Death fell from the sky.
Dreadclaw drop pods, falling like rain, tore through the sky of Pythos. These menacing steel creations traced burning trails in the atmosphere, falling toward the planet's surface at a suffocating speed. Their hulls glowed dark red in the heat, like a swarm of demons rising from the depths of hell, their blood-red mouths wide open.
"Too fast..." Malakim stared at the rapidly expanding black dots, his jaw clenched. Naturally, the drop pods' landing points were chosen with extreme precision—just outside the firing range of the Catachan base. The heavy anti-aircraft guns deployed in the camp could not effectively cover them. This meant they could only watch as the Chaos Astartes landed, deployed their formations, and launched an attack.
"Everyone, to battle stations!" Colonel Strykes's roar echoed through the base like a thunderclap.
What shocked Malakim even more was the reaction speed of the Catachans. Just seconds ago, these guys were as relaxed as if they were on an outing—some napping against tank treads, others chatting in small groups, some even polishing that pile of master-crafted equipment that seemed never-ending. But now, they were suddenly injected with a feverish vitality. Those scattered figures reorganized in an instant. They grabbed their weapons, weaving through the camp with dizzying speed. Each person ran to their exact battle position, needing no words, using only gestures and eye contact to complete complex tactical coordination. That degree of synchronization was like a precisely operating killing machine.
Malakim was secretly stunned. He had seen many elite Astra Militarum and had even fought alongside Huron's Tyrant's Legion, but the tactical proficiency of these Catachans still shocked him. Truly, they were warriors born from a Death World.
However, the Chaos offensive was faster than any of them imagined.
Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh—
Piercing sounds of breaking air exploded in the sky. Malakim looked up, his pupils shrinking. Black dots rapidly enlarged in his field of vision. These figures wore pitch-black power armor decorated with chilling bat wings and skull emblems; their menacing silhouettes cast shadows of death under the sun. The jump packs on their backs spewed scorching flames as they dove toward the camp like meteors.
Chaos Raptor squads!
"Enemy attack! Everyone, heads up!" Malakim roared, raising his bolter. His voice exploded across the battlefield, alerting his battle brothers and the deploying Catachans.
The trigger was pulled. The bolter spat flames, pouring rounds into the high-mobility assault squads. Beside Malakim, other Lamenters Astartes opened fire simultaneously, weaving a net of death in the sky with a dense barrage. But the Raptors were too fast. They performed unnatural maneuvers in the air, agile as predators dancing in the void. Most bolts whistled past them; only a few hit home, exploding into mists of blood in the sky.
A dozen Chaos Astartes were shot down during their dive, their remains and shattered power armor crashing into the earth, creating deep craters in the mud. But for the Raptor formation as a whole, this was a negligible loss.
They broke in!
Those Chaos warriors, equipped with chain-axes, power fists, and various melee weapons, crashed into the Catachan crowd like a pack of bloodthirsty wolves. A storm of blood and gore was unleashed. The high-speed rotating teeth of chain-axes tore through flesh, power claws crushed skulls, and lightning claws traced arcs of death. The Chaos Astartes rampaged through the crowd, each swing taking one or several lives. Blood splattered in the air, and severed limbs rolled in the mud.
However, the Catachans did not retreat. These jungle warriors, all equipped with power-feedback armor and equally skilled in melee, showed no fear. They drew their melee weapons and met the enemy with suicidal bravery. An intense slaughter erupted instantly. Two floods collided violently, like two packs of starving beasts biting at each other. They tasted each other's blood and felt each other's fear, as if the beasts in their hearts had burst through their chests, consuming all reason and restraint.
The ground was soaked with blood, becoming a muddy mess. Fallen bodies rolled in the sludge while the living continued to fight, stepping over the corpses of comrades and enemies alike.
Kill! Kill! Kill!
Malakim swung his power sword, his exquisite swordsmanship carving open the chests of two Night Lords in succession. He leaned aside to dodge a chain-axe sweep and cut off half his opponent's head with a backhand strike.
"This isn't going well; we need another way!" he shouted to Colonel Strykes, who was commanding nearby. "There are too many of them, damn it! Did those heretics dump an entire Chaos Warband down here?"
Colonel Strykes's face was also solemn. He fired his bolter continuously while barking orders into his vox. "Yes! Just hold on a little longer!" He turned and roared at Malakim, "Wait! We're already starting up the armored forces. These guys came too fast!"
"Once our armored fist strikes, they won't be so arrogant!"
Malakim breathed a sigh of relief. Indeed. These Chaos scum surely didn't expect so much armored power hidden behind the camp.
Boom!
A melta blast exploded beside Malakim. Mud and rubble were vaporized into scalding steam, and the scorching shockwave sent him stumbling. He dodged to the side and looked up. A figure in ornate black power armor walked slowly out of the smoke. The armor was decorated with countless skulls and twisted Chaos symbols, with the eight-pointed star embedded on the pauldrons. On his right hand, five gleaming power claws glinted coldly, making a piercing metallic scraping sound with every opening and closing.
"Dog of the False Emperor!" Haarken World-Eater retracted the melta pistol he had just fired, looking down at Malakim.
As a close confidant of Abaddon the Despoiler, he enjoyed this moment most—the look of mixed rage and despair in his prey's eyes. This Chaos Lord's favorite act after conquering a planet was to plant a spear in the ruins and declare it dedicated to Great Chaos. This time was no exception. He was full of confidence in his victory. No Chaos follower, seeing the massive military force gathered in the Eye of Terror, would doubt that Abaddon was about to achieve an easy victory. All he had to do was set a good tone for the Warmaster.
Haarken swore to take this planet within eight hours before the Warmaster arrived, as a gift to the great Abaddon!
"Your future is only destruction," he laughed, his voice full of arrogance and mockery. "If you kneel and beg for mercy now, I might show grace and give you a future to prove how wrong your past ignorance was."
"If you remain stubborn, you will witness with your own eyes how this world is completely conquered by me within eight hours!"
"Come on, traitor!" Malakim roared. His rage was so fierce that his vision trembled. Everything—the brothers fallen in the Warp, the destroyed battle barge, the atrocities of Chaos—everything sent him into a frenzy. A darkness swirled in the depths of his heart. His vision blackened, as if something had shrouded everything, casting massive shadows. Everything became blurred; the enemy's face now looked distorted, like another legendary figure.
"Hor..."
Before Malakim could react, he seemed to wake up from his rage. He swung his sword with all his might, the humming power sword driving Haarken back. Then, he looked at the sky.
Haarken, who should have used his opponent's opening for a lethal strike, also seemed to sense something. He looked up blankly, his arrogant smile freezing instantly. A meteor rose from the earth. The figure was so conspicuous, so out of place, that even among the crowds lost in the slaughter, many people ignored the danger and looked up.
Then, a rift was torn open.
The Chaos warship that had successfully destroyed the Lamenters' barge was letting out a complete howl, meeting the same fate as the opponent it had once defeated. A Warp rift tore open within the hull, as if the Warp engine that should have run smoothly had been transformed into something living by some force. The figure rising from the ground clearly didn't care, disappearing into the rift.
"..."
"..."
At this moment, silence appeared on the battlefield. Haarken watched in horror as his flagship met such a fate, his mind going blank, seemingly losing the ability to think. However, he wouldn't need to think much longer.
Boom!
A sound as if the air itself was being shredded exploded. A giant sonic boom spread, knocking someone nearby heavily to the ground. When Malakim stood up again, the Chaos Lord had vanished. Only a dark red pool of blood mixed with flesh spread across the ground.
Above where Haarken had stood was now a Baneblade super-heavy tank. Its treads were still slowly turning, the hull tilted slightly, the prow's ramming spike covered in fresh blood and shattered power armor fragments dripping in the sun. It was as easy and casual as accidentally running over a speed bump.
Malakim: ???
He stared blankly at the giant before him, his brain falling into a strange state of blankness. Did I see that right? Did that giant thing just run at supersonic speed? Is that still a super-heavy tank? Where exactly have I been brought to?
Then, a figure popped his head out from the tank. Colonel Strykes's weathered face bore a "this is normal" expression as he looked at the Chapter Master and shouted.
"No time to explain, get in!"
"Chapter Master Malakim, we have a lot to do. The Emperor needs every one of us to do our duty!"