Reinforce the Future

Since the Drop Site Massacre, the organizational structures of the Iron Hands, Salamanders, and Raven Guard legions have been shattered. Wayland and his mixed squad have been harassing the traitors through elusive guerrilla tactics.

However, it is evident that on a planet fully controlled by the enemy, the space for the loyalists to survive is shrinking. The enemy is killing the survivors through constant saturation bombardment.

They must leave this damned planet, break through the traitors' encirclement, and deliver a fatal blow where they least expect it, bleeding them dry on their path to besiege Holy Terra.

"We still have the Sisypheum. It has been repaired and upgraded by the Iron Father; we can use it to leave this place."

A glimmer of light flashed in the depths of Nykona's eyes. The Warmaster's ambition had buried the glory of the Great Crusade, and the three legions had lost the majority of their warriors. Now, the Warmaster's next target is the throne world of humanity—Holy Terra.

The tempo of the war must be seized back from the enemy.

But to evacuate to the Sisypheum hidden in space, they must break through the damned blockade of the traitors.

"To evacuate to the Sisypheum, we still need to find a way. Although the main force of the traitors has left, the remaining enemies are still more than we can handle."

Just as Wayland was about to continue, a violent, piercing shriek erupted from the outside—a harbinger of air being torn asunder and death descending.

It was heavy saturation bombardment!

As a clan warrior of the Iron Hands, Wayland realized clearly that this was shelling from heavy vehicles and bombardment from heavy artillery.

Their shameful traitorous brothers, the Iron Warriors, were particularly adept at this.

Even deep underground, buffered by thick layers of rock and soil, the group was forced to their knees by the tremors, their chests aching within their power armor.

"Too many brothers stronger than I have been buried by indiscriminate bombardment..."

Nykona sighed silently. In the face of such devastating shelling, stealth skills seemed utterly useless.

The bombardment continued, and Wayland's expression grew increasingly grim.

He sensed that the traitors' firepower was intensifying, and the density of the barrage was rising.

This meant they had locked onto their coordinates, and the net of slaughter had been cast.

"Those Death Guard are just bait."

"Notify the warriors to continue retreating toward the pre-reserved tunnels underground. We have to make a desperate stand!"

Deep within the mantle of Isstvan V, a kilometer-long metal vessel drifted through the flowing, molten magma.

Facing the pressure of hundreds of millions of tons of rock and earth, even the hardest adamantium of the Imperium of Man could barely withstand such natural might. Yet, this long-dormant ship moved through the magma as freely as a fish.

The planet's geological activity propelled this human creation.

As the ship rebooted, the stasis field generator in the core chamber ceased operation, and the sound of system self-diagnostics echoed through the halls.

Level 1 Protocol Initiated.

Information entropy read complete.

Vacuum zero-point energy engine started.

A voice that had spanned ten thousand years reappeared in the command hub of the Red Alert.

After a period of adaptation, Lox finally recovered from his ten-thousand-year hibernation. He ordered the starship's machine spirit to come online and maneuvered it to depart from its current location.

The Red Alert was as pristine and intact as the moment it had left the laboratory; time had left no mark upon it.

The rear engines erupted with a beam of ghostly blue plasma, and the Red Alert began to accelerate through the incredibly dense lava.

The hull, subjected to high-speed friction, was shrouded in a thin layer of energy shielding, and the disintegration field module at the prow activated, pulverizing all rock veins blocking its path.

Meanwhile, Nykona and his men, who were retreating through the underground tunnels, suddenly sensed an unusual and eerie vibration.

The keen Son of the Raven, through the sensors in his power armor's legs, detected a tremor different from the one caused by the bombardment above; it came from deeper underground.

Not only that, but Nykona's two hearts beat violently, and his cerebral cortex felt as if it had been pierced by invisible needles—an unprecedented sense of crisis descended.

He had only felt this sense of crisis once before, on the drop site, when he witnessed his own side's warships in orbit being destroyed by lances and macro-cannons, falling as they succumbed to the planet's gravity.

He and the Iron Hands abruptly stopped and sprinted in another direction. These dust-covered, battle-scarred gene-enhanced warriors raced through the underground tunnels, heedless of whether their violent movements might be detected by the Iron Warriors on the surface.

A ghostly light broke through the earth from below, and massive amounts of rock fell into it, being disintegrated by some invisible force.

"Emperor protect us! What is this? A traitorous underground vehicle?"

The Iron Hands warriors were shocked, for what appeared before them was a giant vessel whose prow and stern were invisible. Its flickering field pulverized everything in its path. Had they not changed direction in time, they would have collided head-on with this unknown mechanical construct rampaging through the depths.

Wayland's ocular implant analyzed the uninvited guest while cross-referencing it with the vehicles recorded in his database.

Comparison failed. No similar target found.

The loyalists' path of retreat had been cut off. These warriors of Emperor gripped their bolters and power swords, ready to face death.

These survivors of the Drop Site Massacre had never feared death.

"Don't be hasty. This isn't necessarily a traitor vehicle. Investigate the situation first."

Wayland stopped his men from firing. This mysterious underground giant could traverse the planet's hard crust and mantle; it was not something they could shake with their lack of heavy weaponry.

Even on a space battlefield, for Astartes to conduct boarding operations, they would require boarding torpedoes or teleport beacons.

Outside, the Iron Warriors' artillery grew more intense. These traitors, who worshipped the iron flood and the supremacy of firepower, had discovered the unusual geological tremors in this sector.

Nykona was convinced that the force coming to hunt them down was no small detachment, but enemies clad in Terminator armor and equipped with heavy weaponry.

The massive ship ceased its movement, seemingly having detected the tiny insects outside. Fist-sized rocks and silt trickled down from the cavern ceiling above, yet the Astartes paid them no mind, letting the debris clatter against their power armor and helmets.

Finally, before the legionnaires' patience could fully wear thin, a four-meter-tall hatch hissed open on the side of the hull, venting high-pressure gas. Prior to this, the Astartes' enhanced vision had been unable to detect any sign of an accessible entrance above.

A hatch of this size was perfectly suited for these superhuman warriors, who stood 2.4 meters tall in their power armor, to enter with ease.

Nykona and Wayland exchanged a glance. Could the master of this mysterious vessel truly be so confident as to let them inside?

On the exterior of this astonishing giant ship, there were no familiar Aquila insignias or the standard paint schemes common to the Imperial Navy.

It was too minimalist; the silver-white hull appeared to be cast as a single piece, devoid of any visible welding or rivet marks.

Imperial warships were typically equipped with macro-cannon and lance arrays along their flanks to provide broadside fire, yet here, they saw nothing of the sort.

"Could this be an xenos ship? It doesn't look like an Imperial vessel, and I've never heard of any behemoth capable of tearing through the planet's crust like this!"

An Iron Hands warrior muttered in confusion. Beside him, a Salamanders warrior—who stood a full head taller than his companions—gave him a gruff nudge.

"If it's a ship belonging to those Dark Eldar, then we board and slaughter them all!"

The sons of Nocturne held a blood feud against the Drukhari, who frequently raided their people, a grudge that had only deepened after the return of their Primarch, Vulkan, as the Salamanders had delivered a powerful vengeance upon them.

A dozen Astartes filed inside, following the Iron Father's command and forming a defensive formation to guard against a sudden ambush.

The chamber was vast and empty, the silver-white floor gleaming with a metallic luster. Invisible light projected from the walls, yet no source could be found.

"Boom—"

The hatch behind them slammed shut, the seam between the door and the bulkhead melting like liquid before vanishing entirely.

Tassa, the Salamanders Apothecary, immediately drew his remaining melta bombs, ready to blast their way out at a moment's notice.

"I suggest you do not lay hands on my ship, strange warriors. Let us talk."

Bolters snapped in unison toward the source of the voice. Under a full volley of bolter fire, it was nearly impossible for any living creature to survive.

Appearing before the Astartes was a yellow-skinned human, roughly 1.75 meters tall, whose appearance differed from the mortals serving in their fleet.

He stood tall with a lean, muscular build, radiating a vibrant vitality. Judging by his features, he appeared to be around twenty-five years old, with no signs of physical mutation.

Most mortals serving the Legions were rugged and aged prematurely due to the harsh conditions of warship life and the constant exposure to cosmic radiation and gravity, which often left them physically distinct from those who lived on planets.

Nykona Sarokin locked his dark eyes with the mortal.

Subconsciously, he sensed the complex emotions held within the man's gaze.

Sorrow, confusion, but notably, no fear or cowardice.

He looked like a traveler far from home, realizing he would never have the chance to return.

Yet, Nykona also knew that this human who had suddenly appeared could not be an ordinary mortal, for the Son of the Raven could not detect a single trace of human physiological activity.

No breathing, no heartbeat, not even the slightest involuntary muscle twitch...

Lox looked up at these giants clad in steel armor. To him, the Astartes in their power armor stood like children before an adult.

"Biochemically enhanced super-soldiers, I presume? Not particularly novel. Though, is this power armor not a bit crude? Does it utilize some sort of low-intelligence logic core?"

He judged the Astartes by his own standards. Biochemical modification was nothing rare in his era; even the most deranged scientists had created nightmare monsters that defied human imagination to satisfy their delusions.

If he could borrow the experimental equipment of the Red Alert, he might be able to provide a more objective evaluation after dissecting a warrior or two. It was just that the power armor worn by these tall warriors was far too simple and rough.

The armor they wore varied wildly: some were Mk III Iron, some Mk IV Maximus, some Mk VI Corvus, and some were even hodgepodge assemblies of various different marks.

In Lox's eyes, this so-called power armor was no different from toys assembled from scrap-yard junk.

The Astartes felt the mortal's gaze was somewhat offensive; the underlying tone of critique was something even these warriors, long immersed in slaughter, could easily perceive.

"Mortal, is your ship capable of Warp travel? We need to leave this planet and return to the Imperium."

"Under wartime regulations, the Astartes Legions have the right to requisition any Imperial starship."

A cold, electronic voice emanated from the Iron Hands warrior. These warriors, who believed in the weakness of the flesh, were rarely this polite to mortals, but the current ambiguity of their environment forced them to maintain every ounce of caution.

"Oh? A variant of High Gothic? Is this the language of this era?"

Lox quickly analyzed and identified the language spoken by these modified warriors, rapidly mastering its usage.

"Before I answer you, first tell me: what are you, and what is the situation regarding the war breaking out outside?"

In truth, through the Red Alert's scanning array, Lox had already observed the star ring composed of shipwrecks and dust in orbit, as well as the bizarrely shaped warships still prowling the area.

A few ships that looked like flying cathedral complexes made Lox's eyelid twitch. How on earth did such things fly? Even if space didn't require consideration for air resistance, the sheer design would compromise the structural integrity.

Furthermore, the radiation levels polluting the entire atmosphere on the planet's surface were so high they went off the charts, making him wonder if he had landed in a nuclear waste dump on some remote, trash-ridden world.

"If the Alliance Police Department caught wind of this, I'd probably be sentenced to a thousand years in prison." Lox sighed with emotion. It seemed the Alliance established by humanity had long since turned to ash.

Wayland suppressed his inner rage, glaring at the mortal.

"Answer my question."

Suddenly, a sense of powerlessness washed over him. Wayland was horrified to find his power armor's servo-systems had crashed, his power pack had cut off its energy supply, and he was trapped inside his own suit.

No matter how he tried to bring the systems back online, he received only a cold, unresponsive silence.

The unpowered armor was now nothing more than a form-fitting iron coffin, rooted to the spot.

And this was merely the result of Lox snapping his fingers. He realized this particular modified warrior was not easy to communicate with, so he quickly turned his attention to someone more agreeable.

Realizing the person before him was not to be trifled with, Nykona immediately flashed forward, having already retracted his two power swords and holstered his bolter into the slot at his lower back.

He placed both hands in plain sight to signal he held no malice.

"We are Astartes of the Master of Mankind, come to purge the traitors, yet upon this very planet, Isstvan V, we encountered the betrayal of other traitors."

"Warriors of the Iron Hands, Salamanders, and Raven Guard legions made orbital drops onto this battlefield, but the reinforcements that arrived so late were traitors who had been hiding for far too long!"

"Please help us; we need to return to Terra to unite all loyalist warriors and block the rebellion launched by the Warmaster. Emperor is on Terra, and the throne world of humanity must never be allowed to fall!"

Through Nykona's brief account, Lox grasped the general situation:

In the 30th millennium of humanity, a being known as Emperor unified a fractured Earth and launched a Great Crusade that swept across the galaxy, intending to reunite the human race, which had been torn asunder after the Age of Strife.

Yet, as the Great Crusade neared its end, his most beloved son, the Warmaster, chose betrayal.

Emperor's warriors were split in two; half of the Astartes legions and Primarchs chose rebellion, and the entire galaxy burned in the fires of war.

Having received the answers he sought, Lox released his control; the crude servo-systems were no more difficult than a toddler's math problem before the core intelligence of the Red Alert.

"It seems I will need some time to adapt to the current situation, but I have made one thing clear: this Warmaster you speak of intends to destroy humanity."

"You shall receive supplies and rest. As for returning to Terra, I wish to see this Emperor with my own eyes."