, one that would leave the greenskins leaderless and easily dispatched.

As the battle raged, Grunhag had made his way towards the temporary forward camp the Orks had made before the duel, barking orders and smacking any Ork who looked unsure or worried. A cry of distress swept over the camp as a great dragon flew overhead. Smoke leaked from its maw and great gusts of wind followed her. Ayida the Stellar Dragon flew low and fast, reaching the Elder Bridge and almost skimming the adamantium structure before diving under it. Catching a great volcanic thermal and flying up and back towards the battle. Joined by an escort of Imperial fighters.

The Dragon rejoined the battle in the sky. Her appointed task ended. She had deposited her master where he was needed. Standing alone, without his honor guard or any other allies, Vulkan walked towards the orkish hordes with his mighty warhammer clutched in both hands. Nearing the greenskins, the XVIII Primarch stopped and swung his mighty hammer down upon the adamantium bridge. The weapon let out a tremendous thunderclap, a deep booming note that cut through the din of battle, calling the attention of all to the Dragon Lord.

Grunhag let out a roar and headed towards the bridge. Another foe had taken up the challenge he had issued to the Squats. A growl of annoyance escaped the cybork's healing throat. He could not afford to be tied down in a duel while his WAAAGH floundered. Bellowing orders, Grunhag pushed a group of 'Ardboyz and Nobz towards the Primarch, hoping to stop or slow down "Da Dragun Git". Two dozen of the meanest Ork warriors in WAAAAAGH!!! Grunhag charged the Primarch. Each and every one of the battle-hardened warriors hoped to be the one that would take Vulkans head. Pleased with this, Grunhag got back to work, bellowing orders and organizing the greentide. Trukkz and Buggiez by the thousands broke away from the WAAAGH. A storm of screaming wild Orks hurtled into the ashlands to help defend the Orkish strongholds dotting Grungron. Mobz of Boyz and Stompy 'Fings rallied together to push against the Astartes' advance. Slowly but surely under Grunhag's baleful gaze, the WAAAAAAGH!!! organized itself into the murderous force it was meant to be.

Vulkan watched the Ork warriors approach him as a wall of the wretched xenos also formed at the edge of the bridge to watch the fight and prevent combatants from fleeing. The Primarch's armor alerted him to the Astartes working to push towards his position as they hoped to overrun the basecamp the Orks had created at the bridge and repurpose it for Imperial use. Vulkan would rally his sons and lead them to victory, but after he had dealt with Grunhag and his lackeys.

The Orks Twenty Four of the meanest, greenest Orks in WAAAAAGH!!! Grunhag charged Vulkan, letting out war cries that did nothing but strengthen the Primarch's resolve. A rabid cybork with twin chainblades and a digitized roar was the first to close the distance, jury rigged pistons pushing the feral greenskin towards Vulkan. It lunged forward with whirring blades and a mad cackle. Casually, Vulkan sidestepped it and drew his side arm and fired a gout of superheated metal into the cybork's head and torso with devastating results. As the monster's smoking corpse toppled over, Vulkan stared down the remaining orks. All of them stopped for a moment as a flicker of fear crept through their savage minds. The dragon of legend flying above them was terrifying, but it was a servant to the Dragonlord before them. Even their tiny, savage minds could tell that this was no mere 'humie'. This was perpetual flame bound in armor and flesh. This was a guardian and master of ancient secrets, capable of lifting up the weak and crushing the powerful. This was Ogadin Vulkan, The Imperial Dragon.

Recovering from this momentary weakness, the orks charged the Primarch. Vulkan took each of them as they came. Every single one of them either matched or towered over his bulk, but not one of them stood a chance. Slowly and steadily, Vulkan weaved between the orks' blows. Every movement of his lethal dance was a deliberate calculated choice. Any strike that touched him bounced harmlessly off ceramite plates. At every opportunity, Vulkan struck. Mighty hammer blows or volkite flames obliterated monster after monster. The whole engagement took less than two minutes and by its end all twenty four of the orks lay dead at Vulkan's feat.

This news quickly reached Grunhag. A panicked Grot had its head crushed beneath the Warboss' foot for delivering the message. Barking a few final commands, Grunhag the Flayer mounted his Squiggoth and went to face the new challenger. The Warboss heard his enemy before he saw him. Every few seconds a great resounding boom shook the air, growing louder as Grunhag approached the head of the Elder Bridge. The source of the noise soon became apparent. Orks and orkish war machines formed an impromptu bulwark between the main Greenskin camp and the bridge. It was a bulwark formed of thousands of greenskins packed together attempting to flee what was coming. Each booming noise was a thunderous hammer blow as Vulkan walked towards the fleeing enemy forces. Swinging his weapon back and forth, each of the mighty Primarch's strikes flipped wagonz over or sent scores of orks flying. Every bullet and blast the greenskins levelled at Vulkan failed to even scratch his armor. Any greenskin stupid, brave, or unlucky enough to get close to the Primarch was reduced to a sizzling pulp. Grunhag was conflicted as he watched the spectacle unfold. He needed to return to his tent and whip his WAAAAAAGH!!! into motion. But something deep inside him hungered for the challenge before him. Something in his very genetic code yearned to face a true and "propa fight for da ages".

Beasital instincts won out against bullying tyranny. Grunhag leapt from his steed and started to push through the fleeing orks. His power klaws hacked through the cowardly Greenskins as he trudged through them. At long last, Grunhag entered the makeshift arena that had been formed from broken orkish vehicles and any greenskin in Vulkan's way. The Warboss and Primarch stood twenty meters from each other, sizing each other up like ancient gladiators. Grunhag started to approach Vulkan and the sheer size of the Greenskin became apparent to the Dragon Lord. Grunhag stood more than seven meters tall, twice that of Vulkans frame. The Warboss loomed over the largest Primarch. A true Beast of Great Slaughter.

"My my, you are a big one." Vulkan remarked more to himself than anyone else, staring up at the cruel beady-eyed stare of Grunhag.

A cruel smile split the tusked maw of the Warboss. Grunhag reached up into the trophy rack latched onto his back and grabbed something bloody that he threw between Vulkan and himself. It was the broken body of Ur-Dammaz. The Squat champion was nearly ripped in half, covered in a mix of his own blood and gore. Even with the Dragonforged attacking, Grunhag had made sure to take a trophy from his duel. Speaking in the foul guttural growl of his breed Grunhag cackled at his victory and dared this new challenger to face him.

Not waiting for a response, Grunhag charged, his klaws raised high to tear into Vulkan's flesh, leaping over Ur-Dammaz's broken form and firing salvo after salvo of lead and lighting. Vulkan simply holstered his sidearm and gripped his hammer with both hands. Grunhag swung his klaws at the Primarch. Reaching out to rip apart metal and flesh. With surprising speed, Vulkan batted away each strike. His hammer knocked away the Orks blows with surprising ease for such a large and cumbersome weapon. If the Warboss was not in the throes of a terrible rage, it may have bothered the monster. Grunhag roared and brought his fists down together as a vicious cudgel. Vulkan met the downswing with an upwards blow of his own. The impact forced Grunhag's arms up and threatened his balance. Seizing the opportunity Vulkan smashed his warhammer right into the Warboss' chest. An explosive impact knocked Grunhag back, nearly flipping the ork as he skidded along the ground.

Looking down at his chest, Grunhag was shocked by the damage. His armor was cracked and ruined. The oversized gorget common to Orkish mega-armor was splintered and sparks flew from burst electronics. Spitting out a dislodged tooth, Grunhag glared at Vulkan. The Primarch twirled his hammer between his hands. Its head glowing red-hot with a cluster of rocks and scrap floating around it. Vulkan did not wield a Thunder Hammer or something of a similar classification. His weapon of choice was his own creation, a unique weapon of devastating power and purpose. The Typhon Hammer.

The hammer's head was an adamantium frame around a miniaturized gravity generator. That Vulkan reverse engineered usingMechanicum graviton weapons. Where those tools of Martian destruction relied on disrupting the gravity of its target, the Typhon Hammer manipulated its own gravitons, allowing the weapon to change weight. With a simple command from the Primarch, the hammer could become light as a feather or heavy as a building. Linked to Vulkan, the hammer could move like a wooden baton and hit like an artillery strike. Though powerful and deadly, the weapon required constant calculations and incredible control to keep the weapon from ripping its wielder apart. Such is the weapon's power that its exhaust of heat and gravitons creates orbits of molten rock and metal, collected with each blow and circling the hammer's head like a volcanic circlet.

Strongest of all his brothers, capable of feats of might beyond any other Primarch, Vulkan swung his weapon with practiced ease. The atmosphere and space/time distorted ever so slightly with every swing. Grunhag had struggled to his feet and continued his assault. Being a seven-meter mass of greenskin muscle and machinery that weighed at least several tons, Grunhag struggled to dodge Vulkans blows. Bestial instinct and millennia of combat experience kept Grunhag moving, dodging or parrying hammerblow after hammerblow. It was not enough. Each glancing blow carried the impact of a falling meteor. Vulkan never let up, and never gave an opportunity. A serpent trail of molten debris followed his hammer head, painting his weapons arc with droplets of lava. A storm of fire and steel surrounding the Dragon Primarch but nothing his hammer generated could rival the heat and intensity of his eyes. Vulkan felt the malice and cruelty of Grunhag. He had seen its effects as the XVIII Primarch traveled across hundreds of Strongholds he had searched for survivors. The Warboss was a barbaric beast, obsessed with despoiling and stealing. The antithesis of the Smith that faced it. Vulkan was born to build and maintain wonders, to be the craftsman at the forge, making treasures and gifts. He would protect and give as he saw fit. He was the wise Dragon King of ancient myth. He was a perpetual source and guardian of knowledge and power.

Each blow shook apart Grunhag. Every thunderous swing broke machines and damaged tissue. The Warboss fought a losing battle. Every strike he deflected or barely dodged still hurt. Shockwaves followed every swing of Vulkan's hammer. It was like trying to dodge a Titan's main cannon at point blank range. Still Grunhag the Flayer attacked. The feral fury that all orks felt kept driving him to keep up a pointless offense. This came to a head when the Warboss unleashed a frantic haymaker. Vulkan countered the blow with a strike of his own. A full-powered blow of the Typhon Hammer smashed into Grunhag's forearm, instantly pulping the powerklaw and ripping the ork's arm off. Grunhag spun from the blow and watched helplessly as the mess of metal and bone that had been his arm was launched off the bridge. Vulkan pressed his advantage, bringing his hammer down on Grunhag's right knee. A grotesque squelch filled the air as the monster's lower leg was reduced to a puddle of red and splinters of metal.

Grunhag screamed in pain and dragged himself backward, scrapping along the ground with his remaining arm and leg. In that moment Grunhag felt something unfamiliar to him. Something he had not felt for millenia. Fear for his life. In the distance, Ayida roared in triumph. She had torn an orkish orbital platform from the sky and hurled its flaming ruin into the swarming tide that was the ork forces. Yet she was not the Dragon that brought such fear to Grunhag the Flayer. Her master before him filled the ork with true dread. Something broke in Grunhag as he stared into the blazing eyes of the Primarch and saw the Typhoon Hammer burn his blood from its head. The mighty Warboss, who had broken countless worlds and peoples screamed and fled for his life.

Crawling along the ground with his broken limbs, Grunhag the Flayer desperately hoped to hide behind his army. It did not matter that he had humiliated himself by running. It did not matter any chance of surpassing the Beasts of Ullanor was gone. All that mattered was escaping Vulkan. The ork's mechanical secondary arms got to work. One assisting his surviving arm and leg, the other one held the severed head of a particularly powerful Weirdboy charged itself up. Unleashing a wave of green flame in a "brain-bursta" blast of WAAAGH energy. The severed head atomotized itself in the act. Sending a wretched Orkish curse onto Vulkan. The green fire was a miasma of orkoplasm. Burning and sticking to anything it touched. The flames covered the Primarch. Clinging to his armor and producing brutish cackles as it grew. Mustering his own psychic power Vulkan worked to douse the cursed fire. Cursing to himself, he pursued Grunhag while batting at the sticky orkoplasm.

Grunhag could see the Orkish lines, he was close. He could see the shocked looks on his subordinates face as he scrambled towards them. Then something grabbed the Warboss. The shriek of tearing metal filled the air and Grunhag came to a stop. A dagger had been driven through his remaining leg, pinning it to the ground. Covered in a thick coat of both fresh and dry blood. Clinging to the dagger with all his remaining might was Ur-Dammaz. The Squat champion had dragged his body's upper half towards Grunhag as he had fought Vulkan, finding himself right in the Warboss' path of retreat. Millenia of bitter fury pushed Ur-Dammaz onward.

Slowly the Squat Champion pulled himself up along his enemies leg. His entire lower body was gone. The burnt remains of his innards trailed him. Embers of the mighty psychic blaze that once coated Ur-Dammaz followed him, searing Grunhags exposed flesh. Screaming in equal parts pain and panic, Grunhag swore and tried to push Ur-Dammaz off him, not even noticing the great shadow that fell over him. Vulkan had banished the cursed flames and arrived to finish the duel.

The Primarch looked down at Ur-Damamz and felt an unparalleled force of will and fiery rage. Bloody cracked lips opened and the Squat Champion spoke in a raspy whisper. "What are you waiting for, Drakk? Finish the green bastard and be done with it?"

Bowing his head in respect of the Bastard of Grimnir. Vulkan stepped towards Grunhag.

Ignoring the Warbosses frantic cries and cowardly pleading. Raising the Typhon Hammer high, Vulkan brought the weapon down upon Grunhags torso. Before the sound of breaking bone and metal could fade he unleashed another blow. Then another. And another, hammering the ork's body like steel upon the anvil, striking till nothing remained of the torso save for a puddle of gore and scrap metal. Reaching down, Vulkan grabbed the head of Grunhag and ripped it free from the few strands of muscle attaching it to what had been the Warboss' body. Triumphantly, the Primarch held the head high, proclaiming in a voice like thunder.

"Grunhag the Flayer is dead!" Vulkan shouted. "He fled from my hammer and died to it all the same. The Imperium of Man has arrived, and no evil can stand in the face of our power!"

Scooping up the near-dead body of Ur-Dammaz, Vulkan marched towards the Ancestor Gatehouse with a fallen hero held by one arm and the head of a defeated monster in the other. At the entrance of the mighty cavern an army of Squats stood at the ready. Drill guns aimed at the Primarch while in awe of his might, fearful of what he might do. Vulkan towered the Squats and even some of their war machines. For a moment, neither demigod nor armored throng said anything. Vulkan casually tossed the head of Grunhag at the Squats' feet, the massive skull alone was the size of a Squat. Staring into the lifeless eyes of the monster, the Khazkhun slowly realized the magnitude of what had occurred. Vulkan lowered himself onto one knee knee and held out the broken form of Ur-Dammaz.

"There are battles yet to be fought." the dying champion coughed out as he stared at the army in front of him. "Our people's saga does not end here. What has been lost can be rebuilt. It is time for the Khazkhun to embrace the future and avenge the past."

With those final words, the greatest warrior of the Squats passed on. The final flames of his life went out as he let go of the material. His body had been held together by sheer force of will. Without the mighty spirit of Ur-Dammaz, it crumbled to ash. Blown away by the winds of battle. The lines of the Squats parted and Buri Flameshield, Hold-Lord of Khazrik hold stood before the Primarch.

"You have honored us greatly, Primarch Vulkan." The Squat leader said somberly. "The age of hiding below the mountain is over. We march with you today. Today Khazkhun and honored Terranborn fight side by side."

Across the planet, the orks were in crisis. News of the Warboss' death spread like wildfire. Organization collapsed and any hope of resisting the Imperial offense was lost. Finally, the WAAAAAAGH!!! broke when Primarch Vulkan led a charge across the Elder Bridge with armies of Squats at his back. The Dragonforged and Mountainborn Squats fought side by side. The main body of the WAAAGH crushed under the might of mankind as it fractured from Grunhag's death. Millions of Orks fled the battle only to be cut down by Squat battle-trikes, and Astartes Landspeeders or ripped from the sky by Ayida and the Imperial fleet. The Squats were pulled from the maw of extinction and one of the greatest WAAAAAAGH!!! in the galaxy broke upon the anvil of war.

Location: The Throneroom of the Hammerfall - Flagship of the Dragonforged

Date: 891.M30 (Imperial Standard Time)

In the months after Grunhag and Ur-Dammaz's deaths, the Imperium and Khazrik Hold fought night and day to purge the orkish taint from Grungron. Bonds of friendship and mutual respect were forged. Once closely guarded secrets of smithing were traded between Dragonforged and Khazkhun. Imperial soldiers and diplomats feasted within the great halls of Khazrik Hold and the Axe of Doom was recovered and became the centerpiece to a monument dedicated to Ur-Dammaz. The Axe would be held by a masterfully crafted statue of the hero, with the actual skull of Grunhag forming the statue's base.

The machine of compliance worked quickly across Khazrik hold. Plans to remodel the Squat ancestor cult into something more compatible with the Imperial Truth were made. The experimental post-religious system of 'Guardian Paragons' being designed by Uriah Olathaire and his Neologian minions might be tested soon. Primarch Vulkan swore oaths of friendship and duty to the Council of Khazrik Hold. Vulkan inspired a level of belief and loyalty in the Squats not seen in their culture for ages. The Living Ancestors named him Drakkarak, the Eternal Dragon. For a culture so ancient and set as the Khazkhun they changed at lighting speed.They were eager to join the Imperium of Man as a member state in humanity's new galactic empire. However they would only truly join on two conditions.

First, the Imperium must aid the Squats in reclaiming the holdfasts lost to the orks, allowing the Khazkhun to rebuild and regain all that had been lost. Rogue Traders operating in the galactic core would be required to report any findings to the Squats. Squat technology and discoveries would be shared with the Mechanicum but relics and artifacts would be kept by the Khazkhun. The Imperium would aid the Squats in these matters and would have the loyalty and might of the Khazkhun League to assist them in their endeavors.

The second condition was the election of the first High King in an age to protect and serve the Khazkhun the best they could. This High King would also be sworn to the Emperor and be his subject, a figurehead the various clans and guilds could rally behind. A figure who would ensure the Squat's interests were protected within the wider Imperium.

After little debate both conditions were agreed too. Vulkan asked the Squat high council who they wished to elect as High King. As the Emperor's son, he would witness the coronation and act as his representative. Buri Flameshield and the other council members responded plainly.

"You, Lord Vulkan. We want you to be our High King"

A moment of silence filled the council chambers where the discussions were taking place. Speaking slowly Vulkan asked with trepidation: "I am honored by this, nobles of the Khazkhun. Is this what you truly wish? Would it not be better for a Squat to act as High King? Even if I were crowned, my duties across the galaxy would keep me from the Coreworlds."

"Well of course Lord Vulkan." Buri responded. "You are a dragon in human form. Son of the oldest living Ancestor and savior of our people. The Holds and Leagues will run as they always have. We just ask you to be our champion and advocate. The Khazkhun people kneel to your fire and steel. The Imperium of Man shall count us as its citizens and you as our King."

Quietly, the Primarch knelt before the council and exchanged oaths with each lord and master. Vulkan would be crowned High King of the Squats, the Dragon of the Mountain Holds. Lord of Flame and Forge. A crown of adamantium inlaid with rubies was crafted and set upon Vulkan's brow by a trio of Living Ancestors. He was now Ogadin Vulkan, the Dragon Primarch and King Under the Surface.

Two entire Cohorts of Squats were assembled to join the XVIII Crusader Fleet alongside a menagerie of Khazkhun war machines. Six expedition fleets broke from the Crusader Fleet and were assigned to the Core Worlds to help the Squats reclaim them. Soon, the Dragonforged Legion would depart the ancient homeworlds of the Squats. Once the last scraps of WAAAAAAGH!!! Grunhag had been burnt to ash, it would be time for the XVIII Legion and Crusader Fleet to move on. Other wonders and horror awaited them across the galaxy. Worlds to be saved, monsters to be slain. All driving the expansion of the Imperium. All while the Beasts arise upon dread Ullanor.

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