V3 Chapter 54: How Is This Volcano Cannon Still Firing?
The battle in Vulcantia's skies was drawing to a close.
The Necrons' Doom Scythes still streaked at high speed through the gaps between the clouds and the orbital fire, their green death rays tearing again and again through the ranks of Imperial fighters. With every dive, a Thunderbolt or a Lightning went down trailing flame toward the surface.
Their individual combat capability far exceeded that of most Imperial atmospheric fighters; their speed, manoeuvrability, and firepower all surpassed what human naval pilots considered normal. But with the Imperial fleet already holding orbital superiority, the space in which they could operate was being squeezed smaller by the moment.
Orbital fire from the Macragge's Honour and the other capital ships sealed off the upper airspace, while more Imperial fighters entered the battle wave after wave. The Doom Scythes could shoot down ten, twenty, even more, but they could not kill every enemy filling that sky.
As the last of the Doom Scythes tried to break out of the encirclement, several beams of light fell from above the clouds. The green craft were struck down one after another, bursting into burning fragments in the air.
The Imperial air formations did not cheer. They simply reformed on command, clearing a route for the ground deployment to follow.
In the next moment, a roar loud enough to cover the entire battlefield rolled through the sky.
Several massive Mechanicus orbital drop-fortresses cut through the atmosphere, plunging like meteors toward Vulcantia's surface. Their outer heat-shield plating burned red-hot, and the air around them shrieked from the friction of their high-speed descent.
Only in the last instant before striking the ground did the retro-thrusters and anti-gravity braking arrays fire together. Enormous flame burst from beneath the fortresses, and the ground caved in under the impact, black dust and metal fragments thrown out in every direction.
The drop-fortresses came down hard, massive ground anchors driving into the surface, restraining chains releasing layer by layer. Amid mechanical prayer and the hiss of venting pressure, the forward hatch of the first fortress slowly lowered.
The thirty-five-metre-tall Warlord-class Titan, Iron of the End, finally set foot on Vulcantia's soil.
Every step it took shook the ground, its plasma reactor growling low within its chest. Its void generators lit one layer after another, and the two Belicosa Volcano Cannons mounted on its arms rose slowly, aimed toward the distant Necron positions.
Close behind came the thirty-metre-tall Nemesis-class War Envoy Titan, Triple Glory. The Quake Cannon mounted on its back had already completed preliminary calibration, its exaggerated barrel rising above the Titan's shoulders, locked from afar onto an enemy megastructure far along the horizon.
The remaining two Reaver-class Titans and six Warhound-class Titans emerged from their own drop-fortresses as well. The Skitarii, Tech-Priests, and repair crews were still reforming their ranks, but the Titan formation had already begun advancing toward the centre of the battlefield.
Archmagos Carlotrek personally accompanied the Titan formation to the surface this time.
His objective was clear: he intended to enter the data sanctum within the equatorial foundry belt and recover every record concerning that black material. That xenos substance, its psychic silence effect, all of it had to end up within Triplex Phall's databanks.
But what he saw before him left him thoroughly displeased.
"Query Iron of the End. Why has it moved ahead of schedule?"
His voice carried over the Mechanicus channel, and several priests at his side executed the order at once. Seconds later, the returned data made the half of Carlotrek's face still made of flesh twitch faintly.
Iron of the End's machine spirit was in an unprecedented state of frenzy.
The Princeps was attempting to control it, but the raging machine spirit had already overwhelmed the will of the other support crew. The priests responsible for calming the sacred engine were praying to the Omnissiah, suppressing through the neural interface a fury that was on the verge of tearing past every boundary of control.
Worse still, the Princeps of the other Titans sent back similar reports.
Triple Glory wanted to open fire. The Reaver-class Titans were trying to seize more forward firing positions. Several of the Warhounds had repeatedly requested release from formation restrictions. All of them hungered for battle.
Carlotrek watched Iron of the End advancing toward the centre of the battlefield.
If a Titan's machine spirit went out of control, the consequences could destroy the entire landing zone. If a Warlord-class Titan's main guns fired in the wrong direction, the Knight line, the Skitarii formation, and even the industrial structures along the edge of the equatorial foundry belt could all be reduced to ruin.
But this kind of loss of control usually occurred in the midst of intense combat. Excessive damage taken, reactor overload, neural feedback backlash, or a wound to the Princeps's will, any of these could tear a Titan's machine spirit free of its restraints.
But now, they had only just landed, and had not even entered a full combat cycle.
This did not add up.
Carlotrek's processor swiftly pulled up the earlier battle reports. Those anomalous readings from the Knight formation surfaced again in his field of view.
Excessive excitement in a Knight's machine spirit, anomalous response from the ancestral minds within the throne, loading efficiency beyond recorded norms, repeated unauthorised self-calibration of fire control systems. Before now, he had still been able to explain it away as a combination of battlefield stress, Knight house fervour, and interference from the Necrons' silence technology.
But now, the Titans were showing the same pattern.
Before Carlotrek could reach a conclusion, a massive green light flared to life on the distant horizon.
A particle whip crossed the entire battlefield, lashing directly at Iron of the End.
The void shields of Iron of the End, Triple Glory, and the two Reaver-class Titans overlapped in an instant, and the green particle whip struck against the invisible barrier, erupting into a deafening roar.
The shockwave swept across the surrounding ground, throwing the Skitarii ranks into brief confusion, but the strike did not truly breach the void shield.
It caused no damage.
But it enraged Iron of the End.
The Warlord-class Titan came to a stop, its massive head turning slowly toward the far horizon. There stood a colossal Necron obelisk-fortress, green runes flowing across its black shell, its particle whip array at the summit already recharging.
The two Belicosa Volcano Cannons on Iron of the End's arms rose together.
A terrible whine began to build. The energy-conduit lines along the outside of the barrels lit section by section, the air twisting before the muzzles as blazing white light gathered rapidly.
"Iron of the End is preparing a full-power salvo!"
"Order it to wait for ballistic calibration!"
"Princeps, suppress the machine spirit!"
Carlotrek's orders came one after another, but the only answer was the Princeps's voice, strained with suppressed pain.
"I cannot make it wait."
Inside the cockpit, the fury pouring through the neural interface pressed Iron of the End's Princeps back into her seat until she could barely move. She could feel the ancient sacred engine's will roaring, demanding the destruction of the distant xenos construct that had dared to attack it.
She could not stop the firing.
All she could do was direct that fury toward the enemy.
"In the name of the Omnissiah." She gritted her teeth, her voice hoarse. "Fire!"
A brief silence fell over the battlefield.
In the next instant, two blazing white beams of devastation fired from the Belicosa Volcano Cannons, crossing the vast distance and striking directly into the Necron obelisk-fortress.
The ground shook with the roar, and nearby soldiers who had watched the light directly ducked their heads. A few slower-reacting mortals were left with nothing but white before their eyes, briefly blinded.
Far off, a massive burst of white light erupted.
The outer shield of the Necron megastructure was torn open, and the Volcano Cannons burned two clean wounds straight through its black armour. A great number of green runes went dark all at once, one side of the particle whip array burst outright, and fragments rained down from above.
Carlotrek's eye magnified the image rapidly.
By any normal assessment, a strike of that magnitude should have destroyed most ground fortresses. Yet the xenos megastructure still had not fallen.
Its outer shell was slowly reassembling, its deep power core still operating. The surviving portion of the particle whip array lit up once more, and more Necron constructs surged out from the underground passages surrounding it.
"Target not yet neutralised," a priest reported.
Triple Glory had already begun moving.
The Nemesis-class War Envoy Titan's back-mounted Quake Cannon completed loading, and its ballistic priest calibrated the firing parameters. The great gun existed precisely to destroy Titan-class units and heavy fortresses; now it stood ready to deliver the finishing blow to the megastructure.
But just then, Carlotrek heard that familiar whine once again.
For the first time in a long while, an expression of true alarm crossed the half of his face still made of flesh.
Iron of the End's two Belicosa Volcano Cannons had begun gathering power once more.
"What is Iron of the End doing?!"
Carlotrek spun toward the comm array, his voice turning sharp.
"Stop it! Stop it now! The Belicosa energy conduction system cannot survive a second full-power salvo at this short an interval! The reactor and the barrel cooling arrays will suffer catastrophic overload!"
The Princeps's voice came back over the comm.
It carried a note of despair.
"I have completely lost the ability to restrain Iron of the End's machine spirit."
Several priests within the machine's frame began chanting calming prayers aloud at once, and more technicians attempted to interface with Iron of the End's auxiliary control systems. But every response was thrown back by the Warlord-class Titan's raging spirit.
Carlotrek watched the rapidly climbing temperature readings along Iron of the End's barrels, his processor listing more than a dozen catastrophic outcomes almost instantly.
Energy conduits melting through. Plasma reactor going critical. Barrels rupturing. Neural interface backlash. The entire Warlord-class Titan burning itself out from within by its own main guns.
"Omnissiah above..."
He braced himself for the loss of a Warlord-class Titan.
The second salvo fired.
Two white beams crossed the battlefield once more, striking into the already-damaged Necron obelisk-fortress. The wounds left by the first strike were torn wide open entirely, and the deep power core was finally exposed to devastating heat.
The green light far off suddenly spiralled out of control.
The Necron megastructure collapsed amid a chain of explosions, hurling great chunks of blackstone and metal wreckage into the sky, and swallowing the Necron constructs nearby that had not yet withdrawn.
Iron of the End did not explode.
It still stood where it was.
Both Belicosa Volcano Cannon barrels vented white mist, the cooling arrays venting heat furiously, the plasma reactor readings still sitting at the very edge of danger, yet never crossing that final red line.
"...What?"
Carlotrek looked at the data before him and, for the first time, felt something like heat building in his own processor.
Why had catastrophic overload not occurred?
This should not be possible.
The two Belicosa Volcano Cannons had fired at full power twice within an interval of less than a few minutes, yet had not destroyed their own conduction systems. The cooling arrays should have failed. The reactor should have shown irreversible fluctuation. The barrel structures should have suffered widespread meltdown.
And yet all of it had held.
Even the fire-control system was still outputting stable readings.
Carlotrek was just about to question Iron of the End's Princeps when another whine sounded once more.
White light gathered before the muzzles again.
"Wait..."
He had barely spoken before the third strike fired, hitting a Necron position further away still.
A hovering blackstone tower was struck by the Volcano Cannons, its surface shield holding for only a few seconds before it burned through. The tower toppled and crashed into the ground, dragging an entire section of the surrounding Necron anti-air position into a chain of explosions.
The fourth salvo followed close behind.
This time the target was a group of Doomsday Arks deploying into formation. The blazing white beams cut across the ground, swallowing several of the Doomsday Arks along with the tomb exit behind them.
A fifth. A sixth.
Iron of the End kept firing at a rate that far exceeded any safety protocol. After every salvo, the cooling arrays vented great clouds of white mist and the barrel casings glowed with heat, but the Warlord-class Titan still did not stop.
It advanced, fired, advanced again, fired again.
Triple Glory's Quake Cannon finally found a new target, a heavy shell slamming into the upper dome of the tomb complex further below. The two Reaver-class Titans began clearing Necron heavy vehicles and pyramid-shaped constructs, while the six Warhound-class Titans surged forward at high speed on both flanks, hunting down Annihilation Barges and anti-air nodes attempting to reposition.
The entire Victory Titan Legion had fallen into something close to a state of berserk fury.
The Skitarii and Tech-Priests could only scramble to keep up, trying to reform a protective formation. Carlotrek issued a steady stream of orders, directing every friendly unit to stay clear of the Titans' firing lines, while demanding continuous recording of Iron of the End's reactor data after every shot.
The nearby Imperial forces were all struck dumb.
Astra Militarum officers fell silent mid-conversation, and stifled laughter and ancient war cries broke through the Knights' comm channel; even a few Ogryns hauling ammunition instinctively hunched their shoulders.
They watched the Titan formation advancing endlessly in the distance, watched beam after beam of white light tearing the Necron line apart.
Even the dullest soldier could feel the fury of those war machines of the gods in that moment.
Carlotrek stood on the command platform, his mechanical eye locked unblinking on Iron of the End's retreating back.
The earlier anomalous reports from the Knight formation overlapped once more with the data before him.
He still could not reach a conclusion.
But he had already confirmed one thing: this was no ordinary machine spirit frenzy.
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