This is my first fanfic, so maybe there are some grammar errors, you guys can help me fix it. I will try to update as soon as possible. Please review :)

-Solaris, Segmentum Tempestus, 999.M41-

The storm was coming.

Sergeant Mikal Davidova could feel it. It wasn't fear, fear was only for recruits, and he had been a Storm Rider for fifteen years. It was excitement; he felt it every times he fighted to defend the Imperium from its many enemies. He looked around him. His squadmates were fully prepared, yet he could see they worrying. That was understandable, however. Most of them had never been part of a Forlorn hope before. Mikal unslung his hunting lance, his right hand wrapped around the trigger of the hell carbine attached to the neck of his steed. The Storm Riders were the proudest of Vierin 75th regiment. He would do anything to preserve that reputation.

Mikal raised his lance. The others riders uniformly did the same.

"Riders !"he shout,"Today we spearhead the assault toward enemy's force. As you can see they have set up formidable defense in front of us. Losses of lives are inevitable"Mikal caught a terrifying look from a rookie. His name was Andrew, if he remembered correctly. The kid was around 17, 18. Too young for this. So pity. "However"he continued,"The Emperor will watch over us. He will reward us for our courage. This is our hope, this is our charge. Onward to glory ! For the Emperor !"

He looked at the traitor's defense line. To reach it they must cross the no man's land of 500 metres, full of mines, barbed wires,and must do it while being shot at from gun emplacements. He then looked at his companions. Most of them would probably never seen the light again. This was gonna be bloody.

-Solaris, Segmentum Tempestus, 999.M41, 1 month later-

They had been protecting the supply route for two weeks. The job was boring, you escorted the convoy to the designated location, and then ran back to meet another. While his comrades constantly complained about it, Private Glen Marko was totally fine. The escorting mission, while tedious, allowed you to stay behind the frontline, and that was better than being shot at. His unit, the 8th Storm Rider company, had been devastated in an attempt to break through traitor's line. Of 100 riders that made up the 8th, only 23 remained after the attack. Normally units with under half strength would be disbanded, but due to tradition, Storm Rider units having too little members would be relegated to rear echelon duty until they could be rebuilt. That was because the Storm Riders were a highly praised force: they were not only elites, but also unique to the Forge World of Vierin. They were nearly similar to Stormtroopers in role and equipment, but instead of storming enemy's position on foot, they did it on horseback. Glen didn't know why he had been selected for joining the riders, he only wanted to live peacefully. He lacked nearly all the qualities needed. He was good at riding, but that didn't count - any riders must be good at it to attract the attention of recruiters. However, Glen must admit that he was very lucky. Because his transport were delayed, he could only joined with the 8th the day after it had been nearly wiped out. He was able to save his life, and survived for more than one month in this war due to some anomaly in the Warp. There was no doubt that he would not last a second in battle. Suddenly some disturbed noise attracted his attention. He looked to his right to see two of his squadmates were in deep argument.

"You are wrong, dude. Grox cannot be trained, those you saw had been lobotomised !" A guardsman with a childlike face said. The other guardsman shook his head:"I have seen a man went to the forest, captured a wild grox, and then tamed it in just one hour. But hey, why don't we let the expert decide who is right ? Glen, I heard your father has a grox farm. Can you "educate" this kid about those delicious reptiles ?".

Glen smiled. How the hell did those guys know his father has a grox farm ? He opened his mouth, prepared to say-

And then the truck in front of him exploded.

Rogue psyker Kaeron watched the convoy passing with increasing interest.

The riders galloping at the flank of the supply trucks looked familiar. Those uniforms...they were the same as those of the cavalry storming his war cell's position last month. He lost his left arm in the attack, and while it had been replaced by bionic, it was worse than his former arm. Although most of the corpse-worshippers had been killed in the raid, that was not enough. He wanted to make every last one of them suffer, feel the pain he had felt when his arm was cut off. Kaeron's revenge would be sweet.

He looked at his cultists and mutants that accompanied him. There were hundred of them. Despite their rag-tag appearance, their number alone was enough to overwhelm their foes. They also had armoured support in the form of diminutive vehicles, built for them by a member of the Dark Mechanicus. What did he call them ? Ahhhh...Tankettes. An odd name, but it fitted them nonetheless. Their commanders stood out of the top hatchs, a look of grim determination on their faces.

Kaeron concentrated his power on the eight-pointed star symbol on his bare chest. It began to glow purple and lightning started crackling from his hand. All the cultists around looked at him expectedly.

"Brothers" Kaeron whispered"It's time. Let them bear our wrath."

Warlock Illiara had been hunting a chaos psyker for months on this planet, Solaris, as the Mon'Keigh called it. Solaris was close to her Craftworld, Caur-Anaris. If Chaos force took over the planet, they could launch their attacks on the Craftworld, threaten the life of hundred of thousand Eldars. But unlike the bigger and more aggressive Alaitoc or Saim-Hann, Caur-Anaris was a small Craftworld; they did not have the manpower to attack any planet; they instead choose to send small strike forces to kill enemy's leaders. Without them, their armies would fall apart and no longer a threat. They did the same on Solaris, but had yet successful: The cultist leaders were too good at hiding. Illiara's target was Kaeron, leader of the Ravager war cell, and a powerful psyker. At least 7 members of her strike team had been killed by him, and she still could not locate the position of his warcell. Her frustration had grown bigger each passing hour; If only...

"Warlock !" Illiara turned back, seeing a guardian, an exciting look on his face "We have managed to located Kaeron, he is at sector 56-23, attacking an Imperial convoy ! We must hurry..."

"Assemble whatever forces we have now, we move immediately" Illiara cut him off with the wave of a hand.

She closed her eyes. Now there was one permanent feature in her vision of the future...the death of her enemy.