The second Wraithblade, sensing the futility of escape, crossed its arms over its chest to shield its spirit stone. Energy surged through its frame as it attempted to self-destruct, a desperate bid to annihilate its own soul. To an Aeldari, total oblivion was a mercy compared to the eternal agony of being consumed by Slaanesh, the She-Who-Thirsts, should their spirit stone be compromised.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
A rhythmic, heavy pounding echoed across the flats as a volley of bolt shells slammed into the construct's flank. The Wraithblade's torso shattered under the concentrated fire, and the spirit stone at its core was instantly reduced to dust.
The three Grey Knights turned their heads in unison, the lenses of their helmets glowing with a sharp, cold blue light. Seeing a full squad of Primaris Ultramarines standing before them, the warriors of the 666th Chapter were visibly taken aback.
Axion's towering, metallic silhouette immediately drew their undivided attention.
The Grey Knight bearing the Aquila tilted his head toward his battle-brother. "Where exactly did the webway gates of these needle-eared xenos spit us out?"
The warrior to his flank manipulated a data-slate mounted on his wrist for a moment before shaking his head. "No vox-return. Our current coordinates are unknown. However, the presence of Ultramarines suggests we are in a war zone on some backwater world."
The lead Grey Knight sighed inwardly; the logistical "clean-up" for this encounter would be an arduous task.
Nalson led his squad forward, halting before the three titans in silver. "On behalf of my brothers, I thank you for your assistance," he said, trying to maintain the formal discipline of his Chapter.
Internally, Nalson was fighting to suppress a surge of awe. He searched his mind for the legendary tales whispered by veterans. To these Primaris marines, the Grey Knights were figures of even greater mystery and veneration than an ancient construct like Axion. He stared at their ornate, master-crafted Terminator armor; he couldn't identify the specific Mark, but its sheer baroque majesty filled him with a sense of reverent envy.
Noticing the Ultramarine sergeant staring in a trance, the lead Grey Knight spoke again, his voice echoing through his vox-grille. "Brother?"
"Ah... forgive me," Nalson stammered, snapping back to attention. "We are brothers-in-arms. It is our duty to assist in the eradication of the Emperor's foes."
The Grey Knight, however, seemed disinclined to share details, offering only a curt explanation.
"We were pursuing a daemonic entity when we were drawn into an Aeldari webway gate. After a prolonged chase through the labyrinth, the daemon utilized its psychic foulness to trigger a mass teleportation, sweeping us and a nearby warband of xenos into the Warp. We were preoccupied with the engagement and were translocated here along with these Aeldari stragglers."
The Grey Knight gestured toward the mangled remains of the Rangers and the two shattered Wraith-constructs.
"We must establish contact with the Ordo Malleus. However, vox-frequencies appear dead. Tell me, Sergeant: where are we?"
Though the Grey Knight had provided a summary of their arrival, the specifics remained shrouded. Rumor held that these were the Imperium's ultimate weapons against the Daemonic. Their earlier display of psychic disruption only confirmed the legends. How could such beings be "accidentally" displaced?
Nalson harbored his doubts but knew better than to press. This was a classified operation of the highest order; its details were far above his clearance. He silently speculated if they were hunting a Greater Daemon of Chaos, or something even more catastrophic.
Seeing Nalson lapse into silence again, the lead Grey Knight began to wonder if these Ultramarines were suffering from combat fatigue or, worse, the creeping touch of corruption. The silver warriors scanned the squad; aside from dust and the drying ichor of battle, their power armor was remarkably intact.
In fact, their wargear looked unnervingly new, devoid of the deep battle-scars one would expect in a zone of high-intensity conflict. Furthermore, while the area was saturated with the lingering "stink" of the Warp, the energy was dissipating. A focused psychic scan revealed no trace of chaotic taint within the Ultramarines.
It was Axion who truly perplexed them.
The tall machine bore the Imperial Aquila and the sigils of the Adeptus Mechanicus, marking it as a sanctioned construct. Yet, while their eyes saw him clearly, their psychic senses met a total void. Even an inert piece of pig iron should have a reflection in the Warp; this machine had none.
The lead Grey Knight gave a subtle hand signal. One of his brothers drifted to the flank, out of the Ultramarines' direct line of sight, and briefly disengaged his helmet seal. With his own eyes, he confirmed Axion's physical presence. He shook his head toward his leader—it was no hallucination or vox-ghost.
The lead Grey Knight glanced at Nalson's pauldron, noting the name etched there. "Sergeant Nalson, you seem prone to introspection. On the battlefield, such a lapse can be fatal."
Nalson straightened, his discipline returning. "My thanks for the counsel... Brother-Knight?" He paused, realizing he had no name to attach to the title.
"Carson Lawrencest. Call me Carson."
Carson sounded weary. These Ultramarines were different from the stoic veterans he had worked with in the past. Noting the bright red markings and the pristine livery of their Mark X armor, a realization dawned on him.
"You are Primaris neophytes?"
"We are," Nalson confirmed.
Carson's crusader-pattern helm dipped in a slow nod. That explains it, he thought. But why was a squad of greenshields deployed in a hellscape like this?
"We have just arrived. This plain is a graveyard of Orks. Are you engaged in a planetary campaign? We received no word of a Greenskin invasion of this magnitude in the sector."
Nalson shook his head. "We arrived in orbit only recently. Our fleet transitioned from the Warp into a collision course with a battleship-class Space Hulk. We lost our escorts."
"The impact threw us off course. We translated into realspace near this world with our primary vessel heavily damaged. We are currently scouting for salvageable materials to effect repairs."
"Before we were drawn to your combat," Nalson continued, "we passed through a region containing a massive altar dedicated to Khorne. Our leader, the First-born, led us in destroying it with melta charges."
At the mention of a Khornate altar, one of Carson's brothers immediately moved to inspect the Ork corpses. After several minutes of examining the wounds, the Grey Knight looked up and nodded.
"Almost every casualty died of blade wounds. No evidence of small arms fire, yet the ground is carpeted in spent shell casings. When Daemons fall, their remains return to the Empyrean, leaving nothing but blood. It is impossible for this many Orks to have perished while expending this much ammunition without leaving a single enemy corpse behind."
"There are traces of Warp-taint on the wounds," he added, "but it is fading. The rate of dissipation is unnaturally rapid."