Close to a thousand god-machines advanced like a moving mountain range of steel, pushing steadily toward the vast bio nest-city.
"'Warhammer Legion,' extend fire to the left flank."
Dantioch's voice carried through the Logic Engine's encrypted channels into the combat cores of every Titan.
He stood before the holographic projection in the mobile command post, his gaze fixed on every shift in the battlefield situation.
Two hundred and twenty Hound-class Titans and twenty-two Warlord-class Titans rapidly adjusted formation, their laser destructors and volcano cannons swinging in unison to the left flank, training on the xenos reserve units assembling there.
Hundreds of blue-white beams tore through the air and crashed into the xenos swarms.
More than thirty million Krathos xenos warriors were reduced to ash in that single salvo. Where they had stood, only a scorched crater several kilometers in diameter remained — biological tissue melted and vaporized in the heat, ultimately fusing with the crimson, rot-reeking earth.
"Left flank threat neutralized."
The Logic Engine's dispassionate voice sounded through the communications channel.
"Continue the advance."
The combat cores of the Mechanized and Iron Circle units had been preloaded with the street-fighting tactics Dantioch had designed — three-man fire teams, alternating cover, two advancing while one fires, two covering while one reloads. This doctrine had been validated countless times in training, and on this real battlefield it was demonstrating terrifying efficiency.
The xenos counterattacks were the desperate thrashing of a cornered beast. They surged from the bio-steel buildings, underground conduits, and rubble gaps, attempting to drown the Iron Warriors' advance through sheer numbers.
But what they faced was not flesh and blood.
The Mechanized troops' armor could absorb dozens of hits equivalent to heavy bolt rounds before being penetrated, while a single shot from their bolt guns was sufficient to end a xenos. Each burst from the Iron Circle's multi-barreled heavy bolt guns plowed a foundation of gore through the xenos swarms. Every melta blast from the Sacred Dreadnoughts cleared half a city block of xenos at a time.
More terrifying still was what came from above.
Thousands of Stormbirds, Thunderhawks, and assault craft circled at low altitude, their weapon systems firing without pause. Heavy bolt rounds rained down from the sky, detonating in dark green bloodbursts on the ground below. Incendiary bombs dropped from their bellies, igniting enormous fireballs amid the xenos masses.
Air superiority was absolute.
The xenos bio-flyers had all been shot down within the first hour of battle. Their anti-air fire was useless against the Titans' void shields. The Iron Warriors' air forces could strike ground targets at will, while the enemy could only absorb punishment.
"Seventh Combat Group reports: advance has reached the third district. Encountering elite xenos blocking force."
The Logic Engine's voice sounded in Dantioch's ear.
Dantioch's gaze swept the holographic projection, and his assessment came in an instant.
"Third Assault Detachment, redirect toward Seventh Combat Group's position. Twenty-two Sacred Dreadnoughts provide fire support. Second Assault Detachment flanks from the side, working in coordination with the Seventh Combat Group."
Twenty-two Sacred Dreadnoughts turned toward the Seventh Combat Group's position, using siege hammers and melta fire to clear a path as they crashed through the xenos mass.
The so-called "elite force" was genuinely formidable — each individual reaching five meters in height, with thicker bio-armor and even bio-organs evolved to project firepower comparable to meltaguns. But before the Sacred Dreadnoughts, they posed no meaningful threat.
Short of simply outnumbering them to exhaustion, they were still too fragile against Sacred Dreadnoughts that felt nothing at all.
One mutant xenos swung enormous bone claws at a Sacred Dreadnought. The claws were wreathed in a faint dissolving force field capable of cutting through an Astartes' power armor.
But the Sacred Dreadnought's reaction speed far exceeded its expectations.
Melta fire erupted at close range, vaporizing the mutant xenos' upper body entirely. Its lower half maintained its charging posture for two more stumbling steps before crashing to the ground.
The Second Assault Detachment's twenty-two Knight mechs launched a charge from the flank. The xenos formation was thrown into complete disarray; the elite troops disintegrated before the iron tide.
In just sixteen minutes, three hundred thousand elite xenos blocking the Seventh Combat Group were utterly annihilated.
The Iron Warriors' campaign inside the nest-city was proceeding far too smoothly — though against such overwhelming armored strength, this was only to be expected.
Yet Dantioch's brow never fully relaxed.
The xenos numbers were genuinely vast. Their mutations were genuinely troublesome. Their overall technological level was not insignificant, and their coordination was surprisingly effective — they had caused the Fourth Legion no small difficulties. But the campaign's progression matched the Logic Engine's simulation projections with high fidelity.
The Iron Warriors were advancing with crushing superiority. Every step was within the plan. Every engagement was within expectations.
But what of the xenos queen?
According to reconnaissance data, the bio-structure at the nest-city's center had shown no activity whatsoever. It should have housed the most elite guard forces, the most powerful defensive systems — and the Logic Engine's reports indicated the psychic emanations from that location were at a terrifying level.
Yet so far, the nest-city's central district remained utterly silent.
No reinforcements. No counterattacks. No reaction of any kind. This was profoundly wrong.
Previously in the void battle it had been the same — the enemy's communications had appeared to suffer extreme interference.
"Logic Engine, analyze the psychic fluctuations in the nest-city's central district."
"Analyzing..."
A moment later, the Logic Engine's voice sounded.
"Psychic fluctuations in the nest-city's central district are abnormally intense — approximately eight hundred and eighty-eight times baseline levels. However, the fluctuation pattern differs from previous readings, exhibiting a clear periodic pulse. Suspected large-scale psychic ritual in progress."
Dantioch's pupils contracted slightly.
A large-scale psychic ritual.
To an Iron Warrior who had been through the virtual training, this was far from unfamiliar — in fact, intimately recognizable.
Dantioch had witnessed firsthand what these profane rituals ultimately produced.
"Pass orders to all units — maintain formation. Begin a measured withdrawal from the nest-city."
"Titan Legion, open void shields at full spectrum. Immediately fall back and consolidate outside the nest-city."
The Mechanized and Iron Circle units, along with the self-propelled guns and unmanned reconnaissance elements, halted their advance. Together with the Knight mechs and Sacred Dreadnoughts, they contracted their lines and fell back toward the Titan Legion.
The Titan Legion adjusted formation, training fire on the nest-city's central district. Air units climbed to higher altitude and pulled back, clearing the potential attack radius.
The entire Legion's formation drew in like a clenched iron fist, waiting for the moment to strike.
Then, without warning, the sky over the entire xenos planet blazed suddenly bright. A sound like something enormous shattering rolled across the landscape.
Dantioch's expression shifted. He immediately relayed the intelligence to Ferrix.
"Commander, I request immediate orbital bombardment of the current coordinates."
Dantioch put in the request for orbital fire support. There were unexpected complications — better not to gamble if it could be avoided. It was only a nest-city after all, and even if it were captured intact, large-scale demolition and reconstruction would follow regardless.
If not for the exceptional mineral wealth of these planets — and the fact that this world was the Krathos xenos' mother world — Dantioch would simply have ordered the entire surface scoured by gunfire.
Then the situation broke open.
A massive red pillar of light erupted from the nest-city's center and drove straight into the heavens.
The pillar's diameter exceeded one kilometer. Its color was pure — a deeply unsettling crimson.
Within the light column, distorted faces and writhing limbs could be dimly perceived. Countless Krathos xenos souls howled and screamed inside it.
What struck them first was not the blood-red haze that erupted outward — it was the smell. A stench so overwhelming that even those clad in power armor and precision armor could barely hold themselves together, as though it had taken on physical substance — like bathing in a cesspit.
"Warning! Psychic fluctuations spiking rapidly!"
The Logic Engine's voice was threaded with alarm.
"Intensity has reached one thousand two hundred times baseline!"
"All units, accelerate withdrawal! Pull back beyond the psychic attack radius!"
Dantioch screamed the order.
But it was already too late.
The light column began to expand.
A wave of crimson energy swept outward from the nest-city's center in every direction. Everything it touched was reduced to ash. Bio-steel buildings melted in the energy wave. The ground cracked and split. Even the air itself was burning.
The Mechanized units took the brunt of it.
Thousands of Mechanized troops lost control in an instant under the energy wave's impact. Their circuits were burned out, their cores fused, their metal frames warping, melting, and finally dissolving into liquid iron.
The Iron Circle units were built of harder material, but the wave's intensity far exceeded their tolerance threshold. The Iron Circle's armor began to melt, weapons systems began to explode, and combat cores began to fail.
The Sacred Dreadnoughts' heavy plating held for a brief moment, but the wave's ceaseless assault began to crack, warp, and melt their armor surfaces. One Sacred Dreadnought attempted to push toward the light column — but three kilometers from it, its armor finally gave way and it collapsed in the energy wave.
The Knight mechs fared no better.
Their frames twisted and warped in the wave. One Knight mech attempted to shield itself with its energy barrier, but the barrier held for less than five seconds before collapsing entirely.
"Withdraw! Withdraw now!"
Dantioch's voice rang out across the communications channels.
But his orders could no longer reach the units already engulfed by the energy wave.
The communications system had failed completely under psychic interference. The holographic projection was static. The Logic Engine's data-links were nearly severed.
Even the mobile command post had begun to shake, its armor plating heating on its surface.
"My lord, we must accelerate the withdrawal!"
"The psychic coverage area is expanding! This position will be affected in thirty minutes!"
Red warning indicators flooded the Logic Engine's display.
Dantioch gritted his teeth, took one last look at the unit icons disappearing from the holographic projection, then turned and ran from the command post.
"All armored unit personnel — prepare to immediately evacuate this planet."
There was no time to think about the other units. Lives came first.
The Stormbird's engines were already running, its hatch open. Dantioch and the command post personnel sprinted into the bay. The Stormbird lifted off the instant the hatch sealed.
Iron Warriors and Iron Guard directed their auxiliary forces in an orderly, rapid evacuation.
Fortunately, the armored units had never entered the nest-city's interior. The evacuation speed was considerable.
Armored unit losses were not catastrophic — beyond the heavy vehicles that could not be extracted, a number of Mechanized troops, Iron Circle units, and Sacred Dreadnoughts successfully escaped.
Through the viewport, Dantioch watched the scene on the ground — a scene that could only be called hellish.
The crimson energy wave was spreading across the surface. Everything in its path ceased to exist.
Mechanized troops. Iron Circle units. Sacred Dreadnoughts. Knight mechs. The Titan Legion.
These forces that had annihilated billions of xenos over hours of fierce fighting were now disappearing in great swathes.
At the center of the raging psychic storm, the massive bio-structure was shaking violently. Countless cracks split across its surface, crimson radiance seeping through the fractures, accompanied by a nauseating stench of rot.
This was not the first time Dantioch had witnessed something like this — but psychic fluctuations of this intensity he had never seen in his life.
Even in training, when those traitors had conducted mass sacrifices across entire star systems, they had never achieved anything remotely like this effect.
What in the Emperor's name was this xenos queen?
Dantioch's thoughts were in chaos. He had never anticipated a situation this severe. This was a catastrophic blow for the Fourth Legion.
After rapidly reporting the situation to Ferrix, Dantioch said nothing more. He simply stared, unblinking, at that crimson pillar of light.
Things had become complicated.
Dantioch led his "survivors" back to the fleet.
On the bridge of the Iron Indomitable, Ferrix's gaze was locked on the crimson column of light on the holographic projection — the column rising from the planet's surface and stabbing into space.
"Has the analysis come through?"
His voice was level, but every person on the bridge could feel the rage compressed beneath that calm.
"Preliminary analysis complete."
The Logic Engine's voice sounded.
"The release source is located at the xenos queen's nest. Estimated intensity equivalent to an uncontrolled β+-class psyker event. The queen is suspected to have performed a sacrificial ritual, using herself and the souls of all xenos within the entire nest-city as fuel in exchange for a brief episode of abnormal psychic output."
"And our losses?"
Ferrix's voice dropped lower.
"Ground forces have suffered severe losses. Mechanized troop losses total one hundred and thirteen thousand seven hundred units. Iron Circle unit losses total seventy-eight thousand two hundred combat elements. Sacred Dreadnought losses total ten thousand three hundred and twenty units. Knight mech losses total two thousand three hundred and eighty units."
"One thousand three hundred Titans — complete loss."
The Logic Engine's voice carried no emotion, but each number was a blade piercing Ferrix's chest.
The total annihilation of the Titan Legion in particular felt like his heart was bleeding.
Every single one of those machines was a god-engine that the Mechanicum's priests spent their days lovingly tending, anointing with sacred oils, and prostrating themselves before in prayer. There couldn't have been many left on Olympia to begin with, and Father had entrusted these god-machines to him — and in a single extermination campaign, nearly a third of the complement was gone.
The pain left Ferrix nearly unable to breathe. His right hand clenched until his knuckles went white.
But he didn't blame Dantioch. The newly appointed Warsmith had done nothing wrong. At the very least, this campaign had incurred zero Astartes casualties — he hadn't gotten caught up in glory-seeking and ordered men to charge forward. That was a virtue.
It had to be said: the Legions of the Imperium valued efficiency and cared nothing for sportsmanship, yet they pursued glory with a fervor that bordered on obsession — otherwise, why would so many celebrated heroes have emerged from their ranks?
The Iron Warriors of old had been even more foolish. Ferrix didn't want to recall their particular brand of stupidity.
But the losses this time were severe enough to shake his composure.
"Pass orders to all warships — lock on to the xenos queen's nest coordinates."
Ferrix's voice was cold as ice.
"All main batteries, charge to full power. I want that bitch and the entire surface beneath her plowed into the ground completely."
"Understood!"
Colossal lance arrays began to charge, blue-white brilliance flickering at the muzzles, growing ever brighter. Plasma cannons began their warm-up cycles, crimson light coalescing at their barrels. Macro-cannon arrays rotated their barrels, training on the coordinates on the planet's surface.
"Fire!"
With Ferrix's command, countless main batteries thundered simultaneously.
Lance beams, plasma cannon fireballs, macro-cannon shells — an uncountable cascade of destructive energy poured down from space, falling upon the fourth planet like a dense meteor shower, crashing into the surface.
The planet's surface lit up with a blinding radiance, its brightness rivaling a sun.
The shockwave spread through the atmosphere, sending visible ripples expanding outward in concentric rings. Dust and smoke surged into the heavens, blotting out half the sky.
"N... E... O... S!!!"
A roar of fury rose from the entire planet — a final psychic eruption pushed outward with its last strength.
That voice contained bitterness and rage, but the complex emotions tangled within it exposed a deep contradiction — which was then buried entirely beneath the Extermination Order's fire.
The bio-structure that had been five kilometers in diameter was gone. In its place was a crater exceeding thirty kilometers across.
The entire surface's elevation had been reduced by a full two thousand two hundred meters.
No one paid attention to the xenos' final shriek. If the queen hadn't been an extraordinarily powerful psyker, Ferrix swore he would personally have flayed her and subjected her to tortures more terrible than anything the Eighth Legion could devise, working her to death slowly.
"Target destroyed."
The Logic Engine's voice sounded.
The rage within Ferrix subsided slightly.
But Dantioch's brow never relaxed. He had noticed something was off.
This xenos queen had not only survived since the human golden age — she had expanded her dominion across eleven star systems in that time. Even with the Iron Warriors' overwhelming firepower, it had taken days of relentless assault before the battle line reached her lair.
Dantioch's instincts told him the xenos queen would not die so easily.
Moreover, judging by the intensity of her sacrificial ritual, her capabilities were likely at the very apex of anything the galaxy could produce.
He reported his suspicions to Ferrix.
"Scan the crater floor. Search for life signs."
"Scanning..."
A moment later, the Logic Engine's voice sounded again.
"Faint life signs detected at the crater floor. Signal is extremely weak."
Ferrix's pupils contracted slightly.
"Confirm coordinates. Prepare a second orbital bombardment."
Then the situation broke open again.
The crater floor suddenly erupted with a powerful psychic shockwave, sweeping the surrounding dust and smoke clear in an instant.
At the crater's center, a massive form slowly rose.
It was a monster exceeding five hundred meters in length.
Its shape resembled an enormous worm, its surface covered in heavy bio-armor studded with vicious spikes and pulsing blood vessels. Its head was a mass of writhing tentacles, each one terminating in a crimson eye.
Along both sides of its body grew dozens of pairs of enormous bone claws, each one wreathed in dense crimson luminescence. Foul green pus oozed from every inch of its skin.
Even across thousands of kilometers of space, even through the holographic projection, Ferrix could feel the malevolence and madness contained within that presence.
Every Iron Warrior and Iron Guard who saw the sight wore an expression of disbelief.
Ferrix quickly regained himself, looking at the utterly repulsive monstrosity.
"I don't care what you are."
"Pass orders to all warships — continue orbital bombardment. Blow that bitch apart."
Ferrix's calm voice carried something unhinged beneath it.
But then a figure appeared not far from the xenos queen.
The Logic Engine identified him immediately.
"Report to Commander: Lord Perturabo has arrived to join the engagement."
The Iron Warriors stood transfixed as their father's towering form appeared on the ground battlefield.
Both Ferrix and Dantioch were momentarily stunned. Even Berossus and Tolaramino of the Second Fleet, fighting in distant star systems, were jolted out of composure.
Father had come?
"I'll take it from here. Go and sweep out the remaining xenos in these star systems."
Perturabo's voice reached the minds of everyone in the First and Third Fleets simultaneously.
Ferrix came to his senses, gave a brief nod, and began issuing orders.
The fleet immediately dispersed toward their respective combat objectives.
Perturabo and the xenos queen regarded each other.
Those crimson eyes of the xenos queen were filled with deep wariness. The "small figure" before her radiated an aura even more lethal than the fleet above.
"It would seem you were once human."
Perturabo's voice sounded. His eyes held deep contempt and disdain.
Particularly upon seeing the disgusting pus covering the xenos queen — and the overwhelming stench assaulting him — Perturabo, with his severe cleanliness obsession, felt thoroughly nauseated.
"A perfectly good human, and you chose to become a xenos instead."
"You know Neos?"
This was why Perturabo had emerged from the Warp in the first place.
He had been in the middle of a spirited match against the four returning traders when, upon hearing this xenos shout that name, he had instantly manifested in realspace.
Even all four Gods had tacitly paused their activities and were enthusiastically showering this xenos queen with their blessings.
Khorne and Nurgle — ranked first and second in enthusiasm — were particularly invested.
"He's a liar! He deceived us! I hate him!"
The massive form's voice had become viscous and sticky even as it spoke. Her voice was laden with intense hatred.
"I want to possess him, to ravage him — he can only be mine!"
The xenos queen's voice carried madness. The revolting mucus coating her was secreting in a frenzy, as if some thought had triggered a cascade of very unwholesome ideas.
It would appear the Emperor had wronged quite a number of people in his time.
Perturabo's mind involuntarily filled in some details of the backstory — but looking at the xenos queen before him, now hideously filthy and beautiful no longer, exuding lethal toxins, he felt profoundly revolted.
"What's your name..."
"Actually, never mind. I have no interest in hearing your story. You may as well die."
Perturabo dispensed with further conversation. His psychic abilities — approaching what Imperial scholars theorized as the highest conceivable tier — unfurled instantly.
Terrible psychic force began compressing the xenos queen from every direction. Her powers, which would have rated γ+ in classification, could not manifest so much as a fraction of their strength.
"AHHH!"
The xenos queen felt her own body being casually kneaded like a sponge.
Muscles, bones, and organs throughout her body fractured inch by inch. Though power flowed continuously from the Warp to repair her injuries, it was hopelessly insufficient — water thrown against a bonfire.
She was held in a state where survival was impossible and death was equally denied.
She felt her body had utterly lost all autonomy. Unknown presences had commandeered her frame, using it to wrestle against the "small figure" before her.
Power poured in ceaselessly, nearly to the point of detonating her body — yet this enormous force was being forcibly compressed inside her by the terrible psychic pressure of the "small figure," unable to escape.
She could no longer even scream, because her body had been thoroughly wrung into an unnameable mass of flesh by several entirely different and incompatible forces of enormous power.
Wicked, profane energy poured from the mass — which had by now swelled to a diameter of several kilometers — but was locked hard within a contained boundary, unable to spread even the simplest contamination outward.
"Tch."
Perturabo regarded this behavior with something approaching pity.
He watched the xenos queen's consciousness struggling desperately within, as the four august entities amused themselves by forcibly bestowing their different blessings upon her simultaneously.
Khorne contributed the most — pouring power in with the greatest enthusiasm. The other three were mostly watching the entertainment with a certain detached interest.
Nurgle was, in truth, somewhat pained by the situation. After all, this had been an investment Nurgle had managed to slip in while that foolish Emperor wasn't paying attention — and it had even involved competing for this "child" simultaneously with another equally powerful and deeply covetous "sibling."
And now it was about to be destroyed by this figure before him — this same insufferable type as that accursed Primarch father, refusing to acknowledge his own nature.
The Loving Father shed a few tears of sadness. Lethal plagues and viruses dripped into the garden, and the Nurglings scrambled frantically to lap them up — this was the Loving Father's "grace," after all.
"If you've got the capability, send a bit more. Half-measures — what's that about? Afraid of overcommitting? Is this really the best the great Blood God can manage? You'd be embarrassed if the daemons thought you were being stingy."
"Were you always this spineless?"
"No wonder the Warp still hasn't managed to break into realspace after all these years."
"All bark and no bite, no courage and no plan, false and impotent, clever by half — and with leaders like you, your followers have the audacity to expect advancement?"
"If you really don't have the ability, you might as well step down and let capable young daemons take your places. All four of you combined, and you still can't breach realspace after all this time."
"Especially you, big lunk — if I were you, I'd stop calling myself the Blood God and the patron of courage and glory. Might as well go find the big fat one and have it sit on you."
Perturabo's taunting words had no effect whatsoever on the other three — but Khorne genuinely lost its composure.
Boundless power began pouring across the barrier into the enormous, disgusting mass of flesh. In an instant, the mass blazed with intense crimson, and two enormous horns erupted from it.
The entire mass even began to develop the rough outline of a crouching humanoid form. Two pairs of black fleshy wings gradually took shape.
Blood-colored mist began to strain against the psychic containment, and hints of other colors of mist could be glimpsed lurking within the blood haze.
But Perturabo paid this no mind.
"Is this all you can manage? Not enough. Add more — is this really what the great Blood God is handing out? Send it out and the daemons will think you're incompetent. Even your charity is this miserly."
But this time Khorne did not take the bait. This was already the absolute limit of what it could "bless." Any more, and this particular xenos was simply not worth the cost.
The other three also wisely refrained from pouring further blessings into the xenos, reading the situation. This was enough — the veil of realspace had thinned a little more.
This place would make a decent invasion point in the future. A pity it was somewhat close to the Iron Lord's domain — the Iron Lord was not the Cursed One, not necessarily the most powerful, but the daemonic armies under its command were truly overwhelming in strength.
Once it became clear there was no further way to trick those four august entities into spending more of their power in bestowing blessings, Perturabo lost interest in continuing to play with the xenos.
He extended his right hand. Five fingers slowly closed together.
The crimson abomination that had just barely cohered into a humanoid shape instantly let out a shriek of agony.
The form that had been compressed to its limits fought desperately against the tremendous force bearing down on it — but this absolute difference in power was not a gap it could bridge through willpower alone.
No matter how strong a will-based power becomes, it has a ceiling. This xenos, stuffed to bursting like a pastry, had not reached that ceiling. And as it happened, Perturabo was not at that ceiling either — because he had surpassed it.
No explosion. No shattering sound. No more screaming. The spectacle of flesh and bone scattered in all directions did not occur. A mass of flesh several kilometers in diameter was casually compressed by Perturabo into a red sphere the size of a fingernail.
He then tossed it into an energy decomposition device within the Daemon Factory.
Free energy was not to be wasted — the small quantity of power squeezed out from those four august entities with such difficulty was absolutely not to be squandered.
Watching the Daemon Factory's internal equipment begin operating at a markedly improved rate, Perturabo gave a satisfied nod.
A pity for the assembly-line "slaves," of course. Every increment in the Daemon Factory's efficiency meant the giant robot and those detestable overseers would pile on more quotas. The slightest underperformance earned the full treatment — the five-strike lightning whip combo paired with "GO WORK," or alternatively the complimentary Daemon Engine and custom Helbrute package.
The Iron Lord was truly insufferable — even daemons deserve better treatment than this.
Perturabo had absolutely no concern for what the "slaves" thought. Daemons had no rights. You could treat them however you liked and nothing catastrophic would come of it.
Ferrix did not know exactly what had transpired on the fourth planet, but he trusted Father to resolve it.
The Iron Warriors by now held toward Perturabo not merely an abnormal degree of obedience — their trust, too, had imperceptibly risen to its peak.
All the same, the losses this time were genuinely severe. Ferrix reviewed the battle reports coming in from the various fleets — particularly the casualty figures from the xenos homeworld engagement.
Both his hearts were still aching. Damned xenos.
Ferrix was seething. His temper, never particularly good to begin with, left him wanting to devour the xenos queen raw.
But the inexplicably familiar presence beside him drew his head around.
"Father."
Ferrix moved instinctively to kneel, but Perturabo stopped him.
"Father, we—"
"Get these star systems swept clean quickly. I need the ore-rich planets to continue forging these weapons."
Perturabo cut off whatever Ferrix had been about to say.
He had no intention of reproaching anyone. This had been beyond their control. Psychic phenomena like this were simply in a different category — once a psyker reached β+ level, that was beyond what Astartes could handle.
"Understood."
The words Ferrix had been about to say — requesting a Penitent Crusade — died on his lips. In truth, he no longer wanted to send his brothers into further pointless attritional battles.
Perturabo noticed Ferrix's somewhat deflated expression and, through the void between warships, used his psychic sight to observe Dantioch's expression of self-reproach. Something in him relented.
A light gesture of his finger — and twenty-two sets of planetary fortress construction schematics appeared immediately on the Logic Engine's display.
"Once you've returned to Olympia for further study, these eleven star systems will be yours to develop and fortify."
"I'll turn over the production lines to you as well. I'll accelerate upgrades to various research programs on Olympia, so you won't need to return to Olympia for resupply in the future — and if you encounter this kind of situation again, you'll be able to get sufficient fire support in time."
"From this point forward, the Legion will organize into ten-man squads. The worst performer in each squad after a campaign ends will return to Olympia for renewed training alongside the recruits, until special instruction is complete."
After delivering these words, Perturabo vanished. The Logic Engine transmitted the orders to every Iron Warrior and Iron Guard — and this produced a distinct sense of urgency among them all.
Even given that their current capabilities still placed them at the absolute forefront of the Legion.
None of them wanted to slink back to Olympia and undergo training alongside raw recruits.
For proud Astartes and Iron Guard, this was a humiliation they could not accept under any circumstances.
If they were going to return, it would have to be in triumph — even without flowers and accolades, the feeling of returning in victory was simply incomparable to being sent back in disgrace as the worst performer to train beside new soldiers.
A hard gleam passed through the Iron Warriors' eyes. These damned xenos had been begging for the Extermination Order all along. The god-machines' volcano cannons clearly had not been fired enough.
The Iron Warriors' fleet required less than two months to eliminate all remaining Krathos xenos throughout the eleven star systems under Sork's domain.
Heavy armored formations bulldozed through every defensive line within sight.
The Krathos xenos were, in truth, genuinely formidable. But against organized, fully equipped Titan Legions, their ground forces simply did not measure up.
Firepower sufficient to wage apocalyptic warfare on any one of those worlds was being directed at sweeping xenos remnants. If efficiency was somehow still lacking under those conditions, Ferrix would have turned his fury on himself.
The Iron Warriors embedded within the armored columns, though they had not been in direct close combat and found their hands itching for it, were Astartes — faster in reaction, far more flexible in thinking than any mortal driver — and their performance behind the controls of heavy vehicles vastly outstripped anything mortals could produce.
Even Ferrix felt that the custom power fist on his hand was developing rust, but he did not on his own authority order brothers forward to engage. After all, if a battle could be won with zero casualties, there was no reason to push harder.
Unless a decapitation strike was absolutely required, or some exceptional circumstance demanded it, Iron Warriors were not to close for melee if it could be avoided.
They were a heavy armored force. What was the point of close combat when the volcano cannon on a main battle tank was right there, and the artillery on a siege gun was right there?
There was no need to emulate the Luna Wolves or the Emperor's Children. Overwhelming heavy firepower to grind the enemy down — that was all that needed to happen.
And so it was that in less than half a year, a powerful xenos empire spanning eleven star systems was completely exterminated by the Fourth Legion.
In their wake, every battlefield was thick with drifting smoke. Even the so-called psychic contamination evaporated without trace before the intensity of the bombardment.
Perturabo watched his sons' vigorous performance with satisfaction, collected the souls of several fallen mortal auxiliary troops and assigned them as overseers in the Daemon Factory, and then returned to Olympia.
Next, it was time to add a few stronger ingredients to the sons' training regimen — the powerful psykers had been somewhat overlooked in previous preparations.
There was also the matter of upgrading certain equipment from this campaign.
The bolt gun and melta grenade, for instance — Perturabo felt there was considerable room for improvement.
And the Titans — still not agile enough, and they still couldn't conduct direct air-drop operations. A clear shortcoming, one that warranted iterative development.
A pity the very first Titan had been destroyed. It would have been the natural first candidate for upgrades.
Perturabo felt a twinge of regret. After all, a familiar first-generation god-machine, one he had built with his own hands, had departed from him.
Damned xenos.
Perturabo thought that the Emperor had gotten at least one thing genuinely right: how could xenos be permitted to exist in this galaxy?
Xenos had no rights whatsoever. They should all be exterminated without exception.
Such were Perturabo's fierce thoughts.