Vulkan stood atop the highest mountain on the Agri World.
This peak had once been a famous scenic destination on Hesoral, offering views of countless beautiful sights across the planet.
But now, everything beautiful burned in the fires of war.
Warhammer in hand, Vulkan gazed up at the sky.
The Rogue Traders' Fleets were withdrawing, trailing white wakes as they flew into the depths of space.
This planet had been abandoned.
The campaign seemed to be going smoothly, but without Vulkan's surprise assault, the Adeptus Mechanicus and Raven Guard would still have been held outside the Third Defense Line.
It was his lethal strike from behind that had torn through the Word Bearers Fleet's Defense Line and turned the entire battle around.
Even so, this war remained a war of attrition.
The Millennium World's defenders were far more tenacious than they had anticipated. Even betrayed and surrounded, the Word Bearers' followers continued fighting to the death, exacting a terrible price for every inch of ground taken.
The Salamanders Legion was built to fight outnumbered.
Over the past several centuries, problems with their gene-seed had kept the Salamanders Legion relatively small.
They were accustomed to fighting stronger enemies with fewer troops, to compensating for their lack of numbers with tactics and intelligence, and to seeking opportunities for victory amid adversity.
And now, that quality was proving its worth.
With their limited forces, they were tying down enemies several times their number, creating opportunities for Corax and Eloil to attack.
"Next..."
Vulkan pondered, his gaze turning toward the distance.
Across the land shrouded in smoke and Toxic Miasma, the Word Bearers' followers were still locked in combat with his ground forces.
Those tenacious warriors continued holding every inch of ground even after losing orbital support, even surrounded by enemies several times their