On Dakora-7
Julius emerged from the ex-Governor's palace, his personal guard forming a bulwark of beskar around him. The situation was critical: they had to leave this world, and fast. Reaching the teleportation steles, he saw with frustration that a large portion of his troops – Terran soldiers and clones – were still there, stranded.
A sergeant in CMC armor turned and bowed. "M'lord, the steles are malfunctioning. The techs can't get them realigned. They say as long as this warp energy envelops the planet, any teleporter will be inoperative. We must leave by physical means."
Julius looked up at the sky, a maelstrom of impossible colors. Even a physical evacuation would be perilous. When the Warp manifested, the laws of physics became suggestions; time and space themselves tore.
He shook his head, a firm decision in his eyes. "Very well. Gather all personnel present. We are not going to flee. We are going down into the underhive, eliminate the threat at its source, and close this breach. Are you with me?"
The response was a unified roar that shook the metal beneath their feet. "ALL FOR THE LORD COMMANDER!"
And so, the army began to move. Even after the evacuations, the remaining forces were considerable, and this was not the end. Julius activated his comlink, his voice echoing in the helmets of the entire command chain. He ordered the deployment of all remaining drones and the reserve Irons Skulls. Looking up, he saw trails of fire piercing the corrupted atmosphere: his unyielding reinforcements had arrived.
The Irons Skulls, the HK-Tanks, the HK-Aerials... and the Hecatoncheires. The latter were nightmare machines, inspired by weapon blueprints from the Dark Age of Technology, discovered by Stetmann and modified to be more compact and suited for surprise attacks. Fast, equipped with multiple arms bearing cannons and blades, they were born killers for close-quarters combat.
Julius surveyed his army with fierce pride. He climbed a mound of metallic debris, raising his axe, Nightwing, high. His eyes began to glow with electric blue arcs, a manifestation of his inner power.
"FOR BASTION! FOR THE DOMINION! FOR VICTORY!"
The cry of his troops answered him, laden with fanaticism and absolute respect. "FOR BASTION! FOR THE DOMINION! VICTORY!"
In that moment, bathed in an aura of blue lightning, Julius resembled a god of war from antiquity. He lowered his axe, and the army surged forward, heading towards the vast access tunnels to the lower levels, recently mapped by his tech teams.
As the tunnel doors grated open, the Hecatoncheires were the first to plunge into the darkness, their multiple sensors scanning the gloom. The Irons Skulls followed, their heavy, rhythmic tread escorting the support troops.
Julius contacted Arnold, the cybernetic mind connected to the entire combat network. "Arnold, have the Hecatoncheires begun laying the mines?"
The synthetic voice replied without delay. "Affirmative. They are descending and placing Widow Mines and Spider Mines on all strategic axes. The tunnels are complex, but I am mapping the area in real-time and sharing the data with all units."
"Good. Keep me informed."
Before Julius could say more, a dull explosion echoed in the distance, followed by a series of others.
"The Spider Mines have detected approaching enemies," reported Arnold as the detonations multiplied.
How much cannon fodder will they send? Julius thought. No matter. They are just potential energy for the System.
A cold, calculating smile spread across his face. "System, prepare yourself."
The neutral, omnipresent voice of the System responded in his mind. "Always present, Host."
"Good," Julius murmured. "I can have as many soldiers as I want. They will discover that soon enough."
As the forces of Chaos poured forth their hordes of mutants and cultists, disposable and sacrificial cannon fodder, Bastion's vanguard units cut them to pieces with murderous efficiency. Every death was not a loss, but an investment. Julius's war machine was in motion, and it fed on the very chaos it had come to annihilate.