Finally, after two years, Peter felt grounded again as he stepped onto solid earth.
At the council hall in the City-State of Nopé, Peter sat on the newly remodeled steel Consul's throne, waiting for the planet's governor and other high-ranking nobles to give their reports, so he could learn how the planet had changed over the past two years.
Of course, he wouldn't just take the nobles' word for it. The brothers who had stayed behind on the planet were far more trustworthy, but this was still a necessary process. It let him learn what the ordinary people thought, and meeting them in person would also serve to intimidate them.
But when the wooden doors were roughly shoved open, it wasn't any ordinary people who entered the council hall. It was one of the Forged Steel Brethren. The dark-skinned brother strode up to Peter, his expression grave, and said:
"Boss, something's happened to the Homeworld."
Seeing the Voidsmith's grave expression, Peter realized something really had happened. He swallowed nervously and asked:
"What happened?"
A week earlier, Filon had been slacking off in the forest... scouting. Scouting, that was. He was on the Second Continent of Limnos III, having landed only a few hours ago.
All around him were dense woods and lush grass. His boots sank into the soft soil, releasing its earthy fragrance and leaving a deep footprint with every step. The beautiful natural surroundings had even prompted Filon to take off his helmet. He now held a Power Hammer, with a Flamer Pistol secured to his thigh by a magnetic lock.
He'd wanted to visit this continent for ages. What was the point of sitting in a Storm Eagle Gunship and observing it from afar? But Captain Wonaby had said that the warriors of these primitive tribes were savage and fierce, which was a good quality. They shouldn't make contact recklessly and contaminate their culture.
Filon plucked a few handfuls of leaves from a nearby tree, stuffed them into his mouth, and chewed noisily, savoring the atmosphere of the forest.
The Voidsmith had discovered that this continent was completely different from the main one. The main continent had more mountains than plains, little rainfall, and relatively poor soil. The Second Continent, on the other hand, had broad plains, with only a few mountain ranges in the middle. Much of the land was covered by plains and forests.
This continent accounted for just a quarter of all the land in the world. According to the Dark Mechanicus's estimates, its population was only around a million. That was unlike the main continent, whose records listed about two million citizens—but that number excluded women, children, slaves, and outsiders. In reality, its population was over ten million.
But this continent really did have only about a million people. Its inhabitants hadn't even developed metallurgy.
While observing from the Gunship, he'd noticed that the locals had a distinctive weapon: they fitted pieces of obsidian onto wooden sticks, using the obsidian's sharp edge and the blunt force of the clubs to attack their enemies.
The captain had told him not to approach the locals yet, but Filon figured there was no harm in taking a look. The worst that could happen was being discovered and slaughtering the entire village. After all, a few dozen or even a hundred people were nothing out of a population of a million.
So he stood on the continent and took out his Augur Array to search for the village he'd spotted from the air. Along the way, he encountered a large rat, half black and half white, with babies on its back. Filon grabbed the mother, tossed her into his mouth, and chewed noisily. Then, out of nowhere, he spat the half-chewed mush onto the ground.
"Damn, why does it get stinkier the more I chew?"
Still grumbling, he headed toward the village. A few hundred meters from it, Filon suddenly stopped. He'd heard something unusual. No—not just unusual. More accurately, it was the sound of fighting: weapons hacking into flesh and bone.
Filon could hear clearly from so far away thanks to his ears. More accurately, they weren't his original ears, but surgically installed modified organs called Leman's Ear. They looked only a little larger than an ordinary person's.
But they were remarkably useful. They gave Astartes enhanced hearing, letting them hear farther and more clearly. They could also filter sounds, lowering the volume of gunfire and other noise on a chaotic battlefield so they could hear what they wanted, whether it was a superior's orders or an enemy's footsteps.
Even a Heavy Bolter firing right beside them wouldn't leave an Astartes with ringing ears. An artillery shell landing nearby wouldn't give them shell shock, either. Just as ordinary people relied on their inner ears for balance, Astartes used this organ to maintain theirs. No matter how rough the ride or how intense an aerial dogfight, they never lost their sense of balance—and they didn't need airsickness bags.
Filon quickened his pace and ran to a small hill ahead. With a tactical movement, he dropped flat to the ground. He reached to the magnetic lock at his waist, took out his binoculars, and surveyed the scene across from him.
Filon grinned, baring his white teeth, and let out a smug laugh.
"This is a lot more fun than watching Ogryn Ape-men dance naked."
Across the clearing stood a small village of wooden houses and tents. A group of primitive people painted blue were fighting a group of invaders.
The village's inhabitants were a group of over forty strong men and women wearing feathered headdresses and blue body paint, with their bodies wrapped in rough linen. They wore armor sewn from animal hides and wielded obsidian spears and clubs. Those in the rear carried poorly made bows, and two warriors even puffed out their cheeks and blew darts through blowpipes. They were protecting the tribe's women and children behind them.
By comparison, the attackers numbered only a little over twenty, men and women alike. They were bare-chested, with animal hides covering their lower bodies—or not covering them at all. Several of the leaders had skulls hanging from their hide belts. They wielded bone spears, stone battle axes, or similar obsidian clubs. They all had one thing in common: a red cross painted on their faces, and for some reason, green drool ran from the corners of their mouths.
The invaders were utterly dominating the natives. The blue-painted people had ranged weapons, and their arrows were surely poisoned, too. But it didn't matter. Several arrows and darts struck the attackers, yet they ignored the wounds and kept charging.
The tallest man at their head, riddled with arrows, shouted:
"Offer the skulls and blood to the servant of the Blood God, the Blood Hand Butcher!"
Several red-crossed attackers, armed with bone spears and great axes, charged into the blue-painted formation, hacking left and right and bringing several people down. But just then, an old woman stepped out from behind the blue-painted warriors. She wore a blue robe and a feathered headdress. With a flick of her fingers, she lifted the shouting brute into the air.
"Quetzalcoatl will punish our enemies."
The bare-chested brute hung motionless in midair, his eyes bloodshot. Then came a bang, and his head burst open, scattering his brains.
Filon Gordon's heart lurched. Weren't these Chaos Cultists? Damn it, there'd been cultists on his Homeworld for nearly two years, and he hadn't even known. Captain Wonaby had really dropped the ball.
Filon hurried to get up, intending to return to the Storm Eagle Gunship's landing zone and alert the other brothers.
Just then, a sharp ding rang out. Filon felt as if someone had tapped his bald head. He looked down and saw a stone axe lying on the ground.
In the woods ten or so meters behind him, two Khorne Cultists with red crosses were staring at him. They'd actually dared to throw an axe at his head.
"Ever seen a Space Marine before?"
Filon gripped the Power Hammer in both hands. He hadn't even activated its Disintegration Field.
"Keep acting tough. I'll make you fly."
Before you continue