Facing Mistanbol

Blades flashed, and the Fear Spear darted between metal and flesh. Before the Power Meteor Hammer had room to swing, its owner was dead. Fractured storms and dancing lightning swirled around the ancient scepter as the great God-Machine freely unleashed its might.

The Chainsword in Yifeng's hands roared, its machine spirit reveling in unprecedented delight. Fury spread across his resolute face.

This ancient charging technique came from the homeworld of their gene-sire, Jaghatai Khan. When two armies charged through each other, you never lingered to fight. Every enemy swept past you; strike once and move on. Entrust your exposed back and the enemies you wounded to the comrades behind you. The two armies would pass through each other before the blood on their blades had dried.

Evan's Chainsword danced gracefully during the charge. He severed more than forty mechanical arms and damaged eighteen Killa Kans, but he paid a price. His swinging Chainsword plunged into a strange modification on one Killa Kan and became firmly lodged inside. A veteran like William would probably have abandoned the sword immediately, but Evan tried once to pull it free. That gave the Killa Kan time to slam its next blade into his tactical helmet. The powerful, razor-sharp blade nearly split his head in two. Fortunately, his helmet was well made-and, in a sense, his skull was hard enough too. The blade lodged in the flesh of his scalp.

An instant later, an Assault Drill struck from the left. Thankfully, Charles, behind him, severed the enemy's bladed mechanical arm with a leaping Chainaxe strike. Evan quickly dodged the attack, drew his bolter, and continued running and firing.

Now Shi Zhengxiang was helping Evan pull the blade out of his head. It had been sticking straight out of his skull, having sliced through his helmet. Once it was removed, the crack widened a little further, extending down to eyebrow level. One tactical eyepiece remained its original black, while the other, stained with blood, glowed red. His left pauldron bore numerous blade scars, and his right had several deep bullet holes. After losing his Chainsword, Evan had simply kept charging, bolter in hand, blasting away at the Killa Kans.

Whatever else you might say, that last fight had been exceptionally valorous even by Astartes standards. Had Chapter Master Deika seen it, he would have said the young man had the makings of a company captain.

Although Evan's injury had been entirely due to his lack of experience, there was no denying that, to a bunch of rough men who fought soaked in blood, he looked pretty damn impressive now.

The Green Templars company Evan belonged to punched straight through the enemy position and emerged on the other side.

"Catch, lad."

A member of the Shadow Venom Blade Chapter tossed Evan his dark-gold Chainsword.

"A fine blade belongs with a hero. Lad, you have the potential to become a Chapter Champion. I have high hopes for you. My name is Everis."

"I'm Evan. Thank you for your sword and your blessing. I'll use it to slay every enemy of the Emperor. We can talk after the battle."

Evan did not stand on ceremony. On the battlefield, killing the enemy came first. Both of them living to see the end of the battle would be the finest blessing of all.

The second charge began. The Green Templars' first charge had successfully disrupted the enemy lines, allowing the Storm Will Chapter's brothers to plunge into a meat-grinder melee. Now they were going to support the three Shadow Blades clan chiefs and the Storm Will First Company warriors fighting beneath the Morkanaut.

All ten clan chiefs of the Shadow Blades, believers in mechanical ascension, had replaced several of their limbs with machinery. With help from the Big Tycoon Chapter, they had even acquired more powerful mechanical arms and other components.

The Morkanaut carried a Skyward Death Cannon-a Magnetic Tractor Cannon-in its left hand, a Squeak-and-Creak Cannon-a Ray Cannon-in its right, and a Rumble-Rumble-a Repeating Mortar-on its back. A veritable heavy-weapons fortress, it was now unleashing astonishing firepower.

The Skyward Death Cannon crushed a Sentinel Conversion Mech charging behind the Space Marines, hoisted it into the air, and hurled it down at the Astartes. The Rumble-Rumble mortar on its back fired shell after shell at the surrounding human heavy-tank positions, turning the battle into an exchange of heavy artillery fire. Meanwhile, the Squeak-and-Creak Ray Cannon in its right hand mercilessly melted several Astartes and the fearsome Deff Dreads around them into molten iron.

Unlike a Gork Dreadnought, however, the Morkanaut carried virtually no melee weapons. It generally did not operate alone; the surrounding Orks provided close-range protection. Now that the sons of the White Scars had scattered its supporting formation, several seasoned veterans managed to charge beneath its feet and begin their "galactic law-enforcement mission to demolish illegal structures."

Evan had learned his lesson. He mostly hacked and slashed, striking once before moving on. This time it was easy. Now that his earlier charge had brought his comrades into the fight, most of the battlefield consisted of Astartes dueling the Deff Dreads. He only had to attack a few from the side or rear, and the warriors facing them head-on would quickly gain the advantage and kill them. It was an effective way to support his comrades.

The Astartes freed up by winning those fights would then join other engagements, setting off a chain reaction.

The Shadow Blades clan chiefs had mounted Promethium flamethrowers directly onto their Nuclear Power Packs. After breaching the Morkanaut's mechanical shell with small Rokkit Drills fitted to their mechanical arms, they shoved their flamethrowers into the holes and opened fire. You like blowing yourselves up, don't you? Well, I'm not going in. Either come out or turn into roasted mushrooms.

After quickly clearing out the enemy Killa Kans, most of the Astartes left the battlefield. Two senior Librarians—or rather, Librarian Grand Masters—stood ready to use Psyker Power to whisk the warriors near the enemy away through the Warp.

The Astartes would never stumble in the same place twice.

At first, the Morkanaut tried to stamp the ants around its feet to death. But after the clan chiefs nimbly evaded it and its internal transmission systems were thoroughly melted by fire, it became nothing more than a stationary target.

"Hm? Yes. All right, understood."

"Both Librarian Grand Masters, teleport everyone at least a thousand meters away in eleven seconds," Chapter Master Deika shouted over the Communications Channel.

"Anyone not engaged in combat, withdraw immediately. The faster, the better."

The Ork warlord Mistanbol sensed something was wrong. Though the humies beneath his feet were attacking fiercely, everyone around them had begun retreating. His waaaaaagh energy had weakened because too many Orks had died, but it still warned him.

Without hesitation, the Ork warlord yanked the emergency lever. The Morkanaut's enormous mechanical head instantly shot upward and backward.

Eleven seconds later, immense Psyker Power enveloped the warriors and instantly teleported them a kilometer away.

At twelve seconds, a salvo of four Heavy Ship-buster Torpedoes slammed into the Morkanaut, reducing it to a pool of molten iron.

Although reloading for an orbital bombardment took over twenty minutes, turning the warship sideways did not. It was not as if only weapons mounted on the ship's underside could conduct orbital bombardments. Its side-mounted torpedo tubes and Macro-cannon batteries worked too.

And so the experienced old captain ordered the warship to turn its broadside toward the ground.

Poor accuracy? My bombardment has a three-hundred-meter kill radius. Does being fifty meters off matter? No.

Large quantities of rock rapidly broke away from the surface of the Iron Mine Base, exposing the metal walls beneath.

The powerful Ork warlord Mistanbol did not wait for the flight wings to deploy. He leaped out at an altitude of four hundred meters, stepping across flying rocks in an astonishingly difficult series of midair jumps before quickly reaching the ground.

Even someone as strong as him could not avoid breaking a thighbone in the fall. But he did not hesitate. Enduring the pain of shattered bone, he scrambled and crawled into the Iron Mine Base's underground interior.

In the blink of an eye, Evan arrived behind a Leman Russ Tank at the edge of the battle line. Suddenly, an enormous shadow fell across the ground in front of him, growing larger and larger. Boom! An immense shell-if it could still be called a shell-instantly blew the Leman Russ Tank apart. The powerful shock wave hurled Evan and the nearby warriors into the air.

"Th-this... this is..."

Even though the enemy had only just shown itself, Deika could already tell things had gone terribly wrong.

"Attention, everyone! An enemy Gargant has appeared! Change of strategy, change of strategy! Everyone fall back ten kilometers!"

A Gargant was an enormous war fortress twenty-six meters tall, one of the Orks' ultimate killing machines. Only the Imperium's Reaver-class Titans could rival its massive size, and completely suppressing one required a Warlord-class Titan. It carried an endless supply of weapons and ammunition. With sufficient waaaaaaaaagh energy, its enormous Ork version of a Void Shield was almost impossible to breach. Without at least two Knight-class Titans, no one dared claim they could guarantee victory.

"By the Emperor's bloody underpants, what's something like that doing here?"

The Imperialis Militia were utterly dumbstruck. What the hell was that thing? This battle just kept getting more ridiculous.

Chapter Master Deika needed no further deliberation. He immediately called the two Librarian Grand Masters.

"Can you perform another Psyker Power teleportation? How many people can you move?"

"One more, on the same scale as before. But afterward, we'll need ten minutes of rest. We won't be able to use Psyker Power during that time."

"Gentlemen, you understand what I'm getting at?"

"Of course. Isn't that what we do best?"

Deika immediately ordered the entire army to retreat. There was no rally point. Just run like hell.

"Brothers who were teleported just now, let's go do what we do best. Come on. Boarding action."

The Psyker Power of the two Librarian Grand Masters flared once more. The Astartes would execute the tactic with the highest fatality rate in void warfare, and also one of the Space Marines' most commonly used: teleporting directly through the Warp into an enemy warship. This time, however, their destination was a Gargant.

Aside from Astartes and warships equipped with Gellar Fields, very few things could undergo direct Warp teleportation. Evil daemons within the Warp could take up residence inside them, causing considerable harm once they returned to realspace.

Evan was stunned too. I only took my new sword out to test how it felt! That's why I charged up to their Morkanaut. And now, out of nowhere, you've decided I'm a veteran and stuck me in a suicide squad? What the hell?

Besides, even shipboard teleporters struggled to achieve precise Warp boarding jumps. Under interference from a waaaaagh field—Psyker Power in nature—warriors could easily teleport straight into a wall and become embedded in it. Now they were relying on two Chief Librarians? Could that possibly work? Forget it. Better crouch first. There probably aren't any three-meter-high passages inside the Gargant anyway.

Psyker Power flared, and thirteen warriors blinked directly into the Gargant.

"Listen up, everyone. Objective one: protect the two Librarian Grand Masters for ten minutes. Two: disable their Invincible Force Field Device. Three: kill the Ork warlord. That last one is optional."

Eleven Astartes answered the orders. One more had probably already died.

The sturdiness of Ork machinery depended on the amount of waaaaaagh energy available, so killing Orks first to reduce that energy was a good option.

Evan had teleported onto the Gargant's second level. The whole Gargant had six levels. Only the fifth, where the Ork warlord resided, and the fourth, which housed the Power Core, had four-meter ceilings. The others were only about 2.7 meters high. In other words, if Evan had not crouched before the jump, his soul would already have returned to the Emperor's throne.

Then stop standing around. The Mekboys and Gretchin nearby are still staring at you in bewilderment. Get to work.

Crouching did not stop Evan from firing his bolter. Ten rounds: eight headshots and two through the heart. Not bad. Still in form.

The passage was too low for Evan to run. He could only swing his Chainsword around, destroying the surrounding walls in hopes of finding a way through. But aside from exposing all sorts of wiring, he achieved nothing.

Several big Orks grabbed the huge saws off their backs and lunged at Evan. He did not hold back, promptly treating them to a full magazine of bolts. Huh? Cross blades? What kind of idiot doesn't use a gun when he has one? As an outstanding inheritor of William's philosophy, he knew superior firepower was what mattered.

He advanced in the direction the Orks had emerged from. At the end stood a mechanical valve door, which he hacked open with his Chainsword in no time. Whoa. What a gruesome sight. Severed Ork limbs lay everywhere, and the enormous Assault Cannon beside them had become actual scrap. Several iron doors blocked the route upstairs, but enormous drilled holes had punched through them all.

One of the Shadow Venom Blade Chapter's heavy hitters must have teleported here and gone on a killing spree.

No need to think, then. Follow the trail of battle. Find someone strong to latch onto first.

Evan thumped up to the third level, only to find a massive steel beam lying across the passage ahead. Right. They must have blasted the beam down to block the enemy. He tested it. His Chainsword could cut through the beam, but by the time he finished, it would be far too late. Take the other route.

The other passage ended in a turn. Around it stood a room. Evan kicked the door open and caught the rich aroma of mushroom soup.

Several Gretchin trembled beneath a table. The only Ork Boy grabbed a kitchen knife and charged him.

Bang! "Say hello to Gork for me when you see him."

After casually wrecking the kitchen, Evan found a route upstairs at the far end.

He opened the little door, and the tip of a Power Sword suddenly thrust straight toward his helmet. Startled, Evan jumped back and held his Chainsword across his body. "Hiss..." His head hurt. He had forgotten how low the ceiling was.

A Power Sword was both a powerful energy weapon and a symbol of status. In many forces, officers, battle-hardened veterans, and champions favored them. Once its power supply was switched on, a destructive energy field rapidly enveloped the blade. That field could destroy most metal armor, flesh, and bone, making it an ideal choice for piercing armor and killing enemies.

The strange thing now was why an Imperial Power Sword had appeared out of nowhere in the stairwell.

Evan approached slowly and understood. This was the unfortunate veteran whose boarding jump had failed. Evan could see only his hand and sword. Everything else was inside the wall. There was no blood, yet the sight was more horrifying than the blood-drenched battlefield outside.

Evan took his sword. The Power Sword's blade was golden, presumably custom-made for someone of distinguished rank. He hoped someone outside could recognize it afterward and identify the unlucky warrior.

Evan also discarded his bolter, its magazine now empty. He hoped Squad Leader William would not ask about it later. It was too embarrassing. He had just proclaimed himself the inheritor of William's philosophy, and now he had already burned through his ammunition.

Evan entered the stairwell, stooping, of course.

But the mushroom soup smelled so good. Evan was almost drooling. Though an Astartes could fight for two weeks without food, water, or sleep under extreme conditions, good food was still worth pursuing.

Forget it, forget it. Business first. He shut his helmet's olfactory channel. Ugh, it still smells so good. Oh, right. My helmet's split open. Shutting it off makes no difference.

He climbed the stairs, bent over. Why are they so long? The stairs from the second level to the third weren't this long. Puzzled, Evan rounded another corner and saw a thin door at the top. He did not even use his Chainsword; a gentle wrench pulled it open.

An enormous green head turned toward him. Their eyes met, and both faces wore the same bewildered expression.

Of course the royal kitchen connected directly to Mistanbol's command room.

The fifth level was spacious, with a ceiling more than four meters high. When the Ork warlord stood upright, he reached a terrifying 3.8 meters. His bulging arms alone looked thicker than Evan's head.

Evan straightened too. Standing three meters tall, his armor was riddled with bullet holes. In his left hand he held a golden Power Sword, clearly no ordinary weapon—a rare treasure surely reserved for a great warrior who had earned immense glory and the respect of his entire Chapter. In his right was a Dark Gold Chainsword whose regal aura frightened even Mistanbol's waaaaaaagh-powered Psyker Power intuition. At his waist hung a Melta Bomb covered in Holy Benediction Script. A huge crack scarred his left pauldron, while his right was pitted with bullet impacts. Most striking of all was the enormous blade scar running down the center of his helmet from its crown to eyebrow level. One eye was a deep, dark black; the other glowed an eerie blood-red.

Big 'un. Much bigger than the usual Space Marine tin cans. Probably a company champion. Maybe a Chapter Champion or Chapter Master. Strong enemy, Mistanbol thought. He glanced at his right thigh, still not fully healed from the fall. After a moment's consideration, he decided to find a way to slip away.

I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead. How can my luck be this good? Should've checked the almanac before teleporting... Yifeng was completely numb. I have to fight the final boss? When enemies meet on a narrow path, the brave prevail? Nope. Find a way to get the hell out. Overload the shields here and let the orbital guns blast it, like the Chapter Master said. That's much safer.

"I am Evan, keeper of order of the Green Templars, bearer of Ferrus Manus's will, inheritor of Rogal Dorn's resolve, and son of Jaghatai Khan!" Evan proclaimed loudly. Whatever. Invoke three Primarchs first and scare him.

Besides, he had not lied. The Power Sword probably belonged to the Storm Will Chapter, the Chainsword had been given to him by someone from the Shadow Blades, and he was a Primaris Astartes of the Green Templars. He had only exaggerated a tiny, tiny, tiny, tiny bit.

But Evan knew he would have to give everything he had against the warlord to find an opening. If he simply turned and ran, he would probably be chopped into nothing.

Evan gripped both swords tightly, brimming with fighting spirit. The Power Sword shone brilliantly, and the dark-gold Chainsword roared.

Excellent. The machine spirits are pleased-they have power. I have the advantage.

"Waaaaaagh!"

"Blood for blood!"

Enemies needed no further words when they met. Time to start hacking.