The complexity of this veiled planet's surface was staggering, far exceeding the strategic estimates of the Ultramarines.
Initial reconnaissance of the surrounding theater confirmed a nightmare convergence: the presence of Orks, Khornate daemons, and Drukhari raiders.
"By the Emperor... why do so many enemies of the Imperium gather here?" a battle-brother muttered, momentarily unsettled by the grotesque mountains of gore and bone sprawling before them.
Axion stared intently at a bizarre Khornate altar. Through his energy-spectrum vision, he could see a jagged rift stitched into the fabric of realspace. Faint traces of Warp energy were bleeding sluggishly from the tear.
"The ritual at this Great Skull Altar appears incomplete," Calanthus noted, picking up on Axion's observation.
"Evidently," Calanthus continued grimly. "Had it been finished, we would be wading through a sea of Neverborn and Bloodthirsters. Given the scale of this construct, the manifestation of a Daemon Prince would not be out of the question. There are at least hundreds of thousands of skulls here."
With a sharp gesture, Calanthus signaled his scattered squad to tighten their formation.
"Whatever drove those warp-spawned filth away, this altar remains a localized threat. Destroy it. We move out immediately after; the daemons will feel the altar's desecration."
Several battle-brothers equipped with melta bombs stepped forward. They primed the thermal charges and hurled them like discus blades into the tiers of stacked craniums. The rest of the squad drew fragmentation grenades, adding to the specialized ordnance.
BOOM! BOOM!
A series of thunderous detonations shattered the altar. Shards of bone rained down like hail, clattering harmlessly against ceramite power armor. Without lingering, the squad began a rapid extraction. Any smaller skull-piles encountered along their path were incinerated by a battle-brother wielding an MK.IIIa "Heretic" pattern flamer. The localized inferno reduced the blasphemous relics to fine white ash.
Once clear of the ritual site, Calanthus executed a sudden course correction, leading the squad on a high-speed march for dozens of kilometers. Their path traced a wide, sweeping "7" shape—a tactical maneuver designed to prevent any daemonic entities from tracking them via the scent of burnt bone.
Supported by Axion's superior sensory array, Calanthus plotted a new vector toward the projected drop zone of the second mortal recon team. However, given the environment, Calanthus harbored no illusions about their survival.
After nearly ten Terran hours of traversing rugged hills and jagged ridgelines, the squad reached the secondary landing site. They arrived at a desolate valley, its barren slopes choked with nothing but jagged shale and twisted metal.
As they closed on the coordinates, debris became more frequent.
"There! A Landed Craft!"
Embedded in a fractured hillside was a distinct man-made silhouette. Wisps of acrid black smoke still curled from the wreckage.
"Spread out. Tactical advance. Watch your sectors," Calanthus commanded.
As the Ultramarines fanned out into a cautious perimeter, Axion simply strode forward. His omni-directional scanners operated without cease, granting him total battlefield awareness. Even the slightest atmospheric disturbance, the displacement of air from a kilometer away, was processed and analyzed instantly.
Detecting several faint life signs, Axion felt a flicker of mechanical curiosity. He wondered how these mortals had survived such a descent.
Watching Axion sprint ahead, Calanthus felt a surge of frustration. He had no formal authority over the ancient construct. However, prioritizing the safety of his brothers, Calanthus did not follow Axion's reckless lead. Instead, he maintained a standard tactical approach.
Axion's frame blurred. With a flicker of displacement, he vanished, reappearing hundreds of meters ahead. The Ultramarines watched in stunned silence as the construct covered the distance in heartbeats, vanishing from their visual range.
Though this was the second time Calanthus had witnessed Axion's Necron-like teleportation capability, the sheer potency of this ancient technology remained awe-inspiring. It was instantaneous, silent, and lacked the tell-tale shimmer of a standard teleporter flare. It seemed even more advanced than the phase-shifting utilized by the Necrons Calanthus had faced in previous campaigns; those required the opening of a dimensional gate, however brief. Axion simply blinked through the fabric of space.
Secure in the knowledge that Axion could handle himself, Calanthus focused on his squad's advance.
Axion reappeared on the mid-slope of the mountain. The armed landing craft was impaled in the rock face. Its hull was shattered, the rear sections riddled with dense clusters of high-caliber entry holes. The corpses of the mortal recon unit were strewn about, most had clearly died from the kinetic trauma of the impact.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Several solid slugs erupted from a pile of wreckage near the craft's flank, slamming with pinpoint accuracy into Axion's chassis. As the smoke from the impacts cleared, Axion's hand retracted, his forearm rotating as a neutron beam spiraled into life.
KRA-KOOM!
A muffled explosion rocked the debris pile. Several figures were thrown clear by the blast.
"Gah! Argh!"
With heavy thuds and sharp cries of pain, the figures hit the dirt and remained pinned there. Axion ignored them for a moment, analyzing the bullet holes in the landing craft's skin. They weren't structural failures. Medium-caliber solid-slug ballistic traces.
The explosion drew the Ultramarines. Led by Calanthus, they crested the ridge and swept toward the site, only to find a crude, makeshift bunker. A small automated cannon, now hissing with sparks and venting fire from a ruptured feed mechanism, was the source of the blast.
Axion had deliberately targeted the weapon's ammunition feed with a low-yield beam. The resulting cook-off had cleared the bunker without killing the occupants. Seeing the Imperial insignia on their tattered uniforms and the smoking Navy craft nearby, their identities were confirmed.
Calanthus signaled the squad's Apothecary to scan the fallen men.
"They are alive, though their injuries are severe," the Apothecary reported.
SCREECH—
A deafening sound of shearing metal echoed through the valley. Axion had reached out and casually ripped the armored tail-section off the landing craft to reach the interior.
The Ultramarines exchanged looks of silent disbelief. Tearing through light-armored plating by hand? Even with the power-fists or the artificial muscle bundles of Mk.X Tacticus armor, such a feat of raw, unassisted strength was beyond a standard Astartes.