Chapter 53: The Siege of Cadia

Chapter 53: The Siege of Cadia

Petros had no way of knowing what transpired aboard the Eternal Crusader. He only knew that, hours later, the Vengeful Spirit voxed a fleet-wide message: The Warmaster, Ezekyle Abaddon, had slain High Marshal Sigismund in single combat.

In a final, grim gesture, Abaddon had the High Marshal's corpse returned to the Imperial fleet.

Upon receiving their champion's body, the Imperial fleet's morale shattered. Admiral Valdor knew the battle was lost. He gave the order for a full, pragmatic retreat, disengaging to preserve his remaining strength.

The moment the Imperial line broke, the entire Chaos fleet surged forward like a pack of starving wolves. But their earlier hesitation had cost them. The Imperials were already at full burn, and the disorganized Chaos pursuit couldn't catch them.

Fleet-Master Valkar, pragmatic as ever, abandoned the chase and turned his fleet's full firepower on Cadia's orbital defenses. Under the overwhelming barrage, the massive defense platforms and star-forts were systematically obliterated, reduced to drifting scrap. The planet was now besieged.

But this was not a total victory. The Imperial fleet, though beaten, had escaped. They would broadcast word of the invasion to the entire Segmentum. The Imperium's bureaucracy was notoriously slow, but a threat of this magnitude—a full-scale assault on the Cadian Gate—would be met with overwhelming force. If Valdor's fleet rendezvoused with reinforcements from neighboring sectors, the balance of power would be lost.

Valkar knew they had a limited window. They had to take Cadia. Fast.

Dozens of Chaos ships hammered Cadia's planetary shield until it buckled and failed. The first wave of cultists went in, a tide of mortal flesh meant to absorb the Cadian's fire and secure a beachhead. Then came the Astartes.

Petros and his brothers stood in their Drop Pods, the deck vibrating as the Chaos fleet began its orbital bombardment. The signal came. The pods launched, screaming down through the atmosphere.

Petros's pod slammed into the Cadian soil. The hatch blew open, and they were met by a disciplined wall of las-fire. The Cadian Shock Troops lived up to their reputation, fighting for every inch of their homeworld from every trench and ruin.

Petros led First and Second Squads in the assault. They cleared three heavy-weapon bunkers with melta-bombs, securing a foothold for the next wave.

But the Cadian artillery was another matter. A relentless, pinpoint rain of Basilisk shells pinned Petros's forces down in the very bunkers they had just taken. The ground war degenerated into a brutal, grinding stalemate that dragged on for half a month.

"Air support, this is Petros!" he roared into his vox, his squad hunkered down in a ruined bastion. "I need Hellstrikes on that enemy artillery line, grid-reference..."

The reply from his pilot was grim. "Negative, Lord. We are fully engaged with Imperial Fury Interceptors. We are in a furball. Cannot disengage!"

Petros regretted coming planetside. He'd already sacrificed three thousand of his "Spear of Hector" auxilia in the initial drop; they had been vaporized by the Cadian guns in less than four hours. Light infantry were useless in this kind of war.

Then, the impossible call came from Barnabas, still in orbit. "My Lord, the Vengeful Spirit... she is disengaging. The Warmaster is leaving the battlefield."

Petros's blood ran cold. "The Warmaster is what? He's leaving? We've secured the beachhead! Why is he abandoning the assault?!"

"Air-wing!" he immediately voxed. "Disengage, disengage! Evacuate my position now. We are pulling out."

Phelon, who was at his side, was stunned. "Boss, if we pull out, all the men we lost... it was for nothing!"

"Abaddon is gone!" Petros roared. "What are we still doing on Cadia? The other warbands will see this and they'll scatter. We'll be left here to be torn apart. Get us out!"

He thought of Kolin, of Fledri, of his 3,000 dead mortals. "I knew he was unreliable," Petros spat. "He makes a suicidal glory-run against Sigismund, and now, when we've finally secured a foothold, he just... leaves? Only a fool would join his crusade."

Aboard the Vengeful Spirit, Abaddon, his wounds from Sigismund's Black Sword already closing, gave his new order. "Set course for Ullanor."

Valkar He'en was aghast. "Warmaster, Ullanor has no strategic value! We have a beachhead on Cadia! We can win this! We can shatter the Cadian Gate!"

Abaddon ignored him. "I must have Drach'nyen. Only with the Daemon-Sword can I become the true Champion of Chaos."

"Moriana is a witch!" Valkar pleaded, "An Inquisitorial agent, for all we know! You cannot trust her visions! This... this 'daemon-sword' is nothing compared to the prize we are about to win! If we leave, the fleet will scatter. The Imperium will reinforce, and we will be trapped!"

But the Warmaster was resolute. "Valkar. Set the course. Drach'nyen will be mine."

Valkar's heart sank. It was over. He had gathered this massive, chaotic fleet, and Abaddon had held them together. With the Vengeful Spirit and the Warmaster gone, there was nothing to stop the warbands from turning on each other or simply fleeing.

He knew, with absolute certainty, that the First Black Crusade had just failed.