In orbit above Vigilus.
In the distance, the galaxy glittered, stars filling the void in an endless ocean.
Yet a rift glowing with uncanny light now abruptly split the once magnificent cosmos in two.
That uncanny light spread so far that even passing ships had to close every protective shutter to keep its ominous radiance from shining inside.
Now, in orbit above the far side of Vigilus, scattered reinforcements descended into the starport.
Unlike the troops heading straight for the surface, a Battle Barge belonging to an Astartes Chapter remained in space.
Inside the barge was a hall reserved for the Astartes to prepare before deployment.
Three burly men, each over two meters tall, knelt on one knee and prayed devoutly before a towering statue of the Emperor.
The two on either side were bare-chested. Only the man at the front wore a black monk's robe, concealing his body and face entirely in darkness.
They bowed their heads in silence. The entire hall was peaceful, with only a group of Servitors waiting silently in the darkness behind them, working in pairs to carry trays of armour, helmets, and weapons.
Time ticked by until the four-hour prayer finally ended.
The Astartes rose, and the Servitors approached with slow, reverent steps, respectfully presenting their trays.
Then the Astartes picked up censers and soothed the machine spirits of their Power Armour and bolters amid billowing white smoke.
At the same time, a message from the Departmento Munitorum appeared on a nearby information terminal, and the Astartes completed their ritual.
"Brother, a mortal force has been prepared for us on the surface."
After glancing at the terminal, the Astartes on the right spread his arms, allowing the Servitors to carefully fit his equipment while respectfully reporting to the white-bearded man ahead of him, who had three gold studs in his head.
The man remained silent, merely accepting the Servitors' ministrations.
But the young Astartes on the left, who had only one gold stud, put on his helmet, and a hoarse, mechanical voice emerged from behind its red lenses:
"Not the Astra Militarum, and no armour either. What they've given us is actually a Planetary Defence Force infantry regiment!"
With a note of rebuke, the Astartes on the right replied coldly:
"Mortals are weak. We only need them to draw the Orks' attention."
"Once we reach the objective, they will have no further value."
The Deathwatch was a classified organization. Though it was not as strict as the Grey Knights, where merely hearing the name meant extermination, it generally still prevented leaks as efficiently as possible.
And the most common efficient method was extermination-or, if they felt charitable, leaving you to fend for yourself.
After all, if you were carrying out a mission alongside the Deathwatch, you would not live long even if they simply ignored you.
The white-bearded man paid no attention to the exchange between the two battle-brothers behind him. He merely donned his helmet, read the information transmitted through it about the 101st Regiment and its commander, Sith, and silently noted this young regimental commander in the mission he was about to undertake.
Once they were equipped, the Servitors withdrew respectfully, and the three fully armed Astartes walked out of the hall.
The Battle Barge remained in orbit, but a drop pod shot from its underside, trailing a long plume of flame as it hurtled toward Sith's position!
"Don't conserve ammunition! Pour everything you've got into them!"
"Fire, fire! Heavy bolters, concentrate on their vehicles!"
"No retreating! The commander's orders are to hold until the very last moment!"
Brunok's booming voice rang out constantly across the position. Over the abandoned defences, human laser fire and Ork bullets wove a dazzling band of light.
The Ork tide seemed to crash into a wall of light, the slain Orks tumbling to the ground in heaps.
Their bodies then became obstacles, either crushed beneath vehicles or serving as ramps for speeding warbikes to launch themselves from.
With a straining roar of its engine, an Ork warbike charged up a ramp formed by fallen Ork corpses and hurtled toward the human position.
But the moment the bike became airborne, a bolt struck it, blasting it into fragments in midair.
Sith was not even manning the weapon himself. Any heavy bolter gunner who had survived alongside him this long possessed frighteningly extraordinary accuracy.
This was also why the Lasguns, despite their relatively weak firepower, could still kill Ork Boyz instantly.
Every laser shot struck the Boyz precisely in their unprotected eyes.
The soldiers now held a tight formation around the position, pouring fire outward like a hedgehog bristling with spines.
They efficiently slaughtered any Ork that dared approach, just as they had when fighting their way through the entire sea of sand.
Yet what had become routine to these soldiers gradually made the countless routed troops elsewhere stare wide-eyed.
Now, amid countless shattered fortifications, the fierce exchange of fire here drew their attention, however distant they were.
But the scenes they remembered did not unfold: these terrifying Xenos sweeping them aside, their comrades hacked to pieces one after another or torn apart by brute force.
Instead, what they saw was the Orks falling one after another beneath the barrage, like a green tide rolling down to the ground.
In some fortifications, routed soldiers watching what happened when the Orks closed in not only stared wide-eyed, but unconsciously let their mouths fall open.
"They... actually held them off?"
Before the routed troops' eyes, the human position, which should have collapsed at the first charge, not only held firm, but its soldiers actually leapt out of their trenches with entrenching tools, bayonets, sabres, and all manner of other weapons to fight the Orks hand to hand.
Though these humans achieved a kill ratio of several to one even in close combat, they were still ultimately swallowed by the green tide.
Yet the humans did not pull back their lines or rout outright as expected. Instead, behind the fallen stood a human in a regimental commander's uniform, leading more humans in a counterattack.
There was no one-sided slaughter. What unfolded before the routed soldiers was a desperate fight to the death between two blood-crazed sides, with someone stepping forward to fill every fallen fighter's place at every position along the defensive line.
No one knew how long the battle lasted. None of the routed troops cared about the time. They simply watched the bodies falling one after another across the position, and the mountain of countless Ork corpses at its very center and foremost point.
Atop it, the young regimental commander was piling himself ever higher with countless Orks.
Far beyond Sith lay the evening sunset, the enormous red sun slowly sinking into the sea of sand.
And just then, a drop pod trailing a long plume of flame pierced down from the sky into the red sun.
A violent impact sent yellow sand billowing, knocking down a swathe of nearby Orks who had already begun to rout.
The surrounding Orks roared in fury at the sight, but the moment they opened their mouths, their huge, ugly heads were blasted to pulp by bolts.
Weapons rose. Shots rang out.
Three towering Astartes emerged from the hatch, expertly pulling their triggers and killing the fleeing Orks around them one after another.
The mortal soldiers pursuing the Orks saw the "Emperor's Angels" appear before them in the flesh and hurriedly stopped, crossing their hands over their chests in a respectful Aquila Salute.
In the surrounding abandoned fortifications, the routed soldiers who had been watching events outside also stared with eyes stretched wide to their limits when they saw the "Angels" descend.
The mortals gathered excitedly around the Deathwatch. Yet while the mortals reacted strongly, the Deathwatch, who had emerged from their drop pod without even emptying a single magazine, reacted just as strongly after a brief pause.
There was no battle requiring their intervention as they had imagined. Around them stood mortal soldiers clad in black just like themselves, while in the distance, countless terrified Orks fled.
Looking in the direction the Orks were fleeing from, the Deathwatch saw only corpses carpeting the desert and, at the end of that field of bodies, a towering mountain of dead Orks.
The red sun sank at that very moment, and beneath its crimson radiance, shimmering waves of heat rose from the sea of sand.
And before that red sun, atop the mountain of corpses, a young human stood with his foot on an Ork boss encased entirely in steel, casting his gaze toward them!