"Fire!"
At the order, twenty Leman Russ tanks unleashed their cannons in unison. The thunder of their guns shook the ground, and the Ork fortifications ahead vanished beneath a storm of exploding shells.
From the command hatch of his tank, a sergeant raised his binoculars, peering through the smoke and fire. What remained of the barricades was little more than twisted metal and shattered stone, yet mobs of Orks still swarmed through the wreckage, roaring and scrambling to fight.
"231st, you are clear to advance." The sergeant voxed, his tone steady. "The fortifications are down, but I still see large numbers of Orks behind them."
"Understood," Came the reply, crackling through the vox-net. "Keep your guns ready—we may need your support at any moment."
Behind the Leman Russ line, hundreds of Chimeras rumbled forward, their armored hulls carrying wave after wave of infantry into the fray. Among them, Hellhounds advanced with predatory speed, their inferno cannons hissing as they sought targets in the ruins.
Scenes like this unfolded across every front. With the Ork warbands either broken by earlier Astartes strikes or still cowering within their bases, the Imperial Guard and Auxilia had been unleashed as the main assault force.
Far to the rear, two hundred Basilisks thundered in unison. Their guns had already loosed thousands of shells, each strike guided either by frontline requests or the precise reconnaissance of Deathwatch kill-teams marking Ork fortifications for annihilation.
As they advancing across all front, a strange silence cover the southern front.
Within the center keep, Atharion is currently having a meeting with the officers currently on the ground. Tet are discussing an attack on a large Orks fortification located at the southern pola.
"We have confirm visual upon a Boss within the fortification." A Deathwatch Sergeant with a Emperor's Sycth sigil on his left shoulder pad said. "It's build upon the former castle that the nobles lose to the Xenos. They didn't fully destroy during their attacks and while there are multiple weak points can be exploited. But we can't be successful if we try to exploit all of them at the same time."
He gesture towards the hololithic of the castle.
"The side gate—damaged during the initial Ork assault—remains only partially repaired. A few melta charges, or a direct strike from plasma cannons, could breach it."
The display shifted again, showing a cross-section. A narrow corridor extended beyond the damaged gate, its confined path highlighted in red.
"But note this—such a breach leads directly into a small corridor that lead to the inner garden. Too perfect, too deliberate. The Xenos are brutish, but not without cunning. I believe it to be a trap."
The chamber fell silent, the officers weighing the cost against the prize. The image of the fortress flickered above them, its jagged bastions and smoke-stained walls seeming almost to sneer at their hesitation.
At last, the Deathwatch sergeant spoke again.
"There is another weak point."
The hololithic map rotated, shifting to the western flank. A single wall section glowed faintly, highlighted by auspex data.
"This wall, while seemingly reinforced, is not of Ork make. According to the scans, it is part of the original castle—its integrity has been compromised by age and the weight of the fortifications built atop it. A concentrated bombardment, or a breach charge of sufficient yield, would bring it down."
He paused, eyes narrowing as he regarded the officers around the table.
"However, this side leads directly into one of the Orks' largest mustering yards. If we strike here, we will have space to deploy and room to maneuver, but we will also face the bulk of their fighting strength head-on."
Low muttering spread across the chamber, swelling into a chorus of voices. Officers of the Guard traded arguments with the commanders of the Auxilia, while the Astartes spoke with cold certainty, weighing losses and gains without flinching. Mortals argued for caution; the Space Marines pressed for decisive force.
Meanwhile, the Deathwatch continued their report. Other weaknesses were revealed—an exposed supply tunnel to the north, a half-flooded culvert beneath the southern wall, a shattered tower whose upper levels had collapsed inward. Yet none of these offered a true way to break the Orks. They were paths for raids, for disruption, but not for total victory.
Each new option flickered across the hololith, only to be dismissed in turn. None carried the weight of a final blow.
After an hour of heavy discussion, the decision was made. The western wall would be the target.
Even though the losses would be high, it was a chance to draw the Orks into a full battle—no ambushes, no tricks, only strength against strength. Here, they could bring its heaviest guns and armored might to bear, hammering the greenskins into the dirt with overwhelming firepower.
In the end, it was decided that the Dark Knights alone would assault the southern polar fortress. The other Astartes forces would remain committed to their existing objectives—fortifying the castles already reclaimed to serve as forward bases, or standing ready as rapid-response reserves for the Imperial Guard regiments pressing the wider war.
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Two long columns of armored vehicles advanced side by side, their tracks grinding across the frozen wastes. Predators and Rhinos formed the core of the formation, with several Land Raiders looming among them like iron giants.
Yet some vehicles stood apart from all the rest.
Typhon Heavy Siege Tank is a heavy assault vehicle used by the Legio Astartes during the Great Crusade and Horus Heresy. It was developed by the Adeptus Mechanicus simultaneously with the Spartan Assault Tank and as a result shares its basic hull, armour, and chassis designs. The Typhon is a mobile gun and siege platform which operates a single massive Dreadhammer Cannon.
However, due to its actually design due to request of Perturabo, Primarch of Iron Warriors, no new Typhon have being produced after the Heresy and the few Typhon that some Chapters still hold are not being used frequently as all of them afraid that the creation's bonds of Typhon with Perturabo may stain their machine-spirits forever. Which is true as the new Typhon that Nine build before have all gone rogue as the machine-spirits go wild without reason and only after Atharion's direct intervention, his presence calming the wild spirits, had allowed a handful to be tamed and turned to the service of the Dark Knights.
Spartan Assault Tank was a large heavy transport designed during the Great Crusade and Horus Heresy to carry a full squad of Terminator-armored Marines. As the Land Raider during the early days of the Great Crusade aren't able to transport Terminator squad, Legiones Astartes needed one that could transport the slow moving Terminator. Mechanicus design the Spartan using the Land Raider as its basic, while retaining some resemblance, the Spartan is larger than the Land Raider but still smaller than super-heavy vehicles. Able to carry twenty five Astartes or twelve Terminators, its has the largest carrying capacity of all non-super-heavy vehicles while still able to move faster than some of the Land Raider variants.
Now, among the Dark Knights' armored columns, five Spartans and a single Typhon rumbled forward, ready to serve their purpose once again like during the old time.
As the host drew closer to its target, the formation shifted with practiced precision. The Rhinos slowed and fell back, hiding themselves behind the heavier armor. The Spartans and Land Raiders advanced to the fore, their thick plating ready to endure the brunt of enemy fire. Meanwhile, the Predators and the lone Typhon surged ahead, accelerating across the frozen plain with engines roaring.
The Predators were the first to strike. Their turrets swung and spat fire, cannon shells screaming into the Ork gun emplacements perched along the battlements. The crude greenskin gun emplacements vanished in fire and smoke, barricades and bunkers torn apart under disciplined volleys. For every gun silenced, another roared defiantly, but the Predators pressed the attack, their gunners methodically clearing a path for the assault to come.
Behind them, the Typhon began its grim work. Its vast Dreadhammer Cannon locked onto the western wall, its targeting auguries cycling through range-finders until the perfect shot aligned. The ground shook as the weapon fired, unleashing a single thunderous blast. The shell tore through the air like a falling star, smashing into the Ork fortifications with cataclysmic force. Ferrocrete shattered, iron plating split apart, and a crater of pulverized stone and twisted metal yawned wide where the wall had once stood.
As the dust settled, the assault began. The Spartans and Land Raiders surged forward, engines howling, charging straight into the breach. Their sponson-mounted lascannons and heavy bolters roared to life, burning and tearing through everything in their path. Ork barricades disintegrated in flashes of blinding light, greenskin warriors vaporized where they stood or shredded into ruin beneath relentless fire.
When the killing field ahead was momentarily clear, the front ramps of the Spartans slammed down with a thunder of steel. Cataphractii Terminators advanced in tight formation, their storm bolters spitting streams of mass-reactive fire. Assault cannons whirred to life, tearing swathes through oncoming mobs, while heavy flamers drowned choke-points in gouts of burning promethium. The air became a haze of fire, smoke, and pulverized flesh.
From the Land Raiders, Veteran squads spilled forth, bolters thundering as they pressed into the ruins. Each shot was precise, disciplined, cutting down Orks in controlled bursts. Where the Terminators were an unstoppable wall of brute force, the Veterans were a scalpel—sweeping flanks, clearing cover, and keeping the breach open.
Even as the Astartes pushed forward, the Orks counter-attacked in their crude, furious fashion. Warbands surged from deeper within the fortress, howling and firing wildly, seeking to overwhelm the breach with sheer weight of bodies. The Dark Knights met them with fire and steel, refusing to yield an inch.
By then, Predators had rumbled into position, their autocannons stitching fire across the Ork firing lines. Rhinos followed behind, disgorging Tactical squads who spread out to secure the shattered wall and establish a foothold inside.
As the fighting raged on, another thunderous blast split the battlefield. The Typhon's Dreadhammer roared again, and a second breach tore open in the western wall, farther to the left of the first. Ferrocrete and steel collapsed outward in a storm of rubble, crushing mobs of Orks unlucky enough to be near.
Through the dust and fire, eleven Land Raider Crusaders thundered forward in a tight wedge. Their hurricane bolters spun to life, unleashing a storm of mass-reactive rounds that shredded Ork mobs by the dozens. Frag launchers boomed, clearing barricades and blasting apart entrenched gun positions as the armored phalanx pressed relentlessly onward.
With a grinding hiss of pistons, the lead Crusader's assault ramp slammed down. From within, Atharion emerged at the head of his Honor Guard. In his gauntleted hands he bore his master-crafted thunder hammer, its head crackling with caged lightning.
With a loud crackling, his Thunder Hammer came down in an arc of blinding power, the impact detonating with a thunderclap that shattered half a dozen Boyz in a single blow. Limbs and armor shards were hurled aside as the shockwave rippled outward.
Behind him, the Honor Guards followed closely. Their own crafted Thunder Hammers and Storm Shield crackling as they crash into the Orks together by their Supreme Grand Master's side.
As they continue to pushing deeper, ten Thunderhawks appear above their position and when their forward ramp lower, ten assault squads jump down with their bolters killing the Orks farthest from them and their roaring Chainswords plunge into the Orks that trying to flank Atharion's group.
"My Lord," Came Valentus' voice over the vox, calm even in the maelstrom of battle. He swung his power sword in a glittering arc, cleaving a Boy clean in half before turning his storm shield to catch a choppa blow. Sparks showered as iron bit into ceramite. With a brutal shove, he sent the greenskin sprawling and pressed forward.
"We have a possible direct line into the inner chamber." He continued, his voice edged with certainty. "The Boss is likely there."
Atharion's thunder hammer shattered another Ork in a spray of gore before he paused, helm turning toward the breach that Valentus indicated. Lightning coursed down the haft of his weapon, the machine-spirit within the relic eager for greater prey.
"Then we press on." Atharion growled through the vox, his voice like rolling thunder. "The beast's head will fall, and with it, this horde."