7: Invasion of Thorne

Thorne hung in the inky blackness, a world of dark crimson, scarred by its volcanic seas and rivers of molten ore. The surface was a labyrinth of foundries and crucibles. There, the Cult of Wars Rage forged the Karnage fleets in titanic furnaces that glowed red through the planet’s smog-choked skies.
Orbiting it were hundreds of industrial stations, each linked to the planet below by thousands of relay vessels, feeding them ore and fuel. The thin atmosphere shimmered in the dying light of the red dwarf star that Thorne orbited. Above the hellscape floated the Karnage armada, a dark stain against the red-lit sky.
Each vessel was an abomination of iron and fire. Their dark hulls streaked with blood-red sigils, iron armor pockmarked with the scars of battle, engines roaring like beasts. Massive dreadnoughts lit up from the inside, their world-ending cannons idling in the night sky. Smaller assault cruisers prowled between them like wolves, hungry for death.
At their center, towering above the others, drifted the Dominion of War, flagship of Herrase, the Scion of Ruin, leader of the Cult of Wars Rage.
Herrase stood alone at the command bridge, framed by the vast observation glass of his flagship. The glow of the planet below painted his iron armor in hues of crimson. Beneath his helm, his face was like stone, his eyes glowing red in the dark. His flesh was carved with the blood-red ritual scars of the Cult.
“Report,” he growled.
“Sensors report warp way disturbances at the edge of the system,” replied the lackey. “Mass signatures: Ramus warfleet. Multiple dreadnoughts, heavy carriers, along with Psiker auxiliaries.”
Herrase’s mouth curled into a slow, hungry grin.
“At last. The Ramus comes to claim the fire they fear.”


He gestured to the tactical display-a three-dimensional holograph of Thorne and its orbiting defenses. “Activate the outer defenses. Let them burn in the forges of Thorne.”
He watched as the display shifted-dozens of hidden platforms flickering online, minefields arming, planetary cannons charging. Thorne was a fortress world, and he was its commander.
At the outer edge of the Thorne system, reality split.
A storm of light erupted as reality tore itself apart and the Ramus War Born Fleet arrived-sleek ships emerging from warp in perfect synchrony. Where Karnage ships were brutal and jagged, Ramus vessels were elegant, angular, designed with the precision of ancient imperial science and the pride of the Alliance. At the vanguard flew the dreadnought Aegis of Orion, its obsidian armor shimmering under the light of Thorne’s distant sun.
On its bridge stood Commander Jol Kareth. He had sided with the War Born during the political coup when High Praetor Varr had finally stood up to Kellith and the rest of the Council, who had sought peace. With Ramus securely under the control of the War Born, Varr had commanded Jol to lead the largest assault, since the Great Collapse, against the Karnage. Joined by the Psiker faction that had helped them at Thyros Gate, Jol had aggressively ravaged his way across Karnage space until finally reaching Thorne.
“Open all channels,” Jol ordered. “This is Commander Varenn of the War Born of Ramus. To the forces occupying Thorne-stand down and surrender your forces to the occupation of Ramus. Failure to comply will be met with annihilation.”
The comms hissed. Then a voice, deep and distorted, filled the channel.
“Annihilation?” Herrase’s laughter rumbled like thunder. “Ramus speaks of annihilation to the children of Thorne? You forget who taught the galaxy the meaning of the word.”
The transmission cut. And the war began. The first volleys streaked across the black.
Karnage furnace cannons ignited, firing rivers of molten plasma that burned so bright they cast shadows across the darkening Thorne below. Ramus dreadnoughts retaliated, unleashing waves of hypervelocity slugs. Each impact detonated like a miniature sun.
The void became a storm of color-red plasma colliding with gold kinetic bursts, shockwaves smashing into shimmering shields.
Fighter wings launched from both sides, thousands of interceptors and bombers spiraling into the chaos. Ramus pilots moved with mechanical precision, executing maneuvers calculated to the microsecond.
Then the Karnage fighters entered the field.
Black-sheathed craft with scarlet wings, their pilots moving with unnatural fluidity. Their reflexes were inhuman. Ramus squadrons fell apart within minutes, overwhelmed by speed and aggression.
“Those aren’t normal pilots,” Jol muttered, watching the dogfights between the two lines of heavier warships.
“Genetically enhanced,” his intelligence officer confirmed. “Biological reaction time far beyond human norms.” Jol’s jaw tightened. “Then we adapt.”
He rerouted the remaining fighter wings into cross-vector ambushes, using asteroid fragments from Thorne’s shattered moons as cover. Dogfights erupted in the debris field, starfighter trails weaving like veins through the darkness. For every Karnage ship destroyed, three Ramus craft were lost.
High above the battle, the Psiker fleet entered the fray. Their ships were ghostly silhouettes-massive vessels glowing from within, their hulls pulsing in time with the psychic energy.
At their head floated Vaelith, commanded by Archseer Eryndra, whose mind stretched across the Psiker fleet like a web of light.
Vaelith reached out-her consciousness brushing the minds of the Karnage commanders, whispering confusion, planting fear. For a moment, the Karnage line faltered.
“Commander, we’ve found their flagship,” said the Chief Tactician aboard the Aegis. “The Dominion of War. Massive power readings, but it’s stationary.”
Jol’s eyes narrowed. “They’re protecting something.”
“Or hiding something,” the Tactician added.
Jol pointed to the tactical feed. “Concentrate all batteries. Target that ship.” Dozens of Ramus dreadnoughts aligned their trajectories, railguns charging to full capacity. The void quaked as they fired in unison, beams of energy slamming into the massive Karnage flagship.
For a moment, the Dominion’s shields flickered, then its hull opened like a maw, the furnace inside glowing red hot.
“Commander… it’s venting plasma. Overload signatures are spiking-”
Jol realized the truth a heartbeat too late… “Break formation! It’s a trap!”
The Dominion of War exploded - the blast devoured the center of the Ramus formation, vaporizing half the fleet in an instant. Shockwaves slammed into the Aegis, hurling it off-course, alarms screaming through the bridge.
Out of the flare from the Dominion came the true Karnage fleet-hundreds of hidden ships emerging from behind Thorne’s largest moon, their engines igniting as one.
Ramus' ships fought to regroup, forming defensive walls as Karnage vessels descended like predators. Starfighters dueled among drifting debris, their trails weaving fiery ribbons through the darkness.
Jol’s voice cut through the chaos: “All ships, rally on my signal. The Aegis will hold the line.”
The dreadnought’s main guns fired in rhythm, carving gaps in the enemy’s advance. Ramus cruisers poured in to support, their plasma bursts tearing through Karnage escorts. But the Karnage had no intention of retreating. Their ships rammed, collided, and sacrificed themselves to cripple the enemy. For every Ramus victory, they paid in blood and wreckage.
On Thorne’s surface, planetary cannons activated-massive forges opening like blooming flowers, launching magma shells into orbit. The shells burst mid-flight, scattering molten shrapnel that burned through shields and armor.
The battlefield was no longer a battle-it was carnage.
The Aegis of Orion shuddered as another blast tore through its starboard side. Consoles erupted in sparks. Jol was thrown against the command railing, blood streaking down his temple.
“Commander, the line is collapsing!” cried his comms officer. “We’ve lost the Psiker flotilla. War Born reinforcements are too far!”
Jol clenched his fist, forcing breath through the smoke. “Signal all surviving ships. Full retreat to the neutral worlds.”
“But sir-Thorne-”
“Is lost,” Jol finished. His voice was calm, heavy. “We live to fight again.”
The Aegis turned, engines flaring white-hot. The remaining Ramus fleet followed, battered and broken, vanishing into the dark between stars. Behind them, Thorne burned brighter. Silence returned.
The wreckage of the Ramus fleet drifted like ghosts through orbit, their hulls slowly cooling as they fell toward the molten world below.
Aboard the command deck of a new dreadnought, Herrase watched the destruction with cold satisfaction. Around him, the cultists of the Karnage chanted in rhythmic unison-voices metallic, their tones distorted by genetically altered mouths.
Herrase raised his gauntleted hand. “Behold the forge’s will. Today, Thorne brings victory over the false empires.”
He turned toward the holo-map-hundreds of Ramus and Psiker ships reduced to ruin. “Prepare the wreckage crews. Recover what remains of their dead vessels. Their strength will become ours.”