Amon Couldn't Hold Back Anymore

The White Star had descended to an altitude of forty thousand feet above Aiur's surface, entering vast layers of clouds stained blood-red by the light.

Above them, more than three hundred Imperial battlecruisers were also passing through Aiur's atmosphere. Bright comet-like trails stretched from the sky to the horizon, as though they were descending on pillars of fire. More than a thousand frigates capable of atmospheric flight followed close behind, then came transports packed with marines, escorted by starfighters and carrier-based tactical craft.

Between the city-sized Gorgon-class vessels, Valkyries and Liberators emerged in columns. Their sleek, graceful hulls possessed the classical beauty of Old Earth-era starships, flickering in and out beneath the Defensive Matrices projected by science vessels like spears cast by God. Smaller Vikings, Wraiths, and Ravens weaved through the vast fleet like schools of agile fish in water.

The remaining two-thirds of the Imperial fleet stayed in Aiur's lunar orbit, each squadron ceaselessly conducting orbital bombardment against ground targets. Terrifying thermal particle beams tore through the clouds like orange-red blades of light descending from the heavens, carving up the earth and churning the boiling seas.

Looking down, under the searing beams of energy weapons, this land that had once been beautiful as a painting had been baked red and hard like clay in a kiln, eventually becoming a mass of re-solidified material like shattered glass, reflecting the dim sunlight in cold, shimmering flashes.

Tychus, standing beside Augustus, gave a biting assessment. "Another festering pustule."

"Damn it, how did Aiur end up like this?"

The White Star gradually descended below ten thousand feet. Only a few sparse red clouds remained here, and the landscape was desolate and empty.

There had once been several towering mountain ranges farther below, but the sensors now showed that not even a small hill