Over the last two days we’ve announced the winners of a pair awesome Warhound Titans. The winners wrote fantastic stories, but today we’re revealing who’s won an incredible Reaver Titan!
The great story that’s won today was written by Aaron F of Levittown, Pennsylvania, USA. Well done Aaron, your writing has won you a Reaver Titan!
Aaron wrote about the birth of Titan Belligerence.
Hold Manufactorum Boreas for 48 hours…
That was the last order from legion command, and that was 65 hours ago.
Phaeton, Centurio Secundus of the Imperial Fists Legion, watched helplessly as the last Fire Raptor tumbled from the sickly yellow sky, belching black smoke from its torn fuselage. The daemon-titan was inexorable. Each unholy plasma blast was a roiling cacophony of daemonic laughter that left smoldering ruin in its wake. The behemoth pivoted and fired again, sending shards of rockcrete and shattered armour showering across the outer sanctum. From his vantage on platform L9-4, Phaeton scanned several Iron Warriors already pushing through the new breach.
“All squads to quaternary positions. Basilisk fire at zero-nine-seven.” The Fists were selling blood to buy valuable seconds in a one-sided battle. The daemon-titan had ravaged the subsector like a god opposed by insects, and although the Mechanicus had promised deliverance, it had not come; the manufactorum’s destruction seemed inevitable.
“Repel the enemy with vengeance! We fight to the last!” The Centurion locked a fresh magazine into his bolter, and opened fire. Phaeton and his battle-brothers were making their final, desperate stand.
A raspy mechanical hymn reached a crescendo inside the primary hangar of Manufactorum Boreas. The colossal chamber was filled with tech-priests, scaffolding, and writhing clouds of incense. Archmagos 7769-6E ceremoniously anointed the last metal hallux of the fledgling titan with rich, red blood and raised his gilded aspergillum in celebratory praise. The machine-prayer ceased.
After days of arduous ceremony, the rituals of awakening were now complete.
With a gentle spasm, Korvun Thurlis closed his eyes and became one with the god-machine that cradled him.
The titan spoke to him for the first time as Thurlis saw the world through the eyes of a deity: smoke-muted light glinting off silver and crimson plating, tech-adepts scurrying below, and the sealed hangar doors ahead… Holorunes rapidly flickered across his god-sight, rendering the devastation in the outer sanctum.
“The daemon dies today,” Thurlis merely echoed his war engine’s insatiable desire to lay waste to its traitorous machine-kin, “you shall be salvation!”
Salvation is provisional, Princeps. Violence solves everything.
As the young titan took its first monumental step, an angry tempest of gears and pistons boomed to life, bellowing the thunderous canticle of the Omnissiah. The hangar doors began to part, and the god-machine’s weapons reverberated with a deafening righteous fury.
I am Belligerence.
We really enjoyed your story Aaron, and it’s earned you a Reaver Titan!
There’s one more titan to be won, and it’s the biggest of all. Come back tomorrow and find out if you’re the winner of a colossal and devastating Warlord Titan.
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