The last Hrud xenos let out a piercing scream, but Ferrus Manus, Primarch of the Iron Hands and lord of the X Legion, showed no reaction.
His hands, covered in calluses and fine metallic patterns, gripped the warhammer that had accompanied him through his campaigns. Summoning all his remaining strength, he swung it savagely upward!
Bang—crack!
The dull impact was followed by a teeth-grating crunch as brittle carapace and the bones beneath it shattered together.
The hunched, diminutive body wrapped in rags flew backward like a battered doll struck by a train at full speed. It slammed into a rock wall blackened by energy weapons, then slid limply down, leaving only an unrecognizable smear mixed with green bodily fluids.
Its long, thin, ratlike tail twitched twice in a final reflex, then fell utterly still.
The battle was over.
"Hrk—!"
Without warning, a mouthful of scalding blood, tasting of rust, burst through Ferrus Manus's tightly pressed lips. It splashed onto the shattered stone beneath his feet, scarred by energy burns and strange corrosion, blooming into several jarring patches of dark red.
His towering body swayed slightly. Only by bracing his warhammer against the ground did he manage to steady himself.
He slowly lowered his head, his gaze settling on the warhammer in his hands.
The adamantium surface of its head, once smooth as a mirror and engraved with the X Legion's Insignia and oaths of victory, was now covered in spiderweb cracks. Its luster had faded, as though it had endured centuries of natural weathering and oxidation.
Stranger still, the leather wrapping and metal grip of its haft had taken on an unnatural, withered texture, like an ancient relic left exposed in a desert for tens of thousands of years.
This was the result of a glancing hit from the Hrud