The storm came.
It did not bring water. It did not give succor.
The sky birthed abominations wearing metal skin and fanged smiles. The onslaught was as swift as it was terrible.
From the clouds dropped pain and shadowy death guided by unutterable minds. Dozens, then hundreds, then thousands of barges, jetbikes, and hellish figures rained down. Slave holds stood empty, metal bellies moaning to be filled.
It was a storm not to nourish the world and crops with life, it was a Blight, a plague of locusts, come to feed itself. The planet was rich with populations ready for the reaping. A hydra made of a million festering hearts and hollow souls came to gorge and feast on the delicate morsels.
The dark sky discharged slashes of burning un-light and the fertile planet wept for her children. Dread talons of destruction clawed the red world, ripping through flesh, bone, stone, and earth without distinction. Thickest yet, a buzzing torrent of poison and venom coated crystal scythed through bodies, culling a harvest of lives like wheat.
A zephyr of laughter tortured the very air. Peals of thunderous detonations rang like a dirge.
Red earth was soaked crimson. The blood formed a rich tapestry of velveteen splatter as the knives came out to play.
The storm grew into a hurricane, the downpour became a deluge that swept up all in its path.
Holds were filled, trophies taken, riches plundered.
The storm had fallen on a thousand worlds, and would fall again on a thousand more. The realm would not be remembered, its dead would not be mourned. The name, along with the inhabitants would go unmarked save perhaps in notches on helmets or hilts.
In their wake, the sky did begin to rain. It cried blood and souls as bodies were flensed high above, seeding the clouds with sanguine drops.
That is the essence of the Raid.
Remember my brothers and sisters,We are the Storm.