Astartes Second Legion Retributors, Serial Number Conquered World—Universe No. 117.
Outer Milky Way, between the Centaurus Arm and the Perseus Arm, within the secondary spiral arm—the Orion Arm. Alien race territory, Pilgrimage Sector IX, on a primitive planet devoid of intelligent life.
Viewed from tens of thousands of kilometers away in space, not a trace of green could be seen across the planet's crimson rocky surface. Visible to the naked eye, hurricanes howled across the land. Sandstorms blotted out the sky, reducing visibility to a pitiful minimum.
Yet beside such a planet—one utterly lacking in habitation or mining value—a sizable alien fleet had assembled.
The ships varied in size and function, but all shared the same smooth exterior, massive central bridges, and streamlined hulls that carried an almost biological aesthetic.
From a distant, blurred glance, some resembled "flies," others "cockroaches," and some "beetles."
By appearance alone, it was obvious that these vessels were utterly different from Imperial Navy warships. They clearly belonged to an extraterrestrial alien civilization.
At this moment, however, an enraged roar echoed from within the central bridge of the fleet's flagship.
Unlike the Imperial Navy's sharp-edged, rigid, and square architectural style, the interior bulkheads and decks of the alien warship were filled with curved surfaces, exuding an organic, biological aesthetic.
A humanoid creature stood there, roughly 2.3 to 2.4 meters tall.
It possessed two arms and two legs. Its upper limbs were somewhat slender, while its lower limbs were thick and powerful. It wore magnificent brown-red armor and a helmet crowned with a large crest. The portions of its face and neck not covered by armor revealed gray-blue skin.
Most striking of all was its mouth—composed of four mandible-like lips.
"Raa! Raaaar! Raa—(Sangheili, official Covenant language)?!" Are you all useless?! A transport detachment composed of Jiralhanae—Brutes—vanished right under our noses in the heart of our Covenant's own Pilgrimage Sector?!
The brown-armored commander roared. The twitching of its facial muscles and the expression in its eyes made its fury unmistakable.
"Raa! Raaaar!" You tell me! How am I supposed to answer to the Prophets?!
Around the commander's elevated platform, a group of blue-armored Sangheili of the same species stood on either side as though watching a show. Their eyes revealed undisguised arrogance and disdain.
The Sangheili were the military leadership class of the Covenant.
Together with the San'Shyuum—known as the Prophets—who held administrative and decision-making authority while providing religious and political order, they formed the Covenant's ruling class. Their status and power within the Covenant were second only to the Prophets.
Nearly every Sangheili soldier was equipped with finely crafted armor and energy shields. Their combat capabilities were comparable to Spartan warriors, and they excelled in the use of plasma rifles and energy swords.
Because they commonly served as commanders during the Covenant's wars, they were designated "Elites" by the UNSC (United Nations Space Command).
Below the platform stood a group of towering, powerfully built, and robust ape-like beings, silent as they endured the reprimand of the "Elite" Sangheili commander.
Their square faces, flattened nasal bridges, wide nostrils, granite-like gray skin, and extremely rough features were covered in heavy, crude armor. By human standards, they were undeniably ugly.
Resembling Earth's simian animals, they had been named "Brutes" by the human soldiers of the UNSC who first encountered them.
"Raaaar! Raa! Raa—" Go search! If you cannot recover the holy relic, you—you all—will pay with your lives!
Though physically larger and seemingly stronger than the "Elite" Sangheili, the Jiralhanae Brutes displayed a demeanor completely opposite to their naturally irritable appearances. They appeared to accept the commander's rebuke with "respect."
"Raa!" Get out!
"Rrr." Yes.
The leading Brute replied in a low, hoarse voice before leaving the Sangheili command bridge with his fellow Jiralhanae without hesitation.
As the alloy blast doors of the bridge sealed shut, the expressions of every Brute in the corridor darkened instantly. They cast venomous backward glances.
"Just you wait, Sangheili scum..."
...
As for the internal intrigues and political maneuvering within the Covenant, the reconnaissance forces of the Holy Selene Empire's military were unaware.
Because at this moment, they were quite busy themselves.
Whoooosh—!
Beneath the planet's heavy sandstorm, the dim starlight—after being weakened layer upon layer by swirling dust—reached the surface as little more than faint glimmers, casting everything in a gray haze.
Below massive rock fissures resembling karst formations, gravel swept aimlessly against towering rock walls, producing a continuous clatter-clatter sound. Beneath an overhang, a few patches of greenery stubbornly clung to life in the corners.
At the end of a clearly visible drag trail, half-buried by sand, lay the shattered wreckage of a purple-black spacecraft.
If someone from the UNSC were to see it, they would immediately recognize it as a small high-speed transport craft belonging to the Covenant.
But now it had been broken cleanly in two. The high-temperature-melted fracture glowed darkly, metal fragments and debris were scattered everywhere, and the torn, dismembered corpses of Brutes lay strewn about...
Everything spoke of a fierce battle that had taken place here not long ago. The transport ship whose loss had driven the Covenant commander into fury was this very vessel.
"Secure. It's been handled. A shielding field has been deployed around the area. The signals from these alien scum corpses and their ship will be completely blocked."
Near an artificially carved cave not far from the wreckage, an Astartes warrior clad in iron-gray power armor looked up and spoke.
Above the rolling sandstorm, three massive black objects streaked across the sky, trailing white plumes of smoke. Through the composite electronic lenses of the power armor helmet, they stood out starkly—like six neat white lines slashed diagonally across a dim canvas.
"They've left."
"These fly-headed alien constructs are damn ugly. Sooner or later, we'll slaughter them all." Another gray-armored Astartes stepped out of the cave, turning his neck to follow the trajectory of the three fighter craft, his tone dripping with disdain.
Sending heavily armored warriors to serve as reconnaissance troops.
Although it looked extremely impractical, in reality, beneath the orichalcum composite armor shell, electronic muscle bundles were connected to nano-interfaces converted from Tyrant cells, allowing complete synchronization with the wearer.
Not only did it impose no burden, it greatly enhanced the wearer's reaction speed and strength. It merely appeared bulky.
"I hid the assault craft in another canyon not far from here. After tonight, we move to the next planet."
"Mm."
"Oh, right. The prisoner's still alive?"
"Alive. Even though his limbs were severed, he's being kept on life support with T—C7 healing agents. He won't die anytime soon. Long enough for reinforcements to arrive and perform a soul extraction."
"Good."
With that, the two returned to the cave side by side.
Inside, two other Astartes warriors were present. Judging by their armor paint schemes—one bone-white, one deep blue—one was from the World Eaters Legion, the other from the Night Lords.
Including the two Retributors who had just returned, this small cave now held warriors from three major Astartes Legions of the Empire.
Counting the Retributor still on external sentry duty, they formed a standard five-man tactical squad: three Retributors, one World Eater, one Night Lord.
They were merely one ten-thousandth of the Imperial reconnaissance forces dispatched by Great General Budo into the vast sea of stars.
As for why the squad composition was so mixed, it was due to Great General Budo's order—meant to strengthen cross-Legion joint combat capabilities, tempering them before battle and increasing mutual understanding.
"Is it done yet?" a Retributor asked.
"Quit rushing your ass!" The Astartes from the World Eaters Legion, temporarily serving as cook, brought his blade down in a single stroke, chopping off the head of an unknown beast roasting over the fire. Skewering it with a tactical dagger, he handed it over.
"Thanks." Removing his helmet and sitting cross-legged, the Retributor wasted no time and bit straight into it.
"Raaah!" Humans!
His armor stripped away, limbs severed and tightly bandaged to stop the bleeding, the chained Brute prisoner erupted into an agitated roar the instant he saw the faces beneath the heavy power armor.
Although these humans were terrifyingly massive—nearly two heads taller than even his own Jiralhanae kin—there was no mistaking those unmistakably human features.
Watching the Brute chatter incessantly, the Astartes exchanged glances. The language barrier left them completely clueless as to what he was babbling about.
"Is he hungry?" asked the most ornately armored Retributor.
"Or maybe he wants this..."
Reaching behind him, the Retributor detached a gridded container from the magnetic mount at his waist and withdrew a hollow-centered triangular object. It was gray-green throughout, covered in irregular angular lines.
"Raa! Raaaar! Raa—!" You damned humans! Take your lowly, Unggoy-like filthy hands off the holy relic!
The moment he saw the "holy relic" in the human officer's hand, the Brute's already ugly face twisted violently, and he began howling madly.
While most Jiralhanae had little interest in the Covenant's so-called pilgrimage, the relic had been entrusted to their clan by the Prophets. If they failed, the Sangheili bastards would mock them mercilessly.
After all, this mission had only been secured from the Sangheili with the backing of one of the three High Prophets—the Prophet of Truth. And now it had been ruined by humans.
How could he not go mad?
"Raaaar! Raa—!" I'll tear you apart—no, I'll make you beg for death! I'll snap your bones one by one!
But again—the language barrier.
"Looks like the helmet's built-in language processing system really needs a database update." He had no idea what the Brute was so worked up about.
"This thing should be some important item they were escorting. There were signs of it during the earlier battle—they fought desperately to keep us from touching this triangular piece. Seeing his reaction just confirms it."
"When Shingu Mindseer arrives, we'll know everything. For now, shut him up. He's noisy as hell." The Night Lord rose and kicked the weakened Brute unconscious with a single blow.
Afterward, he calmly returned to his seated position.
By the campfire, the World Eater pulled seasoning containers from both sides of his power pack and devoted himself wholeheartedly to his grand barbecue enterprise.
The sight made the others' eyes twitch. Using ammunition storage compartments to hold spices was certainly... creative.
"What are you staring at? Come eat! Compared to shooting, I prefer revving up a chainaxe anyway. Carrying two fewer bolt magazines doesn't matter. I never finish them in battle."
Ignoring his comrades' strange looks, the World Eater gestured at the dish prepared from the planet's unknown wild beast and grinned.
"Out here on the battlefield, roughing it in the wild—being able to eat something this good—you should be thanking me."
The World Eaters under Selene were indeed brutal toward enemies and notorious for their cold ruthlessness toward the disloyal. But toward comrades and law-abiding Imperial citizens, they were straightforward and hearty warriors—at most overly combative, with sharp tongues and poor tact.
They always liked to proclaim themselves the most loyal Legion, needing no medals or ornaments as proof—loyalty itself was their decoration. Thus their power armor was the plainest of all.
After all, Selene had no golden throne to sit upon, nor would she indulge in gaudy theatrics that might estrange her subordinates.
After eating for a while, no one could tell who started it, but their conversation gradually became more relaxed.
"Once reinforcements arrive, I wonder if our reconnaissance mission will be over."
"Maybe. It shouldn't be much longer anyway."
"When the full-scale offensive begins, we're going to have a proper slaughter. These small skirmishes are suffocating—I'm bored to death."