Chapter 67: This Is War! |
“This isn’t working.”
Swinging his power hammer to smash in the head of a mutant, Orlando frowned as he watched the swarm of creatures pouring in.
Some of them had landed to purge Chaos, some were here to investigate this half–Forge World, and others were here to take out their own teacher.
And the result? Just after landing, there was no sign of Chaos, no investigation had started, and they had no leads on the target.
Instead, they got trapped inside the Mechanicus shrine by a horde of fearless xenos.
“Almost there.”
A torrent of data flickered in Romulus’ eyes as the computational model he was building quickly calculated the magnitude of these Genestealer shadows.
As the vanguard of the Great Devourer, these Genestealers—aside from having excessive self-awareness due to local biological infection—were essentially no different from hive-minded bugs.
To stop their endless charges, they had to kill the psyker units that served as command nodes.
The stronger the node, the larger the area its shadow covered.
“Ramses.”
Ramses understood and shoved a few more daemon hosts into the sarcophagus.
The range of the “Imperial Sight” expanded suddenly and became sharper.
Romulus carefully distinguished the differences, overlaying it with the hive city model constructed from the map, eventually locking onto a convergence point of shadows.
Administratum.
The core administrative institution of Imperial rule over a planet.
“...These Imperial bigwigs are basically machines.”
Romulus wanted to rub his two aching hearts but could only feel the thick steel plating covering them.
“Arthur, lead the assault. Ensure the psychic node creatures are eliminated. The Devouring Sharks will follow. All breakout routes are to be led by veteran squads.”
The hive city environment—even the upper hive—was too complex. Romulus could only manage the general direction based on the map, which was just a blueprint they pulled from the Mechanicus databanks before landing.
Sending Arthur to kill psyker units wasn’t arbitrary—he had managed to bring Ramses to his knees under firepower, after all.
“Same rule—no more than five per squad. Use jump packs to break through.”
A returning Stormbird opened its hatch, filled with old-model stealth jump packs.
Designed with plasma thrusters modeled after fighter jets, they were smaller, lighter, and had a higher thrust-to-weight ratio than the jump packs used during M41, enabling short-distance flight.
“First and Third Companies, pull troops for gear swap.”
Tyberos skillfully received the order and, with the help of a Tech-Priest, mounted a pack onto his back.
“My lord!”
Seeing the Sharks changing gear, Orlando felt wronged.
The Black Templars were actually quite good at breakout warfare too.
“The Black Templars will follow Garna and push into the shrine. We need to hold the chokepoints and clean up the xenos swiftly once they fall into disarray.”
“Yes, sir!”
Watching the Imperial Fists depart with Garna, Orlando quickly followed.
This way, both sides were covered.
Arthur subconsciously touched the gene-seed storage unit on his lower back. After confirming everything was fine, he leapt into the open sky ahead.
【740 M41-P · 11:32 a.m. · Location: Pierde Prime – Upper Hive Administratum Zone】
【Mission Objective: Eliminate psychic node creatures.】
In the sky, over a hundred Astartes adjusted their posture like extreme sports athletes. As they plunged into the clouds, their power packs lit up with a ghostly blue glow.
Then, they began to accelerate.
“Mark the target zone. Falchions strike first. Air assault follows with melta drops.”
Strictly speaking, their current tactics didn’t comply with the Codex Astartes at all.
But as it happened, none of the three Chapters present gave a d*mn about the Codex.
Boom!
A Falchion’s flamer shot from the top hive tore straight through the Administratum’s cruiser-thick armor plating.
A melta charge the size of a single Astartes arm was armed with a detonation program and thrown down without hesitation.
BOOM—
The bombardment was instantaneous. Hundreds of melta charges dropped into the breach in no particular order.
The chain of explosions brought swift death.
Surging metal heat flows tore down most of the structure, wrecking the surrounding confidential departments. The thermal shockwave rolled outward like a tsunami but was trapped inside by thick walls.
Before the xenos inside could react, those on guard duty outside were turned to powder. Collapsing buildings crushed the still-diligently-working aliens beneath.
Splurt—
The deathly shadow followed in close step, fusing these stubborn lifeforms with the melting ferrocrete for eternity.
Whoosh, whoosh—
The Lemanus Executioner turned its turret and fired from above, thick plasma arcs slicing the air like blades.
Ryza-built plasma launchers went into overload mode. Their machine spirits howled as they sprayed intense fire, drawing a blockade of death around the tall buildings, cutting off the Genestealer horde attempting to return and reinforce the Administratum.
“Perimeter breached. Psyker units have not moved.”
Arthur memorized the updated map in his field of vision.
Fwoo—
The stealth jetpacks entered low-power mode, releasing heavy exhaust.
The plasma-saturated gas neutralized surrounding light and thermal detection systems. The squad disappeared into the mist, nearly invisible to the naked eye.
“......”
Their link to the main force was now completely severed.
Thankfully, every Astartes was a warrior born to fight alone.
The black-clad warriors moved first. In the fog, the Sharks spread out under the guidance of their elders.
Knights rode the smoke through corridors. Their invisible blades slashed by, leaving only decapitated corpses in their wake.
Splurt—
A chainfist sparked as it violently ground a Hunter down from head to toe.
Tyberos advanced in heavy, silent steps.
Behind him, las and bolter fire concentrated in kill zones. With a raise of his hand, a lightning claw shredded a xeno hiding in the vent into scraps.
Fwoo—
Dense plasma exhaust filled the corridor. The xenos trapped within were left with nothing but a final scream before being erased.
The Sharks were right at home in this environment.
Tyberos wore a grim expression. That ever-cold heart of his beat hot and fierce.
Tearing through the battlefield with overwhelming firepower, charging into the enemy like a blazing inferno, then launching scorching, lethal attacks through the smoke—
This was the hallmark breakthrough tactic of the Flame Wings, one of the six wings of the First Legion during the Great Crusade.
Overwhelming, seemingly limitless firepower, paired perfectly with Astartes combat tech.
The Sharks always adapted calmly to change, but this battlefield—this one truly ignited their blood.
Something buried deep in their genes had awakened.
This was war without restraint. War without hesitation.
War where the only goal for Astartes was to kill.
CRACK!
Flesh burst. Blood sprayed.
A great shark’s jaws crushed its prey. Claws crackling with lightning tore through walls. A blood-slicked path stepped boldly into the next room.
This is war!