"Interfacing with Imperial vessel data network. Calibrating personnel identification. Data cache anomaly detected—purged. Initiating data synthesis."
"Identification verified: Imperial Navy, Sub-Sector Patrol Fleet, Twenty-Second Flotilla. Sub-Lieutenant Olyss."
"Secondary data calibration complete. Classified status: Junior Operative, Holy Imperial Inquisition. Current mission status: Primary Deployment."
"Identity verification complete."
The sudden, clinical exposure of his true credentials caused Olyss to stiffen instantly, his expression freezing.
His identity might have been meticulously shrouded within the byzantine archives of the Imperial Navy, but the moment he left any digital footprint, even if he had used a single onboard vox-relay to transmit intelligence regarding Zog Steeltoof, his identity token was bound to leave an indelible trace in the data-weave.
Though he possessed a stoic demeanor that made him appear relatively seasoned, he was, in truth, quite young. This was his very first covert operation, a standard field-evaluation devised by his superiors.
His Inquisitorial mentor had merely tasked him with embedding himself as a naval sub-lieutenant for a six-month training rotation, maintaining absolute operational security while learning to navigate the lower echelons of naval command.
This was Olyss's baptism of fire against xenos, and it was proving far more harrowing than any lecture or simulated trial he had endured at the Scholam.
An ordinary Ork boy stood little over two meters tall, scarcely different in stature from the demigods of the Adeptus Astartes, and was distinguished primarily by green hide, primitive intellect, and a foul, pungent stench.
However, Steeltoof's personal retinue of Orks averaged an imposing five meters in height. Coupled with the volatile presence of Weirdboyz channeling raw psychic energy, the situation was far too extreme for a green acolyte still completing his field-trials.
Worse still was Zog Steeltoof himself; the Ork Warlord stood a towering ten meters tall.
He loomed like a multi-story hab-block.
Even an Imperial Sentinel walker paled in comparison to such a monstrous bulk.
Nevertheless, the tradecraft drilled into him by the Inquisition had served him well. He had successfully led a handful of surviving naval armsmen through the labyrinthine under-decks of the ship, evading numerous hunting parties of Orks and Red Corsairs alike, and had even managed to eliminate dozens of trailing mortal pirate heretics along the way.
The glowing, pale-blue optical sensors of an Erratana-class Armored Warden swept across the immediate surroundings before locking onto Olyss.
"Per protocol, armed pacification is commencing. Muster all surviving human personnel at this coordinate. This unit will provide localized security under standard directive."
"Uh... right! Understood!"
Olyss snapped out of his daze and gestured to the veteran armsmen huddled behind him. He then turned his head upward, straining his neck to look into the alloy skull of the five-meter-tall Armored Warden.
"What about me? I can provide internal schematics and enemy disposition data."
The Armored Warden shifted its weight, its multi-legged chassis tilting slightly as it lowered its central frame.
"Remain at this station. Do not wander. This unit has already usurped control of the vessel's operational pict-capture arrays. Once the defensive perimeter is established, do not leave the sector. Purge sub-routines are commencing."
With a hydraulic hiss, the Armored Warden straightened its chassis and strode purposefully through the hangar bulkhead.
From the hold of the transport craft, hundreds of identical Armored Wardens marched out in a synchronized, rhythmic cadence. Their massive alloyed carapaces completely choked the wide, gothic corridors.
As they reached several key intersections, dozens of the automatons split from the main column and ground to a halt, establishing choke points capable of entirely sealing off access to the hangar bay and the adjacent decks.
The four mechanical limbs that previously wielded particle-vibration blades began to shift and reconfigure. Two rapid-fire plasma cannons and a single volkite assault cannon manifested on each chassis.
Since rebuilding the Adaptive Combat Core, Axion had granted all combat machines access to a portion of the nanite weapon systems. For static defensive positions, ranged armaments were vastly superior to melee blades.
As for the Magaron-class atomic pulse cannons, their destructive yield was far too immense; utilizing them risked punching clean through the ship's outer hull.
With the defensive perimeter secured, the remaining Armored Wardens advanced at a rapid march, while a vanguard of Adaptive Combat Cores led the way up the primary transit corridor.
War erupted anew within the iron guts of the warship.
A squad of Armored Wardens advanced down the primary corridor with steady, mechanical strides, their multi-spectrum sensor arrays sweeping the shadows at hyper-frequencies to detect any sign of movement.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
A volley of heavy Ork sluggas suddenly opened fire, spitting a hail of high-caliber, crude ballistic shells.
Yet, aside from kicking up dense clouds of debris and cordite smoke, the greenskins' fusillade achieved absolutely nothing.
The Erratana-class Armored Wardens possessed integrated defensive shielding capable of absorbing direct kinetic impacts from battle tanks. Such crude sluggas might have torn through mortal flesh or cracked open standard power armor, but against these mechanical behemoths, each possessing a bulk comparable to a Dreadnought and backed by hardened force fields, the attack was entirely futile.
Realizing their ranged attacks were ineffective, a horde of massive, heavily armored Orks surged from the intersecting corridors. Their crimson eyes burned with a psychotic thirst for slaughter, their chainswords and massive choppas raised high.
"WAAAAAGH! SMASH DA TIN CANS!"
CLANG!
The dull, thunderous ring of metal striking metal echoed violently through the corridor.
The cunning greenskins had navigated the complex layout of the sub-decks to launch a sudden flank attack against the side of the Armored Warden column.
Yet, such tactical cunning was rendered entirely meaningless against the machines.
The bloodlust in the Orks' eyes flickered into brief confusion and bewilderment, and a fraction of a second later, their field of vision spun wildly, leaving them staring blankly at the red emergency lumens on the corridor ceiling.
The descending choppas were cleanly caught by shimmering, pale-gold energy blades.
With four independent mechanical arms possessing omnidirectional articulation, the concept of a "blind spot" or a "flank attack" simply did not apply to an Armored Warden.
Two of its limbs effortlessly parried and locked the heavy axes aimed at its central chassis. The remaining two arms swung their particle-vibration blades in a swift, scissoring motion directly toward the Ork's throat.
The heavy iron gorget worn by the brute, built to withstand bolt shells, offered no more resistance than parchment before the mono-molecular, vibrating edge of the blade. It was sliced open cleanly. Even though the Ork instinctively threw its upper torso backward in a desperate reflex, more than half of its thick neck was instantly severed.
Simultaneously, a neighboring Armored Warden, despite being at a slight angles disadvantage, caught another Ork's chainsword with its twin right arms. Its twin left arms immediately swung inward toward the dying brute whose neck was already hanging by a fraction of flesh.
With a flash of pale-gold light, the Ork's massive torso was neatly carved into three distinct segments. Viscous, dark blood erupted from the cleanly cloven wounds, showering the surrounding greenskins in a warm, crimson spray.
Stimulated by the scent of fresh gore, the remaining Orks grew even more feral, their frenzy reaching a fever pitch.
Yet, the mechanical slaughter unfolded in a manner entirely alien to their understanding of combat.
The four-armed configuration of the Armored Wardens granted them an overwhelming advantage in close-quarters engagement, while their multi-legged lower chassis provided absolute stabilization and leverage.
The solid alloy construction and high-tensile electronic fiber muscle bundles allowed these machines, which appeared deceptively agile for their size, to exert a crushing physical force that completely eclipsed even the bio-engineered muscle of the Orks.
Though these elite greenskin guards had been outfitted by their Mekboyz with custom-built mega-armor, they found themselves utterly outmatched, barely able to resist the machine strength in a direct test of leverage.
Every clash of weapons sounded like the high-speed collision of two armored vehicles.
But in the end, the flesh is weak, and iron prevails.
——————
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