Ok, new to the genre so any terribly glaring errors feel free to comment. Its a big story, I plan on posting installments of it as I go. They are unlikely to even be in order. I sort of made up the names as I went, if I duplicated anything that already runs in the genre I'll fix it later. Alot of the WH40K naming conventions lend themselves to that I think.

The Emperor’s Gaze thundered back into realspace in extended polar orbit of Praxis Secundus. Mile after mile of armored gun battery, war chapels, siege vesitbules and countless other instruments of destruction symbolized the wrath of the Emperor roused. Like a titanic shining spear of burnished gold and adamantium, it swept thru the darkness as though personally wielded by Him.

Aside from the massive prow lance batteries, the most prominent feature was the primary cathedral just forward of the engine structure. Built for both worship and battle, it housed the command and control structures of the battle barge. Massively shielded and armored, nothing short of several direct hits from the heaviest of weapons was going to be so much as spilling the captain’s recaf. Usually, it housed the captain, his command staff and ecclesiastics, as well as rotating groups of crewmembers, who regularly attended services praising the Emperor of Man, when their other shipboard duties had been discharged. Today however the cathedral was host to a special sermon.

Fully 8 companies of Space Marines, the Imperiums finest, were knelt in prayer before the majestic altar. It soared over 4 stories high of guilt metalwork and artistry, almost a fortress in itself, crafted lovingly by the best and most loyal of the servants of Man. At its apex was the Battlement of Command . It was occupied by a giant of a Marine surrounded by dozens of priests and floating seraphim. He stood tall and bade each of the men to gaze upwards thru the dome at what they had come to defend. That planet was ground sacred to the Empire, and therefore sacred to each of them. He made them swear an oath to defend it at all costs, and send screaming to the warp any who would oppose their holy cause. 800 voices shouting their approval roared thru the cathedral as the Litanies of Cleansing were begun by Deacon Schmidt and his accolytes, and Force Commander Slane decended.

Captain Vindicarus beheld this all while guiding the massive ship thru space on its assigned route. He wasn’t entirely sure yet why they had been sent there, but a feeling almost akin to pity welled up in him for whatever stood in their way. Unlike most of the commanders of the Space Marine fleet, he himself had never been a Marine. Long long ago he had been a humble aspirant to the ranks of the Adeptus Astartes. One of the most gifted, he had been granted the Rites of Quickening, and had been implanted with the sacred geneseed that turned men into Space Marines. Unfortunately, however mighty the man, some are unworthy at a genetic level to ever be a true Space Marine, and Vindicarus was one of those men. The ordeal had nearly claimed his life, but such was his fighting spirit that even with his body ruined he refused to die. “Waste not, want not� was one of the most sacred teachings of the Chapter, so letting his tactical brilliance and spiritual fervor go to waste was something the Apothecaries were not going to do. They pared away his deformed flesh and organs and replaced them with the tools necessary to serve the Chapter aboard the fleet. That was almost 500 years ago. Since then he had more than justified the decision and effort to save him.

The sounds of the sermon were falling, and the captain registered that the marines had begun to file out in order of Company. The monstrous Captain of the 1st leading with his Terminator retinue went past and soon vanished into the catacombs of the ship. Company after company followed suit. Such order pleased the Vindicarus greatly. Chapel it may be, but it was still his bridge. His attention was diverted to his ships auspex spirits, which relayed the warp signature of other ships leaving the immaterium. Several dozen smaller vessels, sleek and deadly all, soon joined it. That would be the Inquisition, arriving in good order behind them. Commander Slane appeared below the pulpit as if summoned. Shortly after confirming successful warp exit of all vessels, the flotilla split. The mighty Battle Barge and its two accompaning strike cruisers, Redemptor and Archonius, altered course taking it into a redevous vector with the orbiting local warships still broadcasting on recogized channels. A world in rebellion awaited awaited a harsh lesson in what happens to those who defy the Imperium.