Alexei stood inside the orbital command center, his face grim as he watched the live feeds transmitted from the front lines. An endless tide of metal was relentless, pressing against their defensive perimeter. Even with the assistance of the Astartes, the defenders held no advantage.
Countless Necron Warriors advanced with an unstoppable momentum. Behind them, a mechanical sea of Canoptek Scarabs swarmed, rapidly repairing damaged necrodermis bodies.
Interspersed among the ranks were elite units bristling with heavy weaponry. Whether it was the Necron Immortals or the Heavy Destroyers hovering in mid-air, their volleys easily disintegrated the human lines of steel.
Simultaneously, the ground at the front was trembling violently. Abyss-like fissures continued to widen as Necron structures rose steadily from the subterranean depths.
"Damn it, the scale of this Necron Dynasty is massive," Alexei muttered, watching Doomsday Arks—colossal Necron vehicles—emerge from the tomb.
The Doomsday Cannons mounted on these arks could annihilate all matter from beyond visual range. The Terran tank divisions looked like mere toys before them; a single beam could pierce through multiple Siege Tanks in a row.
*How are we supposed to fight this?* Alexei's expression darkened further. Suddenly, a communication request flashed from Anna, the front-line commander on the flank. Once connected, Anna looked equally solemn. "My Lord, the Tyranid swarms on the flank have begun to assault our defenses."
*Damn it, picking on the weak link, are they?* Alexei realized both Xenos factions intended to eliminate the weakest of the three forces first. "Order all units to prepare for a general retreat. We cannot allow ourselves to be pinned down and slaughtered." They had to pull back; they couldn't afford to fight two nightmares at once.
"Understood!"
Amidst the roaring fires of the front line, the warriors of the Scythes of the Emperor utilized their transhuman agility to dodge lethal energy beams. They charged toward the cold killing machines, shouting the great names of the Emperor and their Gene-father. Torquill raised his Storm Shield and monomolecular Chainsword, hacking through the loathsome Xenos.
Suddenly, the horn for retreat sounded from behind. Torquill immediately led the remaining Scythes back toward the bunkers of the secondary line.
"Are we just going to abandon these defenses and structures?" Torquill asked, looking at Alexei's face on the screen.
"Abandon them? No, no. We're taking them with us. Get all your Battle-Brothers into the Planetary Fortresses. There's no time—we have to move!" Alexei urged the Space Marine.
*Taking them with us?* Although he didn't understand what the Governor intended, Torquill complied, trusting the man who had saved all their lives several times before.
As soon as every soul on the battlefield had entered the various bunkers and Planetary Fortresses, a series of massive roars shook the earth. To the disbelief of Torquill and his men, the steel structures on the ground began to lift off slowly.
Thors and Siege Tanks were hooked up to Medivacs and carried away. In just a few minutes, the entire site was stripped of everything except automated defense turrets. Every other building was floating in mid-air, drifting toward the rear.
Torquill watched the various air wings escorting them and the forest of human architecture moving through the sky, momentarily speechless.
Just then, a peculiar screeching echoed through the airspace behind them. The moment Alexei heard it, he knew what had happened. The Necron air force had caught up.
Several crescent-shaped craft appeared in the sky behind the retreating human buildings. They closed the distance with terrifying speed—the Necron aerial hunters: Night Scythes and Doom Scythes.
Any enemy who laid eyes on them felt a primal, physical sense of dread and despair, a desperate urge to flee. Yet, for those who overcame their fear and chose to fight to the end, only death awaited.
Numerous cloaked Wraith-fighters were turned to ash by horrific death rays. The human pilots couldn't even lock onto the enemy silhouettes; even when they did, the Xenos craft performed impossible maneuvers that defied the limits of physics to evade the attacks.
"...Order all Hel's Angels to prepare for engagement." After saying this, Alexei slammed his fist onto the table. He knew that every Hel's Angel (Viking) pilot deployed in this sortie would likely be sacrificed. They were the shield, buying time for the Great Retreat with their lives.
The pilots, having witnessed the maneuverability and firepower of the enemy, knew their final hour had arrived.
The pilots boarded their Hel's Angels and scrambled from the floating starports. Each was an elite chosen from millions, and now they would trade their lives for humanity's future.
"System check complete. Hel's Angel Unit 314, requesting takeoff." Inside the cockpit, the pilot looked at his trembling hands. He couldn't tell if it was bone-deep terror or an adrenaline-fueled rush. He prayed silently to the Master of Mankind for courage and glory.
As the automated blast shutters overhead slid open, streaks of light fell upon his hands. "For Humanity. For Aiur," he whispered. He gripped the controls tight. The next second, with a thunderous roar, the fighter rose vertically and blasted out of the starport.
He spotted his target on the sensors—the Xenos craft that were systematically destroying his comrades. He accelerated to the limit. His Viking closed in at maximum velocity, unleashing a salvo of missiles.
Unfortunately, the Doom Scythe performed a high-speed Z-shaped maneuver, dodging every missile. It immediately returned fire with a death ray.
The Hel's Angel pilot pulled an incredible banking turn to evade. G-forces far beyond human limits crushed his body against the seat. The power core behind him shrieked with an alarm—the fighter itself was reaching its structural breaking point from the acceleration.
He cut the alarm and overloaded the thrusters again, banking back toward the Doom Scythe. "Come on, you bastard!" His large-caliber autocannons poured fire into the enemy. This time, luck was on his side; he struck the Xenos hull.
However, it was futile. The hull remained unscathed, and a horrific death ray struck his wing almost simultaneously.
Seeing his fighter spiraling toward a crash, he used the last of his momentum to dive toward the enemy. The Doom Scythe attempted to break away, but it was too late. The previous pass had closed the distance, and his suicidal charge finally brought him in range.
He pulled the self-destruct lever. With a smile hidden behind his flight mask, a melodic chime reached his ears: *Beep!* The next instant, the massive explosion of the fusion engine completely engulfed the Doom Scythe.
Even if the Necron craft's hull could withstand the blast, the exposed systems and the pilot were obliterated. Deprived of control, the Doom Scythe began its terminal descent toward the ground.
It was the first Necron craft they had downed—a victory bought with the sacrifice of a loyal soul.