Boom boom boom—!
Within the vast underground fortress complex, deafening detonations of bolter fire echoed through every corridor.
Bzzzzrt!!
The roaring chainsaw of a one-handed heavy axe easily shattered the energy shield of a high-ranking Jiralhanae warrior, then, with sickening smoothness, tore its coarse, massive body into several pieces.
"Tsk tsk, xenos filth." The low, metallic voice rumbled.
Among them, the towering Astartes warriors and the Covenant's Jiralhanae—Brutes—had truly found worthy opponents in each other.
Around them, the Imperial Auxilia and Servitor Army human soldiers, along with the Covenant's Unggoy and Kig-Yar, were as fragile as children by comparison.
They ran desperately while attempting to return fire with the weapons in their hands.
But it was utterly useless.
The robust, heavily armored World Eaters did not slow their advance in the slightest.
The small-caliber rounds fired at them barely warranted evasion. Yet when a 0.75-inch standard bolter round from a World Eater struck its mark, the result was either a body split clean in two—or total annihilation.
Only the Jiralhanae's heavy cannons had any real bite.
"Roar—! Die! You damned vermin!"
With the trigger held down, the Brute Captain Major—clad in yellow-green armor with a V-shaped crested helmet—emptied the heavy fuel rod magazine in an instant. As he watched a World Eater stagger back under the kinetic blast, his energy shield overloaded and flickering, the Brute burst into triumphant laughter.
The fuel rod cannon—also known as the fuel rod gun—was a powerful shoulder-fired infantry weapon of the Covenant, capable of launching explosive fuel rods. Comparable to mounted fuel cannons, it suffered from noticeable ballistic drop.
Like the Brute heavy grenade launcher, heavy shotgun, and spike rifle, it was one of the Jiralhanae's favored large-caliber infantry weapons.
Perhaps due to their rivalry with the Sangheili, the Jiralhanae disdained the so-called "Elite" energy and plasma weapons. They preferred high-impact, rapid-fire ballistic arms.
In short, the bigger the bang, the greater their delight.
With a snarl, he discarded the empty fuel rod cannon, raised his gravity hammer, and charged forward. His half-ton body thundered ahead, face twisted in fury, veins bulging as he swung the weapon down with brutal force.
Boom—!
A detonation like a tolling cathedral bell resounded. Under the hammer's impact field, the ground was smashed into a shallow crater over ten centimeters deep. The smooth metal floor fractured inch by inch, cracks spreading outward as shards of metal shot through the air like a rain of arrows.
He roared in rage.
"Damn it, that cannon packs a punch." Before him, the World Eater—his chestplate scorched black—had caught the head of the gravity hammer with one hand.
To be stopped in his own domain of strength was a humiliation the Brute Captain Major could not endure. His eyes widened in fury.
"ROAR!"
His vision flushed red as the savage, volatile instincts of his species overwhelmed what little reason remained. Tactics no longer mattered. In his eyes, there was only the human before him.
"Die! Roar!" He gripped the hammer with both hands. Muscles like carved granite tightened as he strained against the Astartes in a contest of pure strength.
Nearby Auxilia and Servitor Army soldiers could clearly hear the violent groaning of the Brute's muscles and bones, could imagine how he ground his teeth and poured every ounce of power into the struggle...
"Raaagh! I'll crush you!" He roared loudly—but the hammer did not move in the slightest.
He could neither force it down nor pull it free. A spectacular display in theory—zero results in practice. All noise, no substance.
"He's mine. Don't take him."
Thud thud!
The other World Eaters behind him merely nodded. Without further comment—boom! boom! boom!—their bolters spoke instead. Firing in disciplined alternation as they advanced past him, they cut off the enraged Jiralhanae warrior from the rest of his Covenant unit.
"Don't waste time. Finish it quickly and move up." That was the voice of a World Eater sergeant striding past with a bolt pistol in hand.
Crack!
"Understood."
Still gripping the hammerhead in one hand, the World Eater lifted his head. With a twist of his powered gauntlet, he shoved the gravity hammer back.
The Brute Captain Major roared in fury, shoulder dropping as he lunged forward, intending to ram his opponent bodily.
But the World Eater was faster.
With practiced ease, he tugged sharply, disrupting the Brute's momentum—then drove a punch into the charging alien's face.
Thud!
Viscous gore splattered across the bone-white power armor's gauntlet. The Brute Captain Major's half-ton body was sent flying like artillery shot, slammed directly into the corridor wall.
Red and white matter burst outward. Blood smeared down the surface like paint slowly dripping across a canvas.
"Their weapons overloaded my shield... These apes are at least somewhat threatening."
Click.
Crouching briefly, he retrieved his fallen bolter. As he resumed his forward sprint, he pulled a thumb-thick energy cell from the magnetic clip at his waist and inserted it into the port on his shoulder plate.
Hum—!
Blue-white particles rippled across the surface of his armor—a sign that the overloaded energy shield had been restored.
The Astartes power armor of the Holy Selene Empire had always evolved with conquest and integration. Though its outward appearance had not changed drastically, its internal systems had undergone countless refinements.
From the earliest external orichalcum armor plates to the addition of electro-muscle bundles and the Tyrant active-cell nano bodysuit lining... to energy shield modules, composite armor upgrades, and the integration of void field generators...
At present, an officially inducted and armored Astartes warrior possessed layered protection from the inside out: a superhuman body enhanced through Honkai augmentation surgery, a Tyrant active-cell nano undersuit, multi-layer electro-muscle bundles, powered armor, and the armor's integrated energy shield module.
With promotion, decoration, and years of service, further refinements followed—master-crafted equipment, higher-grade void field generators, and other non-standard issue enhancements granted as honors.
Meanwhile, on the surface—within the primary ground fortress of the Covenant stronghold—
Boom—!
Amid a sound that seemed to tear the air apart, a thick, dazzling beam of plasma energy erupted from the cannon of a colossal beast of destruction.
Rumble—!
The energy shield collapsed instantly. The Covenant's scorpion-like Scarab super-heavy assault platform was blasted into the air along with an entire stretch of earth, exploding into countless flaming fragments that sprayed outward like meteors.
Like volcanic magma erupting without restraint, fire and molten debris surged and coiled wildly—resembling a rose blooming upon the land, magnificent and awe-inspiring, yet lethally beautiful.
Thud! Thud!
In the distance, towering mobile "mountains" advanced in an unstoppable line across the horizon—more than a dozen of them. Among them, one stood tallest and most imposing of all—the Supreme-class Titan.
It was a product of the mass-production of Ultimate Teigu technology, the most extreme manifestation of destructive power the Empire could deploy on land at scale, and one of the most magnificent creations ever forged upon the forge worlds.
Boom—!
Shockwaves of annihilation and blinding flashes spread across the ravaged earth like a rolling carpet. Under the Titans' bombardment, the land itself warped and trembled. Mountain ranges were flattened in moments. Soaring debris and roiling fireballs nearly obscured the heavens.
The concussive force shook the organs of all who witnessed it.
"Supreme-class Titan war engines... beautiful creations." A group of figures standing atop a distant hill sighed in admiration.
"They're decent."
Standing upon ground crystallized by plasma rail bombardment, Angron cast a calm glance at the Covenant fortress being methodically crushed beneath Titan heavy fire.
The strongholds that had cost the Covenant immense time and resources to construct were visibly disintegrating before the naked eye.
"Word is that Lorgar is applying as well, hoping to get a share?" Angron asked casually, drawing his gaze back.
"Yes, Legion Commander." The civil official—clad in ornate administrative robes far more elaborate than a military uniform—bowed neither obsequiously nor arrogantly.
"That zealot... what does he want? With me and Curze lending a hand, it's more than enough. Does he plan to convert these xenos or something?"
At that, seeing the elderly official stroke his goatee with a faint smile, Angron's eyelid twitched. "Don't tell me... he actually intends to."
"Indeed. Legion Commander Lorgar made it clear during the Imperial Ministry of War council session in the Imperial Capital that he requires no forge worlds, no resource planets, no recruitment worlds, nor any share of taxation. He asks only for permission to construct grand temples and sacred complexes throughout this universe."
The official spoke calmly.
"That does sound like him." Angron immediately grasped Lorgar's intent.
Good grief—wanting nothing but faith. A true fanatic.
From the perspective of piety and loyalty, Lorgar and the Seventeenth Legion, the God-Empress Preachers, were theoretically the most loyal force to Selene within the Empire.
If Selene were to say, "I require your deaths," Angron believed Lorgar would be the first to take his own life without hesitation—and most of the Seventeenth Legion would follow immediately.
In that regard—though it bordered on treason to admit it—if the God-Empress ordered Angron to commit suicide, he might first ask why. He could not match Lorgar's absolute decisiveness.
"Forget him. Her Majesty and Great General Budo will decide. I'll just voice my approval... Ah, right."
Recalling something Selene had mentioned, Angron turned with curiosity.
"That deceptive... ah, I mean, enemy-disruption message your department edited—how's that coming along?"
"It is proceeding smoothly. Through dissection of these aliens' brains, we discovered that this coalition known as the Covenant harbors considerable internal contradictions."
"The two strongest military species are at each other's throats. The lower-tier species are riddled with resentment. And those ostrich-like rulers at the top each calculate their own advantage. With a few subtle manipulations, we can split them—let them tear at one another like dogs. We'll support one faction against another, then cast out whichever side draws universal hatred to soothe public outrage."
"After that, accepting a portion of them as compliant subjects will not be difficult."
The official from the Imperial Ministry of Internal Affairs spoke lightly. "Legion Commander, absolute military superiority can certainly force surrender—but it is wise to leave thorns among them. Bestow both grace and intimidation. It adds the finishing touch."
"Tsk. When it comes to schemes and dirty tricks, it's always you bureaucrats."
Angron was blunt by nature. There was no malice in it.
"Haha, hardly. The Covenant's rulers lack sufficient military strength to suppress internal tensions. They resort to petty maneuvers themselves, even plotting to eliminate their own allies for dominance. The contradictions have always existed. Even without our intervention, disaster was inevitable."
"We merely unearthed what was buried—and gave it a gentle push."
After watching the battlefield for a time, the elderly official asked with interest, "Legion Commander, will you not take the field?"
Angron did not turn his head. "Not yet."
"I've already slaughtered two xenos worlds myself. The collective merit is secured. It's time the whelps earn their own glory in blood and fire."
The Servitor Army required battlefield merit to elevate themselves—and their parents, wives, and children—to higher social standing and better resources. The Imperial Auxilia needed honors to secure a brighter future for their families. Even ordinary Astartes sought glory to wear as armor of reputation.
As for the necessary sacrifices of war, Angron would not interfere. In war, how could there be no dead?
...
On the star route between the distant colonies of Madrigal and Reach, under the Unified Earth Government.
A light, reconnaissance-specialized Lunar-class cruiser of the Astartes advanced silently through space.
"Commander Nathaniel Grace, where are we headed?" asked the soldier known as Spartan-117—the Master Chief—as he strode down the long corridor.
"No need to be formal. Just call me Nathaniel."
After their earlier conversation in the mess hall, the Night Lords officer and the Spartan team had grown considerably more familiar.
Nathaniel Grace, the Night Lords officer, replied, "The interrogation chamber. Reach is almost within sight. I have something amusing to show you. I hear the Covenant's alien scum call you 'Demon.' I'm curious how they'll react when they see you."
"Those alien vermin are a little gift I prepared for Dr. Catherine Elizabeth Halsey. I hope she appreciates it."
At that, the black-haired, pale-skinned Nathaniel allowed a faint smile to form. From his exchange with Dr. Halsey—the Spartan overseer—he had sensed that the woman was no conventional 'good person.'
She would likely fit in very well with the Empire.
As they approached the interrogation chamber, the air grew colder with each step.
Hiss—!
The hatch slid open. A wave of frigid air spilled out, carrying with it the screams of the living and the stench of rotting flesh. Terror seeped into the corridor like a spreading infection.
"After you."