What in the blazes?!!

Commissar Helsling , cut off from reinforcements, has managed to flee the battle field, narrowly escaping Imperial redemption at the hands of Space wolves and Ultramarine forces. Outside Alpha Tau Sigmar, his men have become inexplicably more enraged and even feral. Their drive is inspired, and yet not by the Commissar's tyrant disciplinary field presence, but a maddened lunacy. The Preacher, familiar to the conscripts, has all but convinced every one of them that they are invulnerable, servants of the great Emperor, and humanity's finest warriors. They march at the head of his force, clearing the fresh snow for his seasoned soldiers and the supply vehicle. Days pass before their ranks are refreshed from a small garrison en route to the original target coordinates and communications re-established with the top brass. It seems that a Catachan legend, Commander Edgerton has assumed control of ground operations on the planet and declared martial law at the behest of Imperial Inquisition. Encrypted linguistics confirm his mission remains the same. Without further inquiry, Helsling straightens his shoulders and pushes his men further into the withering heights leading to sub-arctic Nyx.

Planet Nyx, a world founded well after the great reclamation, an infant in Imperial holdings, is still virgin to the exploration of its settlers. Known for glacial water reserves and lush, fertile tropics, the world is as dangerous to its inhabitants as they are Naive to its history. The Lord Commissar knows all too well how quickly a youngling planet can fall prey to the unspeakable terrors of the galaxy, or just as often, the manifest fears of its own people. As if his meandering thoughts could spawn hidden inner demons, the horizon line became full of red, humanoid creatures, against a backdrop of misty green haze. From the slackened pace of his company, he knew that this was no deception of the mind. The creatures could be seen prowling in the dirt, sniffing into the breeze, when their gazes in unison swiveled towards his troops and fires could be seen in the facets of their eyes, even at this great distance. They howled, shaking snow from their furry manes, an da horn could be heard, blaring out one dissonant, long note.

Helsling could barely keep his arms up to shield from the raining blows from the Hellspawn Demon. His men were quickly falling to the hailstorm blasts from a distant screaming cannon. The psyker had vanished in a bloody burst of warp flame at first contact with the enemy, a testament to the psychic leeching powers of their dark lord. The priest and his conscripts had finished off the very last of the enemy ground forces, through hit and run maneuvers designed to maximise lasfire concentration. With all his might, Helsling raised his Relic Blade for a deflecting glance, and grabbing the pommel with his pistol hand, drove the blade downward, cleaving through the furious beast. It fell to its knees, and with utter disregard for its wounds, grasped at the Commissars tattered official robes, driving a seering glare into his soul. It rasped through discorporeating lips, "We are your salvation, you fool......We are your own hatred made flesh, and we will consume you...from within..."

Mission: Objectives (4)

Imperial Guard: Scour the wreckage for clues of alien activity in the vicinity

Demons: Seize alien technologies, necessary to mortal forces on Nyx

Battle Report:

A warp storm activation left the Primaris Psyker destroyed and replaced by a Herald of Khorne.

The demon cannon was able to slaughter 90% of the guardsmen while flesh hounds and blood letters made way on foot, dying to organised lasfire. A final, desperate charge from the Commissar into Magrath ended the game in the final turn (5).