'What the hell is that?'
Rall's voice over the vox brought Captain Muran back to focus. Something had appeared above the city, floating, though slowly descending. A creature, a large one. At first he had thought it must have been the Xenos princess, given the tales that circulated in the mess about her interference and assistance in various battles. But this was far larger than these ponies, even the princess. This was a grotesque creature, a monster.
It had great feathered wings and horns, a lizard-like tail, reptilian features. Or at least, sometimes it did. Muran activated the zoom function on his heads-up display, turning the jet toward the apparition, and suddenly it was not a reptilian creature any more, but rather a strange thing, almost like a jellyfish, floating above the city. Then, suddenly, it was merely a cloud of darkness, blotting out the sun impossibly, before reverting to its original form when he blinked a few times. A sudden sense of unease came over him; whatever this was, it did not belong here, and it was radiating a palpable sense of evil. It could only be the work of Chaos.
The vox net was abuzz with shouted orders and demands for action. This thing had been noticed by every unit on the field, and they were clamouring to know what had suddenly appeared above the city, but nobody could provide any confirmation. Orbital sensors were quickly trained upon the city, but suffered from the same problem. The thing itself seemed to be changing constantly, or if not changing, then at least not retaining the appearance of order. It was Chaos personified.
Even within moments of its arrival, it began to affect its surroundings, either deliberately or just through its mere presence. Viewed from a distance, the air around it seemed to shimmer, waver, distort whatever was seen behind it into almost impossible patterns and colours. Viewed from up close, from inside the city itself, one could only guess at what seemed to be unfolding above them. There were no Imperial troops inside the city yet, and it was just as well; even seeing the apparition from afar was enough to make some men bleed from the eyes, or simply start laughing out loud for no discernable reason, much to the disquiet of their fellows around them. The touch of Chaos, of madness, had descended upon Fillydelphia.
Perhaps the thing, the creature at the centre of an expanding illusion, was not really there at all. But something was most definitely having an effect upon the area, that was undeniable. It could be seen not just from the ground, but from the air, and from orbit as well, where the Emperor's Judgement and the Mechanicus vessel Ferrus Terra had been observing the course of the battle, monitoring for any signs of atomic weaponry, but also for something just like this. The appearance of the Daemonic forces of Chaos had always been a possibility at every battle which had been fought on this planet. Sometimes they did not deign to show themselves, but other times, they most certainly did, notably in Manehattan.
The sheer variety of creatures which could be unleashed from the warp itself was essentially infinite, as were their numbers, subject only to the whims of the various deities which controlled that most incomprehensible realm. Some were mere imps, tiny beings of almost pure warp energy which only existed for a few minutes, enough to perform whatever task they had been assigned and nothing more. Some would simply hurl themselves at an enemy and explode, either killing through explosive shock or, perhaps, transporting whatever matter was caught in the blast radius into another dimension, a dimension of untold horrors and madness. Others might act like a living drill, just having enough life in them to bore straight through a man, or an Ork, or a Tyranid, and out the other side, killing its target before expiring itself in a puff of smoke.
More advanced creatures could act like attack dogs or snipers, mobile warp artillery, or crazed beasts, attacking the enemy with cunning, guile and skill, or with brute force and firepower, sometimes both in equal measure. They were the foot soldiers of Chaos- even though the majority of them lacked feet, or indeed in many cases, appendages of any kind. They would be unleashed upon any foe which the Gods of Chaos deemed worthy of their attention, however brief and violent that attention may be.
Those unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end could usually expect nothing better than a quick death, and if they were particularly unlucky, they might be subject to some of the cruellest fates imaginable in an impossibly cruel universe. They might find themselves trapped for all eternity inside their own mind, hearing nothing but the hideous laughter of Slaanesh. Some would be devoured by the warp, atom by atom, in such a precise and orderly fashion as to keep them alive and conscious all the way through as their body was agonisingly torn apart slowly, so slowly, according to the intricate plans of Tzeentch. Others would find themselves infected with dozens, perhaps hundreds, of deadly and virulent diseases and then unleashed back upon their own kind, with full awareness of their actions but no ability to control them, shambling, petilential zombies designed to spread the word of Papa Nurgle. Others who might perchance to be captured would be sacrified en masse in a mindless orgy of bloody violence, ripped limb from limb in fountains of gore by the berserkers of Khorne, to provide for the Skull Throne.
At the top of the Daemonic food chain came the Greater Daemons, the ultimate servants of their patron Gods. Among them were the Lords of Change, the chosen ones of Tzeentch and masters of trickery, deceit and change; great reptilian creatures, with feathered wings, and horns.
The Lord-Admiral could not be completely sure, but he did not like what he was seeing on the Auspex. A sudden, massive surge in warp readings had been detected on the moon for a mere moment before vanishing, and then, a second later, another huge increase in detected levels, this time above Fillydelphia. That was most certainly no coincidence, and surely meant that something which had been on the moon was now on the surface. Sure enough, something had appeared, and through the mists of confusion which seemed to affect even the sensors aboard the flagship, there were glimpses of something which bore a disturbing resemblance to a Greater Daemon of Tzeentch, a foe of tremendous potential and power, and one which should give even the mightiest offensive reason for pause.
The Imperial Guard had been able to deal with the incursions of lesser Daemons in Manehattan, at least to some degree, though it had taken the intervention of the Xenos princess to banish them entirely. A Lord of Change was an entirely different prospect, holding more power in the twisted, ancient staff it carried than countless billions of its relatively feeble underlings possessed between them. It was likely that mere firepower along would not be enough to bring such a creature to its knees, let alone defeat and banish it entirely. Such Daemons could never be truly killed, only sent back to the warp from whence they came, where its essence would rejoin the Immaterium itself until called forth again, until freed by some future act by the followers of Chaos.
To achieve such a goal as banishment, millions had died in the past in struggles too vast in scope for mortals to comprehend. Great psychic power was all but a necessity for defeating such a creature, and that was one thing the Crusade fleet was lacking in. They were not accompanied by a detachment of the holy Astartes, whose mighty Librarians could wield the power of their minds in physical form to defeat any but the mightiest of foes. Nor did they have sanctioned psykers among their ranks; the High Lords who had authorised the Crusade had deemed that to be an unnecessary and unacceptable risk, given that the fleet would be entering barely charted territory, with some systems not even existing in the historical record, any data which had been collected in the distant past having been wiped out as a result of the Heresy, the Age of Strife, or one of countless other events which had caused irreparable damage to Mankind's store of knowledge about the galaxy they inhabited. Other than the Navigators, without whom the entire Crusade could never take place at all, it had been deemed an unnecessary risk to potentially expose psykers to unknown enemies, anomalies, and unexplored areas of space, due to the potential for disaster. Too many psykers in the past had succumbed to such things, either turning on their friends, becoming vessels for Daemons, coming under the sway of a hostile force or simply exploding with quite astounding violence. Given the nature of the unknown particle and the strange powers possessed by the ponies and Changelings, it seemed that, for once, high command had made a sensible choice.
That did not, however, help when it came to fighting a Greater Daemon. Such creatures had great powers of their own, psychic abilities that exceeded those of almost any creature in the galaxy save for the most powerful individuals. Men's minds could be overwhelmed just by being in the presence of such a being, driving them insane or making them turn their weapons upon themselves or their friends. Even if they retained their sanity long enough to fight, they would find that las-bolts and shells had little impact upon the otherworldly form of such a powerful creature. Its flesh was not mere flesh, but rather created from the energies of the warp itself, at least to some degree. All but the most powerful physical attacks would do little more than irritate such a beast.
Even though the Lords of Change were monstrously powerful psykers, it was rare to see one out on the field of battle. That was not due to any form of cowardice on their part, nor on any lack of ability or strength. Rather, it was because they preferred to manipulate events from behind the scenes, driving forces against each other, inciting rebellions, spreading rumour and misinformation through the back channels which existed on every Imperial world, and probably on every Eldar, Ork, and Tau world also. The Necrons, ancient folk made metal in an effort to overthrow their former masters, would be rather trickier to persuade, and the Tyranids proved to be a complete anomaly, causing problems even for the mighty Chaos Gods with their warp shadow and the presence of the immensely powerful Hive Mind.
Nevertheless, when they wanted to fight, A Lord of Change was as tough an opponent as could be found anywhere across the galaxy. They used their psychic powers to devastating effect, whether fighting a single man or an entire army. There were few who could stand against one in direct combat, and fewer still who would want to. Their staff, which each of the Daemons carried, acted as a conduit for warp energy, which could be directed in a variety of extremely violent ways if it so desired. Deception and deceit would still form part of its arsenal, even when openly engaged in direct combat.
A general halt order was issued to all attacking forces laying siege to Fillydelphia. Sensors were still taking readings, but it seemed likely that they were being confronted with an entirely new menace, something which they had not exactly expected to meet on the battlefield of a planet such as this. A new battle plan needed to be formulated, and quickly. The assault on the city could not continue in the same manner which had been expected, not with this Daemon now floating above it, slowly descending, making its way down to the ground. Why was it here? What was it trying to achieve? Trying to second guess such a mighty servant of Tzeentch was all but impossible for all but the most capable minds.
The third enemy line of trenches was being cleared, and the infantry had paused with the sudden blinding light in their eyes. A few surviving Chaos infantry had been buoyed by the apparent arrival of their Daemonic ally, and rose up in defiance. The Guard quickly struck them down, and the trenches were finally cleared. There was clear passage through to Fillydelphia, but the order had come down for them to hold their positions while those with much greater responsibilities than them tried to work out what exactly to do.
The tanks halted just south of the final trench line, guns trained on the city and on the thing which was floating above it. There were many rumours that rapidly spread among the men as to what exactly it was; some of them even guessed correctly. There was no panic, not as such, but there was huge concern. The men were afraid, and they were right to be afraid.
Thermscopes directed at the creature returned no reading at all, as if nothing was there. Radiation meters were also negative. Scans for warp energy, however, picked up enormous readings, millions of times above the background levels, and a clear indication that, even if it might not appear so visually, there was something of incredible power above the city of Fillydelphia. Many of those on the ground reported seeing different things; yes, there was a reptilian, lizard-like creature at times, but also a beautiful woman, a vision of the person's own mother or father, the Emperor himself, and also a mere mound of ashes, a simple mass of matter, a twisted, snarling face contorted in dark laughter. There was no consistency with the visions it presented, a mark of its Chaotic power and intent.
An uneasy silence had fallen across FIllydelphia. Gunfire had ceased with the defeeat of the last of the enemies in the third trench line, as the Imperial tanks and infantry waited for further orders. What commands would come down from the flagship? They had a target; a distant one, admittedly, several miles away, but well within range of the artillery and most certainly in range of the air support that accompanied the assault force. Surely they weren't going to just sit there while this creature descended unmolested from the skies?
It did not take too long before a decision was made. The ground forces were once again ordered to hold their current positions, while the long-range artillery, located behind the assault force, were to target the Daemon with airburst shells. Aircraft were to stand by for the possibility of being called in to engage, as well. There was not much confidence among the men on the ground that it would have much effect. Most of them were not even sure what exactly it was that they were facing, but they all knew it was Daemonic in nature. If nothing else, they could all feel it, the presence of this great intellect and great power, in a way a similar feeling to that which many of them had felt ever since landing on the planet, though this new sensation was very definitely maleficent in nature.
The guns were lined up, rows of self-propelled artillery pieces, their supports and jacks lowered into the ground to counter the recoil which would otherwise throw off their aim in between each round fired. Precise time delay fuses were fitted and set, and shells rammed home into the waiting breeches. Training wheels were spun around, sights set on the centre of the bizarre aerial distortion that hovered above the city. The gunners could not necessarily see the exact target, due to the swirling mass of warp energy which could take on manifold forms according to the whims and eddies of either the Empyrean, or of the Daemon itself, controlling the illusions from within. Many of the gunners had no idea what they were truly firing at, for their orders were simply to aim for the centre of the anomaly, without too much description of what exactly it might be. The less information that was spread to the rank and file about the nature of the threat, the better; there was less likelihood for panic if they did not know what the sensors appeared to be confirming.
With the guns loaded and the crews ready, the order to fire was given, and a hundred heavy shells left a hundred raised barrels, lifting skyward on arcing trajectories, toward the anomaly. Gun captains and officers watched on intently, hoping for a decisive outcome to their barrage, a timely reminder to the Generals of the power and stalwart reliability of the artillery as a combat arm vital to the success of any mission. The shells soared high, reaching the top of their arcs and screaming down onto the target from above, detonating with a ripple of fiery explosions that echoed across the battlefield like thunder.
And they did absolutely nothing.
The creature, to those few who could actually glimpse it through the swirling haze of confusion, seemed completely unperturbed by the violence which had been unleashed upon it, the attempted hammer blow having failed miserably. But more shells were already on their way; once the first rounds had struck home, gunners were able to commence rapid fire with a quick salvo of five rounds per gun. Those who had been slightly off target were able to adjust their aim before continuing fire, and more shells blossomed into clouds of smoke and flame against the armour of the warp, which glittered and swirled like the waters of the river that it had formed above.
To Lord-Admiral Marcos, it reminded him of the ethereal mane of the Xenos princess, though with a distinct and deeply unpleasant air of the twisted and evil about it that could only have been brought by Chaos. He watched the bombardment through the vid-screens aboard the Emperor's Judgement. He had little doubt that the relatively puny bombardment by mobile artillery would have no effect, but General Jahn had insisted that his men at least be allowed to try. After all, what else could they do? They could not simply sit there and watch, like some fancy light show being put on for the benefit of servicemen on leave.
He was right, of course. An attempt, at least, had to be made to fight this thing immediately, as soon as it arrived in the area of operations. Even if it was futile with the forces currently on the ground, it was unconscionable to simply allow a threat of such magnitude to freely announce its arrival. It had to be fought, and fought with everything they had, if necessary.
The hundreds of rounds of artillery fire being hurled at it by the ground forces were clearly having no effect, as the Daemon continued its stately descent toward the city, not slowed in the slightest by the bombardment. They would have to try something else. This time, it was the turn of the air support to unleash its firepower upon the enemy. When the artillery fire ceased, the Lord-Admiral gave the order.
Captain Muran swung his aircraft around, once again heading toward the enemy. This time, however, he was not supporting the ground troops, nor was he attacking stationary, defenceless infantry from above. His target now was...well, he was not quite sure. It had many forms, it seemed, or at least it allowed itself to be perceived in different ways. Some kind of Daemon, and the way the assault had been paused almost immediately upon its appearance probably indicated that it was one of considerable power, a fact backed up by the unleashing of heavy artillery fire upon it, and its consequent indifference toward such an attack. Now, it was his turn.
There were several dozen Lightnings supporting the attack, as well as a similar number of Marauder bombers, all of whom were now heading to engage this Daemonic presence. There had been Daemons before, yes, at various operations of which Muran had been a part, but never before had he been directed into aerial combat against one. Nor had he seen anything like the almost miasmic and mesmerising effect which surrounded it, like some kind of acid trip, almost, an infinite number of patterns and colours revealing themselves but for a moment before vanishing like the early morning mist, only to be replaced by something else. It was equal parts tantalising and disturbing, some base instinct drawing one's gaze and thoughts in, while simultaneously some primal revulsion made one back away in horror.
Muran shook away his thoughts by instead focusing on the targeting system, gazing down at the readouts which were illuminated on the instrument panel in front of him. He still had four incendiary missiles on his underwing racks, along with his twin lascannon and the autocannon, with which to attack this monstrous creature. Judging by the failure of the artillery, he doubted his payload would do much good against the Daemon, but an order was an order, and he was not going to disobey it.
He lined up using the instruments, trying not to stare at the morass of weird and wonderful imagery being broadcast around the focal point of the creature itself. It was all there to distract, to confuse, to hide the truth from those outside, but the presence of this deception merely helped confirm the fears of those in command, and prove the identify of the threat they were facing. Only a servant of Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways, the god of intrigue and confusion, would enact such a grand charade, trying to protect itself while simultaneously announcing its arrival with spectacle.
'All aircraft, fire at will!' came the call over the vox. All around Muran, jets were closing in on the target. Those few covering interceptors with air-to-air missiles loaded could fire from range as soon as the order was received, their weapons lancing out across the distance and exploding against the strange shield. Again, they had no effect, like the artillery fire before them. Closing in, the other fighters equipped with ground attack missiles were able to launch theirs, and Muran pressed the firing stud four times, unleashing all of his remaining Hellfury missiles.
The incendiary weapons burst into an inferno against the shield, flames dripping down as if they were on the wall of a building, even though there was nothing truly there. Dozens of other missiles slammed into the miasma with a similar lack of effect.
'Break left, break left!' Muran ordered his wingman, and they peeled off to port with the intention of coming round again behind the Marauders which were now running in. The heavy bombers were loaded up with bombs, rocket packs and other air-to-ground ordnance which they had been unleashing upon the enemy trenches. Now their attentions were focused on an airborne target, which their weaponry was not designed to engage. The turret gunners, however, with their heavy bolter mounts designed for protection from enemy fighters, could rattle away, letting loose streams of high explosive shells. The bombers climbed and passed over the target, releasing their plasma bombs and Promethium canisters, spraying barrages of rockets from underwing pods. The city reverberated with the echoes of explosion after explosion as the air forces hurled themselves relentlessly against the implacable foe, who continued to show little care for the efforts of the mere mortals trying to harm it.
Muran swung around in a wide arc and aimed at the centre of the target again. His lascannon flashed brightly, throwing around energies which could punch clean through a tank's hull or the thick ferrocrete of a bunker. The autocannon roared, stitching a trail of explosive rounds across the strange projections in the sky, almost like watching someone empty a bolter's magazine into a vid-pict screen. The only difference was that it seemed to do absolutely nothing to the creature or its defences. Muran held down the trigger, hosing the target with gunfire before peeling away again. Rall followed behind, his weapons equally useless. The Marauders, their payloads expended, headed away, turning toward their forward bases for resupply, leaving the Lightnings to continue the struggle against the Daemon.
Muran turned again, watching as an entire squadron of strike fighters blazed away at the target, their weapons flashing. Why was it just sitting there, slowly descending? Why wasn't it doing anything? Muran couldn't understand.
But mere mortals were not meant to understand the whims and plans of Tzeentch. In the passing of but a moment, all of the illusions, the smoke and mirrors, the strange apparitions, vanished. There remained only the lizard-like creature which had first been visible, with its feathered wings, long reptilian tail and a crooked staff clutched in one bony claw.
That was when the Daemon Lord struck.