This is the bonus chapter for reaching 500 Powerstones.
--
Laeran, aboard the Pride of the Emperor.
On the bridge of the Heliopolis, a communications officer suddenly stood up.
"My Lord!"
He spoke with a hint of urgency in his voice. "We're receiving an incoming transmission request."
Fulgrim turned around. His purple power armor gleamed magnificently under the bridge lights. White hair cascaded over his shoulders, and his flawlessly sculpted face remained unreadable.
"From where?"
"A strike cruiser identifying itself as the True Iron is requesting clearance to enter the Laer system," the officer reported rapidly. "They claim to be a support fleet from the Iron Hands' 11th Company."
"Dispatched by Primarch Ferrus Manus, and led by First Captain Gabriel Santar, they've come to assist the Emperor's Children in the current warzone."
"We've already run IFF scans. Their gene-seed registry codes perfectly match the Iron Hands' database, and the ship's silhouette matches all historical records of the True Iron."
The frown that had been furrowing Fulgrim's brow ever since the casualty reports started rolling in finally smoothed out.
He never expected Ferrus to be so thoughtful, sending reinforcements exactly when he needed them the most.
The Phoenician's gaze shifted to the azure planet on the holographic star map. The final four floating platforms were locked in brutal firefights, especially the area surrounding the temple on the primary platform.
The companies of the Emperor's Children had been hammering it for three straight days, suffering over two hundred casualties, yet they still couldn't crack the final defensive line.
He absolutely needed more elite troops. Especially the Iron Hands. When it came to heavy firepower, those guys never disappointed.
"Reply to them immediately."
"Tell them their support is perfectly timed."
Fulgrim offered a faint smile, holding a genuine warmth for his brother. "I accept their aid. Grant them clearance into the Laeran system."
"Tell them that once this battle is won, I will personally extend my gratitude to their Primarch... my greatest brother, Ferrus."
The officer immediately sat back down and broadcasted the message.
--
On the bridge of the Light of Dawn, the comms officer looked up.
"Archmagos Paul, the 28th Expeditionary Fleet has approved our entry."
Paul stared at the approaching azure world on the star map, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He accepted the Iron Hands' aid without a second thought. Ferrus really is your best brother.
"All engines, ahead full."
"Destination... Laeran."
His gaze pierced through the void, settling on the burning planet.
It's just a shame, Fulgrim.
You are the flawless Primarch.
And also the most pathetic of the fallen.
In the end, you murdered the brother who cared about you the most. And he could have struck you down, but died because of his mercy toward you.
--
Laeran, Sky Coral Main Platform, East Sector Ruins.
Vance leaned against a half-collapsed coral wall, panting heavily. Only six Solar Auxilia guards remained by his side, along with Darius Stanton.
The gray-haired strategic advisor was currently crouched over a scanner, intensely logging data from an energy pylon.
It was day nineteen.
They had mapped thirty-seven energy pylons.
He had gunned down more Laerans than he could count.
His Imperial Coin balance had shot up from a few hundred to over a hundred and forty thousand.
But his faction quest progress bar was stuck at a measly 28%. Meanwhile, the Chaos players had already pushed theirs to 41%.
Vance took a deep breath and closed out the leaderboard.
He wasn't in the mood to care about who this Paul Dawn guy was. Nor did he have the energy to be jealous of the Crimson Dawn players and their overpowered VIP treatment.
He only knew one thing: once this first phase of the push was complete, he had to launch his final operation!
--
Laeran System, 28th Expeditionary Fleet Perimeter.
The True Iron cruised at standard speed through the array of warning buoys. Twelve Imperial frigates cleared a path after confirming the IFF codes, their forward las-batteries slowly powering down and resetting.
It was yet another flawless deception.
The silver-grey hull reflected the cold, hard metallic glare of the system's star. The massive silver gauntlet insignia on the port side was clear as day, and standard Iron Hands encrypted ciphers echoed across the comm channels.
Absolutely no one suspected a thing.
"The patrol fleet is sending their regards," the comms officer looked up. "They wish us good hunting."
Paul stood in the center of the bridge, giving a slight nod.
He wasn't wearing his helmet. His face, subtly altered by psychic fine-tuning to look seventy percent like Gabriel Santar, was completely calm.
He was strapped into a standard suit of Iron Hands Gorgon-pattern Terminator armor.
Forged from silver-grey ceramite, the armor bore the Iron Hands crest on the left pauldron, while a black Roman numeral 'I' sat on the right to denote his company.
The First Company. Commander of Ferrus Manus's Morlock Guard.
"Ahead full," Paul's voice boomed through the disguised armor's external vox-casters. "Destination: Laeran orbit."
"ETA: Four hours."
Four hours later.
Laeran grew from a tiny speck of light out the window into a massive azure orb taking up their entire field of view.
Its beauty was entirely different from the rough, gritty nature of Dal. The oceans were a deep, vibrant teal, and the atmosphere was dotted with fluffy, marshmallow-like clouds.
But beneath those clouds, the fires of war were raging.
Dozens of floating platforms were scattered across the globe like a shattered jigsaw puzzle. Some were still slowly plummeting out of the sky, dragging long trails of fire and thick smoke.
The majestic coral cities that once hovered over the oceans were mostly reduced to rubble.
Up in synchronous orbit, the warships of the 28th Expeditionary Fleet surrounded the planet like a pack of silent, steel behemoths.
The Pride of the Emperor.
The twenty-kilometer-long super-flagship hovered silently in the center of the formation. Its purple and gold hull radiated a regal, aristocratic shine under the starlight.
The gargantuan aquila carved into the prow looked practically alive, its eyes set with two massive, masterfully cut gemstones.
Paul's gaze lingered on the flagship for two seconds.
Fulgrim was in there.
The man who, in just a few days, would wrap his hands around a Tzeentchian sword.
"Paul," Loyal bro's voice crackled over the comms. "Drop pods are primed and ready."
"All five hundred players have cleared final biometric checks."
"Drop coordinates?"
"Sky Coral Main Platform, directly fronting the Laerans' final temple defensive line." Loyal bro paused for a moment. "Based on the Imperial chatter we intercepted, the Emperor's Children are hitting a serious brick wall with their advance."
"The Laerans are throwing their last elites into defending the temple. They're paying in blood for every meter gained."
A smirk crossed Paul's face.
A brick wall?
Perfect.
If they weren't struggling, this sudden reinforcement would look way too staged.
"Pass down the order." He turned around, his dark gold eyes sweeping over every crew member on the bridge. "In five minutes, launch all drop pods simultaneously."
"Target is the Sky Coral Main Platform."
"Let's go say hi to the Emperor's Children."
--
Five minutes later.
Five hundred drop pods violently ejected from the True Iron's launch tubes all at once, tearing into Laeran's atmosphere like a meteor shower.
They weren't sporting the elegant purple and gold livery of the Emperor's Children, but rather a uniform silver-grey.
The signature colors of the Iron Hands.
Plastered across the hull of each pod was a massive Iron Hands crest, accompanied by a brief line of Latin:
Ferrum Aeternum.
The drop pods plummeted at breakneck speeds. The sheer friction against the atmosphere generated a superheated layer, casting a glowing, tangerine-red halo around each hull.
Looking up from the surface, it looked like five hundred flaming meteors trailing blazing white streaks, screaming down with pinpoint accuracy toward the eastern landing zone of the Sky Coral Main Platform.
--
Aboard the Pride of the Emperor, inside the Heliopolis.
Fulgrim stood before the massive viewport, taking in the spectacle.
The five hundred drop pods looked like javelins hurled by a single, colossal hand. They punched through the cloud layer in flawless, parallel trajectories, drawing five hundred perfectly straight trails of smoke against the azure sky.
Their landing grouping was obscenely precise.
They clustered tightly within a three-hundred-meter radius in the eastern landing zone—close enough to avoid friendly fire, but tight enough to maximize sheer tactical shock-and-awe.
"Excellent." Fulgrim's mouth tilted upwards. "Truly fitting for the sons of my dearest brother."
He spun around, his purple cape cutting an elegant arc through the air.
"Relay my orders."
Every Imperial official present in the Heliopolis immediately stood at attention.
"All Captains, all Lord Commanders, rally your forces at once."
"Coordinate with the newly arrived Iron Hands detachment and launch a full-scale assault on the Laeran temple defensive line."
Fulgrim's voice echoed across the sprawling bridge, dripping with the unique majesty and charisma of the Phoenician.
"I will be joining the fray personally."
"And then..." He trailed off for a moment, a complicated glint shimmering in his violet eyes. "I will personally claim the sword that will put an end to all of this."
The second the order was given, the entire war machine of the 28th Expeditionary Fleet kicked into overdrive.
Comms officers' fingers flew across holographic panels, broadcasting their Primarch's directive down to every single Emperor's Children company on Laeran's surface at the speed of light.
--
Sky Coral Main Platform, West Sector Temporary Command Post.
Saul Tarvitz stood behind a makeshift barricade of pulverized coral, the barrel of his bolter still running hot.
The Captain of the Emperor's Children 10th Company.
The most upstanding and decent loyalist among his Legion.
The man who would uncover the Atrocity of Isstvan III, willingly choose death, and hold the line for loyalty to his dying breath.
Even at the age of forty, he already carried a drastically different aura than most of his Emperor's Children brothers.
His power armor wasn't loaded with flashy ornamentation. It was just the standard Legion colors, bearing a few marks of manual polish.
He had a handsome face, but it was the stern, hardened look of a soldier, rather than the flawless, museum-piece perfection favored by Fulgrim.
His grey-blue eyes were deadlocked onto the temple entrance three hundred meters away, which was currently emitting a pale blue glow.
It was the absolute last stronghold of the Laeran.
Over the grueling siege, the 10th Company had lost twenty-seven brothers right here.
Twenty-seven Astartes.
Saul's grip tightened around his bolter.
"Captain!" a vox-operator's voice blared over his earpiece. "Orders from the Primarch via the flagship!"
Saul turned around.
"His Lordship the Primarch is entering the field personally! He's ordering all companies to link up with the newly arrived Iron Hands detachment and initiate a full-scale push on the temple!"
Saul frowned slightly.
An Iron Hands detachment?
Before he could even process the thought, the sky above them suddenly lit up.
Five hundred meteors, trailing blindingly white exhaust streaks, slammed flawlessly into the eastern landing zone.
Saul's pupils contracted.
Those drop coordinates...
He looked up, watching the drop pods crash into the earth barely two kilometers from his position. He could clearly feel the tremors vibrating through the ground.
Three seconds later, a new voice cut into the comm channel...
Calm, cold, and carrying that heavy, metallic rasp so characteristic of Medusa:
"This is Gabriel Santar, First Captain of the Iron Hands. Making landfall with the 11th Company."
"Conducting headcounts now."
"Requesting allied forces provide current tactical coordinates."
Saul blinked for half a second before keying his vox.
"This is the Emperor's Children 10th Company."
"Welcome to Laeran, brothers of the Iron Hands."
--
Eastern Landing Zone.
Paul stepped out of his drop pod.
His silver-grey Gorgon Terminator armor crunched loudly against the pulverized coral, which had been packed down by the impact shockwaves.
He raised his right arm, the power fist's energy field generator letting out a low, bassy hum.
It was a textbook Iron Hands tactical gesture.
Behind him, the hatches of all five hundred drop pods blew open simultaneously.
Five hundred Astartes players rocking Iron Hands power armor poured out, snapping into perfect formation within thirty seconds flat.
A ripple of clicking safeties echoed down the line as five hundred pairs of eyes swept their surroundings—taking in the ruins, the smoke, and the faint outlines of xenos in the distance.
Flawless discipline.
Flawless execution.
So utterly perfect it felt like a movie set.
A small smile tugged at the corner of Paul's mouth.
These guys really have a crazy talent for roleplaying.
He stepped forward, walking toward the figure briskly approaching their position.
Silver-and-purple power armor, the 10th Company insignia stamped on the left pauldron, grey-blue eyes, and a hardened, stoic face.
Saul Tarvitz.
One of the most tragic loyalists in the entire history of Warhammer 40k.
The man who executed his own corrupted brothers, ultimately burning to death in the apocalyptic firestorm of Isstvan III.
Paul's gaze lingered on him for a second.
With decades of life and over twenty years of the Great Crusade behind him, the Saul Tarvitz standing here right now was still just a pure, unjaded soldier.
He hadn't experienced the sting of betrayal yet.
He hadn't watched his own brothers slaughter each other.
He had zero idea that the Primarch he was sworn to would pick up that damn sword in just a few days, only to drag their entire Legion into a bottomless abyss a decade later.
"Gabriel Santar," Paul spoke first, his voice low and steady, perfectly mimicking his memory of the Iron Hands' First Captain.
"Leading the 11th Company. Dispatched by our Primarch to provide support."
Saul stopped dead in front of him and brought up his right arm in a crisp, textbook Astartes salute.
"Saul Tarvitz. Captain, Emperor's Children 10th Company."
His voice sounded much younger than Paul had expected. "You have my utmost gratitude for the backup."
"Your heavy firepower is exactly what we need right now."
--
Next Bonus at 600 Powerstones.
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