The soldiers of the Glory Legion were already assembled and standing in formation in the staging area.
Fully armed and perfectly ordered, their ranks appeared especially solemn under the white glow of the spatial gate.
The power armor of the Glory Legion, while also built upon a Titan armor core structure, retained a strong classical aesthetic in its design.
Unlike the Astartes' bulkier silhouette, their armor resembled that of ancient Roman heavy infantry.
Their breastplates and pauldrons were broad and solid, with bold lines, metal rivets, and embossed patterns, evoking a sense of stability, authority, and overwhelming strength.
In the sunlight and the reflected brilliance of the spatial gate, the metal ridges of their armor gleamed with a cold luster.
A few officers wore helmets adorned with iconic crests—red or black tassels standing tall like battle standards, signaling their status and rank within the ranks.
Each Glory Legion warrior was equipped with a bolt rifle, slightly smaller in caliber than the Astartes'—merely .50 cal.
Though not as powerful as the standard Astartes weaponry, it was still devastating against most enemies.
Their melee weapons included chainswords and power swords, also more compact than those of the Astartes, better suited to the natural abilities of werewolves, vampires, and hybrids.
The growling of spinning chain-blades and the occasional spark from power swords added a layer of lethal tension to the atmosphere.
On the whole, the Glory Legion was like a "lower-spec" version of the Astartes.
Perhaps not miracles of the Empire like the true Astartes, but before mass production of Astartes became viable, these extraordinary subhuman warriors had been the irreplaceable backbone of the Empire.
The physical prowess of the werewolves, the heightened senses of vampires, the diverse talents of hybrids—all had written countless glorious chapters in the long history of war.
It was only when Astartes grew into the millions—then tens of millions—that these once-mighty warriors faded from the center stage of history and were reassigned to more "secondary" theaters.
Yet even now, as they stood solemnly before the gate, their presence commanded respect.
At that moment:
Thud, thud.
A heavy, rhythmic sound echoed across the alloy floor.
It was as deep as a war drum, carrying with it the faint magnetic echo of locked boots—reminding all around that a true giant was approaching.
The crowd instinctively parted to reveal a tall, imposing figure.
It was Captain Marakin Forros of the Mourners.
His Titan armor differed from the Glory Legion's classical bulk; its lines were more streamlined, sculpted with a divine elegance.
The metallic wings on his back, forged like sacred emblems, flared slightly with each movement, flashing with a cutting cold light.
Though unmoving, just their presence evoked images of soaring heights and sacred flame.
His appearance bore the unmistakable features of his Primarch Sanguinius—chiseled features that required no embellishment to express nobility and beauty.
Standing over two and a half meters tall with a crushing presence, just one look from him caused the surrounding Glory Legion warriors to instinctively hold their breath.
Marakin Forros stopped in front of the formation and raised his hand in a knightly salute to Leroia.
His deep voice carried composed strength: "Legate Vitellius, it is an honor for me and the Mourner Company to fight alongside the Glory Legion."
At those words, many turned to look at Leroia, awaiting her response.
But Leroia remained unmoved by his striking presence and charisma.
No matter how extraordinary this Mourner captain appeared, her expression stayed cool and composed.
She gave a slight nod, her voice calm and resolute enough to silence the entire field: "The Mourners' reputation is known throughout the Empire. To fight beside you is an honor for the Glory Legion as well."
There were no empty pleasantries, no unnecessary dramatics in their exchange.
Their calmness carried a deep respect and a stern mutual understanding.
Beneath the spectral light of the spatial gate, the figures of the Glory Legion and the Mourners overlapped.
Different armor styles, different martial legacies—now converging for a common mission.
Soon, the floating holoscreens above the staging area lit up, unfolding real-time footage from the Recon Corps.
Beyond the silvery-white veil of the gate, a lush green world emerged.
Towering trees stood in dense groves, their interwoven branches swaying gently in the breeze.
The ground was covered in thick grass, dotted with vibrant flowers whose petals shimmered faintly under the sunlight.
The camera panned to reveal a nearby lake—its surface clear and still, rippling gently under the sky's reflection of blue and white clouds.
Environmental data scrolled across the screen corners—
The atmosphere matched the Imperial Standard Earth: ideal oxygen and nitrogen ratios.
Gravity was almost identical to Earth in the Prime Universe.
Detailed genetic comparisons of microorganisms, plants, and animals confirmed the ecosystem's astonishing similarity to Earth.
Insect wings fluttered. Forest creatures darted among the underbrush. Fish leapt from the lake's surface. Every clue pointed to one truth—Gate Nineteen opened onto a planet designated "19-Earth."
A brief hush fell across the area as researchers and officers murmured among themselves. What they were facing was not a barren, lifeless rock—but a planet almost indistinguishable from humanity's homeworld—perhaps even a parallel version of it.
With further confirmation, Recon units reported no hostile energy signatures or threats.
Zone marked: Secure.
Immediately, the ground convoy began to mobilize.
Over two thousand recon troops in powered armor formed defensive lines around maglev carriers and builder-class Hunters.
At the commander's signal, the entire unit began to move toward the mirror-like surface of the spatial gate. The low rumble of maglev engines echoed through the air.
The massive builder-class Hunters advanced steadily, their hulls clad in heavy armor, mechanical arms and construction modules folded against their backs—like mobile fortresses.
The convoy and troops advanced in columns toward the shimmering gate, entering the rippling silver veil one by one.
As each transport vanished through the gate, a new order echoed across the staging area.
"Mourner Company and Glory Legion—prepare to cross!"
Heavy footsteps followed.
The Mourners' armor gleamed like a sunlit blaze, while the Glory Legion's classical Titan armor exuded solemn weight.
The two formations moved in perfect unison—two rivers of steel, flowing toward the same horizon.
Leroia stood at the forefront.
Through her helmet's HUD, she stared at the massive mirror-like gate.
Its 6km by 6km frame stretched seemingly to infinity, like a celestial mirror hanging upside down over the land.
She took a deep breath—the air heavy in her lungs, yet bringing with it a sacred stillness.
As she stepped forward into the glowing silver veil, a flood of complex emotions surged within her. It had been a long time since she and the Glory Legion had carried out a cross-universal combat mission.
But the white glow wasn't just cold—it had a soul-cleansing warmth to it.
In the next instant, her entire body was engulfed in light.
It wasn't a searing burn, but a gentle, purifying embrace—enveloping body and spirit alike in a tide of radiance.
She felt as though she floated briefly in a sea of light. All sound, weight, and time vanished, leaving only serene stillness.
The sensation lasted only seconds—but felt eternal.
Suddenly, the white light faded.
Leroia's vision returned.
The air was damp and fresh, rich with the scent of earth and grass.
The ground beneath her feet was soft and thick, and she stood in the midst of a vibrant forest.
Tall trees whispered in the wind, dappled sunlight falling through the branches. In the distance, a shimmering lake sparkled under the sun, stirred gently by a breeze, birds chirping in the air—a living canvas of nature.
Her senses rapidly adapted.
Her helmet display relayed all key data.
Gravity and atmosphere matched standards. Oxygen levels ideal. Bio-signals abundant.
She stood quietly, surveying the forest.
The soldiers of the Glory Legion had already crossed behind her, their heavy steps pressing into the grass, bolt rifles and chainswords gleaming under the sun.
The Mourners' armor blazed like fire among the more somber, classical tones of the Glory Legion.
The two forces stood arrayed in a clearing—an iron phalanx crossing worlds.
Leroia took a deep breath, centering herself, and said calmly:
"This is 19-Earth."
With a sweeping glance, she instantly grasped the situation.
As Legion Commander, she knew her duty wasn't to marvel at nature—but to ensure the Empire's order took root in this new world swiftly.
Through her armor's internal comms, she gave her next command: "Glory Legion, coordinate with Recon and the Mourners. Begin frontline base construction immediately. Defensive structures and logistics infrastructure must be established in the shortest possible time."
The warriors of the Glory Legion responded with seamless precision, quickly spreading out around the convoy to form a natural defensive arc.
Each power armor silhouette stood like a heavy sculpture—part Roman phalanx, part technological marvel.
Crested officer helmets swayed in the breeze like crimson flames.
Moments later, some of the heavy transports opened their hatches.
A flood of Hex robots emerged.
Smaller than humans but agile and efficient, their limbs glowed with blue energy patterns. Each carried construction materials and equipment, moving in perfect synch—as if driven by a massive algorithm.
The ground rang with the clatter of metal.
Terminators efficiently laid out prefabricated alloy panels, energy conduits, and defense nodes brought by the convoy.
Within minutes, energy pylons and optical barrier bases rose—an invisible shield gradually outlining the base perimeter.
The builder-class Hunters joined in with massive presence.
Towering engineering war machines, their folded mechanical arms extended—standing like beasts of war in the clearing.
Their reactors rumbled. Gears spun. The earth trembled.
They first assembled three temporary 3D-printing factories—modular structures erected in moments like skeletal metal frames rising from the ground.
Production lines spun to life. Printing nozzles discharged layers of liquid metal and composites, hardening into defense walls, structural foundations, and power nodes.
Efficiency peaked.
In under thirty minutes, the once-empty forest clearing was now taking shape as a fully functional forward base.
Energy shields enclosed the perimeter. Auto-turrets were placed. Communications nodes stood tall, pulsing with blue light.
Leroia watched it all unfold, inwardly reaffirming—Imperial industry was still a mad titan of infrastructure.
At this point, Captain Forros of the Mourners approached, clad in his winged armor.
His voice was steady, resonant: "Commander, initial construction has begun. But I assume you already have the next step in mind."
Leroia shifted her gaze, tone as calm as ever: "Correct. The engineers and logistics units can continue base development. Our task is to secure situational awareness. I intend to lead a small unit deeper into the forest to assist Recon in confirming the area's status."
Forros gave a slight nod, then added, "Though our Mourners are strong, we are not optimized for infiltration like the Raven Guard or Night Lords.
"Your Legion's operational doctrine better aligns with Recon. Once orbital drones are deployed, we'll receive broader data. My company will remain on standby until our warships cross the gate, enabling larger-scale maneuvers."
Their roles were now clearly divided.
Leroia responded coolly, "Very well. Let it be so. The Emperor's mandate is initial integration—no oversight can be permitted."
Forros nodded solemnly. Their eyes met briefly before each turned to lead their respective commands.
Soon after, Leroia assembled six elite warriors.
All were veterans of the Glory Legion—some had even served in the Roman Empire era. Their armor bore marks of honor and inscribed insignia.
At the forest's edge, the wind stirred softly. Leroia's cloak fluttered over her armor.
She gave her order to the warriors behind her: "Target is the forest edge thirty kilometers north. Recon drones have returned intel—there's a mid-sized town in that area. We must assess its status immediately."
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