The distant clouds had been dyed pink by the manifested desires of the forces of Slaanesh. Now, the blood vapor steaming off the roaring flesh-forged war machines stained them blood-red.
It looked as though one of Khorne's Lord of Skulls daemon engines had arrived.
A single company of Grey Knights could have dealt with this planet quickly, yet the Imperial Navy and the Crimson Tide had worked together for so long without completing their main objective.
Vlorus watched the overwhelming tide of blood vapor in the distance with growing unease, urging the Imperialis Militia to build their positions faster.
Vlorus was an Astartes whose augmentation had failed. Fortunately—or unfortunately—he had survived. After a series of assessments and examinations, Chapter Master Evan had told him personally, "Don't lose heart. Our mission is to protect humanity. Go to the Imperialis Militia and protect them well."
Vlorus had joined the Imperialis Militia as a deputy regimental commander. His work was actually much like a commissar's: he spoke with the mortal soldiers every day about their thoughts and occasionally reported to the Chapter, trying to get some of their small requests fulfilled.
There were quite a few men like him in the Imperialis Militia, which was one reason their morale remained high.
The soldiers worked hard digging trenches and building fortifications. He shouldered a large sandbag and joined them.
"Deputy Commander Vlorus, over here!" A mortal soldier nicknamed Old Booze waved to him. They got along well, mainly because Vlorus had once helped him get several bottles of good liquor.
Back then, that Agri-World had produced such a surplus that its warehouses could not hold everything, so it had started up liquor production lines. Vlorus had seen no harm in getting some.
Old Booze had dug himself a "comfortable" spot that needed just one