Deep within the Macragge's Honour, on the deck housing the Chapter's core armory, the atmosphere was distinctly different from other areas of the warship. The lighting here was not bright, but clear enough, illuminating every meticulously preserved war relic. The air was filled with the faint scent of machine oil, coolant, ancient metal, and something akin to holy anointing oil, as if time flowed especially slowly here. Today, Tech-Sergeant Luna, Eilaas, and Aurelius, another senior Tech-Sergeant from the First Company, were responsible for the routine maintenance and status logging of some of the ancient equipment in this area.
Eilaas seemed exceptionally excited; her light pink short hair appeared to slightly perk up with excitement, and her green eyes sparkled with irrepressible curiosity. As a mortal Tech-Sergeant on the warship, although she had certain permissions, opportunities like this to enter the deepest, most core area of the Chapter's armory, where historical treasures were stored, were still very rare.
"Wow…" Eilaas couldn't help but let out a low gasp of admiration, her gaze, like the most precise scanner, greedily sweeping over rows of Power Armor displayed on reinforced stands.
What was stored here was not only the Mark X Power Armor equipped by the Primaris Astartes. In the deeper sections, areas illuminated by individual lights, stood silently the even more ancient "predecessors" —
There were Mark II "Crusade" Power Armor with relatively archaic lines, bearing the style of the early Great Crusade. Their armor plates were covered with fine scratches and repair marks, telling tales of long campaigns across the stars.
There were Mark III "Iron" Power Armor, appearing heavier, with especially sturdy breastplates, designed specifically for brutal boarding actions and sieges. They stood like silent battering rams, exuding a cold sense of power.
And there were Mark IV "Maximus" Power Armor, marking a significant advancement in technology and craftsmanship. Their streamlined design and more rational joint configurations still retained elegance and practicality, even by current standards.
Not only that, in the deeper reaches of the armory, in areas protected by special stasis fields or energy barriers, one could vaguely discern even more ancient, and even some experimental models or customized equipment with unique Legion-era styles. They were living testaments to the Chapter's ten-thousand-year history.
Eilaas's eyes were almost fixated, her small mouth slightly agape, feeling her tech-soul burning fiercely. So many rare treasures, normally only seen in data archives or ancient scrolls, were now truly presented before her eyes. For her, it was like a child falling into a candy store.
Suddenly, her gaze was drawn to an independent display stand in the distance. Two suits of Terminator Armor were displayed there, but their designs were distinctly different from the Saturn-pattern, Ironclad Pattern, and Indomitus Pattern she was familiar with.
One of them was more slender and streamlined in form; though still heavy, it had less of the bulky, fortress-like feel and more of the sharp intensity of a heavy assault soldier. The other, however, appeared even more exaggerated — on its massive shoulder pads, two multi-barreled missile launchers were conspicuously mounted! Moreover, the decorative style of this Terminator Armor also bore some older or experimental patterns and insignias that did not belong to the traditional blue and gold color scheme of the Ultramarines.
"What is that…?" Eilaas pointed at the two Terminators, unable to help but ask.
Just then, Aurelius, the senior Tech-Sergeant from the First Company, walked over with a data-slate. He was a stern-faced, grizzled veteran, and seeing Eilaas's curious expression, a slight softening seemed to appear on his rigid face.
"That is 'Tartaros Pattern' Terminator Armor," Aurelius explained in his voice, which had a metallic rasp, pointing to the relatively slender one. "Some were equipped during the late Great Crusade. It attempted to find a balance between absolute defense and necessary flexibility, considered an attempt at technology at the time."
He then pointed to the one with the shoulder-mounted missile launchers: "And that one is 'Scarab Occulus Pattern' Terminator. It heavily emphasizes long-range fire support, sacrificing some close-combat capability and mobility, like a mobile gun platform. These two models were not widely issued in our Chapter; these are a very few surviving samples, possessing high historical and research value."
Eilaas nodded repeatedly like a pecking chick, rapidly recording this valuable knowledge on her personal data-slate. She had originally thought the Chapter only had three main Terminator patterns, never imagining that so many different design philosophies were hidden in the dust of history.
"Understood! Thank you, Lord Aurelius!" Eilaas thanked him crisply, her eyes still lingering on the two Terminators, her mind already beginning to conceive if she could borrow some design ideas to improve her "Aila Si Storm."
On the other side, Luna was focused on a more challenging task — maintaining a massive, ancient, and majestic Contemptor Dreadnought. The Dreadnought's exterior was covered with deep scars and burn marks; many components were missing or severely deformed, clearly having endured extremely brutal combat. It stood silently on the repair gantry, like a sleeping colossus.
"This Dreadnought," Luna said, while using precise tools on her multi-functional servo-arm to inspect damaged internal wiring and hydraulic pipes, simultaneously issuing binary commands to the nearby servitors, "during the defense against the Third Black Crusade, to cover the main forces' retreat, it single-handedly held the line, enduring concentrated attacks from a Chaos Lord and his retinue, and was almost completely destroyed. Fortunately, the pilot's sarcophagus was rescued in time and later transferred and interred within the 'fist of macragge' Redemptor Dreadnought currently in service."
Her tone was calm, but her eyes were filled with reverence for this ancient heroic spirit. Repairing such a holy relic was not just a technical job, but a responsibility.
However, Eilaas's mind was no longer on the relatively basic maintenance tasks Luna had assigned her. Her heart had been completely captivated by the myriad of "antiques" in the armory. Like a nimble kitten, she darted between rows of display racks and storage containers, her green eyes wide, searching for anything she hadn't seen before and that looked "interesting."
She turned over a spare shoulder pad of a Mark II, touched a power spear with an unstable energy field that needed repair, and spent a long time studying a strangely shaped boarding shield, seemingly an early model.
Suddenly, in a corner where a batch of miscellaneous equipment awaiting inspection or classification was piled, her gaze was drawn to a unique helmet.
The basic outline of the helmet was Mark III "Iron" Pattern, and it was entirely… white? This color stood out dramatically in the Ultramarines' armory. Even more striking, on both sides of the helmet, there were upward-pointing decorative attachments that looked a bit like… rabbit ears? These two "ears" seemed to be bases for some kind of sensor or communication array, but their shape was indeed quite peculiar.
"What kind of helmet is this?" Eilaas curiously picked it up. It felt heavy in her hand; some areas of the white paint were worn, revealing the metal beneath, but the "rabbit ears" were remarkably well-preserved. "I've never seen it before… a white Mark III? And these ears… so strange, but… so interesting!"
She glanced around, seeing Luna fully absorbed in dealing with the Dreadnought's complex internal structure, and Aurelius in the distance recording data for another ancient Power Armor. It seemed no one was paying attention to her.
A bold thought, filled with intense curiosity and a hint of mischievousness, sprouted and instantly grew wild in her mind like a seedling breaking through the soil.
'I'll just take it back to study… just for a bit!' she told herself. 'Anyway, it's just gathering dust here. I'll secretly put it back after I'm done studying it! No one will ever find out!'
Thinking this, Eilaas no longer hesitated. She quickly stuffed the peculiar white, "rabbit-eared" Mark III helmet into her always bulging satchel, which contained all sorts of tools and trinkets. The satchel instantly deformed, but she didn't care.
She then pretended to casually fiddle with a few nearby parts, and then, seizing the perfect opportunity when Luna and Aurelius both had their backs to her and were focused on their respective tasks, she tiptoed out of the ancient equipment storage area like a kitten that had stolen a fish, silently disappearing into the intricate shadows of the armory's passages.
She was going to thoroughly study this "new toy." As for whether Luna and Aurelius would notice… well, she'd worry about that later!
The vast Ultramarines fleet, operating like a precisely tuned clock, conducted an orderly patrol within the core star systems of Ultramar. The starships' engines hummed a low thrum, and their scanning arrays, like vigilant eyes, constantly swept the vast and silent void. However, this order and tranquility did not last long.
An encrypted distress signal from a nearby star system, like a stone cast into a calm lake, shattered the fleet's internal peace. The signal originated from a Hive City world named Korha-IV, and its information summary indicated: extensive Genestealers activity confirmed in the massive factory zones of the world's lower levels, scale unknown, but already posing a significant threat. The local Planetary Defense Forces had been urgently mobilized, temporarily sealing off the infected areas, but due to a lack of experience in dealing with such highly infiltrative xenos, and fearing that a rash extermination might trigger uncontrollable chain reactions, they had no choice but to send an urgent plea for help to the nearest Astartes Chapter—the Ultramarines.
The distress signal was immediately presented on the bridge of the Macragge's Honour, ultimately placed before Chapter Master Calgar's throne.
Chapter Master Calgar's red-glowing bionic eye quickly scanned the information. His majestic face showed little expression, but those familiar with him could sense the sudden surge of focus. He immediately ordered a brief Company Commander-level tactical meeting.
In the strategic meeting room, the holographic star map displayed information about the Korha-IV Hive City world. The atmosphere was solemn.
"Genestealers… those damned parasites again." Company Commander Cato Sicarius was the first to speak, his voice tinged with disgust. "They are like the cancer cells of the universe; once they take root, they are extremely difficult to eradicate."
"We cannot be careless." Company Commander Hek Hansen added, his personality more cautious. "Remember when my company was on patrol before, we also received a seemingly reasonable distress signal, but the entire planet had already been infiltrated like a sieve. It was nothing but a death trap designed to lure Astartes in! Our scout squad was almost completely annihilated."
The case he mentioned made all the Company Commanders look grim. The most terrifying aspect of the Genestealers was not their individual combat prowess, but their silent infiltration capabilities and the potential threat of converting an entire planet's biomass into a beacon to summon the Tyranids.
Chapter Master Calgar listened silently to the Company Commanders' analyses and concerns, his fingers unconsciously tapping on the armrest of his throne. Finally, he looked up and made his decision:
"Risks certainly exist, but we cannot ignore the Imperium's plea for help, especially when it involves an extreme threat like the Genestealers." His voice was steady and powerful. "Immediately organize a capable reconnaissance and vanguard squad to proceed to the Korha-IV Hive City world."
He looked at the intelligence officer: "Primary mission: ascertain the veracity of the situation, assess the scale and stage of the infestation, and confirm if a trap exists."
Then his gaze swept over the Company Commanders: "If the threat is confirmed to be real and not a trap, the squad will immediately switch to purge mode, eliminating the discovered Genestealers nests as quickly as possible to prevent their further spread, or… sending a signal to summon the Tyranid fleet."
"Mission type: high-risk reconnaissance/rapid strike. Requires a mixed formation capable of infiltrative reconnaissance, intelligence assessment, and strong assault capabilities."
After the meeting, orders were swiftly issued. Company Commander Cassius returned to his company's area and immediately began sifting through suitable candidates in his mind. This type of mission required a steady mind for judgment, powerful firepower to deal with emergencies, and even more so… an assault specialist who could draw fire and had "rich" experience in dealing with Genestealers.
He thought of the fellow who had just been locked in the brig.
Company Commander Cassius said to Lieutenant Golden, who was standing at attention beside him: "Golden, go release that idiot Dorian."
Lieutenant Golden paused slightly but immediately acknowledged: "Yes, Company Commander."
"And," Company Commander Cassius continued, with a hint of an almost imperceptible awkwardness in his tone, "tell Sergeant Karl to stop doting on that Aila Si woman. Sanx is to fully arm himself, carry heavy weapons, and assemble at Launch Port Seven in thirty minutes to board a Thunderhawk Gunship."
He then pulled up a roster: "They will operate in conjunction with 'Demolias' Squad."
"Demolias" Squad was a heavy assault squad composed of nine veterans clad in Indomitus-pattern Terminator Armor, known for their powerful firepower and tenacious defense, a veritable bulwark of steel.
"Mission objective: proceed to the lower levels of the Korha-IV Hive City world, ascertain the Genestealers threat, and assess the risk. If necessary, act as the vanguard to clear obstacles and establish a bridgehead for a potential large-scale purge operation."
"Understood, Company Commander!" Lieutenant Golden acknowledged again, immediately turning and swiftly beginning to execute the orders.
He first contacted Gaius and Luna via comms, concisely relaying the mission directives. Afterward, he personally arrived at the door of the dark brig.
The hatch slid open, and Dorian, who had been sitting idly on the ground, immediately looked up at the sound.
"Dorian, come out. There's a mission." Lieutenant Golden was brief.
Dorian's eyes lit up, and he immediately sprang to his feet: "A mission? What kind of mission? Is there a fight to be had?"
"Korha-IV Hive City world, Genestealers." Lieutenant Golden said as he led him out. "This is your chance to atone for your sins. If the Company Commander is in a good mood, he might even waive the rest of your brig time. If you mess up again…" Lieutenant Golden glanced at him, "you'll stay in there for a full month, and I guarantee that all the 'uniquely' flavored nutrient pastes newly developed by the logistics department will be prioritized for you."
Upon hearing that the enemies were Genestealers, Dorian, far from being afraid, felt a surge of excitement. A hint of… anticipation even flashed in his eyes, hidden beneath his thick brows.
"Genestealers? Excellent!" He rubbed his hands together, the joints of his power armor emitting a slight friction sound. "Last time, I single-handedly held off a large group, almost met the Emperor, but didn't die, and even got this commendation! If I pull off another big one this time…" He seemed to already be envisioning the scene of receiving another meritorious medal.
Lieutenant Golden looked at him like this, sighed helplessly, and urged: "Dorian! What are you standing there for? Do you want me to ask the Company Commander right now to replace you and send you back to the brig?"
"No, no, no! Lieutenant! I'll go prepare right away! I promise to turn those bastards' nest upside down!" Dorian quickly dismissed his fantasies, took large strides, and hurried towards the armory.
Meanwhile, in the living quarters, Gaius received Lieutenant Golden's communication. After ending the call, he looked at Kolesa, whose eyes were still a bit red and swollen, and whose spirits were low.
He walked up to her, his tone still calm, but with an almost imperceptible hint of gentleness that wasn't usually there: "Kolesa, I've received a mission and need to leave the battleship for a period of time immediately."
Kolesa looked up, a flicker of panic and dependence in her purple eyes. On this cold battleship, Gaius was the only one who made her feel a little at ease.
Gaius looked at her tear-swollen eyes, his heart stirred slightly, and he added: "While I'm away, if you need anything or encounter any problems, you can go find Lieutenant Golden. He…" Gaius paused, giving a fair assessment, "He's a good person, trustworthy, and will do his best to help you."
He recalled the Company Commander's anger from earlier and specifically added a warning, lowering his voice a little: "Also, try not to go to the upper decks, especially the areas near the Company Commander's office. You might run into him… avoid unnecessary trouble."
Kolesa listened to his instructions, nodded obediently, and whispered: "I… I understand. Please… be careful."
Gaius looked at her submissive yet concerned expression, and a complex emotion flickered in his blue eyes, but he said no more. He merely gave her one last look, then turned decisively and strode towards the armory, preparing to embark on a new mission fraught with unknown dangers.
Kolesa watched his retreating back until the blue figure disappeared around the corridor corner, then slowly withdrew her gaze. She hugged her arms, feeling the coldness of the cabin and the return of loneliness, silently praying for the taciturn human warrior who had given her shelter.
Sergeant Karl stepped into the First Company's exclusive armory with a steady gait.
The atmosphere here, unlike the core vault storing ancient relics, was filled with pragmatism and the urgency of impending battle.
Warriors were performing final equipment checks at their personal weapon lockers, while servo-arms and servitors moved among them, delivering ammunition and spare parts.
Gaius walked directly to his equipment area.
He first meticulously inspected his beloved weapon—the "Hawkeye" Bolter sniper rifle—ensuring every component was in optimal condition, the magazine fully loaded, and the scope precisely calibrated.
Then, he attached close-combat modules to both arms of his Power Armor: a sturdy and reliable miniature Power Fist for his right hand, and the master-crafted Power Sword named "Unyielding Will," entrusted to him by Primarch Guilliman, for his left.
A pleasant yet dangerous hum emanated from the sword as its cerulean energy field activated.
Finally, he picked up the imposing helmet, augmented with more sensors and communication arrays.
On the front of the helmet, a cold red light pulsed from the electronic bionic eye, now active.
The moment he donned the helmet and it connected to the Power Armor's neural interface port, the familiar system boot-up screen and data streams flooded his senses like a tide.
The sounds of the outside world became slightly muffled, replaced by the clear static of the internal comms channel and the low hum of the power system.
His vision was enhanced, and various tactical data began to appear at the edges of his sight.
He stretched his neck slightly, adapting to the fully armored state.
Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of heavy footsteps and a familiar gruff voice coming from the Terminator Armor readying area on the other side of the armory.
Dorian's massive body was already fully encased in the colossal, heavy, mobile fortress-like Saturnine Terminator Armor.
The deep blue heavy armor made his already tall frame even more towering, with the Golden Ultramarines insignia and the Macragge's Ring shimmering under the lights.
He was moving with heavy, clanking steps, somewhat clumsily yet impatiently, towards the hangar, his huge body almost occupying half the width of the corridor.
A Chapter serf pushing a transport cart laden with power cells nearly collided with him, hastily dodging away.
Dorian's voice, amplified by the Terminator Armor's vox-caster, immediately boomed throughout the area, tinged with impatience: "Hey! Watch where you're going!"
The serf, startled, bowed repeatedly in apology and quickly pushed his cart away.
Gaius silently followed, maintaining a distance from Dorian.
He looked at his brother ahead, whose impetuous nature hadn't changed, and felt a mix of emotions, unsure what to say.
Dorian's bravery was beyond doubt, but his simple, direct thinking and bluntness always made people worry for him.
Dorian seemed to feel the gaze from behind him, and his massive Terminator body turned ponderously, the Purity Seal on his chest swaying slightly.
When he saw it was Gaius, a soft chuckle seemed to emanate from beneath the heavy armored helmet.
"Gaius! You're here!" Dorian's voice, though amplified by the vox-caster, was still booming, but he seemed to recall something, instinctively turning his head to look around, and only after confirming no one else was present, did he lower his voice and say:
"Where's your... Aeldari wife?"
He deliberately emphasized the word "wife" with a mischievous grin, "You're just leaving like that? Aren't you afraid she'll be left here alone and... and get bullied by someone? Heh heh."
Upon hearing this, Gaius's brow furrowed tightly beneath his helmet, feeling a profound sense of helplessness.
It seemed the brief stint in the brig and the Captain's wrath had taught Dorian nothing; he clearly hadn't taken the Captain's warning seriously.
"Dorian," Gaius's voice came through his helmet, calm but with an undeniable seriousness, "I am telling you again, solemnly, there is no relationship between me and Lady Kolesa as you imagine.
She is a 'guest' of the Chapter, involved in important dealings, and nothing more.
From now on, please do not speak such baseless words, especially during a mission.
We need to focus."
His tone, unusually, carried a hint of admonition.
Dorian, with his massive left arm covered by a Power Fist, carelessly clapped Gaius's relatively "slender" shoulder, making a dull thud.
"Don't worry, Brother Gaius! I understand! My mouth, Dorian's mouth, is the tightest in the whole Company! I definitely won't say anything outside! Heh heh."
His "assurance" sounded utterly unconvincing, more like an emphasis on his conviction in his own conjecture.
Gaius shook his head helplessly, knowing further words were useless, and could only hope this fellow wouldn't cause more trouble with his mouth during the mission.
The two, one after the other, soon arrived at the designated Launch Port Seven.
Inside the huge hangar, two Thunderhawk Gunships had already started their engines and were on standby, their thick landing gear firmly gripping the deck, wings folded, exuding a fierce aura of readiness to pounce on prey.
Luna was already waiting there, also fully armored, with the two basic servo-arms mounted on her Power Pack performing their final mobility tests.
Beside her, standing like nine silent steel mountains, were the nine Indomitus Terminator Warriors of the "Demolias" Squad!
Their armor, which emphasized firepower even more, radiated a cold killing intent with heavy weapons like Plasma Incinerators, Assault Cannons, and Heavy Bolters; merely standing there, they created a suffocating sense of oppression.
Gaius and Dorian quickly fell into formation, joining Luna and the Demolias Squad.
Soon, Lieutenant Golden's figure appeared in the hangar; he walked to the squad, his gaze sweeping over each warrior about to depart, lingering for a moment on Dorian's massive Saturnine Terminator, a subtle warning in his eyes.
"Warriors," Golden's voice was clear and strong, reaching everyone's ears through the comms channel, "Mission objective: Korha-IV Hive City world, lower levels, Genestealers threat."
He brought up a structural diagram of the Hive City world, marking the known infected areas and the Planetary Defense Forces' blockade lines.
"After you land, your priority is to establish direct contact with the local Planetary Defense Forces commander to obtain first-hand intelligence, confirm the exact location of Genestealers activity, estimate their scale, and possible lair entrances.
At the same time, you must be highly vigilant and assess the possibility of this distress call being a trap.
The lesson from the Third Company must not be forgotten!"
He emphasized the risks, making everyone's nerves taut.
"After confirming the intelligence is accurate and ruling out the possibility of a trap," Golden's gaze turned to the leader of the Demolias Squad, "Demolias, you will serve as the first wave of assault, using the Terminators' powerful defense and firepower to breach the Genestealers' defenses head-on, clear main passages, and establish a secure bridgehead and forward base, clearing obstacles and opening the way for any potential support forces that may be deployed later."
"Sanx," he then looked at Gaius, Dorian, and Luna, "you are responsible for flank cover, precision strikes, intelligence supplementation, and technical support.
Sergeant Karl, use your sniping ability to eliminate high-value targets; Dorian, your mission is to protect the flanks and resist potential large-scale assaults; Sergeant Luna, ensure communications are clear and deal with any potential technical issues or enemy-set obstacles."
"Remember, speed and efficiency are key!
Crush these parasites completely before the Tyranids are summoned!
For Macragge and Ultramar!"
"For Macragge and Ultramar!" All the warriors roared in unison, filled with fighting spirit.
"Board!" Lieutenant Golden gave the final command.
The rear ramps of the two Thunderhawk Gunships slowly lowered.
The Terminators of the Demolias Squad, with heavy steps, were the first to board one of them; their weight caused the Thunderhawk's landing gear to subtly depress.
Gaius, Dorian, and Luna boarded the other.
The hatches closed, and the roar of the engines gradually intensified.
As the mooring clamps disengaged, the two Thunderhawk Gunships, guided by tractor beams, slowly slid out of the hangar and into the launch tunnel, then their rear thrusters spewed scorching blue flames, like two arrows released from a bowstring, they burst from the massive hull of the "Macragge's Honour" and sped towards the Hive City world below, shrouded in industrial smog and unknown dangers.
The flames of war above the Aeldari Craftworld, far from diminishing with time, intensified, entering an even more brutal and sinister phase.
The Iron Warriors' fleet was clearly not content with conventional boarding actions. In another volley of assault torpedoes, several torpedoes landed exceptionally deep within the Craftworld's core, and when their hatches opened, what poured out were no longer warriors in Power Armor, but twisted, blasphemous fusion constructs reeking of oil and the Warp!
Those were several Daemon Engines "meticulously" modified by Iron Warriors Tech-Sergeants! Their main bodies were rusty mechanical structures, with thick hydraulic pipes and exposed gears wildly spinning, but embedded in their core were twisted flesh and runes glowing with evil light. Some parts even grew eyes or tentacles not belonging to the real universe! These half-machine, half-demon monsters emitted piercing noises, a mix of metal grinding and soul-shrieks, wielding massive claws imbued with Chaos energy or spewing corrosive energy beams, rampaging through the Eldar's exquisite Wraithbone architecture!
Closely following them were even larger, more destructive entities—Mechanical Hellbeasts designed and manufactured by the Iron Warriors themselves! These behemoths resembled war machines pieced together from discarded tanks and industrial machinery, with multiple pairs of sturdy mechanical legs supporting their heavy bodies. Their backs were mounted with multi-barreled heavy cannons and rocket launcher nests, while their fronts featured massive drills or hydraulic claws. They were like mobile fortresses and demolition crews; wherever they went, the Eldar's light fortifications and buildings were destroyed like paper, forcing Eldar warriors to prioritize their valuable heavy firepower on these steel giants, greatly dispersing their suppression of the infantry line.
On the front lines, despite strong leaders like the Striking Scorpion Exarch and Phoenix Lords leading the counterattack, the gray line formed by the Iron Warriors' Hades Terminators still advanced steadily, paying a heavy price but moving with heavy and resolute steps. The roar of Bolters, the hum of chain weapons, and the shouts and dying wails of Eldar warriors intertwined. With every step forward, the ground beneath their feet was soaked in blood and oil.
Captain Marsos's and the Striking Scorpion Exarch's ultimate duel continued. Both were wounded; Marsos had lost an arm and his chest plate was damaged, while the Exarch's helmet was shattered and his face bore a bone-deep wound. Every clash of chainaxe against Power Sword and Deathshroud claws erupted with deafening roars and scattering energy sparks, the shockwaves of the battle further destroying the already ruined buildings.
Just as the battle was tilting in favor of the Iron Warriors, and the Eldar defenses were under immense pressure, a melodious, ancient, yet chillingly murderous Eldar chant echoed through the battlefield like an invisible ripple.
The Eldar Warlocks had arrived!
They appeared at critical points on the battlefield, clad in magnificent rune-covered robes and wielding staves inlaid with spirit stones. One Warlock raised his staff, pointing it at an Iron Warriors Terminator who was furiously sweeping with a Heavy Bolter. The spirit stone at the staff's tip flashed, and a condensed psychic blast, radiating destructive energy fluctuations, instantly shot out, accurately hitting the Terminator's chest!
"Boom!"
The Terminator's thick chest armor was struck as if by an invisible giant hammer, instantly caving inward to form a large crater, the flesh and bones inside pulverized! His massive body swayed, then crashed to the ground, the Heavy Bolter in his hand falling silent.
Other Warlocks also displayed their abilities. Some chanted protective incantations, erecting translucent psychic shields in front of Eldar warriors to block Bolter and laser fire; others summoned psychic lightning or firestorms, detonating them within the Iron Warriors' formations, causing chaos and casualties; still others unleashed mental assaults, directly attacking the Iron Warriors' minds, which, although limited in effect against Astartes, was enough to cause them momentary delays.
And one of the most elaborately dressed and powerful Farseers walked to the very front of the battle line. He ignored the whistling Bolter rounds, raised his staff, which was wreathed in powerful psychic light, high, and then slammed it heavily onto the ground!
"In the name of the ancient gods and the Webway, descend—Crushing Weight!"
Accompanying his solemn and ancient chant, an invisible yet immensely powerful psychic force, like a tangible mountain, suddenly descended upon the area! The air seemed to solidify, and gravity seemed to be amplified dozens of times!
The Iron Warriors Terminators, who were steadily advancing, bore the brunt of it! Their massive, multi-ton bodies suddenly sank, as if slammed down by an invisible giant hand! All the Terminators, including some nearby regular Iron Warriors warriors, involuntarily let out a muffled grunt, forced to kneel on one knee to support the sudden, terrifying pressure!
The weapons in their hands, which were spewing fire, also suddenly dropped due to the abruptly increased gravity, Bolter rounds and laser beams all striking the Wraithbone floor beneath their feet, blasting out charred craters, but no longer posing a threat to the Eldar warriors in front. They struggled, their Power Armor's servo systems wailing in overload, attempting to stand again, but every inch they moved, every attempt to raise their weapons, required immense energy and willpower, their movements becoming extremely slow and difficult.
In contrast, on the Eldar side, the Striking Scorpions, already known for their agility and speed, seemed completely unaffected by this psychic crushing weight! Perhaps the caster intentionally controlled it, or perhaps it was the Eldar's inherent affinity for psychic energy, but they still moved like the wind!
"For Khaine!" The Striking Scorpion Exarch let out a war cry, and was the first to transform into streaks of green lightning, charging into the groups of slow-moving Terminators!
Other Eldar warriors followed close behind! They were like tigers among sheep, utilizing this excellent opportunity to engage in close combat around the struggling steel giants. Power Swords and Deathshroud claws attacked from various tricky angles, specifically targeting the joints and weak points of the Terminator armor! For a time, the tearing of metal, the crackle of energy fields, and the angry roars of the Iron Warriors resounded, and Terminators continuously fell under the precise and deadly attacks of the Eldar warriors!
This sudden reversal stalled the Iron Warriors' offensive!
However, the Iron Warriors' coldness and calculation did not fail because of this. Just as the powerful Farseer was maintaining "Crushing Weight," believing victory was assured—
"Bang!"
A dull and distinct sniper shot rang out from the shadow of a ruined spire in the distance!
An armor-piercing round, specially enchanted and capable of penetrating psychic shields, crossed the long distance in an instant at a speed imperceptible to the naked eye, precisely hitting the Farseer's forehead!
The Warlock's chanting ceased abruptly! The expression on his face was frozen in the concentration and majesty of casting, and a small bullet hole appeared on his forehead, blood slowly trickling out. The light from the staff in his hand instantly dimmed, and the terrifying psychic pressure that enveloped the battlefield vanished abruptly, like a burst balloon!
"Ugh..." The Warlock's body swayed, then softly collapsed.
In the distance, the Iron Warriors sniper, clad in camouflage and deeply hidden, his bionic eye flashing a cold red light, confirmed the target had been eliminated. He calmly moved his gun barrel, beginning to search for the next high-value target, perhaps those annoying Howling Banshees... However, before he could lock onto a second target, a bone-chilling killing intent already enveloped him!
"Desecrator! Die!"
Accompanied by a shriek filled with rage and the aura of death, the Howling Banshee Phoenix Lord's figure, like a vengeful ghost, dove down from high above at astonishing speed! She had already locked onto this immensely threatening sniper!
The Iron Warriors sniper only managed to raise his gun barrel before the Phoenix Lord's Power Claw, glowing with psychic energy, instantly pierced his chest armor like a hot knife through butter, crushing his heart!
The sniper's bionic eye's red light extinguished, and his body slumped lifelessly.
The battlefield once again descended into a chaotic and brutal tug-of-war. Both sides' aces and countermeasures emerged endlessly, and lives were extinguished every second.
However, just as the main battlefield attracted the vast majority of both sides' attention, engaged in a desperate struggle, a small but extremely capable Iron Warriors squad, utilizing the chaotic noise of the battlefield and the diversion of Eldar defensive forces, had silently bypassed the intense firefight. Like venomous snakes in the shadows, they followed an unmarked, secret path leading to the Craftworld's innermost core, stealthily moving towards their ultimate goal—the sanctuary housing the Imperial Fists' relics.
The true fatal blow often comes from outside one's sight.
The battlefield of the Aeldari Craftworld was like a massive, bloody vortex, devouring the lives and courage of warriors from both sides. The Daemon Engines and mechanical hell-beasts of the Iron Warriors sowed chaos and destruction in the rear, while the front line, after the psychic pressure dissipated, once again devolved into a brutal tug-of-war. Aeldari warriors struggled to hold on with their agility and skill, while the Iron Warriors pressed forward with their heavy armor, powerful firepower, and cold discipline.
Just as the front lines were deadlocked and both sides sought an opportunity to break the stalemate, an Iron Warriors heavy weapons specialist, clad in Phobos-pattern Terminator armor, stepped out from behind the advancing grey battle line. The twin multi-launcher missile pods on his shoulder pads glinted with cold, hard metallic luster in the dim light.
There were no superfluous shouts, no hesitation. The Terminator warrior calmly used his helmet's targeting system to lock onto a relatively intact, elegant Wraithbone tower in the distance, which Aeldari Rangers and Warlocks were using as a vantage point.
"Whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh——!"
A series of piercing whistles erupted! Several high-explosive missiles, trailing white exhaust, crossed the battlefield like the javelins of death, accurately striking the middle of the tower!
"Boom boom boom boom——!!!"
Deafening explosions rang out one after another! The tower shook violently in the intense blasts, its exquisite Wraithbone structure shattering like fragile glass! The tower's body was blown in half, and the upper section, with heart-wrenchingly slow speed, began to tilt and collapse, crashing down onto the Aeldari warrior lines engaged with the Iron Warriors' vanguard!
"Watch out!"
"Scatter quickly!"
The Aeldari warriors cried out in terror, trying to evade the disaster falling from the sky. But the collapse was too widespread, and too fast! Massive Wraithbone fragments, like a landslide, instantly engulfed and crushed dozens of Aeldari warriors along with their cover! The rising dust ascended like a mushroom cloud, leaving a huge gap in the Aeldari lines, with wails and the thunderous roar of collapsing architecture mingling together, chilling the heart.
This precise and ruthless tactical strike instantly broke the deadlock!
"Advance! Crush them!" The Sergeants of the Iron Warriors immediately seized the opportunity, issuing orders to attack.
The grey tide of steel, like a breached flood, surged towards the torn gap in the Aeldari lines! Bolters spat fire, chainswords roared with bloodlust, and the Iron Warriors, stepping over the corpses of comrades and enemies alike, and the ruins of the tower, launched an even fiercer assault.
However, the collapsed tower debris also obstructed the advance routes of the Iron Warriors' heavy units to some extent. Mountains of Wraithbone fragments blocked the main passages.
Just then, another Terminator, escorted by two other warriors wielding boarding shields, stepped forward. On his shoulder rested an extremely heavy weapon, emanating dangerous energy fluctuations—a heavy Plasma Incinerator!
This weapon required time to charge, so the two escorts immediately raised their massive boarding shields, blocking in front of the gunner, fending off sporadic Aeldari fire. The gunner half-crouched, and the thick muzzle began to gather an unsettling bright blue glow, the surrounding air distorting from the intense heat.
"Charging... stable output..." The gunner's cold voice echoed through the comms channel.
A few seconds later, the energy gathered at the muzzle reached its critical point, emitting a piercing shriek!
"Charge complete! Fire!"
As the gunner pulled the trigger, an extremely thick, superheated orb of plasma energy, like a miniature sun, roared out from the muzzle! It carried an aura of destruction, instantly slamming into the Wraithbone debris blocking the passage!
"Boom————!!!"
An even more terrifying energy release than the previous missile explosion erupted! The extreme heat instantly vaporized the Wraithbone it touched, triggering a violent sympathetic detonation! The blocking debris was blown open, creating a huge, molten-edged passage, and a scorching blast wave swept outwards, even knocking some nearby light units off their feet!
The path forward instantly became clear!
"For the Iron Lord! Advance!" The morale of the Iron Warriors soared, and more heavy units poured into the depths of the Aeldari defenses along the newly opened passage.
Meanwhile, on another front, the battle between Captain Masos and the Striking Scorpion Exarch also entered a fever pitch. The Exarch, with an even more frenzied assault after being wounded, consecutively cut down two Iron Warriors who tried to protect the Captain, once again locking his target onto Captain Masos.
"For Khaine! Die, butcher!" The Exarch let out a battle cry, his body transforming into a green afterimage, instantly closing the distance to Captain Masos! The power sabre in his hand, carrying an aura of tearing everything apart, slashed down from above! Simultaneously, the deadly Scorpion Chainblade, like a venomous scorpion hidden in the shadows, silently stabbed towards Captain Masos's ribs from an extremely tricky angle!
This strike concentrated all of the Exarch's strength, speed, and skill; it was meant to be decisive!
Captain Masos's sole remaining bionic arm, gripping his chainaxe, violently shot up, and the roaring chainaxe blade barely parried the downward-slashing power sabre! The two powerful power weapons collided fiercely, their energy fields eroding each other, erupting in blinding sparks and deafening noise!
However, as the Exarch had anticipated, and because Captain Masos had lost an arm, he could not simultaneously block or evade the insidious stabbing Scorpion Chainblade!
"Squelch——!"
A sickening sound of tearing metal! The sharp Scorpion Chainblade pierced through Captain Masos's power armor in his side, burying itself deep within his body without hindrance!
He succeeded! The Exarch's heart tightened, and he was about to exert force to twist it, utterly crippling this powerful enemy.
But the next moment, the scene of ruptured organs and gushing blood he expected did not occur. The sensation from the Scorpion Chainblade was not soft flesh, but hard metal, severed cables, and shattered precision components!
The Exarch's heart jolted, and he violently pulled out the Scorpion Chainblade, leaping back to put distance between himself and Captain Masos. He looked at his Scorpion Chainblade with shock and uncertainty; its sharp tip was not stained with much blood, but rather hooked with some sparking mechanical parts, severed hydraulic tubes, and some dark coolant!
He looked up, incredulously at Captain Masos's wound. There, the power armor was torn open, revealing the internal structure—not biological organs as imagined, but dense, incredibly complex mechanical devices, reinforced artificial muscle fibers, and implants with blinking indicator lights! Only a very small amount of what appeared to be lubricant or circulating synthetic fluid seeped from the rupture.
This Iron Warriors Captain... his body's interior was mostly converted into machinery!
Captain Masos looked down at his damaged body, the broken mechanical structures exposed to the air, emitting a faint "zzzt" of electricity. He seemed to feel no pain, but the gaze hidden beneath his damaged helmet became even colder and more ruthless.
Just then, several reacting Iron Warriors and a Phobos Terminator quickly rushed over, surrounding the panting Striking Scorpion Exarch, who was momentarily stunned by shock, cutting off his retreat.
Captain Masos raised his intact bionic arm, pointing his chainaxe at the Exarch surrounded in the middle. His mechanically synthesized voice, with a metallic grinding texture, slowly began to speak, each word like a cold iron nail hammering into the Exarch's heart:
"Do you see, xenos? This is the form that pursues pure strength and efficiency... Cast aside weak flesh, embrace immortal steel!"
His tone carried a twisted pride and contempt for flesh and blood.
He took a step forward, ignoring the damage to his chest and abdomen, and his cold voice continued:
"You Aeldari, clinging to ancient traditions, relying on so-called 'psychic powers' and 'agility,' you fundamentally do not understand what true strength is!"
His voice suddenly rose, filled with cruel killing intent and a desire for destruction:
"Today, right here, you will witness with your own eyes how your home, this Craftworld you pride yourselves on, will be destroyed step by step under our wrath!"
"We will slaughter your people... every last one! Their screams will be the most beautiful movement in this symphony of destruction!"
"And you..." Captain Masos's chainaxe pointed at the Exarch's head, his tone carrying a cat-and-mouse mockery and cruelty, "...can only watch all of this happen, powerless! Then, filled with endless humiliation and regret, like a stray dog, you will die here!"
This extremely cruel declaration, like the most vicious curse, echoed across the battlefield filled with smoke and the smell of blood. The Striking Scorpion Exarch gripped the power sword in his hand, his body trembling slightly from anger and despair. He knew that the opponent was not bluffing; the Iron Warriors were fully capable of, and would absolutely commit, such atrocities.
He surveyed the menacing enemies surrounding him, then glanced at the Eldar battle line in the distance, still fiercely engaged but steadily retreating. A wave of sorrow and resolve surged within him.
Even if destruction was inevitable, he would make these human butchers pay the most grievous price!
Just as the Striking Scorpion Exarch was surrounded, facing Captain Marsos's cruel declaration and the menacing Iron Warriors, with the situation hanging by a thread, several deafening shrieks pierced the sky!
It was the Howling Banshees!
Several agile Howling Banshee warriors, like green lightning, leaped down from the top of the ruined buildings on the flank! As they dove, they violently swung their arms back, then forcefully hurled the psychic spears in their hands, imbued with destructive energy!
"Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!"
Several green energy beams, like falling meteors, shot with piercing whooshes, accurately striking the Iron Warriors surrounding the Exarch, especially the most threatening Hades Terminator!
Although these energy spears could not directly penetrate the Terminator's thick frontal armor, the violent energy impact and blinding flash generated upon collision successfully disrupted their vision and aiming, forcing them to instinctively defend or evade!
"Exarch! Go!" a Howling Banshee urgently shouted through the comms channel.
This sudden interference bought the Exarch precious time, perhaps only one or two seconds!
The battle-hardened Striking Scorpion Exarch did not hesitate for a moment! The instant the energy spears exploded, he moved! His body slid sideways like a phantom, and the power sword in his hand arced a cold line, precisely slashing across the neck of a regular Iron Warrior who had exposed himself while dodging the explosion!
"Chh!"
The Iron Warrior's head flew off with a look of astonishment, and his headless corpse sprayed blood as it fell backward.
A gap had opened!
The Exarch did not linger in battle, nor did he spare Captain Marsos another glance. His body transformed into a blurry green afterimage, and with the Striking Scorpion's superhuman speed, he instantly burst through the gap he had torn open. In a few leaps, he vanished into the nearby ruins and thick smoke, which had become a labyrinth due to the battle.
"Chase!" an Iron Warriors Sergeant roared, just about to lead his squad in pursuit.
"No need!"
Captain Marsos's cold voice stopped them. His intact bionic arm lifted, signaling them to halt. His gaze remained fixed on the direction where the Exarch had disappeared, his face under the helmet terribly grim. The cooked duck had flown away, which made him extremely displeased.
However, just as he was about to re-adjust his deployment and unleash his fury on the other Eldar, an urgent communication from the infiltration squad reached his encrypted comms channel.
"Captain Marsos! This is the 'Anvil' squad! We have breached the Eldar defenses and reached the core area of the target sanctuary!" The comms officer's voice carried a hint of urgency and confusion.
"Get to the point!" Captain Marsos urged impatiently.
"We… we found the relic storage, but… what's inside… is not the Imperial Fists relic described in our intelligence! Repeat, not the target relic! The appearance and energy signature are completely different! Our… our intelligence was wrong!"
"What?!" Captain Marsos's mechanically enhanced voice suddenly rose, filled with disbelief and rage. "Are you sure?!"
"Absolutely certain, Captain Marsos! We've double-checked the data! This isn't what we're looking for!"
"Damn it!!" Captain Marsos let out a furious roar, his voice even drowning out the din of the battlefield! He slammed his fist heavily onto a nearby twisted metal wreckage, smashing it to pieces!
Intelligence failure! For the Iron Warriors, who valued precise calculation and preparation, this was a tremendous disgrace and mistake! They had mobilized extensively, paid a considerable price, only to find the wrong target?!
A surge of infuriated and unvented rage instantly flooded his core processor. He spun his head violently, his red-glowing eye lenses sweeping across the fiercely contested ruins before him, and over the distant, faintly visible Eldar figures still stubbornly resisting.
Since the relic couldn't be found, then this Craftworld, these accursed pointy-eared xenos, would have to pay the price for their "mistake"!
"All units, attention!" Captain Marsos's cold and murderous voice echoed through the public channel to all Iron Warriors. "Target changed! Relic retrieval mission canceled!"
He paused, each word as cold as an ice pick:
"Now, I order—kill all Eldar in sight! Leave no one alive!"
His voice grew even more sinister:
"Tech-Sergeant! Capture a few Eldar who appear to be priests or officials alive! Pry open their mouths! I want to know where the true relic is hidden!"
With the command issued, the Iron Warriors' offensive became even more frenzied and reckless. No longer needing to cautiously search for a specific target, they could unleash pure destruction upon every corner of this Craftworld.
The intense battle continued for a full five standard hours.
During these five hours, the Iron Warriors' assault torpedoes and drop pods, like an unceasing rain of metal, continuously launched from the warships in orbit, steadily delivering troops, heavy weapons, and even more Daemon Engines to the Craftworld's surface. The gray tide came in wave after wave, seemingly endless.
Although the Eldar warriors fought bravely, using their familiarity with the terrain and superb individual skill to inflict heavy casualties on the invaders, under the Iron Warriors' absolute numerical superiority, powerful heavy firepower, and relentless, no-holds-barred assault, their outer defensive areas and critical connecting points, which they relied on for mobile defense, successively fell. Their defense lines were continuously compressed and fragmented.
The remaining Eldar defense forces, under the command of several Autarchs and Phoenix Lords, fought and retreated, abandoning large areas of ruined outer zones and secondary corridors. They used pre-set traps and staged resistance to delay the Iron Warriors' advance, eventually retreating entirely to the more core, structurally more robust, and complex internal areas of the Craftworld.
When the last batch of Eldar warriors passed through a massive archway made of Wraithbone and energy, withdrawing into the internal area, that magnificent archway was instantly sealed by a thick, energy barrier flowing with complex runes!
Not only this gate, but all main passages, ventilation shafts, and even some hidden paths leading to the Craftworld's core internal areas were simultaneously sealed and isolated by ancient defense mechanisms: thick Wraithbone gates, powerful energy fields, and intricate spatial distortion traps!
The Iron Warriors' vanguard pursued to these barriers, where Bolter rounds and laser fire only caused ripples, unable to budge them in the slightest. Some Daemon Engines or heavy units attempting a forced breach triggered hidden defense mechanisms and were instantly destroyed by powerful psychic lightning or disintegration fields.
The noisy battlefield abruptly fell into an eerie silence before the internal area's barriers. Outside, it was a ruined, smoke-filled, fallen zone occupied by the Iron Warriors; inside, it was the Eldar's last bastion, silent and resolute, preparing for their final stand.
Captain Marsos walked up to a massive energy barrier, looking at the deep, unknown internal space behind it. No expression could be seen on his mechanically synthesized face, but his intact bionic hand tightly gripped the handle of his chainaxe, emitting a harsh metallic scraping sound.
The direct assault was temporarily stalled, but what the Iron Warriors lacked least was patience and means to destroy fortresses. They began to mobilize heavy artillery and combat engineers, preparing to launch a new, even fiercer assault on the Craftworld's core defenses.
Meanwhile, the Eldar who had retreated inside gained a precious reprieve, but they all knew this was merely the calm before the storm. The final decisive battle had yet to begin.
In a relatively intact Eldar hall on the outskirts of the Craftworld, temporarily converted into an Iron Warriors forward operating base, Captain Masos stood with several Terminator Squad Sergeants and a Tech-Sergeant around a crude holographic sand table.
The sand table displayed the complex internal structure of the Craftworld, sealed off by energy barriers and heavy bulkheads, with red markers indicating potential weak points and possible attack routes.
"These Eldar turtle shells are tougher than expected," a Stygian Terminator Sergeant grumbled, his heavy helmet turning towards Captain Masos.
"A frontal assault will take time and come at a great cost."
"We don't have much time to waste," Captain Masos's voice rasped through his damaged helmet, carrying a metallic friction.
"Every second we delay, those xenos might transfer the relic or summon unnecessary 'attention.'"
He was referring to other factions that might be drawn to the Craftworld battle, whether Eldar reinforcements or other opportunistic raiders.
Just then, his bionic arm, recently repaired by the Tech-Sergeant, emitted a faint hydraulic hiss.
The Tech-Sergeant had managed to repair his severed left arm using spare parts found in battlefield wreckage and temporarily smelted metal.
Though not as flexible as the original, it had at least regained basic gripping and weapon mounting functions.
The damage to his chest and abdomen had also been temporarily sealed with reinforced plates and welding; the internal mechanical components still hummed, but it no longer affected his combat ability.
"We need intelligence," Captain Masos concluded, his intact bionic hand tapping the edge of the sand table.
"We must know the exact location of the relic and the weaknesses of these barriers."
Just then, a squad of Iron Warriors escorted three Eldar captives into the temporary command area.
The warriors roughly shoved the captives before Captain Masos.
The three captives were in various states:
The first was an Eldar Warrior, clad in damaged Aspect Warrior armor, with multiple wounds on his body.
Blood stained his silver hair and pale cheeks.
Yet, he still held his spine stubbornly straight, an unyielding fury burning in his purple eyes as he glared fixedly at Captain Masos.
The second was a Howling Banshee.
Her armor was also scarred by battle, and a deep crack marred her distinctive, ferocious mask, revealing a portion of her cold, hateful face.
Her hands were bound behind her back, but her body remained taut, like a coiled leopard, ready to lash out at any moment.
The third... was completely different from the first two.
It was a very young Eldar girl, perhaps just an adult.
She wore an exquisitely ornate stage gown, adorned with sparkling gems and sheer fabrics, starkly out of place in the brutal war environment.
Her delicate face was streaked with tears and dust, her long silver hair disheveled, and her body trembled uncontrollably with fear as she sobbed softly.
The warriors had evidently judged her to be of special status due to her unusual attire and had brought her back as well.
Captain Masos's gaze first fell upon the Eldar Warrior.
In his view, warriors often knew more about military deployments and the locations of important objectives.
He walked up to the Warrior, looking down at him, and through his helmet's vox-caster, asked in a low voice in gothic, "Xeno, tell me, where is the Imperial Fists' relic hidden? Speak, and you may die swiftly."
However, the Eldar Warrior only returned his gaze with even greater fury, then opened his mouth and spat out a rapid, elegant string of Eldar words.
Though unintelligible, the contempt and curses in his tone were unmistakable.
Captain Masos frowned.
The language barrier was a problem.
He turned his head and gestured to the Tech-Sergeant waiting nearby.
The Tech-Sergeant immediately understood, retrieving a palm-sized device with an interface and a miniature speaker—a portable universal translator—from a toolkit.
He skillfully connected the translator to a data port on the side of Captain Masos's helmet.
After a faint hum and flickering indicator lights, the translator completed its initialization and language library loading.
Captain Masos looked at the Eldar Warrior again and repeated his question.
This time, the translator almost instantly converted the Eldar Warrior's hateful response into cold, mechanical gothic, clearly relaying it into Captain Masos's ear:
"Foolish, uncultured barbarians! You savages who only wield lumps of iron don't understand what you are desecrating!
You will pay for today's atrocities!
All of you will die here, your souls never finding peace!"
Full of malicious curses and worthless provocations.
Captain Masos's patience was instantly exhausted.
He didn't even bother to utter another word, merely waving his recently repaired, still somewhat stiff bionic left hand impatiently.
One of the Iron Warriors escorting the Warrior immediately understood the Captain's meaning.
He roughly grabbed the still-cursing Eldar Warrior and dragged him out of the hall.
The Eldar Warrior's curses faded into the distance, and soon, a crisp, brief Bolter shot echoed from outside.
Silence returned.
Captain Masos's gaze didn't even waver, as if he had merely disposed of a noisy piece of trash.
He turned to the Howling Banshee.
Her gaze, projected through the crack in her mask, like ten thousand years of cold ice, said it all.
It was almost impossible to extract any information from such rigorously trained, war-god-worshipping Eldar elite warriors; it would only be a waste of time and effort.
He skipped over her directly, turning his attention to the last captive—the Eldar girl in the ornate gown, crying almost to the point of fainting.
Her fragility and fear, so out of place in this bloody battlefield, paradoxically ignited a very faint, almost instinctive hope in Captain Masos—perhaps such a non-combatant, driven by fear, would be easier to make speak?
He asked the warrior guarding the girl, his voice, metallic through the translator, "Has this xeno's identity been confirmed?"
The warrior shook his head, his armor clanking, "Reporting, Captain, unable to confirm at this time.
We found her in a collapsed ruin that looked like a theater or performance hall.
She was trapped in a corner; no one else was found with her."
Upon hearing this, Captain Masos couldn't help but curse under his breath, his voice muffled through his helmet, "You always fail to bring back anything useful."
He was dissatisfied with his subordinates' efficiency.
He refocused his attention on the girl.
She still hung her head, her shoulders heaving violently, her weeping hoarse and desperate, muttering something in Eldar through her tears.
Through the recently connected translator on his helmet, her cries and pleas were converted into broken, tearful gothic, entering Captain Masos's receiver:
"W-w-w... please... let me go... I-I'm just a dancer... I can't fight... I have no weapons... I'm no threat to you... please... I just want to live..."
A dancer?
Captain Masos paused for a moment, then an unbidden surge of anger flared up!
He abruptly turned his head to the escorting warrior, his voice suppressed with fury, "Are you brainless?! You bring back a dancer?! What could she possibly know?! Does she know where the relic is hidden?! Does she know the access codes for the defensive barriers?! What can she do besides wiggle her body and cry?!"
His reprimand echoed in the empty hall, startling the warrior, who instinctively recoiled and dared not retort.
Captain Masos paced two steps across the hall in frustration, his combat boots thudding heavily on the smooth wraithbone floor.
He felt like he was punching cotton, expending troops only to capture worthless prisoners.
A warrior who only cursed, a defiant Banshee, and... a dancer who only danced and cried!
He looked again at the Eldar girl, huddled on the ground, her crying choked by his roar, trembling uncontrollably, and his heart filled with disgust and disappointment.
It seemed the idea of getting crucial intelligence from the captives was temporarily unfeasible.
They would still have to rely on their own technology and brute force to crack this tough nut left by the Eldar.
At the very moment the Iron Warriors' main force, including Captain Masos and his elites, were almost entirely committed to the ground assault on the Eldar Craftworld, the strike cruiser "Iron Lord," serving as the command center and fire platform, was enveloped in a silent, underlying crisis brought on by its depleted manpower.
The warship in orbit was not entirely undefended, but the attention of the remaining crew and a few sentry posts was largely drawn to the fierce and massive battle raging on the Craftworld's surface below.
The scanning arrays were primarily aimed at the external void, guarding against potential Eldar reinforcements or other uninvited guests.
Its sensitivity to internal threats, especially those infiltrating with superb stealth techniques, was inevitably reduced.
It was under this relatively lax internal defense that several ghostly figures, like flowing shadows, silently infiltrated the "Iron Lord's" internal structure.
They moved with astonishing speed and efficiency, utilizing ventilation shafts, maintenance tunnels, and visual blind spots in crew activity areas, as if intimately familiar with the Iron Warriors' battleship layout.
These figures were tall and burly, far exceeding mortal men, clearly Astartes, but the power armor they wore was distinctly different from the utilitarian style of the Iron Warriors.
It was painted a deep blue, yet imbued with a midnight gloom.
Adorning the armor were numerous pale human bones and reliefs of unfurled metallic bat wings, exuding an aura of desecration and death.
Their shoulder and leg plates were covered in savage spikes, as if proclaiming their cruel and aggressive nature.
And on their breastplates, the unmistakable numeral "VIII," like a silent declaration, revealed their identity—
The Eighth Legion, the Night Lords.
These masters of terror from Nostramo specialized in psychological warfare, infiltration, and terror attacks.
The helmet of the leading Night Lord was particularly terrifying—a lifelike bat-faced helmet, its eyes glowing with an ominous red light, with two long, sharp metallic bat wings extending upwards from the sides of the helmet, like a vampiric demon about to pounce on its prey.
He was equipped with a pair of gleaming Lightning Claws on his arms, their arcing energy painfully bright in the dim passage.
The five Night Lords warriors accompanying him wore helmets resembling gas masks, with a breathing tube connected to the end of the mask, leading directly into their breastplates, seemingly to adapt to various extreme or toxic environments.
They were also equipped with deadly close-combat weapons and silenced Bolters.
They moved swiftly and coordinately, like a pack of wolves hunting in the dark.
When encountering scattered, lone Iron Warriors crewmen or patrol guards, they gave the enemy no chance to raise an alarm.
The leading bat-faced warrior, or his companions, would lunge forward like phantoms, their Lightning Claws tearing through the air with a hiss, instantly ripping their targets to shreds!
Precise, efficient, ruthless.
They cleared all obstacles in their path without making much sound, only the faint friction of blades cutting through flesh and armor, and the dull thud of bodies falling.
Their objective was clear—the ship's command center, the bridge.
Inside the "Iron Lord's" bridge, the atmosphere was relatively "calm."
The Iron Warriors' second-in-command, Lieutenant Casto, stood before the massive star chart table.
The star chart clearly displayed the battle situation on the Craftworld below, with the grey markers representing the Iron Warriors slowly but steadily encroaching upon the Eldar's green areas.
He communicated intermittently with the ground forces, confirming progress and directing the warship's weapon systems, ready to provide orbital artillery support at the ground's request.
The other crew members on the bridge also performed their duties, monitoring the ship's data and keeping a watchful eye on the external void.
They all believed the greatest threat came from outside, or from the cornered Eldar on the ground.
No one imagined that a deadly threat, like a virus, had already infiltrated the ship's interior and was about to reach its core area.
Until—
The bridge's heavy alloy door, which required high-level clearance to open, gave no warning.
Its internal locks and hydraulic system were silently bypassed and disabled by some advanced technique.
The door slid open soundlessly to both sides.
Six deep-blue figures, exuding a cold, terrifying aura, like envoys from the depths of hell, stepped into the brightly lit bridge, which instantly fell into a deathly silence.
It wasn't until they had fully entered that the two Iron Warriors guards stationed at the door, responsible for security, suddenly reacted, instinctively trying to raise their Bolters and sound an alarm.
But it was too late.
Two Night Lords warriors appeared before them as if teleporting, their power claws flashing, and the two guards fell, clutching their severed throats, without even a muffled groan, their blood staining the clean deck.
This sudden turn of events, like a splash of ice water, instantly froze everyone on the bridge!
Lieutenant Casto spun around, and when he saw the six monstrously shaped Astartes, exuding pure malice, especially the prominent "VIII" on their breastplates, his heart almost stopped!
"Ni... Night Lords!" a crewman gasped in terror.
Lieutenant Casto quickly drew his Bolter pistol from his hip, but he knew that at such close range, facing six Night Lords renowned for close combat and terror, especially the leading bat-faced warrior emanating extreme danger, they had almost no chance of victory.
The leading bat-faced Night Lord seemed to completely ignore the panicked crewmen, who were desperately trying to find weapons or activate emergency alarms.
His glowing red bat-eyes scanned the bridge's utilitarian layout, which now seemed incredibly fragile, with a hint of morbid interest, finally settling on Lieutenant Casto.
A voice, distorted by a vox-caster, with a hoarse echo, like the whispers of countless vengeful spirits, clearly rang out through the bat-faced helmet in the silent bridge, its tone filled with undisguised mockery and a condescending "familiarity":
"Sons of Perturabo..."
His voice seemed to have cold hooks, scraping at everyone's nerves.
"I didn't think that after all these years, wandering the galaxy, you... would still be the same old you."
He tilted his head slightly, the metallic bat wings reflecting a ghostly light in the illumination.
"You plunge headfirst into the quagmire of a siege, pouring all your strength and attention into smashing the wall in front of you, completely unaware... that your back has long been exposed to the hunter's blade."
"Truly... no improvement at all."