Shortly after, the deep rumble of engines began to echo faintly from the sky above.
As the sound drew nearer, two Luna transport crafts flanked by three Whiteleg Little Hawks appeared within the visual range of the ODST and Elite veterans.
These tactical aircraft flew in a standard escort formation, their sleek silhouettes made even more distinct by the high-contrast markers on the ODST helmets' displays.
The two Luna transports quickly descended, hovering momentarily over an open clearing near the team. Then, with a soft mechanical hiss, they extended their landing gear and slowly touched down.
The gusts from their engines kicked up dust and dead branches, mixing the scent of scorched earth and damp soil into the humid air.
As the transport doors at the rear of the Luna ships opened, the soldiers wasted no time. Moving with precision and discipline, the ODST and Elites swiftly boarded the transports, their boots clanging against the reinforced ramps as they entered.
The ODST squad leader, as soon as he stepped into the craft, placed the eerie, sealed book into a specially prepared containment case provided by the transport crew.
This added layer of protection, though seemingly excessive, gave him a sliver of peace.
While the book had been temporarily neutralized by the Empire's advanced containment technology, no one could guarantee that it was truly "safe."
Agents of the Inquisition, carrying the Emperor's mandate, had already been dispatched to various frontier bases across the galaxy. However, the Shadowmoon Wolf 2nd Company's current operation had been planned with precision, speed, and brutality, leaving no room for Inquisition agents to join in on the frontlines.
The ODST and Elite veterans were exceptional soldiers, far superior to regular Imperial Guard or Marine Infantry in terms of training, equipment, and combat experience. They could even hold their own against the horrors of the Warp, including Chaos daemons.
But when it came to handling Chaos-tainted artifacts, they were, as the squad leader reluctantly admitted to himself, completely out of their depth.
The eerie book in his possession—practically a ticking time bomb—needed to be handed over to someone with the strength and unwavering will to deal with it properly.
That meant one thing: it had to go to the Shadowmoon Wolf 2nd Company's Astartes captain.
Only a fully trained and gene-enhanced Space Marine, with their unparalleled physical and mental resilience, could safely safeguard such an artifact until it could be passed to the Inquisition.
For the ODST squad leader, his job was clear—get rid of this "hot potato" as soon as possible.
What would ultimately happen to the book after handing it off was no longer his concern.
The squad leader also knew he would have to undergo thorough medical and psychological screening after returning to the fleet. The whispers he'd heard—the undeniable touch of Chaos—meant there was a risk he'd been marked by a daemon.
If left unchecked, this mark could lead to his soul and body being corrupted, leaving him as a puppet for the Warp. Even death would not free him from such a fate.
Fully aware of the risks, he had no intention of hiding anything. He would report the incident in full to his superiors.
And even if he wanted to hide it, the Elite captain who had witnessed his momentary lapse would surely expose him.
The Elites, with their strict honor code and unwavering faith, would never cover up for anyone, human or not, when it came to matters of Chaos or heresy. Their dedication to purging corruption was absolute.
As the three Whiteleg Little Hawks maintained their escort formation, the two Luna transports steadily ascended, carrying the ODST and Elite veterans back toward the fleet stationed in orbit.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in Pandora's skies, the drop pods carrying the Shadowmoon Wolf Astartes breached the planet's atmosphere.
Cutting through dense clouds, the pods descended rapidly, their braking systems activating flawlessly to slow their fall.
In mere moments, the pods landed with pinpoint precision across the scorched and ruined landscape of the Sacred Tree's core.
As their hatches burst open, hundreds of fully armored Astartes emerged.
"Heh! Heretic scum, die!"
Thoom—Thoom-Thoom—!!
"Die! Die! DIE!"
Ri~—Zzzzap—!!
The Na'vi who had managed to survive the orbital bombardment and the airstrikes now faced an unstoppable tide of death.
The hulking Astartes, clad in their pale-colored Titan-pattern power armor, gleamed under the light of the stars. Their appearance was that of an unrelenting steel flood, rolling forward with ruthless precision.
Each bolt round fired from their bolters was a small explosive shell, capable of shredding through the Na'vi's flesh and bone, while the plasma cannons sent shockwaves through the air, their energy blasts obliterating anything they touched.
Even the strongest and most "blessed" Na'vi warriors, corrupted by Chaos and enhanced through foul rituals, could not hold their ground.
Some were disintegrated outright by concentrated fire from the bolters and plasma cannons. Others fell to the brutal melee attacks of the Shadowmoon Wolf Astartes, who wielded chainswords and power swords with devastating efficiency.
A single swing from these weapons was enough to cut through multiple Na'vi at once—splitting them in half or decapitating them in gory displays of precision and power.
The Shadowmoon Wolves didn't care how or when the Na'vi had fallen to Chaos.
What mattered was that they were heretics. And heretics could not be shown mercy.
For the Astartes, this was not merely a military operation—it was a sacred duty. The purge would not stop until every Na'vi, no matter their status or strength, was wiped from the face of Pandora.
As more reinforcements arrived—Pelican-class dropships and additional Luna transports carrying support troops—the remaining Na'vi realized that escape was impossible.
The Shadowmoon Wolf fleet had committed itself to a full-scale extermination of the Na'vi across all of Pandora. Every clan, every village, every potential hiding place would be razed to ensure that no trace of Chaos remained.
Hours Later, at the Shadowmoon Wolves' Surface Airbase
On the outskirts of the landing pads, two Primarchs—Horus and Magnus—stood with their respective honor guards, waiting patiently.
Their expressions were grim, especially Horus, whose brow furrowed deeply in thought. His imposing presence was enough to make even his closest allies, like Gehsthalin and Sekhmet, feel a palpable weight pressing down on them.
Horus's gaze was fixed on the horizon, as though peering into Pandora's complex and precarious future.
As one of the Shadowmoon Wolves' most strategically vital planets, Pandora held immense significance.
Not only did it boast a population of over sixty million, but it was also a treasure trove of resources.
Most critically, Pandora was rich in room-temperature superconducting minerals. These minerals had propelled Atlas to the forefront of the galaxy's military-industrial complex and now served as a cornerstone for the Empire's technological development.
Pandora also held immense military value.
Its space gate—a front-line facility enabling inter-universal expansion—served as a key strategic hub for the Empire's continued growth.
To ensure Pandora's safety, Horus had stationed the Shadowmoon Wolves' 2nd Company here, while he led the main legion in expanding the Empire's domain across the Avatar universe.
In hindsight, Pandora's stability should have been guaranteed, protected by the full might of the 2nd Company.
But reality had dealt Horus a bitter lesson.
Horus's gaze darkened as he reflected on the Chaos corruption that had taken root on Pandora.
A million Na'vi had fallen to the influence of the Warp, becoming slaves and puppets to Chaos.
Horus felt a deep pang of regret.
In the early days of his stewardship over the Avatar universe, he had chosen diplomacy over eradication when dealing with the Na'vi.
Back then, the Na'vi had seemed too primitive and disorganized to pose any threat to the Empire. Horus had allowed them to remain, thinking they were no more than a curiosity—a relic of a bygone era.
But now, he realized his leniency had been a grave mistake.
Had it been Perturabo or Leman Russ in charge, Horus thought bitterly, they would have exterminated the Na'vi without hesitation, securing Pandora for the Empire and preventing this disaster.
"Let this be a lesson, brother," Magnus said, sensing Horus's turmoil.
Magnus placed a hand on Horus's shoulder and continued in a calm, measured tone:
"Chaos is insidious. It will always find a way to exploit even the smallest cracks in our defenses.
What matters now is not regret, but action. We must safeguard the Empire and humanity, ensuring that we grow strong enough to crush Chaos entirely.
When that day comes, we will no longer be on the defensive. We will bring the fight to the Warp itself."
Horus took a deep breath, Magnus's words helping to temper his anger.
"You're right, Magnus," Horus said, his tone steadier now. "This was a failure on my part, but it's one I won't repeat. The Shadowmoon Wolves and I will
ensure that Chaos has no foothold left on Pandora—or anywhere else."
As the two Primarchs exchanged these words, the distant roar of engines signaled the arrival of three Thunderhawk gunships.
When the craft landed and the doors opened, the 2nd Company captain stepped out, clad in his signature Terminator armor. In his left hand, he carried the sealed metal cube—the eerie book from Pandora.
Magnus's piercing gaze immediately locked onto the cube.
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