Let me set the stage for you.
At least ten different warbands assembled on the battle barges of the Eye, all pooling their resources together at once. All with distinct differences, some undivided, three of them dedicated to Slaanesh, Nurgle, and Tzeentch respectively, but all united by their hatred of the False Emperor, it was a titanic gathering, greater then anything since the start of the Arkhona campaign. We all had our missions, we all knew what we wanted to do, some of them would target the Xenos specifically but we knew the bulk of our forces would fight the Arch-Enemy.
The Lashes drop pods crashed into Torias in great number, cries to the Dark Prince resounding like a chorus as we stepped into the muddy battlefield. Force Axes, glowing plasma guns, ancient bolters, hefty auto and plasma cannons followed with us. A thousand implements of destruction were at the disposal of our veterans, many of us having almost the entire Chaos Armory at our beck and call to level at the foe should need be.
We hit them before they even realized what had happend, our vanguard already breaking into their complexes and hewing them left and right with every swing of our singing blades, a cacophony of destruction that made them scatter and flee. They say Space Marines know no fear and that is the truest lie, even Custodians know fear, and they ran. They ran as hard as their legs could carry them as they called for reinforcements. We chased them and cut them down, no mere marine could outrun us and it was more then a little delightful I must say, cowards never die with anything but smiles on their killers faces.
Tanks and Rhinos were wheeled around to face us but we were already there: Sprinting out of rocky outcroppings with meltabombs to strapped to their sides by infantry in waiting, their crew running from the blazing wreckage to be scythed down by heavy bolters or tossed high into the air by plasma blasts and cut to ribbons by the onslaught of heavy fire before crumpling into the bloody mud. It was a scene echoed across a dozen voice coms with it’s own little twist added by each member of the Black Crusade, the howling of space wolves cut short by boltguns or the taunts of Imperial Fists halted as they fell under tank treads.
They had no chance, no chance in hell of stopping us. Smaller chapters gathered their forces alongside groups of space wolves, but they couldn’t deal with the sheer bulk of an organized force. When we were equal there was still the chance of defeat, and when they weren’t equal doom was inevitable, they needed more forces but those forces simply never materialized. our warband leaders cried out for a worthy challenge, for blood worth spilling and hearts worth devouring, but none came. The bulk of the loyalists elite simply watched from orbit as their continents burned as though it were a mild distraction, their heroes even occasionally tossed down their arms to join their blades with ours in glorious heresy.
By nights end the dead stretched out like a carpet, we cut them down at every turn as we watched their hopes all burn. Their Heroes failed them, and that is why they lost.
Children of the Emperor, Death to his Foes.