Once They're Organized, I'll Go Personally

"Iron Fang" was a green planet.

From orbit, it looked like a slowly rotting fruit.

Its surface was covered in dense mushroom groves and Ork cities built from scrap metal and bones.

Those cities had no names, nor did they need them.

Because every so often, they would be torn down and rebuilt.

Each one was the starting point of a new round of conquest.

The planet's atmosphere was filled with slowly churning spore clouds.

Within every spore cloud, hundreds of millions of green motes slowly spread outward.

Like a slowly kindling dawn, soon to illuminate the entire battlefield.

Guilliman stood on the bridge of the flagship.

His gaze passed through the slowly churning spore clouds.

It fell upon the slowly rotating green planet.

His voice was quiet.

Yet every word struck fine cracks through the swirling starlight. "Begin."

The first wave of bombardment commenced ten minutes later.

The Imperial warships in formation opened fire simultaneously.

The glowing shells drew long arcs through the void.

They struck the planet's surface with precision.

The churning spore clouds were shoved aside, scorched, and torn apart by the expanding shockwave.

The slowly growing mushroom groves withered, carbonized, and turned to ash in the spreading flames.

The slowly moving Ork cities collapsed, shattered, and became drifting ruins beneath the expanding shockwave.

But the slowly churning green motes did not stop.

They rose from the collapsing cities.

They rose from the withering mushroom groves.

They rose from the shattering crust.

Like a slowly kindling river spreading in every direction.

Guilliman's voice remained quiet. "Land."

The Ultramarines in formation moved at once.

Their drop pods separated from the slowly rotating warships.

They plunged toward the slowly rotating green planet.

Like a slowly descending meteor shower.

Titus stood inside his drop pod.

His gaze passed through the