A dead god lay broken upon the blackened sand, its titanic form cast long shadows on the blasted ruins caused by its atomic death throes. For miles around rad-counters buzzed and clicked furiously as its now exposed molten heart poisoned the very air, as if to spite those that dared to see it brought low. Hurricane force winds lashed radioactive dust and dirt against its perforated hide as the thoroughly ruined atmosphere of Junia VII whipped up continent sized cyclones that rampaged across its surface stripping it of all but bedrock and ferrocrete. The fallen behemoth and its kin had unleashed destructive power of such magnitude that the whole planet was dying, ochre storm systems thousands of kilometres wide were its death shroud. Beneath the tumult of scudding clouds and radioactive dust devils the once mighty form of the Dominus Felicitas accrued layers of soot that began to obscure its vibrant Legio Gryphonicus livery. The warlord class god-machine rested on its starboard side, its enormous weapon systems capable of wiping entire hive cities from the face of the map now cold, lifeless and forever pointed earthward, it’s right leg separated from its whole by one hundred meters. But even in its current, lifeless state, a warlord titan was a mighty asset. Those who had survived her last battle would remember the loss of such a talismanic contraption, an asset so resource intensive that the machine cult afforded them divine right. The Dominus Felicitas would not be forgotten, not be allowed to slip beneath the tainted sands of Junia VII, a hidden monument to humanities failure in this corner of the benighted galaxy. The status of godmachine was not easily or frivolously conferred by the adepts of Mars, death, true death was almost impossible for a titan barring a catastrophic reactor breach. The Dominus Felicitas could be reforged into the colossus of war it had once been, it could crush the enemies of man beneath its tread again for its resurgence was near. The Imperium it once fought and died for had need of Dominus Felicitas again and had sent a host of crimson clad demi gods to reclaim it. At their fore strode their leader, a giant amongst a company of giants, a thunderhammer fully as long as a man was tall was gripped high on the haft just bellow its massive head, in his other arm he carried a shield rich with details of angelic scenes and ruby and garnet blood drops, his armour a brilliant crimson which contrasted wildly with the dull sepia hues of that dead place. His golden helm reflected the weak sunlight that permeated the permenently overcast skies giving the appearance of an inner radiance or halo about it. He appeared every inch the hero that the ecclesiarchy extolled him and his kind to be. With him followed scores more of his brothers each in plate as richly worked and detailed as his own, each a product of ten thousand years of Martian labour that built upon the Emperor’s own genius.

The Primaris Captain stopped suddenly and raised his hammer above his head, his demi company reacted instantly to his unspoken command, halting and scanning their individual sectors for targets with weapons readied. The seconds ticked by slowly as the Blood Angels waited for their foe to show themselves. Almost imperceptible at first but now growing louder over the howl of the wind the scream of anti grav drives could be discerned, their pitch and volume betraying their direct approach. A stream of concise orders erupted from the captains mouth and his men carried them out with superhuman efficency, fanning out into the ruins around the titans wreckage to repel whoever would interfere with its recovery.