"You filthy, pointy-eared aliens!" Samk roared, his voice thunderous among the ranks of Salamanders standing firm behind him. His eyes blazed with a fire that never seemed to die.
Dark memories of his homeworld Nocturne flooded his mind—the planet where Vulkan, Primarch of the Salamanders, was born. Eldar raiders had long tormented and ravaged it. The figure before him, cloaked in psionic robes, was all too familiar—eerily like those Eldar who once threatened his birthplace.
A fresh recruit from the Terra Concordia Legion—recently assigned to the Astra Militarum from worlds like Wandering Earth and Resident Evil—looked toward Samk with curiosity. "What's wrong with him?" he whispered, sensing the tense atmosphere.
"Don't disturb him now," a cold, mocking voice came from a Space Marine of the Emperor's Children Legion. "You're about to witness the true power of the Flame-born Son, Primarch Vulkan."
The Emperor's Children marine stepped back calmly, leaving the stage set for what was to come.
From behind the city's energy shield, Trivane strode forward arrogantly, his voice dripping with scorn.
"Primitive humans, I am a member of the Eldar Empire. I ask you—"
Before Trivane could finish, Samk suddenly lunged forward with breathtaking speed, freezing everyone in place.
"For the holy Vulkan!" Samk shouted as he leapt at Trivane.
A giant flame burst to life in his hands, piercing through Trivane's body like a long blade slicing through flesh.
"For the Emperor!" he cried with fierce zeal.
The hiss of burning flesh roared like thunder, consuming Trivane's insides. The raging fire engulfed him, trapping him in a hellish blaze.
Beneath the flickering flames, Samk's green Salamanders armor became a terrifying, unstoppable force.
"For the Emperor! Attack! Annihilate these filthy pointy-eared creatures!" Samk's command echoed, charged with authority.
Led by Samk, the Salamanders Legion surged through the city's protective shield with astonishing speed. The shield, normally impenetrable, barely had time to react before their assault slammed against it.
"Destroy the alien city's energy shield! Clear the path for the Astra Militarum!" Samk bellowed from the front lines, his voice cutting through the chaos of the battlefield like a thunderclap. Like a storm crashing down from the skies of Nocturne, his roar ignited the hearts of every human soldier behind him.
Wielding a two-handed plasma sword that blazed like magma torn from a planet's core, Samk charged through the first layer of the city's defenses. Flanked by ranks of Space Marines from the Salamanders Legion, each of their steps landed with the weight of mountains, shaking the alien stone beneath their boots. Every swing of their weapons turned into waking nightmares for the defenders of Solarhelm.
As the battle erupted, the city's defenders didn't sit idle. From towering alien structures, Solarhelm's military police descended like dark rain, joined by the slave-owning elite clad in organic-looking battle armor. Their grotesque forms were half-horse, with human torsos and skull-like equine faces glowing with violet light. These were the Centaurians of Solarhelm—brutal creatures infamous for their unwavering loyalty and merciless treatment of human slaves.
Armed with crystal-powered spears and ion rifles, they opened fire on the Salamanders Legion in a deadly barrage. But ordinary force could never hope to stop the might of the Space Marines.
Boom! Boom!
Explosion after explosion rocked the city streets, gouging deep craters into the roads and casting up thick clouds of dust. Plasma fire and energy blasts turned the battlefield into a glowing hellscape, where every step could be the last.
"Brother Samk! Our sensors have detected a large number of human slaves in the southern district!" came a deep, urgent voice over the vox channel from one of the Marines behind him, his bolter still smoking from recent combat.
Samk paused only for a moment. His eyes burned like coals behind the lenses of his helmet, glowing with war-forged resolve.
"I'll head to the southern district alone," he said, his voice calm, unwavering. "Brothers! Sa'kan! Focus all your strength on the city's main energy shield launchers! Destroy them! Take this city from those vile creatures! If you must—burn them to ashes. For Vulkan! For the Emperor!"
Sa'kan, a battle-hardened veteran who had survived over two hundred engagements, tightened his grip on his Thunder Hammer—a devastating weapon capable of leveling fortress walls in a single swing.
"With pleasure, Brother-Captain," he replied curtly, his voice rumbling like a mountain awakening. From afar, the glow of destruction reflected off his armor, which was adorned with countless honor badges—each one a testament to his unyielding service and savage victories.
With steady, earth-shaking strides, he charged toward the shield facility. Every thunderous footfall carried the shadow of death for Solarhelm's defenders.
Above, the sky roiled with dust and the flickering blaze of warfare. The alien world braced itself as the fire of the Salamanders rose—and prepared to burn everything to the bone.
--------
Somewhere in the Slave Trade City of Solarhelm
In a damp, nearly pitch-black underground chamber, dimly lit by a flickering energy lamp on its last breath, a mother held her two daughters close. The three of them trembled with fear, wrapped in a tattered blanket and the last shreds of hope left in their broken world.
Above them, chaos and screams of death echoed through the city. The Solarhelm aliens—half-horse beasts with animal skull faces and plasma-tipped spears—had lost control. They had begun executing human slaves one by one, sweeping through prison cells and corridors without mercy. The air reeked of scorched flesh, filled with the shrieks of the dying and the whine of energy discharges.
"Mom... I'm scared..." whispered one of the girls, clutching a small green doll—stitched together by her mother from scraps—a final, fragile comfort in this hell.
"Don't be afraid, sweetheart... Please, don't be afraid..." the mother murmured, though her tears betrayed the lie in her words. She knew it wasn't true. But she had to hold them. She had to be the last wall standing between her children and death.
Heavy, metallic footsteps echoed down the corridor outside.
A Solarhelm entered—a steel-skinned centaur with glowing red eyes, breathing heavily, driven mad by the terror and desperation of his prey.
"Humans... pretty ones... Hahh... I'm going to die anyway... so why not have a little fun first?"
His filthy hand reached forward, ready to drag them out into the nightmare.
CRAAASH!!
A thunderous crash split the air.
"Filthy alien scum! DIE!! FOR THE EMPEROR!!"
A flash of light tore through the darkness. In the blink of an eye, a plasma-charged blade burst through the centaur's chest. Flesh detonated, and alien blood splattered across the stone walls.
Samk—Space Marine of the Salamanders Legion—had arrived like divine judgment in a storm of fire.
With a single swing, he severed all four of the centaur's legs. Its head flew off, smashed against the wall, and exploded into pulp. Bolter fire and the roar of servo motors followed, silencing the remaining guards with brutal finality.
Samk stood tall amidst the corpses of dozens of Solarhelm aliens, his armor smoldering from the heat of battle—emblazoned with the blazing dragon sigil of his chapter, a living embodiment of the Emperor's wrath.
"For the Emperor and Vulkan, not one of you will be harmed again," he declared in a deep, resolute voice. Turning toward the slaves cowering behind the rubble, he continued, "You are safe now, citizens of the Imperium Caelestis. Hide behind me. No vile creature will lay a hand on you while I stand here."
Then, he sent a transmission to his comrades:
"Salamanders, focus on rescuing civilians and clearing the zone. The Southern District is under my protection. Bring justice to the oppressors!"
---
On Solarhelm's Main Street
Meanwhile, Sa'kan—a towering member of the Salamanders Legion wielding a Thunder Hammer crackling like divine lightning—ripped through enemy ranks without pause.
Each mighty swing of his sacred hammer shattered dozens of Solarhelm soldiers, sending their bodies flying through the air like ragdolls. The cacophony of cracking bones and exploding metal filled the air.
An alien tank rolled to block his path, but one strike from his Thunder Hammer melted it into a puddle of molten scrap.
Sa'kan let out a single roar before smashing the next vehicle:
"For Vulkan! For the glory of the Imperium!"
---
Outside the City Walls — Astra Militarum Ready
"BOOOM!"
The Melta cannon mounted on the Warlord Titan outside the battlefield flared to life. A concentrated plasma blast slammed into Solarhelm's energy shield. In an instant, the shield's reactor overloaded—and collapsed.
The battlefield shifted in an instant.
"For the Emperor!"
A war cry thundered like a storm as the Astra Militarum surged forward. Leman Russ tanks and Chimera armored transports tore through the scorched city ruins. Behind them, disciplined infantry advanced with iron resolve, banners of the Imperium flying overhead, striking terror into foes and hope into the oppressed.
The roar of war machines was not from the Imperium Caelestis alone. Combat vehicles from other universes joined the fray—Terran Dominion's Siege Tanks and Hellbats, Galactic Republic's AT-TE walkers and TX-130 Saber-class fighters, and the Galactic Empire's Stormtroopers marched in their iconic formations.
The sky echoed with explosions, cheers, and the howl of engines spanning multiple worlds.
---
Meanwhile, deep within Solarhelm's capital
King Aridian cowered behind his grand throne. His body shook with fear as his eyes fixed on the cracking ceiling above. The kingdom's elite forces had been pulled to the outer battlefield, leaving only a few hundred nervous royal guards in the main hall.
Suddenly, the oppressive silence shattered.
"For the Emperor!"
The palace walls thundered as Sa'kan, the Salamander, stormed inside. Towering and clad in shining Mk X armor radiating destruction, his Thunder Hammer pulsed with sacred plasma energy.
Solarhelm's soldiers, donned in gold and silver armor signifying their rank, surrounded him. Armored centaurs armed with energy spears charged on four hooves. But it was all for nothing.
One hammer strike. Their bodies flew and shattered. One heavy step. The breath of death filled the room.
"Aliens! DIE!"
Sa'kan's gaze swept over the remaining forces. In a flash, he caught a suspicious movement—a shadow behind the throne. Without hesitation, his Thunder Hammer crashed into the gem-encrusted metal. King Aridian didn't scream. The collision obliterated him into shapeless flesh; his blood stained the golden floor.
Without pause, Sa'kan surged onward. His fury burned like the Nocturne flames, extinguishing Solarhelm's last hope.
---
Hours later
Two little girls shivered—one resting on Sa'kan's shoulder, the other clutching the hand of Samk, a Space Marine from the same unit. The Space Marine's hands were still stained with alien blood, yet his movements were slow and gentle—knowing how fragile the small humans before him were.
Both girls tightly hugged a worn green doll that had somehow survived the fire of war.
Sa'kan bowed his head slightly. His voice rumbled deeply from behind his helmet.
"You two—and your mother—will be safe now." He placed a hand gently on the smaller girl's shoulder. "We have killed every last one of those aliens."
The little girl looked up uncertainly.
"Who... are you?" Her small hand offered the green doll almost like a peace offering.
Samk smiled faintly beneath his imposing helmet.
"Well... my little sister here looks a lot like me. But I'm not quite this green."
With careful movements contrasting their enormous frames, the two Salamanders lowered the girls from their shoulders. The servo motors of their armor hissed softly as they knelt, metal plates sliding in a quiet symphony of war. Then, with a deliberate motion, they removed their helmets—revealing faces blackened like burnt charcoal, with eyes glowing red like living embers.
"Not quite so green," Samk murmured, voice like a wistful memory.
The two girls stared wide-eyed—then glanced at the green doll, then back to the two giant figures before them. The faces of these Space Marines were like mythic legends come alive from untold folktales. Two earthly fire gods.
"The color doesn't matter, little one," Samk said softly. "I've seen others even greener than this."
He smiled faintly, eyes fixed on the ragged doll—clearly a toy worn down by too many hard days.
Sa'kan slowly turned his gaze to the row of Death Troopers standing in absolute silence. No words were spoken, yet their exchanged looks conveyed more than a thousand vox messages.
"Prepare to move out," Sa'kan's voice was calm but commanding.
"The Emperor awaits us... the war is not over."
The Death Troopers nodded silently, not a single word spoken. They understood. There was no time for sentimentality. They turned and stepped away, their shadows swallowed by the gloom of the ruins.
"Are you... really going to leave?"
The small voice hung in the air like a frightened prayer. The two girls looked at Sa'kan with tearful eyes, clutching their green doll as if it were their only shield against the broken world.
"Of course, little one," Sa'kan answered.
"We are Space Marines. We live to fight for the Emperor."
Silence fell over them briefly before the small voice whispered again—this time almost inaudible.
"Will you... die?"
Samk paused before smiling—not a triumphant smile, but one of reassurance only someone who knows they must face a battlefield beyond children's understanding could offer.
"No, of course not," he said calmly.
"We are the Emperor's Angels. Nothing can stop us."
He extended his hand. The huge armored gauntlet touched the little girl's tiny hand—with a gentleness not expected from such a massive hand. But the softness was real. Warm. Human.
"But... we're scared..." the small voice trembled. One of the girls slowly crawled into Sa'kan's embrace.
"What if... the bad people come back?"
Sa'kan took a long breath. Deep and heavy, like lava bursting from a silent crater. He looked at the sky, now shifting colors, then bent down to the girl.
"Do not fear. They will not return," he said deeply, like an ancient vow etched in steel.
"You can live in peace... until you grow up, and grow old. We promise."
With great tenderness, he lifted them one by one—not as a warrior, but like a legendary father. Then, slowly, he set them down and stood.
"But... if they do come back...?" they asked again, voices shaking, barely audible over the distant roar of engines. Their eyes glistened, on the verge of tears.
Sa'kan crouched down. The emerald-armored giant was now eye level with two little children who knew little of war. His gaze softened—for a moment—no longer a Space Marine's, but a father about to part from his children.
"Then... hold your green dolls tight," he said gently, his bass voice like an embrace.
"Samk and I will always be with you... my children. And everything will be alright."
With a slow, weighted motion, Sa'kan rose. He donned his helmet again, the metallic click sealing the end of the small moment.
"The Emperor will protect you, children," they said together, like prayers breathed by two guardian fire gods.
After a silence, Sa'kan grasped his Thunder Hammer buried in the ground, as if drawing legend from the bloodied earth. Samk bowed, retrieving his power sword and bolter—weapons that had just slain hundreds of aliens to protect this world.
"It's time to go."
"Remember... live well. Be happy. With your mother."
Samk glanced back once more. Sa'kan raised his hand, a final wave before stepping onto the Thunderhawk roaring softly in the distance. Flames from the engines flared wildly, blowing dust and debris from Solarhelm's ruins into the crimson sky stained by sunset and war's remnants.
The Thunderhawk lifted, carrying them away from the land they had just saved—toward the sky, toward the next battle.
-------
Elsewhere, after the Battle of Noctara
The Solarhelm Empire lay completely shattered. Its cities were reduced to ash and shadows. The world that was once bright now lay silent, littered with ruins and the lingering scent of plasma.
Those who survived—the countless people of Solarhelm—were rounded up, classified, and sent to processing fields.
Not for freedom. Not for rehabilitation.
They were taken to alien farms owned by the Imperium Caelestis.
There, they were no longer seen as humans. They were livestock—feed for the civilian population of Imperium Caelestis. Flesh, protein, enzymes.
In the future, the people of Solarhelm would become a primary food commodity across the core planets of the Imperium Caelestis.
---
Aboard the Gloriana-class flagship, the Solar Imperator
In the main command room, Castellan Ursarkar E. Creed stood tall before the tactical display. His right hand rested on the hilt of his sword, eyes locked on the figure before him.
"Our Emperor has triumphed at Noctara. What is our next objective?" he asked, his voice steady and serious.
Kenthelion stood in the center of the room. His golden armor glowed softly under the strategic panels' light, and The Emperor's sword hung on his back.
"Continue the campaign. Our next target is the Outer Ring. Purge as many alien species as possible. At least half of them," Kenthelion replied flatly, his tone calm and authoritative.
"Understood, Your Majesty," Creed responded immediately.
Without further ceremony, the orders were relayed across the fleet.
Combat units mobilized. The armada entered warp phase.
The war went on.