Attack on Umbro Prime

Umbro Prime, the home and recruiting world of the Penumbra Dragon Militarum Tempestus Scions. At its heart lies a fortress-academy, where thousands of storm trooper cadets are trained and forged into one of the Imperium's most efficient and deadly weapons. For millennia, it has churned out a constant stream of storm troopers with indisputable pedigree, honors and courage, but today, the very planet that housed the training facilities that shaped such brave men will face its sternest test.

The Necrons had come, almost as if appearing from the darkness itself. Night Scythes slipped from the shadows, despositing eerily illuminated warriors and immortals at a distant canyon just out of reach of the fortress-academy's formidable anti-air batteries. As the skeletal soldiers and mechanical horrors muster their forces in a safe distance, their presence is not left unnoticed by a keen-eyed sentry on duty.

The sentry, Cadet Wilshmere, sounded the alarms, an act that would save thousands of his comrades' lives for they would have otherwise fallen victim to the Necrons' unsuspecting ambush. As servo-skulls flew around the corridors, shrieking at the top of their audio amplifiers, the sleeping cadets were roused and ordered into action. In less time than it took for them to wake up, the cadets immediately dressed in their uniforms and picked up their equipment, double-timing to their defensive positions.

Commissar Calloren, the headmaster of the fortress-academy, oversaw the positioning of the cadets as they took up their positions in hastily dug trenches or lay in prone positions behind fortified walls. As he gazed over the frightened and tense expressions of the fresh-faced recruits, even his battle-hardened heart and iron will couldn't help but buckle when he thought of the immense threat looming in front of them. For all their Spartan training and harsh discipline, they were but children. Most of them were still firmly rooted in their teenage years, bright-eyed and not having tasted actual combat in their entire lives.

Shaking his head, he turned to Sergeant Major Johan, who was barking out orders to a couple of cadets that were lugging a heavy weapon behind them. The missile launcher made a screeching sound as the metal rubbed against the rockcrete.

"Do you think they are ready?"

First Sergeant Johan, who had been serving as Sergeant Major of the fortress-academy for over five decades, looked at the distant canyon grimly, faintly making out the eerie green flashes of the Necrons' signature gauss weaponry. Taking a deep breath, he glanced over the bustling cadets who still hadn't taken up positions, then gazed at the skeletal staff of old, retired officers who were taking charge, their grizzled figures bearing down on the children. He forced a hoarse laugh.

"I don't think any of us are ready."