"We are now entering the second phase," the voice of the Princeps Maximus echoed throughout the two heavy transports belonging to Legio Argentum Fulgur. "Prepare for the drop."
Warning sirens wailed through the cavernous transport bays as Tech-Priests and their attendant servitors completed the final rites of activation and combat readiness.
The Princeps Maximus then switched to the Legio's private command vox.
"My fellow Princeps," he began.
"Today is the day we prove ourselves."
"We proved our worth in the Octarius War."
"We shattered the so-called Titans of the Orks."
His gaze swept across the hololithic display, meeting the faces of every Princeps connected to the channel. Every one of them had fought in the campaign, whether upon the front lines or in support of the offensive.
"We marched beneath the banner of our Supreme Grand Master and cleansed world after world of the xenos taint."
A brief silence followed.
Then his voice rose, its mechanical timbre unable to conceal the conviction behind his words.
"But today..."
"Today we face the true enemies of the Imperium."
"The traitors."
"The oathbreakers who abandoned the Emperor."
"The blasphemers who turned from the light of the Omnissiah and embraced the lies of the Dark Gods."
His words echoed through the command decks of every waiting God-Machine.
"They believe themselves the rightful heirs of the Imperium and Mars."
"They believe that the corruption from the Dark Gods have made them stronger."
"They are mistaken."
The Princeps Maximus rose slightly within his command throne as the Machine Spirit of his Warmaster stirred in anticipation.
"Today, Legio Argentum Fulgur shall remind them what true loyalty looks like."
"Today, the God-Machines of the Omnissiah shall pass judgment."
His voice became a roar carried across every vox channel.
"By Steel! By Thunder! By the Omnissiah!"
"By Steel! By Thunder! By the Omnissiah!"
Every Princeps answered in unison, their voices reverberating through the command network as one.
The chant spread from Titan to Titan.
"By Steel! By Thunder! By the Omnissiah!"
Princeps closed their eyes as they sank deeper into communion with their God-Machines.
One by one, reactor cores awakened.
Ancient plasma hearts roared to life.
The Machine Spirits answered their masters' call with growling approval, filling each command throne with a chorus of binharic canticles, warning runes, and battle hymns.
Across the two heavy transports, Tech-Priests completed the final Rites of Awakening while servitors disengaged the massive restraint clamps securing the Drop-Capsules in place.
Warning klaxons wailed.
Massive locking bolts retracted.
The Titans, already housed within their Drop-Capsules, stirred as containment fields shifted from restraint to launch readiness.
Within each capsule, void-shielded housings flickered with contained energy, holding back the sheer mass of the God-Machines as they were brought into deployment configuration.
The Machine Spirits roared in anticipation.
They were no longer dormant.
They were waiting only for release.
The Princeps Maximus watched the final status runes cascade across his command throne.
All systems green.
All engines awakened.
All God-Machines prepared for descent.
"Initiate drop sequence," he ordered.
"By the Omnissiah… we descend."
With a series of thunderous impacts, the massive release clamps disengaged.
One by one, the Drop-Capsules detached and plunged toward the world below.
Their retro-thrusters ignited intermittently, guiding the colossal payloads through the Warp-tainted atmosphere. Trails of fire carved across the heavens as the God-Machines of Legio Argentum Fulgur descended toward the battlefield.
Far below, the battle for the settlement had entered its final stage.
"Fire the missiles!" a Fire Hawks Sergeant shouted, pointing toward the corrupted Reaver striding through the ruins.
Immediately, two Fire Hawks broke from cover, each carrying a Proteus missile launcher. Their objective was to slip beneath the Titan's void shields and fire directly into its lower hull, crippling the God-Machine—or at the very least damaging it enough to reduce its combat effectiveness.
The rest of the squad laid down a storm of covering fire.
Bolter shells hammered into the traitor positions, forcing corrupted Skitarii and Death Guard alike behind cover or cutting them down where they stood.
But before the two Fire Hawks could reach their firing position, the corrupted Reaver seemed to sense their approach.
Its massive torso rotated with ponderous precision.
The Gatling Blaster mounted upon its arm swung downward, its barrels tracking the sprinting Space Marines.
The weapon's rotary mechanism began to spin.
A low mechanical whine rapidly rose into a deafening howl.
The two Fire Hawks accelerated, their enhanced physiques carrying them over shattered walls and through the burning ruins. Chunks of masonry crumbled beneath their ceramite boots as they closed the distance.
The Gatling Blaster reached full speed.
Suddenly, its void shields flared brilliantly.
Not from the front—
But from its left.
The shimmering barrier rippled violently as a torrent of heavy-calibre shells hammered into it, overloading the shield generators and staggering the corrupted God-Machine.
At the same moment, a mighty war horn blared across the ruins.
Deep.
Ancient.
Defiant.
From the smoke emerged the battered Warlord Titan.
Its remaining macro-gatling blaster thundered without pause, filling the air with a storm of shells that battered the Reaver's void shields.
The loyalist engine bore fresh scars from its earlier duel.
In addition to the loss of its right arm, the right side of its carapace had suffered further punishment. Great impact craters scarred the armor, entire plates had been torn away, exposing glowing internal machinery and sacred cabling beneath. Black smoke poured from ruptured vents, while warning runes flashed continuously across the Princeps' command displays.
Behind the Warlord lay the wrecks of two more Legio Mortis Titans.
Both Reavers had fallen.
One had been split open by a catastrophic reactor breach, its upper torso reduced to a burning skeleton of twisted adamantium. The other lay half-submerged in the swamp, its legs severed at the knees, its reactor still venting pillars of incandescent plasma into the sky.
But the Warlord had not claimed those victories alone.
The Angels of Wrath had made them possible.
Throughout the engagement, squads armed with Proteus missile launchers, lascannons, and melta weapons had relentlessly harassed the traitor Titans. They struck whenever an opportunity presented itself.
Forced to divide their attention between the advancing Space Marines and the loyalist God-Machines, the Legio Mortis Reavers could never bring their full firepower to bear against the Warlord.
That single distraction had proved decisive.
Now, with the traitor Reavers reduced to burning wrecks, the battered Warlord turned its undivided wrath upon the next traitor engine.
Suddenly, a series of explosions erupted beneath the corrupted Reaver.
The two Fire Hawks had reached their objective.
Sheltered beneath the Titan's void shields, they fired their Proteus missile launchers directly into the God-Machine's exposed lower hull.
The first missile punched through an access panel, detonating deep within the engine's interior.
The second struck moments later, ripping open a massive breach in the Reaver's armored belly.
Warning klaxons wailed from the traitor Titan as flames burst from the wound.
Then came the third impact.
One of the Fire Hawks' missiles found the reactor housing.
For a heartbeat, the colossal engine remained standing.
Then its plasma reactor catastrophically breached.
An incandescent column of fire erupted through the Reaver's torso, blowing apart its carapace in a storm of twisted adamantium and burning debris. The blast hurled armor plates hundreds of meters into the air as the God-Machine staggered backwards.
Its war horn let out one final, distorted bellow.
Then the corrupted Reaver collapsed, its reactor exploding in a blinding flash that shook the entire battlefield.
"Titan destroyed!" the Sergeant shouted as he raised his chainsword toward the enemy lines.
For a moment, the battlefield seemed to freeze.
The sight of the towering traitor engine falling was enough to break whatever remaining confidence the corrupted forces possessed.
The Sergeant did not waste the opportunity.
"Charge!"
His voice thundered through the vox.
"Purge the traitors!"
With a roar, the Fire Hawks surged forward.
Jump packs ignited.
Chainswords roared.
Bolters opened fire.
The Astartes advanced through the smoke and flames, charging directly into the disorganized ranks of the Death Guard and corrupted Skitarii. What had once been a fortified defensive line was now nothing more than scattered pockets of resistance.
Above them, the damaged Warlord Titan continued its advance, its remaining weapons firing into enemy positions and crushing anything that attempted to regroup.
"What's our status?" the Princeps asked as she fired the macro-gatling blaster sparingly, only short bursts at a time.
Even through the bond between Princeps and Titan, she could feel the Machine Spirit's warning.
Ammunition reserves were running low.
The God-Machine wanted more.
But it knew there was little left to give.
"We have multiple major hull breaches across the primary armor sections, my Princeps," the Moderati reported. "The right-side carapace is heavily damaged. Several secondary systems are offline, and we are receiving repeated warnings from the reactor containment systems."
The Moderati paused for a moment as new information appeared across his display.
"The reactor chamber is partially exposed."
For the first time since the battle had begun, the command deck fell silent.
"The surrounding armor has been breached," he continued. "A lucky shot striking the exposed section could penetrate the containment shielding and trigger a catastrophic reactor failure."
The Princeps remained silent, her thoughts still joined to the wounded Machine Spirit.
"What are our remaining defensive capabilities?" she finally asked.
"Void shields are operational, but they are recharging more slowly than expected due to the continous engagement we in. Armor integrity around the reactor remains critically compromised. I strongly advise avoiding any direct engagement with enemy Titans."
The Princeps nodded.
"Acknowledged."
Even so, she knew withdrawal was not an option.
Not while the Fire Hawks and Angels of Wrath still fought beneath her Titan's shadow.
If the Warlord retreated now, the Astartes would lose the fire support that had carried them this far.
She rested a gauntleted hand upon the command throne.
"We endure," she said quietly.
The Machine Spirit answered with a deep, resonant growl that echoed through the manifold.
As the Warlord and the advancing Astartes drew ever closer to the center of the settlement, vox interference gradually weakened. The oppressive Warp disturbances still lingered, but they were no longer strong enough to completely disrupt communications.
One by one, contact was re-established.
Hololithic displays flickered to life as tactical data streamed into the command throne.
A familiar face appeared upon the primary display.
It was a Princeps Senioris commanding one of the remaining Reavers.
"Among the eight Reavers committed to the assault—including mine, but excluding the two that accompanied your battlegroup—we have lost three engines," he reported solemnly. "Two more have sustained severe damage."
He paused as another explosion flashed behind him, briefly illuminating the command chamber of his Titan.
"Both damaged Reavers have disengaged and are withdrawing to their assigned Drop-Vaults for emergency repairs."
"Understood," the Warlord's Princeps replied with a nod.
"What is the condition of the remaining engines? Are they still combat capable?"
A second hololithic window opened as another Princeps joined the conference.
"Affirmative, my Princeps," he answered. "Most of us have sustained varying degrees of damage, but none severe enough to force a withdrawal. Reactor output remains stable, void shields are functional, and our primary weapons are still operational."
"Then maintain pressure," she ordered. "we must buy more time for the Princeps Maximus to arrive with the main force."
"Your will," both Princeps replied before terminating the transmission.
The battle had come at a terrible cost.
Both the Angels of Wrath and the Fire Hawks had suffered grievous casualties.
Between the relentless assaults of Legio Mortis, the unending waves of Death Guard, and the disciplined fire of the Dark Skitarii, every company had been bled.
Some squads had been reduced to half strength.
Others had fared even worse, losing Veteran Sergeants, Apothecaries, and battle-brothers who had served for centuries.
Even so, none of the companies had broken.
Those still able to fight pressed onward, stepping over the bodies of the fallen as they advanced toward the heart of the settlement.
Apothecaries moved among the wounded whenever the fighting allowed, recovering precious gene-seed from the dead before returning to the battle. Damaged vehicles were abandoned where they had fallen, their crews joining nearby squads to continue the assault on foot.
No one intended to retreat.
The destruction of the traitor Titans had broken the enemy's armored spearhead, but the Death Guard remained as implacable as ever.
Plague Marines continued to emerge from the smoke-filled streets, bolters barking as they advanced through the hail of Imperial fire. Behind them marched ranks of bloated Dark Skitarii, their rusted bodies shrugging off wounds that would have felled ordinary soldiers, while packs of plague-mutants hurled themselves at the loyalists with mindless abandon.
"Grand Master," a Fire Hawks reported. "Auspex indicates the traitors are conducting a fighting withdrawal toward the town center."
Garren looked toward the towering column of green light rising into the sky.
The Warp storm surrounding it had grown stronger.
"No..." he muttered.
"They're trying to delay us."
"They know the ritual is nearing completion."
He raised his power sword and pointed it toward the distant glow.
"All companies."
"Advance at maximum speed."
"We end this before whatever they're summoning crosses into realspace."
Miles away, fighting through another quarter of the settlement, Tristan reached the same conclusion.
"They're buying time," he growled.
He opened the command vox.
"All companies."
"Full assault."
"Break through at all costs."
Across the battlefield, nearly one thousand seven hundred Astartes renewed their attack with even greater ferocity.
Tactical squads advanced under covering fire.
Assault Marines leapt over the shattered ruins.
Predators and Vindicators rolled forward, blasting apart barricades and strongpoints.
Behind them strode the surviving Titans of Legio Argentum Fulgur, their immense weapons reducing fortified positions to rubble, ensuring nothing could slow the Astartes' advance.
For several precious minutes, the Imperial assault gathered unstoppable momentum.
Then everything changed.
The earth trembled.
A chorus of war horns rolled across the battlefield.
One.
Then another.
Then another.
From the choking dust and Warp-tainted mist emerged towering silhouettes of adamantium and corrupted steel.
Legio Mortis.
Five Warlord-class Titans.
Ten Reaver-class Titans.
They marched into view in disciplined formation, taking up positions around the Warp altar like towering guardians.
The battlefield fell silent for the briefest moment.
"The intelligence was wrong!" the Warlord's Princeps shouted as warning runes flooded her command throne. "There are more of them!"
Before anyone could respond, the first traitor Warlord fired.
Twin beams from its Volcano Cannon lanced across the battlefield.
"Hard to port!" the Princeps ordered.
Her wounded Warlord lurched sideways as its motive systems screamed in protest.
The incandescent beams tore past its flank, vaporizing the ruins behind it and leaving rivers of molten earth in their wake.
Not every loyalist engine was so fortunate.
A Reaver caught the full force of a Volcano Cannon blast.
Its void shields collapsed instantly.
A second beam punched through its chest.
For a heartbeat, the Titan remained standing.
Then its plasma reactor detonated.
The explosion engulfed the surrounding ruins, hurling armor plating and burning debris across the battlefield.
As the God-Machines clashed once more, the Astartes encountered a new horror.
The Warp split open.
Dozens...
Then hundreds...
Of Plaguebearers emerged from the festering rifts.
Their bloated forms carried rusted blades dripping with Warp-borne disease, while their single milky eyes fixed upon the advancing Space Marines.
The daemonic tide marched forward in eerie silence.
"It is time," Tristan said.
At almost the exact same moment, Garren spoke the very same words.
"Summon the First Company."
The order echoed across the command vox.
For a heartbeat...
Nothing happened.
Then brilliant arcs of white-blue lightning erupted across the battlefield.
Reality cracked.
Teleportation flares burst into existence amid the smoke and ruins.
One after another, Terminators materialized directly before the advancing Imperial lines.
The Fire Hawks' veterans stood encased in gleaming Indomitus-pattern Tactical Dreadnought Armour, storm bolters already roaring as power fists clenched in anticipation.
Beside them appeared the elite of the Angels of Wrath.
Many wore the familiar Indomitus pattern.
But among their ranks marched warriors clad in ancient Cataphractii Terminator armour, the armour that Tristan requested from Atharion.
Their broad silhouettes advanced with measured, inexorable purpose, storm shields and master-crafted power weapons held ready as they faced the daemonic host.
The First Companies had arrived.
Now the traitors would face the finest veterans of both Chapters.
But the traitors had no intention of allowing the Terminators to crash into their lines and tear through their forces uncontested.
The moment the teleportation flare faded, two Legio Mortis Reavers reacted.
Their colossal bodies shifted, weapons turning away from the distant loyalist Titans and toward the newly arrived Terminator formations.
The barrels of their macro-gatling blasters began to rotate.
Then they fired.
The battlefield disappeared beneath a storm of heavy-calibre shells.
Rounds larger than a Space Marine tore through the ruins, turning stone and metal into clouds of debris. Even the legendary protection of Tactical Dreadnought Armour struggled against such overwhelming firepower.
Several Terminators vanished beneath the barrage.
Indomitus plate was shattered.
Cataphractii armour was ripped apart by repeated impacts.
Veterans who had fought across countless battlefields were torn from existence before they could even raise their weapons.
For a moment, the advance of the First Companies faltered.
Not because of fear.
But because even the mightiest warriors of the Imperium could not simply ignore the wrath of a Titan's weapon.
The sudden attack forced both the Fire Hawks and the Angels of Wrath into a difficult position.
They could no longer commit their full strength toward the Plaguebearers and the altar.
Instead, they were forced to divide their attention—fighting the daemonic horde before them while constantly repositioning to avoid the devastating fire of the Legio Mortis engines.
Every step forward became a struggle.
Every advance was paid for in blood.
Above them, the Titans of Legio Argentum Fulgur fought desperately to provide support.
But they were trapped in their own battle.
The Silver Lightning attempted to break through and assist the Astartes, yet the remaining Legio Mortis Warlords and Reavers refused to give them an opening.
Volcano Cannons, gatling blasters, and missile barrages crossed the battlefield in a deadly exchange of fire.
Neither side could gain the decisive advantage.
The loyalist Titans could not advance.
The traitor Titans could not break through.
The entire battle had become a war of endurance.
"When will the Dies Vindicta arrive?!" one of the Reaver Princeps shouted as his Titan violently shifted aside, narrowly avoiding another Volcano Cannon strike from a Legio Mortis Warlord.
The blast passed so close that warning runes erupted across his command throne.
"We cannot hold like this forever!"
His Moderati desperately attempted to stabilize the Titan's systems as alarms continued to scream.
"At this rate, we're all going to die before they reach us!"
Then—
The sky broke.
Multiple objects descended through the clouds, trailing fire and smoke as they tore through the Warp-tainted atmosphere.
For a moment, both loyalist and traitor Titans turned their sensors toward the falling objects.
The traitors recognized them too late.
Drop-Vaults.
Massive deployment capsules slammed into the battlefield like falling fortresses, their impact shaking the earth and sending waves of dust and debris across the ruins.
Seeing new opponents arrive, the Legio Mortis Titans responded with fury.
One by one, their war horns bellowed across the battlefield.
Deep.
Distorted.
Carrying the unnatural growl of corrupted Machine Spirits.
The traitor God-Machines turned their weapons toward the newly arrived enemies.
But before any of them could fire—
One of the Drop-Vaults changed.
Its massive deployment ramp did not simply open.
It was violently launched forward.
The adamantium structure tore through the air like a projectile, smashing into a nearby ruined building and reducing it to rubble.
Behind the opening Drop-Vault, two brilliant beams of blue-white energy erupted.
Two massive plasma lances struck one of the Legio Mortis Warlords before its void shields could fully compensate.
The impact was catastrophic.
The traitor Titan's void shields flared violently, overloaded by the sheer power of the attack. Warning runes flooded its command throne as the ancient engine staggered backward, armor glowing from the heat of the impact.
"Impossible..." the traitor Princeps whispered.
Before the Legio Mortis Titans could recover, the remaining Drop-Vaults completed their deployment.
Massive ramps descended.
Ancient restraints disengaged.
And the God-Machines of Legio Argentum Fulgur marched to war.
The battlefield shook.
Seven Warlords.
Seven Reavers.
One Warbringer Nemesis.
And from the largest Drop-Vault emerged the mightiest of them all.
Dies Vindicta.
The Warmaster Titan of Legio Argentum Fulgur.
Each step was an earthquake.
Its weapons systems awakened one by one as sacred machine spirits roared in anticipation.
Without hesitation, Dies Vindicta opened fire.
The two Suzerain-Class Plasma Destructors mounted upon its arms unleashed their fury.
Twin streams of incandescent plasma crossed the battlefield and struck the already weakened Legio Mortis Warlord.
The traitor Titan's void shields were already compromised.
This time, there was no protection.
The plasma beams punched through layers of corrupted adamantium, melting armor and igniting internal systems.
The Warlord attempted to return fire.
It never got the chance.
Its reactor containment failed.
A moment later, the traitor God-Machine collapsed in a storm of fire and destruction.
The fall of the Warlord shook the battlefield.
For the first time, the Legio Mortis engines hesitated.
Not because they felt fear.
But because they had just witnessed the arrival of their executioner.
Within the command throne of Dies Vindicta, the Princeps Maximus watched the remaining traitor Titans.
His voice carried across every open vox-channel on the battlefield.
Cold.
Controlled.
Absolute.
"Now..."
A pause.
"It's time to hunt."
The Silver Lightning advanced.