In the cold galaxy, Victoria, the Capital World, floated in the endless darkness of space. It had no moons or asteroid belts. The lonely planet hung in the boundless void, its surface battered by extreme weather. Countless massive cyclones swept across it.
Pale white and gray-brown cyclones mingled, twisting together like two oceans. A faint glow rose from the planet's surface, surrounding it like the only beacon in a dark galaxy stretching across billions of light-years.
Several small black objects rushed toward the planet from the depths of space. They pierced its outer atmosphere at tremendous speed and plunged toward the surface, like a flock of Raptors.
Thunderhawk Gunships sliced through the dense atmosphere. Friction set their wings and fuselages ablaze, enveloping the craft in dazzling flames. They looked like meteors falling from the heavens—not just one, but several hurtling toward the ground together.
Two more Thunderhawk Gunships followed the lead craft, which had been painted blue and decorated with a snarling shark on its nose. Ahead of them, five Lightning Fighters were also breaking through the atmosphere.
These fearsome Raptors plunging down from the galaxy shook violently as the atmosphere buffeted their wings, but they did not falter. Powerful vector-thrust engines roared from the many nozzles at the rear of each craft, their force unmistakable among the engines' exhaust plumes.
Blue flames lit up the rear of the craft and set the surrounding atmosphere ablaze. Their engines propelled them through the clouds, and the Raptors of the galaxy burst into the planet's upper atmosphere, leaving the dense air behind.
As the flight broke through the clouds, the powerful vector engines fell silent, replaced by the atmospheric thrusters.
Inside the blue Thunderhawk Gunship, the flashing red warning lights dimmed. The glow that had signaled danger and turbulence faded, and the violent shaking finally ceased.
Olaf looked around at his three Astartes brothers. Like him, they had been strapped into their seats, their towering bodies secured in place by hydraulic braces. But now, that was no longer necessary.
Ragnar was the first to raise the restraint bar. He strode to the center of the Thunderhawk's interior deck. "We've broken through the atmosphere! Father of All Knowledge be praised! This damn place has finally stopped shaking!"
"Have we been spotted?" Bell asked. The communicator in his helmet answered at once. "No, Lord Bell. Our radar hasn't detected any local defense systems locking onto us, nor any interceptor squadrons approaching."
"In fact, we believe the radar station detected by the ship's ground scan before departure was abandoned. We scanned the area, but detected no heat signatures."
Lancelot sighed and released his restraints as well. "This planet's defenses are pitiful. I'm certain any enemy of the Imperium could invade it with ease."
"That's true, Lancelot. You're right. But at least this time, it's working in our favor." Olaf turned his head slightly. "Squad leader, have your squad destroy the ground-based anti-aircraft guns. Pilot, prepare to deploy." "Understood," two voices replied together.
The Lightning Fighters' thrusters suddenly accelerated. The five craft plunged toward the factory below, which stood amid a boundless wasteland and was clearly unprepared for an attack. On its loading deck, everyone was going about their daily work, wheeling canisters of Crimson Essence out of the facility, loading them onto vehicles, and sealing them away. None noticed the destruction about to descend upon them.
Dozens of missiles launched in unison, streaking over the heads of the workers before a series of violent explosions rocked the factory. Its already inadequate anti-aircraft defenses were completely destroyed. The remaining emplacements were swiftly annihilated when the Lightning Fighters roared past, wheeled around, and opened fire with their rotary cannons.
Fragments and wreckage rained down from the factory's heights. The battered base of a Hydra Flak Cannon smashed onto the loading deck, startling everyone into stopping what they were doing.
The workers seemed to finally realize they were under attack. Shouts and curses erupted, plunging the entire deck into chaos. The armed guards roared as they grabbed their guns and began firing blindly at the Lightning Fighters for no reason, as if their rifles could hit the swift Raptors.
But real Raptors of war were bearing down on them. The much larger Thunderhawk Gunships swooped low toward the ground. The blue Thunderhawk led the way, its vector thrusters angling downward as it steadied itself and hovered dozens of meters above the ground.
Four enormous figures dropped from the craft and crashed onto the ground with a thunderous impact. The Devout Society guards on the deck stared in terror at the four giants as they slowly rose to their feet, clad in black Power Armour.
"Astartes!" someone shouted. His terrified cry did not last long. Lancelot raised his Bolt Pistol and blew half the man's body apart with a single shot.
Gunfire and cannon blasts thundered across the entire deck. The guards fired at the four Astartes in terror, but solid rounds and las-fire could not pierce their black Power Armour.
The Deathwatch Space Marines began to bring the Emperor's punishment down upon these mortal heretics.
Bolters roared. Almost instantly, countless bodies burst apart in sprays of blood, leaving nothing intact. Ragnar, Lancelot, and Bell strode forward across the metal deck, their heavy footsteps making the ground tremble.
The desperate guards poured fire at them, but they had no hope of stopping the giants' advance. Bolters and Chainswords tore through their ranks, leaving nothing but destruction and death in their wake.
Lancelot's Power Sword and Ragnar's roaring Chainaxe reaped lives with brutal efficiency. The Dark Angel and the Space Wolf strode forward, smashing through piles of cargo and spraying blood and flesh in every direction.
Olaf stayed where he was, watching his brothers charge ahead at full speed. In just a few seconds, they had already carved out a safe landing zone on the deck.
"Land," the Old Wolf said in a deep voice. Almost at once, two Thunderhawks touched down behind him. Their hatches slid open, and two full squads of Stormtroopers charged out. These well-trained Imperial strike forces immediately formed up and unleashed the fearsome firepower of their hellguns.
Las-bolts streaked around the three advancing Deathwatch Space Marines, their searing red light piercing the lucky survivors beyond the giants' killing range.
Olaf raised his massive arm and swept it forward. The Old Wolf, clad in the towering armour of a Chief Librarian, began to advance. Psychic lightning flickered and danced across his body. Countless bolts struck the enemies of the Imperium, vaporizing their flesh and leaving behind only shattered bones.
The guards fell back under suppressive fire, while the workers fled en masse into the factory. As the Imperial forces drew closer, someone inside the factory began raising the enormous gate.
The guards still outside saw the gate coming down behind them and stopped firing, scrambling to escape inside. One after another, they fell beneath the guns of the Stormtroopers and Astartes.
"Ragnar! Hold the gate!" Olaf shouted. The young Space Wolf let out a howl and suddenly broke into a sprint, racing past the fleeing guards at tremendous speed.
Ragnar bowled everyone aside. Several guards were crushed beneath his iron boots as Ragnar Lothbrok charged through the gate. He smashed aside a group of men who tried to stop him. Their bullets rained against his armour, but nothing could halt the Son of Fenris.
The young wolf swung his Chainaxe, killing countless enemies in an instant and reducing their flesh to a pool of gore. Ragnar spun around and punched the operator beside the gate's control panel into the wall.
The man's body turned to mush beneath the Astartes' iron fist. Ragnar reopened the controls, stopping the gate's descent. As several bodies fell beneath the doorway, his brothers and the Stormtrooper squad advanced through the gate.
Almost at once, a dense barrage of fire poured toward them. The hail of gunfire felled several Stormtroopers. A large force of Devout Society heretics had flooded into the prepared defenses, bringing every weapon to bear on the invaders.
The guards shoved a Heavy Bolter into position, roaring as they set it up. Clearly, although the defenses had been built long ago, the guards here had never expected to come under attack. Many of their weapons had not even been deployed into the emplacements—and the time it took to set them up became the cause of their destruction.
Ordinary soldiers would have been unable to stop the enemy from setting up under such a massive barrage. But the four Astartes they faced were another matter. Their Ceramite armour withstood every shot; lasers and gunfire could not even dent the surface of their black Carapace.
And the Astartes excelled at one thing above all: striking fast.
An eerie flash of lightning lit Olaf's eyes. Suddenly, a blue arc burst from his hand. It struck beside the Heavy Bolter, and a current of lightning leaped from one nearby heretic to the next. Everyone it touched was reduced to a charred ruin.
A Devout Society soldier stared at the sight in terror, but when he looked up again, the towering giant was already standing before him. Ragnar smashed his head with an axe. He vaulted over the fortifications and into the position, where Bolters and Chainswords roared at close range. Lancelot soon joined him inside.
Blue light flashed from the Power Sword as it cut through steel and flesh, slicing, smashing, and tearing bodies apart.
The Devout Society's position collapsed almost instantly. The Astartes slaughtered their way through the defenses as the Stormtroopers surged forward, firing las-bolts at every enemy who tried to resist or flee.
The factory descended into chaos. Countless Devout Society guards charged out carrying rifles and whatever weapons they could find, firing at the invaders from behind machine tools, conveyor belts, and shipping containers.
The Stormtroopers spread out and advanced. These Imperial elites swiftly swept through the narrow machinery corridors, clearing them methodically, one passage after another.
Screams and gunfire echoed through the factory. The four giants advanced while fighting, moving at their leisure as they brought the Emperor's punishment down upon their enemies. Beneath the factory's vaulted ceiling, corpses and broken machinery littered the floor.
Death and destruction were dealt out indiscriminately. Machinery, people, and cargo were all destroyed as Bolter fire and psychic lightning ruthlessly tore through everything.
Bell held his Bolter steady, aiming and firing with practiced precision. He continued forward until he reached a crate filled with processed Crimson Essence dust, ready for transport.
Bell studied the small vials of the drug. He lowered his weapon and looked down at the shimmering powder inside. "Bell, we're still in the middle of a battle."
Lancelot looked at Bell, but he didn't even need to turn around. He raised his weapon and shot an enemy dead with perfect accuracy as the man was about to open fire on them with a plasma weapon.
The unlucky man fell to the ground, his plasma weapon firing into his own side and turning a nearby defensive position into a cloud of ionized dust.
Bell picked up a vial of Crimson Essence and examined it with interest. "The Xenos use this to control the locals. We've never encountered this kind of powder before. Perhaps it's a local invention of the Genestealers."
"I'll need to study and analyze it with Omega. We can't be sure whether they've uploaded the recipe for these drugs to the Hive Mind."
"Blah, blah, blah. You're so boring every time you do this," Ragnar said. He split a machine open with his Chainsword, then fired several Bolter rounds inside. Blood and debris sprayed out.
"Bell is right. We have to study this stuff. It could help the Imperium." Olaf's voice came through the communicator. The psychic lightning he unleashed instantly charred many heretics.
Bell examined the vial in his hand as the scanner in his helmet began working. But his analysis was interrupted almost immediately by an animalistic roar from somewhere nearby.
Bell and Lancelot turned to look. The mangled body of a Stormtrooper was hurled out and slammed onto the ground. Ahead of them, atop the factory machinery, stood a hulking monstrosity—a twisted creature that was unmistakably inhuman.
It roared, spreading all four arms wide. At its cry, a pack of beasts charged out from inside the factory, leaping between the machinery and rushing toward them at incredible speed. Several Stormtroopers were torn apart at point-blank range. Their armour was as good as paper against those sharp claws.
"Purestrain Genestealers? Ha! I was wondering how long it'd take to find them." Ragnar laughed and charged straight at them, Chainaxe swinging.
He swung his Chainaxe and chopped off a Genestealer's claw. The monster leaped at him, thrusting claws capable of piercing Power Armour toward Ragnar's chest.
But the Space Marine reacted with incredible speed and seized the Xenos by the neck. He slammed it hard into the ground, then crushed its head beneath his foot.
"For the Father of All Knowledge! For Leman Russ!" Ragnar roared at the Xenos before him. He charged like a mad wolf. Purestrain Genestealers leaped at him, but his Chainaxe cut one clean in half. Ragnar roared and punched another Xenos in the neck, then stamped on its body and twisted its head right off.
"Come on! Come and claim your death!" Blood spattered across his armour. The slaughter went on as if it would never end.
"Lancelot, go help Ragnar. Don't let that pup get himself killed!" Olaf's voice came through the communicator. He had just killed two Purestrains with lightning and was now beating another Purestrain Genestealer to death with his bare hands.
Lancelot gave a wry smile, swung his Power Sword, and shrugged. "Understood, boss." Then he looked at Bell. "You take command of the Stormtroopers. Looks like we're going to be busy."
Lancelot charged forward. He slammed his shoulder into a Purestrain Genestealer preparing to ambush Ragnar, then drew his Bolt Pistol and blew the Xenos out of the air before it could land.
"Lancelot? What took you so long? Were you off drinking wine?" Ragnar laughed as he kept smashing his axe down, breaking a Genestealer's chitinous armour before finishing it off.
Ragnar grinned. Lancelot's Power Sword flashed up like lightning, slicing a Xenos in half at the waist. The creature hit the ground and roared with its ruined body, but Lancelot quickly stamped it to death. "How many have you killed?"
"Eight." "Perfect. I've got nine!" "Bullshit! Where'd you get nine?" "Just now."
Lancelot drove his sword into a Purestrain Genestealer's face, then twisted it, ripping its ugly features apart.
Ragnar watched him and swore loudly. He grabbed a Purestrain by the head and squeezed with his Power Fist. As the Xenos screamed, its skull burst like a rotten balloon. "Nine! I'll have ten soon! Eleven, and more! In Leman Russ's name, I'll win the contest!"
"And I swear in the name of Lion El'Jonson that I'll win glory for the knights of Caliban!" Lancelot shouted. Olaf sighed in exasperation, tossed aside the Xenos corpse in his hands, and looked toward the two youngsters.
Then he looked at Bell, who had put the Crimson Essence into a vial case. "We're in for a busy day, brother." "Looks that way."
Bell raised his Bolter, took aim, and shot the head off a Heavy Bolter gunner firing in the distance. Then he hoisted his weapon high like a banner. "Stormtroopers! Rally to me! Clear this den of evil!"
The Stormtroopers began emerging from every corner, regrouping around Bell. Using the available cover, they resumed firing with disciplined precision.
Olaf looked toward the gate and sighed at the gloomy gray sky. "Looks like we're in for a busy day."
With that, the Librarian turned around, lightning surging from his eyes. He swept both hands forward, unleashing a dazzling bolt of lightning.
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