No soil was won or lost in the aerial slaughter men named The Battle of the Burning Sky, for it was fought wholly in the clouds above the metal-realm of Chamon, where the air itself caught fire and rained molten brass upon the lands below. Two great fleets of the sky met there, and the heavens burned for a week and a day.
The Kharadron Overlords brought their ironclads and frigates in disciplined squadrons, aether-endrins humming, their gunnery crews chained to their posts by contract and by pride. Against them boiled a storm that was no storm at all but an armada of the Blades of Khorne borne aloft on daemon-wings and pillars of unnatural flame, come to cast down the sky-ports and drink the blood of those who dwelt above the clouds. The two hosts closed amid thunderheads of burning brass, broadsides answering claws, and for leagues in every direction the sky was a single sheet of fire.
It was a battle without ground, without retreat, without mercy. A crippled skyvessel did not limp home but fell, screaming, into the molten wastes far below, taking every soul aboard with it. The duardin fought by ledger and logic even as the daemons fought by rage, and the two philosophies of war annihilated one another in equal measure across the burning vault.
When the smoke cleared, the daemon armada had been broken and scattered back into the aether, but the sky-ports of the region were left half-ruined and their fleets gutted. The Battle of the Burning Sky proved that in the realms even the heavens are a battlefield, and that the duardin had bought their dominion of the clouds in fire.
The chronicle continues
