Once back in a relatively safe location, Raynor immediately contacted Sarah through the System's mental link.
"We need to observe the specific combat details of the Sons of Medusa's next operation," he projected. "I am likely being monitored, and they don't allow anyone close when they're on mission. You need to be my eyes."
A cold, pulsing acknowledgment came from the other end of the connection. Sarah remained as mechanical and aloof as ever, but Raynor felt a sense of progress; she was no longer merely a predator he was managing, but a partner in survival. He quickly relayed the details of his plan to her.
Cassius moved quickly toward his next objective: a hive node located deep in the contested zone between Districts 7 and 8. Intelligence suggested the presence of advanced "node creatures," prompting a higher threat rating for this operation.
Before setting out, Cassius found Raynor and issued the same blunt directives. "Provide external interference. Draw away any diversionary swarms. Your unit is strictly prohibited from approaching the core area."
Raynor didn't mind. He had no intention of being anywhere near the "Steel Baptism" himself.
On the day of the operation, Raynor led his patrol team to create a massive distraction in the designated outer sectors, masking the real activity. Simultaneously, several Gargoyles—their camouflage carapaces blending perfectly into the dim, smog-choked environment—rose silently into the air. These winged bio-constructs were the perfect reconnaissance drones for Sarah.
Using the massive ventilation shafts and the narrow gaps between the Hive's crumbling architecture, the Gargoyles stealthily infiltrated the core area where Cassius's team had breached. Through the consciousness network, Sarah and Raynor watched the scene unfold.
The core hive was situated at the base of a colossal, abandoned elevator shaft. The interior was carpeted in thick fungal mats and pulsating organic structures that glowed with a sickly, dark purple light. This was a mature node, cultivated over years of patient infiltration.
The Sons of Medusa did not "sneak" in. They arrived with the force of a falling star.
As the Gargoyles clung to the shadows of the shaft walls, the battle below reached its climax. Three Terminators, resembling mobile ceramic fortresses, led the charge. Their emerald-green plates were covered in the white markings of the Magra Clan and scarred by previous engagements. Massive Cyclone missile launchers on their shoulders stood ready to rain destruction.
Two of the Terminators, armed with assault cannons, unleashed a continuous hailstorm of high-explosive rounds. The six rotating barrels wove a lethal metallic curtain, instantly shredding anything that dared to charge—including Hive Warriors. The flashes of fire and the spray of ichor almost obscured the view.
The third Terminator was equipped with a heavy flamer. A persistent, terrifying dragon of fire swept across the fungal carpet, igniting the organic growths into a spreading sea of flame. The acrid smell of burning xenos eggs and lower-tier drones was detectable even through the Gargoyle's dulled senses.
The Terminator squad was the anvil. Between them and on the flanks, Battle-Brothers in standard power armor formed the hammer.
Cassius was not directing from the rear. He was at the absolute front. Every swing of his power axe carved a storm of gore from the swarm. His third prosthetic arm, a mechanical limb reminiscent of a Tech-Priest's servo-arm, wielded a heavy bolter with terrifying, robotic precision.
The "Iron Halo" at his back distorted the light around him, flickering under the energy disturbances. It acted as an invisible force field, causing stray bone-spikes and acid splashes to deflect harmlessly away. He was not just a commander; he was a living weapon.
The coordination was flawless. There were no shouts, no wasted movements—only the rhythmic roar of bolters, the hiss of servos, and the shrieking of dying Tyranids. Ammunition was moved with mechanical efficiency, ensuring the fire never slackened. The swarm's numerical advantage withered in the face of this deadly, narrow corridor of fire.
The only true threat arrived in the form of a Neurothrope—a Spirit Fluke. This bloated evolutionary form of the Zoanthrope possessed a massive, pulsating brain nearly four meters long. Its mere presence caused the Gargoyles' connection to Sarah to flicker with psychic static.
The Neurothrope unleashed a blinding beam of warp-energy from its psionic crest, carving a ten-meter chasm into the metal floor. Had the Sons of Medusa been unprepared, the casualty count would have been high. Fortunately, this entity had recently evolved and lacked a full "Choir" of supporting Zoanthropes to amplify its power.
But Cassius had brought a countermeasure.
Detecting the psychic fluctuations beforehand, a specialized Son of Medusa stepped forward. From a heavy, iron-bound casket on his back, a withered, blind old man was released—a sanctioned psyker bound to the Chapter. The old man, covered in tubes and chanting silent prayers, projected a shimmering psionic barrier.
A terrifying beam of warp-fire slammed into the shield. The aftershock was so intense it seemed to slow the passage of time. Sarah felt her link to the Gargoyles straining as the psyker began to bleed from his eyes and ears. He held, but only just.
Seizing the opening while the Neurothrope gathered its energy for a second strike, Cassius—who had somehow removed his helmet in the heat of battle—burst through the barrier, a roar of mechanical fury escaping his lips.