Aethon Shaan is the newly minted Chapter Master of the Raven Guard, a shadowy figure who makes a point of striking only when the time is right. He’s arriving for pre-orders as a miniature shortly – and to whet your appetite, here’s a nice juicy morsel of fiction.
Perched upon the precipice of a rain-slick rooftop, Aethon Shaan observed the unfolding conflict with unblinking intensity. Beneath him, the sprawling mass of the cityscape was a nest of shadows, their darkness only deepened by the pinpricks of lasgun fire and the muzzle flash of larger weapons. His power armour’s auto-senses provided a constant influx of data, flooding his field of vision with sensory input, whilst his vox-channel hummed with casualty reports, estimations of enemy combat strength and myriad other streams of invaluable data.
Switching between data streams and vid-feeds, Shaan watched the battle unfold through the helmet lenses and gun cameras of his battle-brothers. Direct feeds from their own helmets enabled him to evaluate the progression of the conflict from dozens of angles. Servo-automata provided further reconnaissance, infiltrating enemy positions and giving him insight as to the disposition of heretic forces. He sifted through the accumulated data as he moved between vantage points in jump-pack-assisted leaps.
The eastern half of the Gesemen City had been almost completely secured. The enemy’s command structure in that region had been picked apart, the work of Reiver squads and Incursors. Astra Militarum units still busied themselves clearing the hab blocks of remaining resistance. To the west and south, further elements of Shaan’s assault force had secured the high rises and broken spires, clearing snipers’ nests for Eliminators and landing zones for servo-turrets. With fire support from those elevated positions, Shaan’s final strike would centre on the Basilica of Saint Justynia. There, the traitorous commanders had established their headquarters. There, the final blow would land.
Shaan bounded across rooftops and balconies, clinging to pillars and bullet-scarred edifices as he worked his way towards the basilica. The giant structure was visible from afar, the tallest of its domes and spires rising high into the night sky. As Shaan approached, he noticed networks of trenches and makeshift fortifications encircling the area. Pyres laden with charred corpses had been erected around the desecrated sanctuary, and the stench of promethium and charred flesh was inescapable. Squads of Raven Guard Intercessors were fighting their way through and advancing up the basilica’s marble steps. Heretics swarmed from within to meet their relentless advance, only to be felled by hailstorms of bolter fire.
As Shaan settled on a ledge directly opposite the basilica’s western flank, a pair of winged automata emerged from his shadow and fluttered down towards the broken roof. They wove their way through shattered masonry and broken armaglass, feeding grainy video of the structure’s interior back to their master. Lower they went, thrumming into the atrium at the rear of the basilica.
Shaan watched the vid-feed intently. In the centre of the atrium, before the desecrated altar, a group of soldiers stood clustered around a hololithic display unit, deep in fevered discussion. Most of their number were cowled, their tattered robes and flak armour stained with blood, grime and profane scrawlings in some infernal script. In the centre of the group was a figure clad in the uniform of an officer of the Gesemen Fourth. His clothing was ripped, bloodied and covered in strips of tanned hide. He gestured and spoke with an air of authority that betrayed his seniority.
Now to end this heresy in a single stroke, Shaan thought to himself, dismissing the vid-feed and dropping into the darkness.
Shaan’s jump pack flared, propelling him towards the building. He adjusted his trajectory, angling himself towards a giant arched window on the western wall. He increased thrust and smashed through it, showering the clustered heretics in jagged shards of coloured armaglass.
The cowled rebels clustered around the long table let out cries of shock, shielding themselves from the rain of armaglass. The officer looked up. An expression of abject terror spread across the veteran soldier’s scarred face. Shaan could see the fear in his prey’s bloodshot eyes as the turncoat reached for his leather holster.
Then the Master of Shadows was upon him, the Claws of Severax were red with blood, and the death throes of the Gesemen rebellion had begun.
