As the two leading Armored Wardens encroached upon the perimeter of the automated defense network, several hidden turrets ascended from the rockface of the mountainside.
In a heartbeat, a hail of anti-infantry las-fire and over a dozen anti-armor missiles streaked toward the advancing Armored Wardens. The Automated Sentry-Troopers to the rear reacted instantly; orange beams of neutron energy lanced through the air, detonating the anti-armor missiles in mid-flight. Meanwhile, the anti-infantry las-fire hammered against the Armored Wardens' shields like driving rain, kicking up a relentless series of shimmering ripples across their energy displacement fields.
Within three seconds, a volley of atomic pulses erupted from the shoulder-mounted pulse cannons of the Armored Wardens. With exquisite energy regulation, the pulses precision-detonated the anti-infantry las-turrets. The explosive yields were perfectly calibrated, shearing away the weaponry while barely dislodging a few stones from the surrounding strata.
Watching this display of martial efficiency, the Iron Hands warriors in the rear exchanged silent, uneasy glances. The precision of these machine entities was not merely reflected in their capacity for slaughter; the potency of their weapons and the regulation of their power output could be adjusted with terrifying exactitude. If necessary, a neutron beam emitter could be dialled down to serve as a mere linstock to ignite a single sheet of parchment.
Once the initial batteries were neutralized, a squad of thirty Automated Sentry-Troopers began a rapid sprint forward. Their objective was a mangled turret base several hundred meters ahead. For these automata, data intrusion was always the most efficient vector of conquest. The surface defenses here had long been physically severed from the planet's orbital defense network.
As the squad advanced, more concealed turrets of varying calibers flipped upward from their recessed siloes, only to be reduced to precision-welded scrap by neutron beams and atomic cannons the moment they attempted to cycle their firing pins. The entire process was a masterclass in lethality.
Upon reaching the site, the Automated Sentry-Troopers combined their strength to heave the base of an automated turret, partially fused by atomic pulses, out of its mounting. However, the sight beneath the turret left Axion, who had been monitoring the feed, momentarily stunned.
Putrid, twisted flesh was coiled around the conduits and cabling extending from the subterranean pipes. Electronic monitoring arrays quickly shifted spectrums; in the thermal and warp-resonant views, the taint of Chaos could be seen pulsating through the gore. These defensive installations were not merely malfunctioning; they were being physically driven by this necrotic biomass.
The powers of Chaos had long ago infested these fortifications, spreading through the architecture like a cancer. The reason the Iron Hands had failed to detect this during previous reconnaissance was simple: the flesh was buried deep beneath the turret housings. The Astartes lacked the exaggerated physical strength of the automata and had never thought to uproot an entire destroyed turret assembly.
An Automated Sentry-Trooper attempted to interface with the cables that had not yet been consumed by the meat. The result was instantaneous. The lines were incapable of transmitting coherent data; the Warp-tainted flesh had usurped the function of the wiring. The internal logic-cores were likely already compromised.
Among the myriad horrors of the Warp, only the influence of Nurgle could produce such a result.
The moment the Iron Men exposed the flesh, every defensive emplacement on the mountainside with a viable firing angle roared to life. A green, pestilential miasma began to roll across the slopes. The turrets and mechanical devices began to warp visibly, sprouting grotesque spikes of calcified bone as a preternatural rust aggressively ate through the metal surfaces.
This scene was immediately broadcast to the Iron Hands on the ground and the Battle Barge monitoring from orbit. A cold fury swept through the sons of Manus.
"The filth of Nurgle... to think such a foul thing dares desecrate the technology left by our Primarch! We shall rend them asunder, blood for blood, until they learn the price of offending the Iron Hands!"
Though it remained a mystery how the rot of the Plague God had taken root on this lifeless world, it did not halt the machines' advance. Since data intrusion was no longer an option, they moved to direct kinetic suppression.
Beams of varied lethality saturated the path ahead even before the Iron Hands had finished their battle-cries. Fortunately, as the planet had been thoroughly scoured of life during its initial ruin, Nurgle's rot found little purchase for its usual tactics. Despite the spreading corruption, there were no corpses to reanimate; the familiar shambling hordes of Poxwalkers failed to manifest on this barren rock.
With the mechanical vanguard detonating every turret that dared reveal itself, the column soon reached the base of the mountain range. A colossal metal gate loomed before them, its dimensions vast enough to permit the passage of a Warlord Titan. The gate was embossed with icons of the Primarchs and the Emperor, depicting the glory of the Great Crusade.
At the edge of the gate sat a cogitator terminal, now completely encrusted in pulsating meat. At this sight of blasphemous distortion, an Iron Hands warrior roared in fury, drawing a melta gun and slagging the terminal into ruin before beginning a heated tactical debate on how to force the vault.
Ignoring the discussion, a Sapient Machine Automaton stepped forward. Supplemental scanning arrays emitted a series of strobing rays that swept across the gate's surface before the machine moved aside.
A series of atmospheric booms soon echoed from the heavens. Two Destroyer-class automata were deployed via direct orbital drop. Though their internal gravity-regulators mitigated their mass, the sheer velocity of their descent left two massive craters in the earth nearby.
The Iron Hands felt a surge of tension as they beheld the massive, flickering energy arcs dancing across the machines' power claws. The two war machines marched to the gate, buried their titanic claws deep into the reinforced plating, and violently tore the gate open.
As the metal screeched and buckled, a muffled roar echoed from the darkness beyond. Large chunks of flesh, which had been fused to the interior of the gates, tore away as the structure collapsed. A gargantuan, twisted carcass of a monstrosity toppled forward, swaying before hitting the ground with a wet thud.
Even through the filters of their power armor, the Iron Hands felt as if they could smell the cloying, sweet stench of rot clinging to the beast. No one had expected a biological horror to have physically merged with the vault doors, not even the Iron Men who had performed the scan.
This fusion of flesh and machine defied all physical logic, but to the Space Marines, it was not entirely surprising. It was illogical, yes, but it was quintessentially Nurgle. The Astartes who fought across the galaxy were no strangers to the Daemons of the Plague Father.
"Sacrilege!" hissed one of the Iron Hands.
The warriors prepared to charge into the yawning darkness of the vault to inspect their father's legacy, but a Sapient Machine Automaton suddenly reached out, seizing one of the Iron Hands by the shoulder. Before the Astartes could react, the machine's integrated cutting tool swung toward the warrior's left leg.
The Iron Hands Sergeant reacted instantly, jerking his brother back from the automaton's grasp. But in that split second, a Sentry-Trooper stepped in, its particle blade humming as it sheared through the warrior's left leg in a single, clean strike.
THUD.
The severed limb of the power armor hit the ground with a heavy, metallic ring. Instead of a fountain of gore, a mixture of machine oil and synthetic biological solution began to seep slowly from the stump.
"Damn you, Iron Men! What is the meaning of this?!"
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