"."
Sui Meng's gaze pierced the observation window, fixed on the apocalyptic scene ahead.
In his sight, the countless blood moons—omens of calamity—were drawing together with a slow yet irresistible momentum, converging into form and, with malice, fixing their projection focal points straight onto this star domain.
An invisible, hair-raising pressure swept the entire bridge like a rising tide.
At this moment, without a word spoken, a message echoed clearly in the depths of every soul:
Everything before may have been nothing more than a paltry probe and prelude.
It seemed the true life-and-death struggle between the Diwuzu Legion and this unknown catastrophe was only now pulling open its blood-red curtain…
"Father, the Intelligence Division did note that this universe harbors a large number of blood moons, but this display before us… clearly exceeds our expectations."
The low, resonant voice sounded in the slightly oppressive bridge.
The speaker was a giant encased in a unique mark-model suit of Terminator armor engraved with legion insignia, standing even taller than a typical Astartes at over three-point-three meters.
This "giant" was one of Sui Meng's most trusted adjutants and, effectively, commander of the Primarch's guard.
Now, beneath his helmet, the adjutant's gaze also passed through the viewport, fixed on the scarlet host that nearly swallowed the starfield whole, with a note of scarcely perceptible gravity in his tone.
As the genetic sons of the Primarch, the Astartes were accustomed to addressing the Primarch as "Father," a title laden with awe and blood-bound loyalty.
Turning slightly to face the mountain-like Sui Meng, the adjutant continued his measured analysis:
"It must have been awakened by those Unification Church zealots and its Primordial God Seal activated. The special signal frequencies it emits are like a lighthouse in the dark, calling out to their kind scattered across other sectors—
namely, summoning those blood moons here to utterly devour the human civilization of this universe's Earth and complete some harvest or fusion we do not yet fully understand."
The adjutant paused, then offered what seemed the most prudent recommendation under the circumstances:
"Father… given enemies hemming us in on all sides, should we urgently call the Empire for…"
"No reinforcements needed. The Diwuzu Legion can handle this."
Sui Meng's voice was calm and decisive, cutting him off before he could finish.
The Primarch's eyes remained locked on the "crimson" beyond the viewport. Not a trace of fear showed in their depths—only a cool, burning will to fight.
"Numbers have never been the sole determinant of victory. The main fleets of Companies One through Fourteen are deployed. Our warriors need the baptism of war, and our ships carry the Empire's finest arms.
If we were to beg aid at the sight of such theatrics, would we not disgrace the name 'Diwuzu'?"
He turned, sweeping his gaze across every member on the bridge. His orders rang like forged steel:
"Signal the line! All companies, weapons to maximum! Bring every available system to bear—from lance arrays to full macro-cannon broadsides, from torpedo saturation strikes to Nova cannon standby. Targets—
every blood moon projection in sight! Tear them to pieces and purge this starfield!
At the same time, notify ground forces:
maximum alert! The appearance of blood moons may be accompanied by a mass 'tide' of corpse-mutant births. Each combat unit is to anchor on current defensive lines, establish shelter zones, and do everything in their power to protect innocent civilians—no mistakes!
Additionally, in my name, deliver a final ultimatum to the remnants of the Earth Federation Defense Force (EDF) fleet—
they have two choices: either immediately vacate the current battlespace and assist with civilian evacuation on the surface, to demonstrate the last of their worth as an armed human force;
or stand by in place and do not interfere with any of our operations.
Should they make any rash move or be deemed a threat, we will designate them hostile and destroy them at once!"
"Yes, Father!"
"Yes, Lord Primarch!"
With the orders given, everyone on the bridge—
whether Diwuzu officers or diligent ordinary auxiliaries—straightened their backs and answered in the loudest, firmest voices.
The efficient command lattice carried the Primarch's will to every corner of the fleet in an instant.
Sui Meng inclined his head slightly, then turned and left the bridge with steady, resolute strides, temporarily passing tactical command to his adjutant.
That departing back made clear this genetic Primarch wasn't content to orchestrate from afar; he intended to go to the front in person and write the Diwuzu's glory with the enemy's annihilation.
Meanwhile, in low orbit and across the wider void, more than a thousand vessels under the Diwuzu Legion—
from mountain-sized battleships armed with "doomsday weapons" to sleek, lethal cruisers and escorts like interstellar sharks—had awakened like iron leviathans, baring fangs at the all-covering tide of blood moons.
In a heartbeat, the once-quiet void was lit by searing beams and dense detonations.
Countless "thick" energy lances ripped the dark and struck the slowly moving scarlet bodies with precision, blossoming into brilliant, lethal plasma fireballs.
Rain-dense macro-cannon barrages raised stormfronts of energy, shredding smaller blood moons along with any attendant guardians in their wake.
Swarms of carrier-borne craft and drones poured from their bays like a hive. They weaved nimbly between capital ships, clearing approaching blood moon fragments or small derivatives with hard-light cannons and metallic hydrogen missiles, while providing pinpoint guidance for heavy strike runs.
Bomber wings—deadly "albatrosses"—charged deep into the blood moon mass and dropped ordnance capable of erasing small asteroids.
But the blood moons were not passive targets. Their warped, quasi-organic surfaces writhed and split, spewing corrosive energy streams or summoning tendrils of eldritch matter to lash back.
Now and then, a Diwuzu escort, too slow to evade, lost its shields to overload, had its hull eaten by the corrosive energy, or was ensnared and torn apart by colossal tendrils, becoming a brief bloom of stardust in a silent blast.
Even so, the Diwuzu fleet displayed superb tactical discipline and coordination.
Losses existed, but relative to the fleet's scale they were slight—and every ship's sacrifice forged a better window for its comrades to strike.
The fleet's formation moved like a precision engine of war. Fire nets interlaced in order. Advances and withdrawals were measured. The overall battle steadily tilted in the Diwuzu's favor, their advantage growing.
Sensing that forcing a breakthrough through the fleet's airtight fire web would exact an unbearable price, the blood moon collective consciousness abruptly shifted strategy.
These titanic scarlet bodies would no longer attempt head-on rams or apocalyptic energy exchanges with the fleet. Instead, they sought to bypass the iron wall and lunge straight for their long-coveted prize—
the tens of billions of unprotected humans on Earth—so they could perform the final "devouring" and "fusion," trigger a qualitative leap from quantitative glut, and complete a compulsory "ascension" rite.
However, when they extended their unseen feelers toward the blue planet, they met an unexpected obstruction.
A vast, "warm," resilient force rippled outward from the Renwei Yonggu where Sui Meng stood, spreading swiftly across the entire fleet.
In the void, it wove a faint, pale-gold psionic barrier.
This barrier was not purely physical defense; it carried a "sacred" aegis. It not only covered the Diwuzu fleet—its influence reached down to envelop the Earth of Dead Space as well, as if draping the planet in a holy veil.
The blood moons' psychic pollution and whispers were greatly weakened and purified before this barrier.
Thwarted, the blood moon host loosed a silent roar filled with twisted fury.
They realized that without first breaking this hated golden shelter, their plan to directly consume Earth would be hard to achieve.
Thus, the tactic shifted again.
The vast blood moon surfaces split open like festering wounds, cracking into countless holes of varying size.
In the next instant, a hair-raising tableau unfolded—
Like a waterfall pouring from the star sea—only this "waterfall" was made of countless twisted, howling corpse-mutants.
Hurtled by an unseen force, they cascaded in foul torrents, "tilting" hard toward Earth's atmosphere.
They came in many shapes—some retained roughly human forms; others had mutated into multi-limbed crawling horrors.
Friction in freefall set them ablaze, trailing black tails like a meteor storm from hell, their aims fixed on population centers below.
"Intercept them! Maximize CIWS efficiency—focus the beam matrix to scatter!"
The Diwuzu fleet reacted at once.
Banks of point-defense laser turrets, ion beam emitters, and rotary hard-light close-in guns along flanks and bellies snapped to life, weaving a death net across the heavens.
Countless slender yet lethal beams lanced into the falling corpse-mutants, bursting them midair into sprays of charred stink-meat and burning shrapnel.
The spectacle was grand and ghastly, like an endless fireworks show lit above the planet—only these fireworks signified annihilation.
But—
their numbers were simply too vast, nearly inexhaustible.
Though the fleet intercepted most of them, a significant number slipped through the fireweb and hammered down on cities, wildlands, and oceans across the continents like a lethal rain.
Cut to a bustling coastal megalopolis in South America.
The city had fallen into doomsday panic.
Screams, explosions, and sirens collided into a single shrill noise bed.
On the streets, vehicles smashed together out of control, erupting into raging fires that choked evacuation routes.
People scattered like headless flies, shoving and trampling one another. Human frailty laid bare in disaster.
Public transit was fully paralyzed. Panic surged from subway portals.
Local police tried to hold order, but their guns and batons were powerless before this incomprehensible terror and were quickly swept aside by the chaotic surge and sudden strikes.
To make matters worse, the already "terminal" Unification Church fanatics took this as a display of "miracle," surged into the streets, chanted twisted dogma, and attacked innocent civilians—smashing, looting, burning—amplifying the chaos.
Some cultists, under the dual influence of the blood moons and the Primordial God Seal, began dreadful mutations—skin sloughed off, bones twisted, eyes blazed with mad red light—as they grew more violent and dangerous.
Meanwhile, a fresh threat wheeled in the sky: bat-like corpse-mutants—agile, cunning—stooping from high altitude to kill with sharp talons and piercing bone spurs.
Worse, they could rapidly convert the freshly slain into new corpse-mutants in extremely short order, driving enemy numbers into exponential growth.
Despair spread through the city like a plague.
At the knife-edge of survival, a piercing howl rolled from the horizon—
Boom—boom—!!
Dozens of "searing" drop pods, like thunder hammers hurled by the gods, trailed plasma flames and punched clean through glass curtain walls, slamming down into central squares, intersections, parks—key urban nodes.
The thunder of their impacts briefly drowned the city's din, throwing up clouds of dust.
Before the dust had settled, the hatches blew.
Out stepped giants in heavy power armor painted blue, white, and red—walking bastions—the Diwuzu Astartes tactical squads.
They moved in teams of six as a base unit, fast and coordinated.
They carried signature 0.75-caliber bolters, with some squad members hefting large-caliber plasma cannons glowing ghostly blue—the perfect scythes for dense enemy swarms.
Bolters, flamers, and heavy shotguns formed a layered fire system for near and far.
Their arrival changed the battle at once.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The bolters' thunder replaced chaotic small-arms fire. Plasma cannons burned hot tracks through the air, vaporizing swathes of corpse-mutants.
The Diwuzu fought with practiced tactics, covering one another, standing like bedrock against the onrushing tide.
They snapped headshots to pop xeno-skulls, cleansed fields of lesser corpse-mutants with flamers, and hammered the hulking monsters born of mutated cultists with plasma.
At first, panicked civilians froze at the sight and sound of the giants—but quickly, they saw how these iron titans shielded them under the monsters' onslaught and carved safe corridors with overwhelming fire.
Shock turned swiftly into a survivor's giddy joy and a new light of hope.
"They're here to save us!"
"We're saved!" and similar cries spread through the crowd.
The Diwuzu said little, speaking through action. With crisp hand signals they guided civilians toward relative safety, their bodies forming an impassable wall.
Moments later, more engine thunder rolled from the sky.
Large transport formations, escorted by carrier craft, broke through the cloud deck and set down in LZs cleared by the Astartes.
Hatches opened, and organized Imperial Auxiliary Army units poured out.
They wore lighter, yet excellently protective powered suits, or CMC heavy power armor, and carried standard-issue hard-light rifles or kinetic weapons.
Well-trained, the auxiliaries immediately relieved the Astartes of parts of their burden, established more structured defensive lines, emplaced roadblocks, and began guiding and escorting masses of civilians to ad hoc evacuation points or underground shelters.
Their arrival marked the Empire's full takeover of the surface—and the formal start of the rescue operation.
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