Thirty minutes later.
A starship tore its way out of a Dinsional corridor into high orbit above the second world of System #4. The mont realspace re-entry was completed, multiple dropships deployed from its hangar bays, rocketing down toward the plague-stricken planet below.
Aboard the fastest transport were Chapter Master Phoros and ten of his fellow Astartes, grim and resolute.
Had Governor Qin Mo been present to ask for Phoros' assessnt of the Talon Sector's military capabilities, he would've received only two words in reply: "Highly efficient."
rely thirty minutes prior, Phoros had exited the fortress only to find an entire regint already assembled at its gates. The force had been teleported in staggered waves to the orbital docks, swiftly boarding a cruiser anchored within.
The ship completed its prep work within twenty minutes, then jumped via so unknown chanism to System #4, bypassing conventional Warp travel entirely.
To the Astartes, it was like watching heresy and miracle entwined. No psychic turbulence. No shrieking daemons clawing at the Gellar field. Simply... arrival.
And now, the entire combat group was descending into combat within half an hour of mobilization.
And this... was rely a minor operation.
If it were a full-scale war, the Talon Sector's military might would deploy and strike with stunning speed.
Efficient would be an understatent.
Across from Phoros sat Grey, the sole mber of the Thunderborns accompanying this mission. Unlike the armored mass of the Astartes, Grey's presence seed quiet, understated, yet an aura of confidence radiated from him. His armor, unlike theirs, glead with alien alloys and faint energy veins, humming with power unlike any Imperial craft.
"How's the journey so far, Phoros?" Grey asked calmly.
"Since stepping foot in your sector, it's been a series of shocks and revelations," Phoros replied truthfully.
Grey nodded knowingly and said nothing more.
Phoros paused, then asked, "Is our involvent in this mission truly necessary?"
"Truthfully? No," Grey replied with a shrug. "This mission is primarily an experint. Retrieving plague samples is just one of the potential benefits."
Phoros absorbed that, nodding with a soft exhale. "Your Governor is a noble man. Such individuals are rare among Imperial leadership."
"He's not just rare," Grey corrected. "He's one-of-a-kind. You won't find another like him. He arms you, resupplies you, and then, just so you don't feel indebted, he gives you a simple task to make it all feel like a trade."
"..." Phoros nodded, silent but respectful.
Grey said no more.
....
The formation of dropships flew toward the far side of the planet, eventually descending into a twisted, rugged canyon.
This terrain complexity was why teleportation had not been used, they needed a safer insertion point.
All dropships stabilized in unison, thrumming with the deep growl of anti-grav engines as they hovered precisely three ters above the cracked canyon floor. Hatches hissed open, and squads deployed with martial efficiency, descending via grav-chutes and mag-lock tethers into tight, disciplined formations.
Phoros landed with precision and scanned his surroundings.
What he saw left a deep impression, every soldier in the regint wore power armor customized for mortal physiology, the sa kind he'd seen throughout Talon.
It was not crude plating nor ill-fitted shells, but armor designed with elegance and intent: segnted plates, integrated HUDs, sealed environntal systems, all woven seamlessly with weapons that glead with unrecognizable technologies. It was as though baseline humans had been elevated halfway to the Astartes, their weaknesses compensated by design rather than faith.
Among them were several figures of unusual size and stature.
Phoros imdiately identified them: Ogryns and Ratlings.
Both abhuman subspecies were common enough in the Astra Militarum, each adapted from baseline humanity under extre environntal conditions. Though they had full rights within the Imperium, it was rare, exceptional, even to see Ogryns wearing armor.
"They look like walking Dreadnoughts," Phoros murmured, awe tinged with unease.
"Dreadnoughts?" Grey looked puzzled. "What's that?"
"A war machine," Phoros explained, "Piloted by one of our most valiant and unyielding brothers, those too wounded to walk, but too valuable to die."
Grey seed intrigued but didn't press. Now wasn't the ti for lectures.
He climbed a nearby boulder for a better vantage point.
Before them sprawled a vast settlent, cobbled together with scrap tal and various salvaged debris. Its walls leaned precariously, watchtowers crafted from half-lted hab-stacks and the carcasses of downed ships. Smoke curled from chimneys and broken manufactorum vents, painting the sky with toxic streaks.
To the settlent's left flowed a thick, murky river, entirely choked with corpses. The stench was overwhelming, a miasma of rot and bile that clung to their armor filters. Bodies bobbed against each other like driftwood, their flesh mottled and crawling with plague flies the size of a man's thumb.
"They weren't saved, they were culled," Phoros growled in fury. "The planet's own PDF slaughtered them to contain the plague."
He could tell at a glance what could had transpired here.
Clearly, to prevent the spread of plague, this planet's Governor had issued horrifying orders.
Grey shook his head. "The local Planetary Governor wasn't aware of the outbreak. He only sent his distress signal three days ago."
Phoros first doubted it, but then recalled the negligent incompetence of so Governors he'd encountered and relented. "That... tracks."
Grey continued, "The plague isn't limited to this system. There are outbreaks in others as well. This one's just the worst."
"Any idea why? Heretical cults? Warp corruption?" Phoros asked. He'd been out of the loop too long, isolated from the wider Imperium.
Grey shrugged. "We wouldn't be here if we had an answer."
"What did you an earlier? About this being an experint?" Phoros asked.
"The Planetary Governor's scouting parties all died," Grey explained. "So there's likely hostile forces inside. We're here to field test the Ogryn and Ratling new gear under combat conditions."
He waved over the Regint Commander, who brought his sub-commander and approached five armored Ogryns.
"You lot! You're vanguard. Move out first." the commander ordered.
"When we get to bashin' ti?" one Ogryn asked eagerly, lips twisting into a wide grin beneath his helt.
"Lute wants to bash baddies for the Emperor and the Governor!" another bellowed joyously, his armored fists clanging together.
"Then get moving!" the officer barked.
The five armored Ogryns began lumbering toward the settlent.
The Ratlings, though naturally timid, were clearly more intelligent. Naturally stealthy and inquisitive, Ratlings excelled in recon and marksmanship. Their rifles were compact yet bristling with targeting arrays and stabilizers, whispering promises of surgical lethality. Their morale was bolstered by the presence of Astartes and a Thunderborn. With that, fear gave way to discipline
The formation advanced, Ogryns and Ratlings at the fore, flanked by Phoros and Grey, with other Astartes interspersed throughout the regint.
"You have authority to command everyone here," Grey said to Phoros. "The Governor gave the order, and I'm willing to follow it, your years in battle outweigh the years I've lived."
Phoros nodded solemnly.
As the formation advanced, they began scanning the surroundings using biosensors and tactical auspex.
As they neared the periter of the settlent, Grey's HUD registered a red contact marker, a single humanoid silhouette, aiming a weapon from a shattered window.
"Contact, ahead," Grey said, removing his helt and showing Phoros the threat marker.
After a glance, Phoros said, "We're going in. Close recon first."
"Understood. But... why not just let the Ogryns storm the place?"
Phoros fixed him with a steady, unwavering stare. "Because there may still be civilians inside. We don't bomb innocents."
Grey fell silent, no retort offered.
.....
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