Datch put his Pebble Hat back on and mounted the bamboo copter atop his head.
Then, under Spinoza's astonished gaze, he soared into the air.
"How can such a tiny rotor lift a multi-ton Terminator suit into the sky?!"
At that moment, Spinoza felt her entire worldview crumble.
Datch ignored the stunned Inquisitor. Guided by his minimap, he flew into the mist to seek out his first mission target.
This mission couldn't afford to waste too much time.
Magnus and his minions were still lurking in the Webway, looking for opportunities to ambush the pilgrim convoy.
Datch did not want his mission of escorting Guilliman to Terra to end in failure.
He needed to finish his current task quickly and rejoin the pilgrims to ensure Guilliman would reach Terra safely.
…
Inside an ancient ruin deep within the Webway, deafening gunfire echoed from time to time.
The Fabricator-General, High Lord Oud Oudia Raskian, was entrenched in the ruins, now utterly in despair.
Years of modification had made his body enormous.
Every time he left Mars, it took several giant tractors to move him.
After the deal with the Drukhari collapsed, fighting broke out. Raskian retreated under allied cover.
But the Drukhari sabotaged the tractors, making it impossible for his massive body to move. He was forced to hide in the ruins.
Raskian knew that holding out here was meaningless.
The Imperium understood too little about the Webway. Even if they knew he was trapped, they couldn't rescue him.
The Adeptus Ministorum's troops and Kataphron servitors held defensive positions in the ruins, relying on fierce firepower to stall the Drukhari.
But such resistance was unsustainable: they had no resupply.
Once their ammo ran dry, they would be slaughtered like fish on a chopping block.
The Drukhari were patient, lurking in the shadows, occasionally striking with hit-and-run attacks, never engaging directly.
They didn't want to kill Raskian, but rather capture him alive.
To have a High Lord of the Imperium kneel in humiliation before the Archon of Commorragh, turned into a plaything in the gladiatorial pits—what a spectacle that would be.
The leading Kabal Archon hid within the mists, idly playing with a neural flenser while watching the trapped Fabricator-General. He savored the man's despair.
Soon, the Commorragh fighting pits would have a new attraction: a High Lord of the Imperium.
The audience would go wild for such a novelty.
Raskian's logic core frantically calculated, seeking a way out.
But every result spelled hopelessness.
The chance of escape was practically zero.
The best outcome would be to self-destruct immediately, to avoid capture.
"Omnissiah, forgive my incompetence."
Raskian did not fear death, only that he had failed to repair the Golden Throne.
The primary section of the Throne was failing. Without urgent action, it might collapse within a decade.
Raskian had gathered many sages in an attempt to repair it.
Countless resources had been spent to no avail.
They couldn't comprehend the technologies at the Throne's core.
Thus, they changed tactics, seeking experts in the field.
Raskian managed to contact two other High Lords, devising a scheme to work with xenos to repair the Golden Throne.
Given the Council's inefficiency and his colleagues' shortsightedness,
Raskian never told the other High Lords, choosing to act in secret.
But the Drukhari never intended to genuinely cooperate; they merely wanted to steal the Emperor's gene-seed.
Once Inquisitor Crowl exposed their true motives, they erupted in rage, vowing to kill every human involved.
"Enemy attack!"
The harsh alarm blared again, thunderous guns unleashing their destructive payloads.
But this time, the fire was sparse—the ammo was nearly gone.
"This... is where I die," Raskian murmured.
He activated the self-destruct, planning to take some xenos with him.
Just then, an Astartes in Terminator armor slammed into the chaotic battlefield like a cannonball,
crashing straight into the Kabal Archon leading the assault.
The poor Archon was blasted away like a ram struck by a siege engine—instantly reduced to a twisted mess of metal and flesh, flung into distant ruins.
It was Datch.
He crashed through the battlefield, wielding his chainsword and carving a bloody path straight for the Fabricator-General.
Seeing the ruined vehicles and destroyed servitors along the way, Datch pulled out his golden hammer.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The sharp strikes sounded out, jarringly clear in the carnage.
A collapsed Kastelan robot, its chest pierced, was struck by the hammer:
Cracks faded, wounds healed, its red eyes relit, and its heavy weapons powered up with an electric hum.
A crippled Skitarii Vanguard, struck by the hammer:
Severed limbs sprouted new wires and metal bones, rapidly reassembling—back to pristine condition in moments.
Wherever Datch passed, vehicles and Ministorum troops were restored, returning to peak condition.
The Fabricator-General watched the mysterious warrior in shock—
He could restore machines to new with just a tap of his hammer.
Such a feat was nothing short of miraculous.
Datch walked up to the Fabricator-General and raised the hammer.
Raskian tried to speak, but Datch was too quick.
Clang!
A mysterious power surged through Raskian's entire body.
His damaged servos were instantly restored; all weapon systems were perfectly calibrated.
Even the tiny entropy accumulated in his secondary gears and energy conduits from years of use was utterly swept away.
He had never felt better—his massive mechanical body brimming with vigor, all systems running smoothly.
His sensor arrays were sharp and clear, easily picking out Drukhari movements—nowhere left to hide.
With a thought, his shoulder incinerator cannon locked onto a Drukhari in the distance.
"Feel the wrath of the Omnissiah!"
A beam of pure destructive energy lanced out—
The Drukhari was erased at the molecular level, leaving only a wisp of smoke.
A miracle!
An absolute miracle!
It was the miracle of the great Omnissiah!!
Legend had it, when the Omnissiah descended upon Mars, he could restore a battered Knight Titan to new with a single touch.
This warrior was surely the incarnation of the Omnissiah, come to save his faithful.
"Honored Avatar of the Omnissiah, I, Oud Oudia Raskian, am blessed—"
The Fabricator-General's speakers trembled with excitement and reverence.
But Datch ignored him, bouncing off to repair more troops and vehicles.
The general felt a little disappointed, but cold logic quickly suppressed any useless emotion.
He threw himself into battle, ready to vent his fury on the enemy.
The tables had turned—now the xenos would feel the wrath of Mars.
…