Fire shots from the Leman Russ can be hear across the barren land. Vanquishers and Annihilators fire their precise aim at the Orks vehicles and walkers far behind the line, while Exterminators and Punishers mow down the Orks horde at the front.
Behind the armoured wall, Auxilia infantry disembarked from Chimeras and troop trucks. They advanced alongside the tanks, lasguns blazing as they pushed forward in tight formations.
Combat engineers moved quickly among them. Using portable tools and explosives, they carved shallow trenches into the ash-choked ground, creating cover for advancing infantry and stable firing platforms for heavy weapon squads as they set up their guns.
To the rear, a Chimera ground to a halt. Its ramp dropped, and a squad of Grenadiers disembarked at once.
The regiment's Colonel followed them, stepping onto the battlefield as the roar of guns and the screams of Orks filled the air.
As he surveyed the field, he could see neighboring regiments had also reached their assigned positions and were already engaged with the enemy.
"Signal Command," he said to the vox-operator without taking his eyes off the battle. "We have engaged the Orks. No sign of Gargants—only Stompas present on the field."
The vox-operator nodded and immediately began relaying the message.
Across the line, similar reports were being sent as Colonels and Lieutenant-Colonels issued the same orders to their own vox crews.
Far behind the front, within a ruined town, several Auxilia infantry squads were locked in close combat. Lasgun fire and explosions tore through shattered buildings as they fought an enemy hidden among the rubble.
"Signal the convoy—tell them this route is closed," one Sergeant barked as he fired his plasma pistol, then ducked behind a collapsed wall. "How many are still in the area?"
The vox-operator began typing into the cogitator embedded in his bionic left arm. Beside him, another trooper studied the auspex screen.
"Scanner shows around forty contacts still present."
"By the Throne…" the Sergeant muttered as another explosion ripped through a nearby structure. The sound of screaming cut short told him all he needed to know."That's the fifth squad lost to these damn Orks."
Suddenly, a burst of heavy fire slammed into their position. Small explosions peppered the ruins, showering the squad with debris.
"Find their position!" the Sergeant shouted, using hand signals to order his troops to new cover. "Spread out—now!"
As the squad shifted formation, their attackers were already closing in.
Kommandos arm with sluggas and choppas begin to move towards the squad from the ruin buildings while two Kommandos fire their Big Shootas, laying down suppressive fire to draw the Auxilia's attention.
The Kommandos crept closer.
Then—
A sharp, muffled crack sounded behind them.
One Ork let out a confused grunt and turned its head.
Standing in the shadows was an Astartes, clad in Mk VI Corvus armour—the beaked helm of a Dark Knights reconnaissance Marine.
"Hello there," the Astarte said calmly.
His silenced bolter barked once.
Then again.
Six Kommandos fell where they stood.
"They are more numerous than we expected," the Astartes murmured as he moved forward, his steps silent, already closing on the last two Kommandos still firing at the Auxilia. "Estimate: a warband of two hundred Kommandos operating in this sector."
The vox was silent for a moment.
Then a voice answered—cold, measured.
"Still within projected parameters."
The Astartes drew his combat knife mid-stride. In a blur of motion, he was upon them. Two swift slashes—clean, precise. Both Orks were decapitated before they could react.
"Continue your mission," the voice ordered. "Assist local forces. Contain the Kommandos."
"Your will," the Astartes replied.
He gave the Auxilia one final glance—checking that they were still standing—then melted back into the darkness of the ruins, becoming nothing more than a shadow among shadows.
===
While the Auxilia fought to stabilize the front and secure the supply corridors, Atharion drove the spearhead forward.
The armoured column advanced across the ash plains in perfect order, engines roaring in disciplined unison. At its heart rolled Atharion's command vehicle, a Land Raider Prometheus, its enhanced auspex arrays sweeping the horizon as command signals flowed from it like a pulse.
Around it thundered the core of the assault force.
Twenty Land Raiders bore the Wardens and elements of the 1st Company, their holds packed with Terminator squads standing immobile in mag-lock harnesses, weapons primed. Flanking them came twenty Land Raider Terminus Ultra, their quad lascannons already tracking distant heat signatures.
Behind and between the heavy armor surged the guns of the 9th Company, ten Deimos-pattern Vindicators, ten Sicaran Omega tanks and ten Deimos Predator Executioners.
A powerful armoured column that Atharion assemble to deal with the Stompas and possibly, the Gargants as they need to hold their ground till the Titans arrived.
Far behind the armoured column is the second column that comprise of thirty Rhinos with the 3rd company in them and they escorted by twenty Predators and ten Land Speeder Typhoons. The 3rd company mission is to advance into the hive and try to secure a stable breach with Atharion and the Terminator squads for the Auxilia that will arrived after.
Of course, their mission will only begin after the destruction of the Gargants.
"How's the Auxilia doing?" Atharion ask as he looking at the results of the auspex scanner, hoping that their targets will show up.
"They reported having engage with the Walkers of the Orks, though none of them are Stompas or the Gargants."
Atharion sigh silently. "What about the Ultramarines? Have they see the Gargants?"
The Warden shooked his head.
"Negative, my lord. Lord Agrippan report heavy resistance, but no super-heavy contacts."
Silence settled over the command deck, broken only by the low growl of engines and the distant thunder of battle.
"Whatever," Atharion muttered as he sealed his helm. The world narrowed to targeting runes and scrolling data as his voice emerged through the vox, cold and distorted. "If they refuse to show themselves, then we will force them out."
He straightened.
"Inform the Princeps to advance," Atharion ordered. "I want the god-machines moving now. We take the ground, we break their lines, and we deny them the choice."
The armoured column surged forward.
As the armoured column closed the distance, the hive answered their challenge.
Sirens wailed from within the broken megastructures.
Battlewagons thundered out first, their ramshackle hulls layered with scrap armour and glyphs of war. Gunwagons followed close behind, turrets already spitting shells and streams of tracer fire as they lurched forward on grinding tracks. Orks clung to every surface, howling as they fired wildly into the oncoming Astartes.
"Contacts confirmed," the Warden reported calmly. "Ork heavy vehicles advancing from breach points. Range closing fast."
Atharion raised his thunder hammer slightly, as if pointing it toward the enemy.
"All units," he voxed, "engage at will."
Land Raider Terminus Ultras locked down, their twin-linked lascannon arrays firing in disciplined volleys. Beams of coherent light punched clean through Ork armour, detonating fuel reserves and ammunition stores. One Battlewagon vanished in a rising fireball, its wreckage cartwheeling into the path of those behind it.
Deimos Pattern Vindicators advanced in line, their magna laser destroyers discharging with a shriek of tortured energy. The beams tore straight through crude armour plating, slicing Ork vehicles apart and reducing them to pools of molten metal and burning wreckage.
Sicaran Omegas added their voice to the storm. Their omega plasma arrays charged to critical levels, containment fields flaring bright—then fired. Searing lances of plasma ripped across the battlefield, engulfing Ork vehicles in incandescent fury. Armour slagged, engines vaporised, and entire crews were erased in flashes of white-hot light.
The ground ahead became a graveyard of twisted steel and burning scrap.
Yet even as the last Battlewagons died, the tremors grew stronger.
From the shattered breaches in the hive wall, towering silhouettes forced their way into the open—iron giants wreathed in smoke, flame, and scrap-iron banners. Gargants. Each one a walking fortress of riveted plates and roaring guns, their crude idols and glyphs shaking with every thunderous step. The earth cracked beneath their weight as they advanced, crushing ruins and wreckage alike without slowing.
Five of them emerged in a loose line, their massive forms blotting out the ash-choked sky.
Around them came their escorts—ten Stompas, smaller but no less lethal, their clanking frames bristling with cannons, rokkit racks, and oversized power klaws. They pushed ahead of the Gargants and spread along the flanks, firing wildly as they advanced, turning the ash plains into a storm of explosions and flying debris.
Auspex runes flared crimson across Atharion's visor.
"Confirmed," came the vox-report. "Five Gargants. Ten Stompas advancing in support."
Atharion's reply was calm, absolute.
"Form firing lines. Focus on the Stompas first."
At his command, the armoured column executed the maneuver with practiced precision. Land Raider Terminus Ultras ground to a halt and locked their suspensors, lascannon arrays slewing toward designated targets. The Vindicators begin to aim towards the Stompas joints area, aiming to disarm them first, while the Sicaran Omegas rolled forward just enough to gain optimal firing solutions.
Target runes snapped into place.
"Engage," Atharion ordered.
The battlefield erupted.
Lascannon beams stabbed out in disciplined volleys, punching through crude Ork plating and blasting limbs apart in showers of molten metal. Vindicators fired in sequence, their weapons tearing into knee-joints and hip assemblies. One Stompa lurched as its leg was severed clean through, crashing down and crushing a mob of Boyz beneath its bulk. Another lost an arm in a blinding flash, its power klaw spinning away before detonating against the ground.
Then the Sicaran Omegas spoke.
Superheated plasma lanced across the field, engulfing entire sections of the Ork line. A Stompa caught mid-stride vanished in a boiling sphere of light, its frame collapsing inward as its reactor catastrophically failed. Secondary explosions rippled outward, hurling wreckage and Ork bodies through the air.
Within moments, half the Stompas were crippled or burning wrecks.
But the earth shook harder now.
The Gargants answered.
Their massive cannons roared to life, shells the size of hab-blocks screaming overhead. One detonated among the Vindicators, flipping a tank onto its side and leaving it burning, though its crew survive and currently exiting it. Another blast carved a smoking trench through the ash plain, forcing the line to brace under the shockwave.
Atharion stood firm within his command Land Raider, unflinching.
"Break formation," he ordered calmly. "Engage the Stompas. Maintain mobility—do not give the Gargants fixed targets."
The column immediately dispersed.
Land Raiders surged forward and peeled away, advancing in staggered elements as lascannons continued to rake the damaged Stompas. Vindicators that could still fight reversed and redeployed, firing on the move as they sought new angles. Sicaran Omegas accelerated hard, plasma arrays discharging in short, brutal bursts before the tanks slewed away, denying the Gargants a clean firing solution.
A Gargant shell slammed down where a firing line had stood seconds earlier, blasting nothing but churned earth and burning wreckage.
The remaining Stompas tried to keep pace, their ponderous frames turning to track the darting armour, but they were already losing cohesion. One staggered as its torso was cored by concentrated fire; another toppled forward, its reactor screaming before detonating in a rolling firestorm.
Around them, the Gargants bellowed and advanced, guns blazing, but now their prey was no longer obediently waiting.
Atharion watched the battlefield unfold with cold satisfaction.
"Good," he murmured. "Make them angry. Make them commit."
And far behind the Dark Knights' line, the distant thunder of god-engines began to answer.
Then, three deafening cannon blasts echoed across the battlefield. A Gargant nearest the advancing column shuddered violently as three massive shells slammed into its frame. Sparks flew, hydraulics screamed, and with a grinding, metallic groan, the crude war machine began to collapse in on itself, toppling forward in a cascade of twisted metal.
"Lord Atharion, we have arrived," came the calm, commanding voice of Princeps Maximus Valeria over the vox.
Her Warlord led the way, its massive feet crushing the ash and debris as the rest of her Maniples followed in perfect formation toward the Hive.
"Our Quake Cannons will take the Gargants first," Valeria continued, her tone measured yet sharp, "cracking their armor and forcing them into the kill zones prepared by your armoured column."
Atharion inclined his head, his eyes narrowing beneath the helm. "Good. Synchronize with the column. Stompas first, then draw the Gargants into the kill zones."
Behind them, the ground quaked as three Warbringer Nemesis unleashed their salvo, three Quake shells tearing into a second Gargant, sending fire and smoke into the air. The Stompas, already battered, staggered under the shockwaves, giving the armoured column openings to concentrate fire.
Atharion's visor flared with targeting reticles, each locking onto a moving target. "Forward. Don't let them regroup. Kill them before they recover."