The atmosphere burned, and the sky wept.
The heavens of Bloodscab, forever shrouded in rust-colored dust, were now torn apart by still more savage flames and light.
The orbital fleet's first salvo had just passed, but the curtain of destruction had only begun to rise.
Thousands of Drop Pods trailed red-hot wakes, like burning spears hurled by gods, like a furious, inverted storm of metal, screaming down from the heavens toward the scarred surface of the dark red planet.
They were the wrath of the Dark Angels, the talons of the Deathwing.
Yet the Rangdan response was every bit as savage and relentless.
Across the planet's surface, countless antiaircraft arrays, long camouflaged, buried deep underground, or blended into the mountains, abruptly awakened.
Thick, dark green beams laden with destructive energy pierced the smoke and dust, weaving a web of lethal light.
Dense swarms of high-velocity projectiles rose like bees, trailing phosphorescent fire as they shrieked toward the sky.
Explosions, endless explosions, blossomed between heaven and earth.
The flames of antiaircraft fire mingled with the plasma halos generated by the Drop Pods' friction as they entered the atmosphere, churning the heavy clouds into boiling vortices.
Now and then, a precisely struck Drop Pod broke apart in midair, becoming burning wreckage that plunged into the inferno below, along with the warriors inside who had yet to set foot on the battlefield.
Still more Drop Pods relied on thick armour, nimble evasive maneuvers, and sheer will to punch through that curtain of death and slam into their designated zones.
Isas was inside one of them. Violent tremors passed through the pod's walls, every impact like a massive hammer striking his chest.
The external surveillance feed shuddered amid blinding flashes of explosions and electromagnetic interference, awash with static. Only occasionally did it catch a