From planetary orbit to the ground, free fall takes just two minutes. No tactical support is faster than this!
In the interstellar age, orbital drop is true lightning warfare. Once coordinates are confirmed, the Emperor's Angels descend from the heavens!
BOOM!
The Orks' energy field and humanity's void shield technology share a common flaw, they are strong against attacks from above, weak against attacks from below. After successfully penetrating defenses with a low-velocity drop pod, Dorn personally led the assault team, their drop pods streaking across the sky.
These steel eggs followed a precise ballistic trajectory, piercing the Ork energy shield, and crashed into the periphery of the Ork camp amidst deafening thunder.
With a hiss of hydraulic hatches, scalding steam jetted from the seals. Amidst the billowing smoke, a towering figure was the first to step out.
Dorn, sword in one hand, shield in the other, decapitated three charging Ork Boyz with a single sweep. Behind him, power-armored assault teams surged out like a tide. The deadly net of lasgun fire instantly drowned out the Orks' "WAAAGH!" cries.
The Primarch's arrival dramatically boosted the surviving kill team's morale. Sergeant Avery immediately led the survivors towards the drop force. They had fulfilled their mission; no more sacrifice was needed.
"WAAAGH! Big 'Umie!"
The Warboss's scarred face twisted into a grin, its thick tusks trembling with excitement.
"Da little shrimps ain't got no dakka! I'm gonna get ya good!"
Its five-meter-tall frame lunged forward. Its rusted armor screeched as it charged. Nearby Ork Boyz scattered, fearing being crushed into mushroom paste by their boss's charge.
Inwit had no weapons suitable for a Primarch. Dorn's sword and shield were forged by Perturabo and gifted to him. And with them, he would take the Warboss's head!
Dorn's stern face showed no change. He calmly adjusted his stance, tilting his shield slightly forward, uttering only a single word: "Come."
The Warboss let out a triumphant laugh. It felt that if it could crush this big 'Umie, Gork and Mork would surely grant it even greater power!
"WAAAGH!"
With a deafening roar, the Warboss's massive form barreled through the camp like an out-of-control armored train. A rusted metal pipe behind it belched dirty black smoke. Ork Boyz too slow to get out of the way were turned into mushroom paste, providing nutrients for new mushroom growth.
Dorn met the charge without flinching. Both giants exploded forward with terrifying speed, utterly belying their massive size. Their charge shook the ground. Each heavy footfall kicked up clumps of blood-soaked earth, leaving deep craters.
CLANG!
Dorn's shield met the Warboss's iron fist with a deafening clang. The shockwave swept the area, flinging rocks and dust for meters. The Warboss's fist, covered in rusty spikes, left deep gouges on the shield's surface, but it held.
"WAAAGH! DAT'S PROPPA! BIG 'UMIE, I GIVE YA DAT!"
"ME NAME'S GOBJAW! 'MEMBER IT!" The Warboss roared excitedly, catching Dorn's descending blade with its other hand, a rusted pincer, at the last moment.
The sword whistled through the air but failed to cut through the seemingly crude pincer.
Dorn used the momentum to push forward, slamming his shoulder into Gobjaw's chest, forcing the greenskin giant back two steps. Seizing the opportunity, he swung his shield upward like a battering ram, smashing it into Gobjaw's chin.
CRACK!
One of Gobjaw's tusks shattered from the impact. Blood trickled from the corner of its ugly mouth, but it only grew more excited.
"WAAAGH!"
"BIG 'UMIE! TRY DIS ON FER SIZE!"
Gobjaw laughed, wiping blood from its nose, and swung its spiked fist at Dorn's face.
Dorn leaned back sharply. The wind from the fist brushed past his white hair. The sharp spikes nearly grazed his nose.
Both leaped back simultaneously to create distance. Gobjaw roared, grabbed a nearby Ork Boy, and hurled it at Dorn like a cannonball! Dorn sidestepped. The Ork Boy screamed, crashing into a distant tree trunk, bursting into a disgusting mushroom paste.
But in that instant, Gobjaw had closed the distance again, its pincer, accompanied by the screech of a motor, thrusting straight for Dorn's heart!
BANG!
Dorn's shield struck downward, the edge colliding with the pincer, sending up bright sparks.
"WAAAGH! AND DIS!"
Gobjaw laughed triumphantly. A high-speed circular saw blade popped from its fist's wrist guard, emitting a piercing shriek as it aimed for Dorn's chest plate.
SHREEEE!
The saw blade scraped across the golden ceramite armor, leaving a deep scratch. But Dorn didn't retreat. He thrust his shield upward, smashing it against the Warboss's mechanical wrist.
With a sharp crack of snapping bone and the sputter of a short-circuiting motor, the Warboss's thick arm twisted and deformed under the immense force. The circular saw, trailing black smoke, slowly drooped, its rotation slowing until it stopped.
"WAAAGH! YA MADE ME MAD!"
"NOW I'Z GONNA KRUMP YA GOOD!"
Gobjaw roared, its pincer poised for another attack.
But Dorn's long-concealed blade was already in motion.
THWACK!
A flash of cold light. The blade swept across the Ork's neck.
The Warboss's head shot into the air on a gush of blood, then fell heavily into the mud.
"I ain't beat yet..."
Gobjaw's lips still moved, but its massive body crashed to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.
Dorn drove his blade through its head, then dismembered the body. This wasn't just venting; Caelan had told him Ork Warbosses are tough. Even decapitation carried a risk of revival. Whenever possible, regardless of the enemy, you double-tap.
The duel, though seemingly intense, was over in mere seconds. Their clash was lightning fast; mortal eyes couldn't even catch a blur, only the clang of metal and the boom of shockwaves.
The moment the Warboss fell, the battlefield turned. The close-fought struggle became a rout. Human morale soared thanks to the Primarch's feat. Leaderless, the greenskins fell into chaos. Some fled in terror, others stood rooted to the spot. None continued the fight. The Orks crumbled like a sandcastle hit by a hurricane.
Even with equal numbers, the gap in fighting power between Orks with a Warboss and those without was vast.
The Orks left behind a field of corpses; only a few fled into the forest. The Primarch had deliberately let the other Nobs escape, rather than slaughtering them. Orks without a Warboss quickly fall to infighting.
A new Warboss will emerge from among the Nobs. With enough surviving Nobs, the chance of a new Warboss appearing was higher. As long as they didn't leave the forest, if a new Warboss emerged, Dorn could perform another decapitation.
Diaz supported the wounded Avery as they both staggered to one knee.
Avery's voice trembled with emotion. "My Lord, we... we are honored to..."
"On your feet, soldier." Dorn stooped, tucking his shield under his arm, and gently took Diaz's arm. "You are brave warriors who defended humanity's honor with blood and sacrifice. Stand tall with pride. You need not kneel to me!"
Diaz and Avery helped each other up. Blood seeped through their armor, staining the muddy ground. Yet when they looked at the Primarch, their bloodshot eyes shone with amazing brightness.
They were definitely not the first mortals to fight alongside a Primarch, but they were absolutely the first Solar Auxilia to do so! And the Primarch himself had affirmed their honor. This was a story they could tell for the rest of their lives!
Only five survive of the kill team's survivors, Sergeant Avery, Sergeant-Major Diaz, and three other battered veterans. Their Solar-pattern Void Armor was shattered, blood seeping through the breaches. Inwitn warriors rushed to provide aid, clumsily injecting coagulants and painkillers.
Just then, the forest darkened under the shadow of a massive ship. A huge transport broke through the clouds. Hundreds of Auxilia in grav-chutes leaped from its hatches like dumplings into a pot.
These equally elite warriors landed in perfect formation, immediately converging on the Primarch's position. But when they fought through the forest to the camp, they only saw the Warboss's massive headless corpse in a pool of blood, surrounded by hundreds of Ork bodies. The other Orks had fled.
Before the Primarch's arrival, Gutierrez had deployed the Auxilia regiments to various war zones, leaving five in orbit as reserve. When the Auxilia were ordered to support the Primarch, their hearts nearly leaped from their chests with excitement. But when they landed, they were dismayed to find the battle already over. They were late. The honor was not theirs.
Dorn's gaze swept over the wounded and the dejected. "Soldiers, which unit do you belong to?"
The Auxilia immediately snapped to attention, striking their chests with their right fists. "My Lord! We are from the 251st Auxilia Regiment!"
Avery, lying on a stretcher, weakly raised his arm. "77th Saturnine Ram Regiment!"
Dorn gave a slight nod. "Your bravery will be remembered."
Avery finally passed out in bliss. The Auxilia were also thrilled.
Dorn pointed his blade towards the valley's depths. "The Ork shield generator is still running. Auxilia, I entrust this mission to you. Destroy it at all costs."
The Auxilia struck their chests in unison. "We won't fail, my Lord!"
Everyone knew that with the Warboss dead, the remaining Orks were not a major threat. There was little danger in destroying the shield generator. Dorn was offering them face, distributing the credit. He had learned this from Perturabo.
Dorn sheathed his sword and walked steadily towards Caelan, who had been watching from the periphery.
"Father, how did I do?"
His voice held a hint of barely perceptible expectation, like a child who got a prize and rushed home to show their parents.
"Great!" Caelan gave a thumbs-up. "That's my boy!"
A rare smile flickered across the Primarch's usually stern face. His father's praise was more delightful than any honor.
Dorn asked, "Father, are all Ork Warbosses only that strong?"
Caelan thought for a moment. "That Ork was only mid-tier at best."
Orks are very straightforward. Their combat power can be measured by height, usually without mistake. An average Ork Boy is about the height of a mortal, because they hunch. If they stood fully upright, they'd be a head taller.
A Warboss is at least three meters tall. A Nob's height depends on their Warboss. If the Warboss is five meters, the Nobs are over three. If the Warboss is seven meters, the Nobs are over five.
An Ork Warlord is a type of Warboss, but far more powerful. A five-meter Warboss would be, in the 41st millennium someone like, Tuska "Daemon-killa".
But in the 30th millennium, the Ork empires are still at their peak. Ten-meter Warlords are common. Five meters is merely mid-tier.
Dorn lacked power armor and proper weapons. Perturabo's gifts were fine but ultimately limited by materials and time, no match for chainswords or power weapons. In their duel, the shield was nearly wrecked after a single blow. Even for a Primarch, power armor provides a terrifying boost.
With proper equipment, Dorn could have handled that fight more comfortably.
"Only mid-tier?" Dorn murmured. Then surely the Ork empire had even stronger Warlords. If the size gap were too large, even a Primarch might struggle. The limitations were severe.
...
Eugen Love paced anxiously on the bridge. "Continue transmitting astropathic messages. Even if the entire choir drops dead, this message must be sent across the galaxy!"
His aide raised no objection. He knew the suffering the astropaths endured. Prolonged Warp exposure not only causes psychic backlash, severely harming their minds and bodies, but also risks possession by evil Warp entities. But if the message reached other fleets, the astropaths' sacrifice would be worthwhile.
"A Primarch is here!"
When this brief message pierced the Warp to reach other Expeditionary Fleets, Imperial fleets would converge like sharks scenting blood. Then, it wouldn't be isolated scout fleets arriving at Reach, but entire Expeditionary Legions!
Once the Imperium's colossal fleet massed, it could crush any Ork empire that dared stand in its way. Nothing could stop a Primarch from returning to the Imperium. And if something tried, it would be crushed!
Love stared out the viewport. The fleet was engaging a massive Ork armada. Dozens of warships reflected the star's cold light. These ships' construction differed from Imperial design, but their firepower was no less formidable.
Their shipboard lances were even more devastating. Tactically, the Inwit fleet's command was flawless. Their formation changes were smooth and precise; their fire coordination perfect. The Ork fleet, already confused, was breaking apart under this onslaught.
Besides Love's flagship, the Indomitable Will, the Imperial Expeditionary Fleet was also fully engaged. Imperial macrocannons and lances spat destruction, perfectly coordinating with the Inwit fleet. The remaining Ork fleet would be annihilated within hours.
The Inwit fleet was a match for a primary Expeditionary Fleet in scale. Among all human civilizations encountered during the Great Crusade, an independent power with such strength was rare. And this wasn't even their entire fleet. They'd kept at least some back to defend their core worlds.
This Primarch, even before his return, already led a vast interstellar empire! Though this power paled before the Imperium, they could hold out against an Ork empire for a considerable time.
Whether the astropathic message reached other fleets in time would directly shape the Primarch's impression of the Imperium. If reinforcements were delayed by communication failure, the Primarch might be gravely disappointed. All they could do was make the astropaths suffer, and Love would take the blame.
The aide lowered his voice. "Commander Turner and General Gutierrez request permission to board."
Love turned. "Where is the Primarch?"
"His flagship has departed the surface. Estimated time of boarding, ten minutes."
Love nodded, "Grant their request. Clear the flight deck and central council chamber. Evacuate all non-essential personnel."
...
Gutierrez knelt on one knee. "My Lord! Norman Gutierrez, Solar General of the 77th Saturnine Ram Regiment, salutes you with highest honor!"
Turner likewise knelt, fist over heart. "My Lord! Aubrey Turner, Lord Commander of the 7232nd Fleet, pays his respects!"
Both commanders were overcome with emotion. Though they held high rank in the Imperium, they were, before a Primarch, no different from any mortal. For mortal officers to have an audience with a Primarch was a great honor.
To leave even a slight impression, for him to remember their names, would be the pinnacle of their honor. No matter what the future held, this moment would be the brightest of their military careers!
"Rise. You are humanity's heroes. You need not kneel to me."
Dorn's voice was calm. He turned to Love. "Lord Commander Love, does your ship have a tactical command center?"
"My Lord." Love bowed his head deferentially. "The central council chamber is prepared. The holographic tactical display and latest intelligence are ready. Please follow me."
Everyone instinctively placed the Primarch in the role of leader. The returned Primarchs had already demonstrated their extraordinary tactical genius. It was a universal truth in the Imperium that those yet to return would be no less capable. To be commanded directly by a Primarch was an honor they dreamed of. Probably only the Mechanicum would refuse such a privilege.
...
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