Cato Sicarius did not let the seemingly beneficial, chaotic spectacle of "allied reinforcements" cloud his judgment.
Tightening his grip on his power sword, his eyes darted between the writhing Chaos Spawns and the Death Guard struggling to fend them off. Although these monsters—mutated from the Helldivers—were wildly attacking Typhus and his men, Sicarius knew all too well that this was by no means a tactical turning point.
"Captain," a sergeant stepped forward, seemingly wanting to ask if they should take this opportunity to counterattack.
"No. All units, retreat," Sicarius interrupted decisively, issuing the command.
From his perspective, the only reason these abominable Chaos Spawns were targeting the Death Guard was likely because the tiny remnant of will from those heroic mortal Imperial Auxilia was still stubbornly resisting the warp's corruption.
What an admirable soul that was—even with their flesh reduced to monstrosities, they still sought to render their final duty to the Emperor.
This, however, was precisely where the greatest danger lay.
The power of Chaos was notoriously formidable; how long could such a residual will hold out? A few seconds? A few minutes? Who could guarantee that once the Ultramarines moved in to support them, these completely corrupted monsters wouldn't turn their talons against their former allies?
If that happened, the Ultramarines would be trapped in a pincer attack between Chaos Spawns and the Death Guard—a true catalyst for total annihilation. The current situation was merely the Death Guard shooting themselves in the foot, and he was certainly not foolish enough to step into the crossfire: "While these traitors are preoccupied, collect the wounded and disengage immediately!"
The Ultramarines displayed consummate discipline, rapidly contracting their formation. Pouring boltfire into the Nurgle poxwalkers trying to close in, they executed an orderly retreat toward the canyon exit.
Seeing that streak of cobalt blue fade into the sickly grey-green toxic fog, on the verge of disappearing from sight completely, a Death Guard Plague Marine encased in rotting power armor anxiously approached Typhus.
"Lord Typhus, let us send pursuers after those dogs of the False Emperor! We cannot let them escape like this!"
"No need."
Typhus uttered the two words coldly.
At that moment, the massive Chaos Spawn mutated from the Helldiver captain let out a roar and lunged forward once more. Without even looking, Typhus unleashed the warp energy he had been gathering for moments; his massive scythe cut a ghastly green arc through the air.
Splicch!
A sickening crunch of severing flesh echoed through the canyon as the deformed head—covered in tentacles and eyeballs—flew high into the air. The headless corpse twitched twice before crashing down, dissolving into a pool of putrid sludge.
Typhus slammed his blood-dripping scythe heavily into the ground, sending a slight tremor through the surrounding earth.
"Why?" The Plague Marine was clearly baffled. "This is our home ground. Within the toxic mist, we hold absolute advantage whether concealing our movement or tracking them down. As long as we pin them—"
Typhus snapped his head around, his murky eyes glaring dead at his subordinate. His voice hissed with cold fury: "Then why did the Ultramarines—who theoretically faced an absolute disadvantage—penetrate this deep without making a sound? Reaching right under my damn nose?"
The Plague Marine opened his mouth, but found himself completely speechless. Indeed, by all logic, the Ultramarines should have been spotted by the outer defense lines long ago, yet they had appeared out of nowhere like ghosts.
Typhus scanned his surroundings, watching his men clean up the remaining Chaos Spawns, then looked up at the planet's gloomy, oppressive sky—as if staring at some unseen entity beyond the cloud cover.
"I understand now. On this damned planet, do not try to win through clever tricks or subtle schemes," Typhus's voice was low and raspy, sounding like an ancient curse. "The planetary will of Perditia is straining every nerve to thwart us. As long as a 'brilliant' plan has even a single link capable of going wrong, it will go wrong."
From the initial massive drop in engine power, to the absurdly sudden appearance of the Ultramarines, to that squad of mortals abruptly mutating into Chaos Spawns and mauling their own allies—every step had been rife with absurd coincidences.
Typhus was sick of it. He had had enough of feeling like he was playing chess against a fool blessed by the Goddess of Fortune.
He yanked his scythe from the ground, the suffocating pressure flaring from his body once more: "If that's how it is, then abandon all complex tactics."
Typhus pointed off into the distance, toward the defense line of the Helldivers: "Muster all Death Guard forces and summon more Daemon Engines. I will launch a crushing, overwhelming assault using sheer numbers and unstoppable plague!
"Since this planet wants to resist, I will turn every single inch of Perditia into a rotting quagmire—until no more 'accidents' can possibly happen!"
---
Accompanied by the hiss of venting pneumatic pressure from its hydraulic systems, the heavy blast door slowly slid open. Cato Sicarius strode into the command center. His power armor was caked in grime and scratches he hadn't even had time to clean off—trophies of delving deep into the enemy's lair—yet his proud head remained unbowed.
Though the strike had failed, he was still the Captain of the Ultramarines 2nd Company.
Inside the command post, a suffocating anxiety hung in the air. Mortal staff officers yelled into augurs and vox stations, trying to verify front-line reports through noisy static interference. Upon seeing Sicarius return, the somewhat panicked command center settled down slightly.
Walking up to the holographic tactical table, Sicarius faced the grim-looking Corps Commander. Removing his helmet, he revealed a firm yet noticeably fatigued face.
"Regrettably, the assault was a failure," Sicarius said frankly, his tone devoid of excuses, offering only a calm analysis of the battle. "Typhus's defenses were far tighter than anticipated, and... several uncontrollable variables occurred."
He recalled the Helldivers mutating into Chaos Spawns; his brow furrowed briefly before returning to normal.
"However, while we failed to take the traitor's head, it was not entirely without gain. At the very least, we probed their true strength," Sicarius tapped his fingers against the edge of the tactical table. "I have decided to adjust our strategy. In the upcoming battle, the Ultramarines 2nd Company will no longer seek a single-point breakthrough; instead, we will act as a mobile response force for the entire war zone."
His gaze swept over the officers present, his voice ringing with conviction: "We will act as a fire brigade. Wherever the line is most critical, we will deploy to help the Helldivers stabilize their crumbling defenses. We possess superior mobility and firepower; used properly, it will be enough to hold out until the main Ultramarines reinforcement fleet arrives."
Sicarius had complete confidence in his judgment—this was a textbook defensive counter-strategy straight from the Codex Astartes.
However, the Corps Commander standing opposite him showed no sign of relief.
"In that case, Captain Sicarius," the commander's voice sounded dry and strained, "you may need to head back to the front lines immediately."
Sicarius caught the ominous shift instantly. He slid his helmet back on, his hand instinctively dropping to his sword hilt: "The Death Guard launched an attack? In which direction?"
The commander didn't speak. He simply pressed a button on the holographic console and swept his arm across.
The tactical map, which had just been displaying green friendly icons and grey fog zones, underwent a terrifying transformation in a single instant.
The entire holographic map went red.
"Every single direction..." The commander's voice sounded as if squeezed through his teeth.
The harsh, blinding glow of the red alerts cast an eerie, breathtaking light onto Sicarius's blue armor. Every defense sector, every outpost, every trench line on the map was flashing red, signaling "Extreme Danger."
"According to reports just consolidated from the front, a mere thirty minutes after your withdrawal, the Death Guard initiated a full-scale offensive," the commander pointed to the dense cluster of red dots. "It's no probe, no feint—it is a total assault."
"Aside from the endless, overwhelming tides of Nurgle poxwalkers covering the hills, every single position has sent desperate distress calls reporting that they are engaging actual Chaos Space Marines."
The commander pulled up a feed of front-line recon footage. Though grainy and heavy with static, the bulky, rotting, yet indestructible figures could still be clearly seen striding straight across the trench lines.
"Initial estimates suggest at least a thousand Death Guard have deployed simultaneously to strike the defensive line," the commander said grimly. "And there may well be more behind them..."