The skies above the third planet were torn apart.
Thousands of blazing streaks illuminated the clouds.
It was the Imperial fleet's orbital bombardment, clearing the way for the approaching invasion forces.
The thunder of macrocannons rolled through the atmosphere like an endless storm, while brilliant white lance beams stabbed straight down from orbit.
The false Emperor's carefully constructed defensive lines were systematically reduced to scorched earth.
Fortifications that had once appeared on strategic maps as the third planet's outer defensive perimeter were now little more than rows of burning craters and blackened ruins.
By the time the first wave of drop pods pierced the clouds, the entire planet seemed to tremble.
Thousands of drop pods were plunging through the atmosphere simultaneously.
Trailing brilliant white flames, they descended like a meteor shower, each blazing streak marking a battlefield that was about to erupt into war.
Northern outskirts of the Central Province, Defense Sector E-7.
The moment the first drop pod slammed into the ground, the shockwave sent every soldier of the false Emperor within fifty meters flying.
A second later, the pod's doors blew open.
A black-armored figure charged straight into the enemy ranks.
Ezekyle Abaddon.
Captain of the First Company.
The future Warmaster of Chaos.
The power sword in his hand became a scythe of death. Every swing brought down several gold-armored soldiers.
The false Emperor's troops might as well have been made of paper.
Their energy rifles couldn't even penetrate Abaddon's power armor.
Those foolish enough to charge him in close combat were blown apart by bolter fire before they could swing their weapons.
"First Company! Spread out!"
Abaddon's furious roar thundered across the communications channel.
"Left flank, break through! Right flank, provide covering fire! Center formation, charge with me!"
More than a thousand Luna Wolves immediately sprang into action.
Their white power armor flashed through the smoke like a pack of wolves descending on their prey.
They advanced in perfect coordination, their movements synchronized as bolters thundered from every direction.
The false Emperor's soldiers charged forward in endless waves, desperately trying to overwhelm the breach through sheer numbers.
It was useless.
A single bolt shell could tear through three to five men. One sweep of a power sword could clear an entire arc of enemies.
Their golden armor was a joke against .75-caliber bolt rounds, while their energy rifles left little more than blackened scorch marks on ceramite.
Abaddon plowed through the enemy formation like a walking tank.
His power sword was already stained dark red, every swing spraying blood and fragments of flesh across the battlefield.
A savage grin spread across his face, his eyes burning with an almost insatiable hunger for slaughter.
"NOT ENOUGH! STILL NOT ENOUGH!"
He roared over the communications channel.
"THIS is the false Emperor's army?! THIS is all they've got?!"
"BROTHERS!"
"SHOW THEM WHAT REAL WARRIORS LOOK LIKE!"
The warriors of the First Company answered with a collective roar, their assault growing even more ferocious.
Fifteen kilometers northeast of Defense Sector E-7, Horus Aximand's Fifth Company was making equally terrifying progress.
The young captain was even more savage than Abaddon.
Rather than use his bolter, Aximand wielded a chainsword in each hand, carving his way back and forth through the enemy ranks.
The false Emperor's soldiers were hacked into pieces around him.
Blood covered his white power armor until he looked like some monstrous daemon that had just crawled out of an ocean of gore.
"KILL!"
His furious voice echoed across the battlefield.
"KILL EVERY LAST TRAITOR WHO DARES INSULT THE EMPEROR!"
"MAKE THEM PAY IN BLOOD!"
"MAKE THEM REMEMBER THE WRATH OF THE LUNA WOLVES FOREVER!"
The warriors of the Fifth Company were swept up in their captain's fanaticism, their own assault becoming just as relentless.
Meanwhile, west of Defense Sector E-7, Tarik Torgaddon's Second Company was advancing in an entirely different manner.
The normally cheerful captain, famous for his humor within the Mournival, wasn't smiling today.
His tactics were steady, efficient, and methodical.
No unnecessary risks.
No reckless charges.
Just a relentless, carefully controlled advance.
His bolter picked off every enemy who dared expose himself, and his power sword remained sheathed unless absolutely necessary.
His warriors followed the same approach.
Their formations never broke. Squads provided alternating covering fire, advancing methodically from one position to the next.
It wasn't that they lacked courage.
That was simply Torgaddon's style.
Steady as a mountain.
An approach that gave the enemy no chance to break through and no opportunity to escape.
But the most important battlefield lay directly ahead of Defense Sector E-7.
There, Garviel Loken's Tenth Company was engaging the main force of the false Emperor's army.
This was the only route leading directly toward the High City, the heart of the Central Province.
The false Emperor had stationed hundreds of thousands of soldiers here, supported by more than a thousand armored vehicles and several hundred heavy artillery pieces.
Loken stood atop the ruins of a destroyed bunker, studying the enemy lines through his weapon's scope.
His face remained expressionless.
Only his eyes betrayed the cold, almost ruthless clarity of his thoughts.
"First through Third Tactical Squads, launch a diversionary attack on the left flank."
His voice was perfectly calm, as though he were issuing instructions during an ordinary training exercise.
"Fourth through Sixth Squads, circle around the right flank."
"Seventh through Tenth Squads, advance directly with me."
"The Titan Legion will begin providing fire support in three minutes."
"All units, prepare."
The warriors of the Tenth Company silently acknowledged their orders.
Nobody questioned him.
Nobody hesitated.
Three minutes later...
Six enormous streaks of fire descended from the skies.
The Mechanicum's Titan Legion had arrived through orbital deployment.
Six colossal war machines slammed into the battlefield almost simultaneously, each impact sending a visible shockwave rippling across the ground.
The two Reaver Battle Titans opened fire first.
Their primary weapons had barrels large enough to swallow a Leman Russ battle tank.
Every shot blasted an enormous crater nearly fifty meters wide into the enemy formation.
The false Emperor's armored vehicles looked like toys before them, each direct hit reducing another tank to a burning lump of twisted metal.
Three Warhound Scout Titans prowled along the edges of the battlefield like hunting dogs.
Their twin-linked bolter cannons roared continuously, laying down suppressive fire for the advancing infantry.
But the true centerpiece of the battle was the Warlord Battle Titan.
The towering machine stood forty meters tall, dominating the center of the battlefield.
The deep rumble of its plasma reactor seemed to drown out even the thunder of the surrounding artillery.
A massive laser cannon was mounted on each arm.
Every time the two weapons fired together, they carved twin corridors of fire straight through the enemy lines.
The false Emperor's defenses began to collapse.
The gold-armored soldiers might have been utterly fearless.
But against firepower on this scale, fearlessness was just another way of saying they were willing to die.
They fell by the hundreds.
Torn apart by bolt shells.
Melted by laser fire.
Crushed into bloody pulp beneath the Titans' enormous feet.
And yet they still refused to retreat.
Because the consequences of retreat were even more terrifying than death.
Behind the defensive lines, red-robed priests screamed themselves hoarse, using every means available to force their soldiers to keep charging.
"THE EMPEROR IS WATCHING YOU!"
"TO DIE BENEATH THE EMPEROR'S GAZE IS YOUR GREATEST HONOR!"
"ANYONE WHO RETREATS WILL HAVE THEIR ENTIRE FAMILY EXECUTED!"
The soldiers gritted their teeth and charged forward again.
Toward that advancing wall of white armor.
Toward the Luna Wolves, who might as well have been death incarnate.
And then, beneath the thunder of bolters and the teeth of chainswords, they fell in enormous numbers.
--
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