The mont the breakthrough opportunity was identified, Grey and his two comrades were teleported onto the battlefield.
Within a single second, their bodies shifted from an incorporeal state back into physical form.
There was no hesitation.
The three warriors charged forward, their Thunderborn-pattern power armor amplifying their speed, their servo-assisted actuators propelling them forward at inhuman velocity.
Then—their jump packs ignited.
A burst of searing exhaust propelled them forward at breakneck speed.
The heretics had no ti to react.
Their personal gravity shields and layered ceramite plating were already capable of absorbing lasgun fire, but the sheer velocity of their assault rendered enemy reaction aningless.
Of the hundreds of shots fired, only three ca close.
None landed.
As they closed in, the three warriors synchronized their movents, switching their shoulder-mounted cannons to Mortar Mode.
Nine plasma orbs surged skyward—
Then rained down as a deadly storm of energy blasts, tearing through the heretical soldiers of the 20th Talon II Planetary Defense Regint.
Entire formations were wiped out instantly.
Their arrival sent shockwaves through the battlefield.
“The Lord Commander’s elite guard! They’re here!”
Inside a Leman Russ battle tank, a Commissar saw the charge and roared with renewed morale.
There was no need for speeches.
Their very presence was enough to inspire the First Legion defenders.
The First Legion troops surged forward, their faith rekindled, the very thought of fighting alongside legends driving them into a fervor.
....
"Wh-what in the Warp are those things?!"
The 20th Regint’s commander paled as he watched Gray’s squad bear down on them.
He fumbled for his vox, calling for reinforcents.
But he was already too late.
Venomfang had foreseen this.
He had already diverted additional armor and infantry to intercept the assault.
Four Leman Russ tanks and an entire battalion of infantry broke away from the flanking force—diverted to stop the trio.
They would not succeed.
....
["Enemy armored vehicles detected."]
Grey’s HUD flashed with targeting markers.
The four Leman Russ tanks were highlighted in glowing red runes.
There was no need for coordination.
Those wearing Thunderborn-class power armor fought under an unspoken rule:
The vanguard clears the path—including tanks and transports.
Grey’s shoulder-mounted plasma cannon adjusted.
But rather than manually aiming, he utilized a technique he had refined in countless battles:
Feeding the battlefield data directly into the weapon’s machine spirit.
The targeting matrix processed the information instantly—
Firing solutions calculated.
Adjustnts made.
Before Grey even pulled the trigger, the system had already determined the optimal point of impact.
One second.
The plasma cannon fired.
A crimson beam of condensed energy surged forward, lancing through the first Leman Russ, its plating lting like wax.
Even as the first tank detonated, the cannon was already re-targeting.
The second and third shots followed imdiately.
To the outside observer, it was as if three simultaneous beams had fired at once.
Three tanks exploded in unison.
One remained.
The cannon vented heat, recalibrated—
And fired one last ti.
The final Leman Russ collapsed in a molten wreck, its turret blown skyward.
Grey never slowed.
He charged through the flas, leaving the burning husks behind.
....
"STOP THEM!"
"CLOSE THE GAP!"
The heretic troops panicked.
They opened fire, unleashing a barrage of shots upon Grey, Anruida, and Yoan.
But it was futile.
Solid projectile rounds shattered uselessly against their gravity shields.
Las-fire was absorbed outright, converted into raw energy to fuel their armor.
They were unstoppable.
Their shoulder-mounted cannons continued to fire, cutting down heretics with rciless precision.
At the sa ti, their wrist-mounted laser weapons unleashed blinding volleys, tearing through the enemy ranks.
So heretics sought cover behind the wreckage of their own tanks—
Only to be obliterated by targeted plasma blasts, their bodies vaporized alongside their makeshift shields.
Others were crushed beneath Grey’s gravity shield, their bones turning to powder under the crushing force.
So were torn apart by scatter-laser shrapnel.
Their agonized screams filled the air.
For them—death was slow.
For Grey, death was an afterthought.
....
They were the elite warriors of Qin Mo.
Though officially designated as the Lord Commander’s personal guard, their true nature was far more terrifying.
They were his Champions.
A contingency force.
Designed for the worst-case scenario—where the entire Hive fell to the Genestealer Cult Uprising.
The only solution in such a nightmare scenario?
An army of warriors who could fight the swarm alone.
Against such a force, the Heretics had no chance.
They could only die.
The only way they could be stopped was if the enemy concentrated their entire armored division against them—
An impossible move, as Imperial reinforcents were pressing the heretics from all directions.
....
"We’re finished."
The 20th Regint’s commander stood frozen, unable to move.
But it wasn’t only fear of the Imperials that paralyzed him.
It was fear of Venomfang.
Venomfang’s "flaying" was not a taphor.
It was not a execution.
It was slow. Agonizing.
A punishnt so severe, death was a rcy denied.
Desperate, the commander whispered prayers.
Prayers to the Great Architect of Fate.
Prayers for a miracle.
Then—
A soldier beside him turned.
His voice was different.
〈"We have permission to retreat."〉
The commander’s heart leapt.
“Thank you, Warmaster!"
He spun around, ready to flee—
But his body refused to obey.
His muscles locked.
He slowly turned back toward the battlefield.
His grip tightened around his ripper gun.
A twisted snarl ford on his lips, he raised his weapon and charged at Gray.
〈"For the Great Architect!"〉
It was not his voice.
But it no longer mattered.
Grey deactivated his gravity shield for a split second.
And slamd his shoulder forward.
His jump pack ignited—adding montum.
The commander's body disintegrated on impact, reduced to a crimson mist.
Grey never slowed.
He reactivated his gravity shield and continued forward.
....
Far away, in the Spire’s throne room—
Venomfang watched through a scrying crystal.
He placed a six-eyed gemstone onto the throne’s armrest—
And laughed mockingly.
"That fool actually fell for it! He really thought he could run! HAHAHA!"
His servants chuckled nervously.
But then—
Venomfang’s smile vanished.
His eyes darkened.
His fingers curled into fists.
"We’re finished.
Either the Governor sends a ship to extract …
Or he sends reinforcents. Otherwise… I’m leaving Talon I."
“My lord…” the attendant trembled. “What of the knight nad Aelann?”
“Let him die. He’ll buy us ti. The governor hates House Lannis anyway. They don’t even worship the Omniscient One.” Venomfang sneered, his voice laced with contempt.
Others may have thought Venomfang mad, but his servant knew the truth—this was all a ga.
Betrayal, deception, scheming—it was all part of the fun.
And a much bigger plan.
The Order of the Omniscient Mind thrived on it.
“Before the enemy reaches the upper hive or the spire, carry out the task I gave you.” Venomfang ordered suddenly.
“As you command.” The servant bowed.
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