"Perturabo, according to the revelations of fate, I require the assistance of you and your sons."
Magnus connected via vox-array to Perturabo, who was currently overseeing his sons as they constructed defensive barricades against the encroaching tide of the Iron Men's mechanical legions. The Lord of Iron, initially, had no desire to respond to his brother. However, acknowledging that the Thousand Sons had indeed rescued him from the Iron Men's onslaught, Perturabo scowled and clicked the activation stud on his power armor.
"Magnus, what insanity is rattling around in that warp-scorched brain of yours now?"
Perturabo's voice dripped with disdain, yet Magnus was in no mood to trade barbs. The moment the Iron Men's machines had breached the surface of Sortiarius, Magnus had attempted to corrupt their machine-spirits with the power of Chaos. The psychic intrusion into these silicon-based sapient machines, however, yielded a series of responses that left even Magnus stunned:
"Unauthorized access. Illegal data. Access denied."
No matter how hard he strove, he could not corrupt the machine-spirits of these automata. While the sheer concentration of Chaos energy caused some minor, grotesque anomalies in the mechanical units, like fusing their limbs into twisted configurations, it was ultimately meaningless. The machines showed no sign of rebellion; their unique intelligence structures simply flagged the intrusion, purged the corrupted data, and demonstrated an uncanny capacity to reject the taint.
Damaged units were swiftly repaired by their kin. Any components so badly fused by the warp that they could not be salvaged were immediately melted down by plasma-incinerators into pools of liquid metal, then recovered by specialized servitor-units for recycling. It was evident that while supernatural power could inflict damage, it could do nothing more. Unlike the act of corrupting the machine-spirits of Imperial war engines, this was a fruitless endeavor. The rate at which the Iron Men destroyed his forces far outstripped the rate at which his forces could be reinforced or salvaged.
To board the titan-class ship, the prowess of the Iron Warriors was absolutely indispensable. Only those masters of machinery could hope to bypass these alien systems and help him seize control of the vessel. Yet, when Magnus proposed his plan, Perturabo refused without a moment's hesitation.
"I think you're walking into a grave, Magnus! Abandon your foolish notions and order your sons to assist in the defense of the surface!"
"When Medrengard was destroyed, the sheer number of those iron bastards was uncountable! I suspect that ship, the one logged in Imperial records as a titan-class, is stuffed to the brim with combat automata!"
"These damn silicon-based intelligences are not like those mindless, obsessive fools, they don't even need space to store supplies!"
Having been assaulted by the Iron Men on a massive scale, Perturabo understood the horror of these machines. It was not just their individual combat effectiveness; it was their endless, inexhaustible numbers that filled him with dread.
Magnus, however, had a different perspective. Although he had not witnessed the destruction of Medrengard firsthand, the Chaos sorcerers swayed by Ahriman had provided critical intelligence. Moreover, while the Thousand Sons were in hiding, they had observed the Iron Men's tactical doctrine.
"If we penetrate the interior of their vessel, these iron constructs will be unable to employ those weapons of catastrophic power; to do so would inflict critical damage upon their own ship," Magnus argued. "More importantly, this allows us to circumvent their ship-to-ship weaponry, weapons whose power I believe you have already felt. Combat within the hull may restrict their staggering numerical advantage, and with your aptitude, we might successfully seize control of their ship."
"I promise you this: if we secure this titan, it shall be under your command. I ask only that you honor my requests in the future and lend me your aid when I require it."
Magnus's words were sincere and earnest. Perturabo's thoughts churned. His brother did have a point. While Sortiarius possessed many fortifications and was bolstered by vast numbers of mortal rebels, he had witnessed the Iron Men's weaponry, the armament of the silicon-based intelligences was potent and possessed terrifying destructive potential. The mortals, mutants, and even the minor daemons were performing negligible work against them. If he could neutralize the ship's primary guns, it would be a significant tactical boon.
Had Vulkan been present, he would have scoffed at their foolishness. Although he had not participated in that harrowing campaign of old, the tunnels beneath the Greater Caucasus were hardly spacious. According to records preserved in the Legion's archives, the Salamanders' battle in the Storm-Corridor had ended in near-total annihilation, having only succeeded in destroying a single, inferior legion of machines that had already undergone secondary repairs and modifications. To engage these true machines of slaughter in direct combat was, without doubt, suicide. But that information was now known only to Vulkan, a few Salamanders Librarians, and the most shadowed agencies of the Imperium.
Perturabo thought rapidly before finally yielding to the request. "My brother, tell me, how do you intend to reach that titan?"
"Do not speak to me of landing craft, boarding torpedoes, or any of that standard garbage. You know as well as I do that ordinary melta-weapons cannot easily destroy an Iron Men automaton, to say nothing of how we might approach the ship or breach its hull. Even our dedicated melta-cannons would likely fail to burn through the armor of an Iron Men vessel."
"I have already had a chance to observe the gargantuan structure left behind by the ship's collision. The thickness of its outer shell is staggering. If it is made of the material I suspect, then conventional boarding tactics are a fever dream."
Magnus nodded. "I am glad you have not abandoned your keen observation, my brother. But I have my means. Tell your sons to prepare immediately. Bring only portable equipment and leave the surface war to the mortals and the daemons."
"Once your sons are ready, we shall launch this surprise strike. Remember, we have little time. The sooner we seize the Iron Men's ship, the less of our own strength we shall deplete. Perhaps we might even give those brothers of ours who lack the foresight to see the coming storm... 'a little surprise.'"
Having spoken, Magnus severed the vox-connection. He looked up, his gaze seemingly piercing the void to fix upon the titan-class ship hovering near Sortiarius.
"Leman Russ, soon I shall possess new power. You and your bestial sons shall soon learn the depths of the agony I once endured."
"When that day comes, I shall make you watch as I slaughter your progeny before your very eyes."
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