Amid the fortress wreckage, a warrior of the Iron Warriors Legion struggled up from the rubble.
His Power Armor was covered in dust and cracks, and his left pauldron had shattered, exposing the burned skin beneath.
A deep gouge ran across his Helmet's faceplate, nearly spanning its entire width. Through the crack, his bloodied face was visible.
He braced a hand against the ground and staggered to his feet, surveying his surroundings.
The once-towering fortresses had been reduced to ruins.
The once-sturdy walls had become heaps of rubble.
He raised his head and looked toward the sky.
The sky had been torn apart.
The heavy clouds had been shredded by the orbital Lance bombardment, revealing a sky stained red by fire.
Sunlight spilled through gaps in the clouds, casting patches of light and shadow across the ground, but there was no warmth in them, only the desolation of the world's end.
"Andreas... Andreas..."
Just then, a familiar voice rose from the rubble.
Andreas whipped his head around and looked toward the sound.
Several meters away, he saw an armored hand moving faintly beneath a heap of rubble.
The hand protruded from a gap between the stones, its fingers clutching feebly at the air as though searching for something to hold on to.
It belonged to another warrior of the Iron Warriors Legion, Deans.
He was buried beneath the rubble, most of his body pinned under a collapsed wall.
Half his Helmet's faceplate had shattered, revealing a pale, agonized face.
A twisted steel beam had crushed and broken his leg. Blood poured through torn armor and muscle, gathering in a dark red pool on the ground.
"Brother Deans." Andreas's voice was low and hoarse, carrying an unquestionable resolve.
He straightened and quickly scanned the surrounding rubble for something he could use