Before long, a Word Bearers warship appeared before the kill team.
It was a Word Bearers cruiser called the Colchis, but at this moment, it clung tightly to the belly of Macragge's Honour like a space leech.
Using braces and field generators, the warship had secured its position and created the conditions for the Word Bearers to board.
Nykona spotted flashes between the cruiser and Macragge's Honour. They were traces of the Word Bearers using cutting tools and searchlights.
These treacherous infiltrators, who had slipped past Macragge's Honour's void shields, were trying to cut through the Gloriana-class Battleship's armor and open a passage for their assault forces.
There was more than one such infiltrator. Within Nykona's field of vision alone, at least three warships were attempting to board.
Hill had organized forty kill teams, but the ship was simply too vast. Against its layered armor and labyrinthine conduits, those squads vanished like drops of water into the sea.
There was no time to call for the others. Battle was about to erupt.
The communications channel fell silent. The Ultramarines pushed their power packs to maximum output and sprinted at full speed along a broad heat-exchange passage.
In the soundless void, the rapidly running Astartes drew no attention whatsoever.
The Word Bearers clung to the flagship's armor as melta cutters and laser cutters slowly broke through Macragge's Honour's thick barrier, like leech fangs biting into a great whale.
Closer. Closer still.
At an extremely dangerous distance, Hill and the others came to a halt. Through their helmets, they could already see the Word Bearers operating those massive machines to cut through the armor, the flying sparks especially conspicuous.
The Astartes' blood surged. Fully entering their battle stance, the Emperor's Angels fired vengeful bolter rounds at their traitorous brothers.
The bolters' propellants accelerated, their flickering exhaust trails carving paths through space before vanishing.
With no air resistance, these deadly weapons flew even faster. Without the slightest sound, a Word Bearer standing watch suddenly flew backward. His bolter slipped from his grip, while a massive crater burst open in the center of his breastplate, scattering metal fragments into space.
The bolter's force pierced not only his armor; the enhanced muscles and bones within his power armor were reduced to ash as well. Boiling blood and bone fragments spread in every direction. The Word Bearer died instantly, his corpse tumbling along the projectile's path before quickly vanishing from sight.
The skirmish in space resembled an art form once called silent film in the distant past. Whether it was the thunder of bolters or the roars before death, everything was utterly silent in space.
Hill's four bolter rounds killed three Word Bearers. One had strayed from its trajectory and grazed the edge of an enemy's helmet.
A bolter round from the shadows finished that lucky survivor. His head exploded, drifting like a dispersing cloud in the weightless environment.
The warrior in the red helmet did not look back. He knew it was a shot from the Raven Guard.
Nykona never missed. What made him terrifying was his absolute precision, even in a weightless environment like space.
He was colder and more precise than a machine.
The kill team opened fire at full force, slaughtering the Word Bearer soldiers outside the warship and venting their long-suppressed fury.
Enemy after enemy died in stunned disbelief, just as the defenseless Ultramarines had died at their hands.
The enemy counterattack was equally swift. Realizing the Ultramarines had launched a surprise assault, the Word Bearers leapt from their warship and activated their own magnetic boots to cling to the flagship's armor.
Enemy bolters opened fire. Hill twisted his body, using his thickest shoulder plate to block attacks he could not evade. Nykona, meanwhile, fearlessly closed in with ghostlike steps, drew his power sword, and severed an enemy's head.
Hill followed immediately, sword in one hand and bolter in the other, driving a round into the chest of a Word Bearer charging at him with a laser cutter.
Another Word Bearer wielding a melta particle torch was left to Nykona. That weapon was exceptionally dangerous. Such an ultra-high-temperature device could cut through a warship's outer hull; using it against a Space Marine's power armor was complete overkill.
But Nykona was faster. Boosted by his power pack, he moved at incredible speed, then swung his longsword into the particle torch's rectifier hood. The uncontrolled high-energy particles rapidly spread, and the Word Bearer was swiftly incinerated as if he had embraced a melta reactor.
The sword tip turned, and its twisting force flung the Word Bearer far away in the opposite direction from the ship. The runaway particle torch finally released all its energy. Violent flames and shockwaves erupted in space, leaving no possibility of even an intact piece of flesh.
Before bolter fire, all were equal. Hill counted their numbers through his helmet sensors. Two Ultramarines had lost their life signs, their names turning from green to red, but even more Word Bearers had died in the void.
The Ultramarines gathered around the massive cutting machines the enemy had been operating. Without hesitation, they used melta bombs and magnetic mines to destroy the machinery. It had almost breached Macragge's Honour's armor.
The violent blast waves made the cruisers attached around the flagship shudder constantly, but they also drew more enemies.
Heavy bolter fire poured down like torrential rain. Word Bearers swarmed out from within the warship, vastly outnumbering the kill team.
Clearly, the deaths of their comrades had provoked these warriors of the XVII Legion. They leapt from the cargo hold one after another, blanketing the Ultramarines in an incredibly dense barrage of bolter fire.
Some Ultramarines were struck in vital areas and died without question. Scarlet droplets of blood sprayed from cobalt-blue armor, congealing into round beads in space.
"Spread out immediately! Find cover!"
The Ultramarines activated the thrusters of their power packs and scattered in every direction, using machinery and armor plating to evade the terrifying bolter rounds.
An Ultramarine beside Hill was struck. He had not yet died, but his damaged armor would cause his air to escape rapidly, and his broken power pack could no longer provide thrust. Hill could only watch as he drifted into the depths of space.
Perhaps he would die there, or perhaps he would activate his Sus-an membrane and enter suspended animation, then be recovered after the battle.
There was no time for grief. Hill had to marshal every ounce of his perception to evade the speeding bolter rounds. He had to return fire. If they could not eliminate this enemy force, they would have no chance to continue their mission.
Fortunately, Nykona was still at Hill's back. The Raven Guard and Ultramarine stood back to back, reducing their blind spots as much as possible.
On a battlefield in space, there was no true distinction between up, down, left, and right. Bullets did not necessarily come from all around; deadly shots could come from overhead or beneath their feet.
"Brother, it is an honor to fight beside you."
Hill fired a rapid burst of bolter rounds, bringing down two enemies attempting to creep closer from the cooling tower. But more Word Bearers continued firing, and under the dense barrage, his power armor suffered several hits.
A large hole had been blasted through his shoulder plate, his waist and abdomen had been grazed by a bolter round, and soft tissue throughout his body had suffered bruising and fractures. None of these were fatal wounds, but they still spoke of war's danger.
Once his power armor's seal was completely breached, Hill would face a hopeless situation.
This tenacious, calm Ultramarine had never expected to survive this war of betrayal. He had long been prepared to sacrifice himself for it.
Even if he died, other outstanding warriors among the Ultramarines would take his place.
Faced with Hill's farewell-like tone, Nykona said nothing. He merely became even calmer, using his bolter to snipe every enemy trying to approach. Every round struck an enemy's head with perfect accuracy, blossoms of death blooming in the dark, cold void.
In a sense, space warfare was a game of trading pieces. The Ultramarines had achieved nearly a one-to-three casualty ratio. These selected elites were all veterans of the XIII Legion. They had joined the kill teams without hesitation, even though everyone knew they would likely never return.
One living life after another, one steadfast soul after another, became cold numbers. The kill teams were rapidly dwindling. If not for the reinforcements of more than a hundred Ultramarines led by Ventanus earlier, Hill's squad would likely have already been wiped out.
Their bolter ammunition was exhausted. Hill and Nykona casually discarded their bolters onto the warship's surface. The enormous vessel's own mass created a faint gravitational effect, holding them against the armor.
With power swords in hand, the two hid at the edge of a cooling tower. Their helmets watched the approaching enemies, ready to launch a covert ambush.
But suddenly, something patted their shoulders from behind.
In the cold, dark void, being suddenly patted on the back by an unknown object made even Astartes break out in a cold sweat. Hill thrust backward with his electromagnetic sword like lightning, only for a large hand to casually brush it aside and stop him.
Behind them stood a giant. Roboute Guilliman, Primarch of the Ultramarines, was standing there.
He wore armor from head to toe, towering like a Titan, but his head lacked a helmet. His entire head was exposed to the vacuum and freezing cold of space, the air he exhaled freezing into ice crystals upon his skin.
He roared soundlessly. Though there was no medium to carry the sound, the two of them undoubtedly heard that violent roar.
It came from the mind. Roboute, renowned for his rationality, was now like an erupting volcano, indescribable fury and violence brewing within him.
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