The last houndlike flesh construct that tried to lunge at them from the flank stopped twitching for good with a dull thud mingled with the whistle of chains and the crunch of bone.
Company Captain Dexter slowly drew back his powered Chain Hammer, still dripping foul blood. Its heavy head hung at his side, its chains swaying gently with a soft scrape of metal.
His grey armour was spattered with all manner of indescribable, viscous fluids, yet his upright bearing and sharp gaze still proclaimed an unshakable authority.
Smoke and dust slowly settled in the filthy wind.
Inside and outside the walls—or rather, around the ruins of what had once been the walls—the clamour of battle finally died away completely. All that remained was the sizzling of overloaded energy weapons cooling down, the soft hydraulic whine of Power Armour joints, and the nauseating sounds of the retreating tide of flesh, gradually fading into the distance.
The Word Bearers and Iron Warriors stood silently upon the scorched earth, which had just witnessed a bloody battle and was strewn with the remains of blasphemous creations.
Behind them, enormous Drop Pods lay scattered like the lairs of great beasts. Farther away, a low rumble drew steadily closer.
Large Transport Craft were descending through the clouds, delivering the Imperialis Militia's armoured vehicles, heavy equipment, and engineering units to the ground.
The massive shapes of Leman Russ Tanks, Chimera troop carriers, and Manticore self-propelled artillery, all bearing the Imperial Aquila, began tracing silhouettes of steel along the horizon.
The golden Aquila looked so incongruous upon this land, which had languished beneath despair for so long, yet carried such overwhelming symbolic weight.
In the shadows of the ruined walls, the surviving defenders supported one another or leaned against broken masonry. With indescribable shock, bewilderment, and a