Grant and his group set out on the road back to the frontline fortress. Along the way, they encountered several small bands of daemons. Though they wiped them all out, they paid a price themselves: one Salamander died beneath daemon claws, torn to pieces so completely that not even his Gene-seed remained.
When they reached the frontline fortress, Grant found it vastly different from what he remembered. The once grim, battle-ready stronghold had become a hill of groans housing countless wounded. Dried blood and tangled bandages covered the ground, while corpses too grievously injured to survive—but still usable as fresh material for servitors—were piled in the corners.
The Adeptus Mechanicus and the Iron Hands had become the fortress's sole masters. Their hastily erected factories rang with shrill processing noises. Whether auxiliary troops or Space Marines, all were thrown inside for drastic modifications. At last, they emerged from the furnaces and underwent their final adaptation and mobilization in the iron plaza before the gates.
A Word Bearers chaplain was delivering an impassioned sermon, explaining the meaning of this battle and why The Emperor had never told the Legions about the threat of the Warp.
"Those are terrifying beings! Any knowledge of them strengthens their power! That is why, to protect humanity, The Emperor promoted the Imperial Truth—using pure reason to weaken the vast currents of thought that would flow into the Warp! Now the Warp's threat has broken through the barrier and entered reality. Such gentle methods can no longer work. Only by using faith to create barriers of our own can we contend with the devils of hell!"
No one would have listened to what the Word Bearers chaplain said in the past. But now, with the nightmarish truth laid bare before them, they had no choice but to believe.