Vulkan was compassionate. The Primarch ordered his Legion to lead the vanguard assault, drawing the vast majority of the enemy's fire to safeguard as many mortals as possible.
The mortal fleets of the Imperium, guiding their cannons with absolute resolve, responded to the benevolence of the Lord of the Firedrakes by launching an unwavering fleet charge against the xenos without a single thought of retreat.
The Astartes and the mortal auxiliary forces were no longer divided at this moment; their collective wills fused into one, hurtling alongside the lance strikes and macro-cannon volleys straight toward the alien fleet.
With the Legion fleet's prows facing the enemy, the experimental Nova Cannons aligned along their centerlines finally found their purpose. Charging the colossal cannons drained the engines completely, causing the warships' thrusters to wink out as the vessels drifted forward toward the enemy fleet on pure inertia.
Power cut out across the warships, plunging the decks inside the viewports into total darkness, yet the hulls themselves vibrated with a low tremor.
Then, the warships' speed dropped precipitously as their structural force-field matrices let out an overburdened hum, the titanic recoil knocking the megaton-class main battleships off their original trajectories.
A blinding, stark-white glare illuminated the cosmos. The plasma warheads slammed into the Rangdan warships, detonating instantly within the heart of their battle lines!
A miniature sun had risen! Across a radius of over ten thousand kilometers centered on the detonation point, no vessel—large or small—escaped. They were blasted into microscopic shards by absolute, crushing force.
The Nova Cannons accelerated the fifty-meter-caliber projectiles to ninety-eight percent of the speed of light, inducing a relativistic effect: as the velocity neared the speed of light, the mass swelled exponentially.
The mass of the projectiles grew exponentially with the rise in velocity, carrying kinetic energy upon impact comparable to an asteroid strike. Combined with the plasma implosion warheads, it utterly pulverized both the trajectory path and the detonation point.
Though the plasma glare flared for a mere second, the tactical results were exceptionally gratifying. The Nova Cannons tore a massive breach straight through the Rangdan line, scattering the enemy's deployments.
The warships continued their charge right through the incoming fire. The engines flared to life once more, the void-shield systems came back online, and their momentum carried them forward with unyielding ferocity.
Close-quarters boarding actions had begun!
As the broadside cannons of both armadas faced each other, lances and macro-cannons thundered in unison. In an instant, shields overloaded, decks ruptured into splinters, and warships foundered one by one into the deep void.
The Rangdan fleet was breached and bisected by the human armada. Space Marines boarded via assault craft, and the Salamanders tore their way into the enemy hulls, purging the hideous xenos.
The Salamanders Legion, inheriting the bloodline of the Lord of the Firedrakes, Vulkan, possessed an extreme tactical endurance on the battlefield, making them some of the most resilient warriors in existence. Furthermore, deeply influenced by their Primarch's temperament, the Legion mastered the art of the forge; master-crafted power armor and weapons were widely distributed, rendering the Legion's combat prowess exceptionally lethal.
Yet, the compassion of the Salamanders would never extend from humanity to the xenos!
The boarding parties utilized meltas and heavy flamers to incinerate any xenos blocking their path, and the mind-controlled humans were counted among those to be purified without exception.
Withdrawal flares detonated across the starfield as the Rangdan fleet rapidly retreated, scrambling to regroup at their Mandeville points.
The Imperium of Man did not pursue. They annihilated the remaining warships that failed to extract in time from the breakthrough zone, recovered their boarding personnel, and extracted vital intelligence from the captured alien hulks.
After delivering a punishing blow to the Rangdan fleet, Vulkan directed his armada to fall back to the industrial world, reforming their battle lines to await the second wave of attacks.
The Front Lines Assailed
"My Lord, the entire Imperium defensive front is under comprehensive assault."
An astropathic transmission arrived once more. The communications officer displayed the urgent transmission directly onto the tactical hololith table, the hurried tone plunging the command deck into a tense atmosphere.
Vulkan's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the display. Total war had indeed erupted on all fronts.
Reports flooded in continuously; the outer perimeters of the four major war zones were systematically encountering the primary Rangdan armadas, as the xenos empire launched a synchronized, total offensive.
Along the defensive line of the Fourth Sector, scout fleets reported three Battle Moons advancing upon their position. Yet Rogal Dorn did not issue a request for reinforcements; the Imperial Fists possessed absolute confidence in holding the line against the enemy.
Ferrus Manus did not take the situation lightly, ordering Leman Russ's Space Wolves to deploy and strike the Rangdan fleet from their rear, reinforcing the Imperial Fists.
In the First and Second Sectors, massive Rangdan armadas bore down upon the lines, and two Rangdan Overlords commenced an assault against the Ultramarines' defensive perimeter. The Nuur fleet dispatched a powerful reinforcement contingent to assist Roboute Guilliman's defenses, anchoring the enemy forces there.
Vulkan nodded slowly as he studied the hololith table. Guilliman, overseeing two war zones, had never intended to launch an offensive; he had constructed numerous star-fortresses, choosing to engage the Rangdan in a grueling war of static attrition. With the support of the Nuur fleet, no catastrophic breaches were likely to occur.
The closest theater to the Salamanders was the Iron Hands' defensive sector. Ferrus Manus had the Emperor Himself stationed alongside him, with two Blackstone Fortresses anchoring the front lines in mutual support. The Legion companies had deployed across the entire sector, rendering the defensive line virtually unbreakable.
On the hololith display, the Rangdan fleet was regrouping at the edge of the star system, re-forming their ranks. Vulkan had no intention of pursuing them; rather than forcing the xenos to slip away into the deep void, it was far better to keep them right before his eyes where their precise movements could be monitored.
He tapped the planet-level tactical display, shifting his focus to the ground engagement.
The Eleventh Legion fought with ferocious valor. Sixty thousand Space Marines were matched against one hundred thousand Rangdan elites, yet they were systematically driving the xenos back step by step.
However, the Legion's behavior was deeply peculiar.
Ever since its founding on Terra, the Eleventh Legion's behavioral patterns had become increasingly reclusive.
According to logs, the mortal Imperial Army auxiliaries attached to the Legion had been completely annihilated by a nuclear strike during an earlier xenos campaign. Since that event, the Legion had not only refused any mortal reinforcement drafts but had even returned its mortal fleet elements back to the War Council.
The entire Legion maintained an exceptionally sparse fleet count, and the automated deck-servitors aboard their ships mostly had their prefrontal cortexes excised, possessing no independent intellect to speak of.
When cruising through the void on compliance campaigns, their logistics vessels never docked at major ports, opting instead to resupply solely at minor outposts before departing immediately without ever lingering.
Every indication suggested that the Eleventh Legion was desperately concealing a profound secret.
Battle footage streamed back continuously. As a Primarch, Vulkan utilized his absolute authority to embed observation personnel within the ground theater to monitor the Eleventh Legion's combat methods. He was intensely curious: what exactly was his brother's Legion hiding?
Unclean Apparitions
Across the surface of the industrial world, human warships hovered in high orbit, continuously hammering the terrain with lance strikes via orbital bombardment. Drop pods rained down without pause, delivering logistics and munitions directly to the front lines.
The Legionaries were clad in charred-black Crusade-pattern power armor, sporting broad pauldrons and overlapping ceramite greaves arranged like roof tiles. Distinct from all other Legions, the power armor of the Eleventh Legion featured elaborate flame motifs painted across their limbs, breastplates, helms, and pauldrons.
Clad in this flame-wrought black armor, the Legionaries' aggressive momentum was akin to a torrent of rushing magma. Over the span of two weeks, they had thoroughly cleansed the outer industrial zones and were currently laying siege to the final strongholds held by the xenos.
Several dozen Salamanders warriors, clad in their green, drake-scaled power armor, were interspersed within their cousins' offensive lines. Vulkan utilized them as his eyes to observe the Eleventh Legion.
It had to be said that by rejecting mortal auxiliaries, this brother Legion's individual combat efficacy had risen significantly. The reclusive Space Marines operated in seamless, flawless synchronization with their battle-brothers, driving the elite Rangdan warriors before them like common beasts as they cleared street after street.
Thud—!
Yet, variables always manifested in war. No matter how perfect the coordination, a price had to be paid upon the shifting sands of the battlefield.
With a massive detonation, plasma residue and thick smoke billowed into the air. A squad of warriors sustained a direct hit from a heavy plasma cannon, instantly vaporized by the extreme thermal energy.
"AAARGH!!!"
An uncontrollable roar of fury echoed across the line. Legionaries broke cover in a rage, responding to the mocking clicks of the Rangdan Overlord with volleys from their bolters.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Volkite weapons spat tongues of fire. With their battle-brothers slain, the survivors of the squad were beside themselves with wrath, launching a direct frontal assault against the street-level defensive bunker.
The Salamanders warriors looked on, and what they saw made their cousins' power armor appear to shimmer. Plumes of dense smoke began to rise from the armor plates, and those red flame motifs appeared to literally come alive!
It was not a mere illusion—the fire had actually come alive!
Supernatural flames erupted across their cousins' power armor, their wrath acting like oil poured onto a fire, casting off countless embers as they surged forward. Their bolters roared, tracing lines of fire through the air that struck the Rangdan xenos and erupted into spheres of searing flame.
The Rangdan froze in sheer bewilderment at the spectacle before them, but immediately attempted a counter-offensive, firing their plasma weapons at the Space Marines who had broken cover.
When the plasma globes struck the Legionaries, the scene that unfolded next left both the Salamanders and the Rangdan utterly incredulous.
The plasma globes splattered, melting through the ceramite armor plates, yet they failed to halt the stride of the Legionaries. They roared, continuously pulling the triggers of their bolters, turning their wrath into physical ammunition to vent the profound grief brought by the death of their brothers.
Their march of vengeance did not falter, leaving flaming footprints wherever they stepped. They were completely unstoppable, firing at an extreme rate without ever stopping to change their magazines.
A Salamanders warrior attempted to rush forward to get a closer look, but his steps were abruptly halted. Two cousins stood directly before him, extending their hands to bar his path.
"What was that?" The Salamander removed his helm, his crimson eyes locking onto his cousin as his deep, gravelly voice demanded an explanation: "I did not missee that, nor is it possible that I misread it."
That supernatural apparition was absolutely not a normal phenomenon; those flames carried a powerful psychic resonance.
"A discipline," the Eleventh Legion warrior replied without attempting to conceal it, offering a serious explanation. "Derived from our Legion's psychic sorcerers, utilized to augment the Legionaries."
The words were spoken with total candor and a sincere tone. There was not a shred of deception in his manner.
Yet the Salamanders warrior naturally refused to believe it. In that brief, fleeting glimpse moments ago, he had seen his cousin's ruptured chest plate, and beneath it, the torn flesh was actively regenerating under the searing embrace of the flames.
Stripped of the armor's concealment, the underlying skin was shriveled and charred like charcoal—it was no longer a human countenance.
"Is that so?"