The moment the Iron Warriors detected the fleet, the Void Sword simultaneously identified the star system lurking within the Warp. Multi-spectral scanners and omni-directional entropy-detection arrays sifted through the countless phantom reflections of worlds until they locked onto the real matter. Every physical entity possesses an entropic signature; the phantom projections did not. In that silence, the star system stood out to the Iron Men with stark, undeniable clarity.
Based on the sensor feedback, Axion quickly reconstructed every detail of the system: a single star orbited by four planets. One of the worlds bore clear, unmistakable signs of artificial construction, as vast complexes and massive structures, resembling gargantuan bunkers, stood sentinel across the planetary surface. Countless mechanical apparatuses swarmed the orbit beyond the atmosphere. Though the aesthetics of these constructs were undeniably grim, jagged, spiked, and brutal, the underlying architecture was unmistakably Imperial. The unit insignia, however, remained obscured by the distortion of the Warp's optical interference.
Just as Axion prepared to summon the Imperial commanders to determine if this was a secret Imperial facility, a full fleet emerged from the planet's flank. Bathed in the psionic arcs that constantly flickered through the warp-tides, the fleet's insignia was revealed through the Void Sword's optics: the Iron Warriors, the traitorous Fourth Legion.
Axion immediately drafted a new plan. Navigating by such nebulous means was far too unstable; if he could capture some of the less "deranged" chaos-tainted traitors, perhaps their knowledge would aid the expedition.
"Alert: Chaos fleet detected in proximity. Enemy identified as Iron Warriors. Hold fire until commanded."
The crimson warning pulsed across the bridge displays of every Imperial ship in the fleet. Through the shared data-link, they easily magnified the hostile targets, tens of thousands of kilometers distant. Clearly, shielded by the Void Sword's immense bulk, the Iron Warriors had grossly misjudged the scale of the fleet they faced. Under the Iron Men's instructions, the fleet maintained its heading, offering no reaction.
As the Iron Warriors' fleet drew nearer, however, they finally realized the severity of their error. The target they had misidentified as a shattered planet was, in truth, a singular, incomprehensible leviathan, a ship of impossible scale. The debris they had dismissed as planetary dust was, in fact, an entire flotilla of Imperial warships.
Realizing their catastrophic misjudgment, the Iron Warriors scrambled to react. Their fleet erupted in a firestorm of macro-batteries and lances, streaks of searing light illuminating the void. It was precisely by the brilliance of these weapons that the massive orbital defense station, the very one that had first spotted the Crusade, realized the truth.
"That is no shattered planet! The Iron Men and the Emperor's lapdogs are upon us!"
The warning rippled out from the defense station. Countless heavy turrets across the void began to roar, unleashing a sustained barrage against the Crusade's fleet. Yet, no matter how ferocious the traitors' fire became, it was as nothing against the Void Sword's multi-kilometer-thick energy shields. The macro-shells detonated against the barrier, barely stirring a ripple, while the lance beams fell like raindrops into a lake, leaving only the faintest distortion.
This level of firepower would have been cataclysmic for the Imperial ships, even a battle-barge's void shields would fail under such saturation. But against the energy shielding of a Titan-class vessel, it was a negligible annoyance. The chasm between their respective tiers of technology could not be bridged by mere quantity.
The Iron Men soon demonstrated the true meaning of "obliteration."
The Void Sword unleashed a barrage of standard armament that dwarfed the enemy's intensity. Dense, concentrated beams swept across every defense platform surrounding the planet. In a single, sickening heartbeat, everything disintegrated within a waterfall of searing light. Clouds of metallic shrapnel and pulverized corpses began to drift aimlessly through the void.
Perturabo had barely received the intelligence before the Iron Men's retribution arrived. The destruction unfolded before his very eyes.
Medrengard was a super-fortress constructed by the hand of the Primarch himself. Its surface was a grotesque fusion of architecture and nightmare, where spires pierced the clouds to merge with the mountains, and every bastion was clad in lethal fortifications, with turrets and energy-weapon arrays protruding like metallic thorns against the sky. A black sun hung in the pallid heavens, raining down corrosive radiation that bathed the world in hues of rusted iron and charred soot.
More terrifyingly, the laws of physics on Medrengard were frayed; time flowed unevenly, space folded upon itself, and gravity shifted at whim. In some regions, time accelerated a hundredfold, turning the unwary into skeletons in a breath; in others, matter liquefied or crystallized, trapping the unfortunate in an eternal state of aberration. It was an environment that rendered conventional warfare a blind, suicidal gamble.
But the Iron Men were not interested in conventional warfare.
Within mere seconds, a titanic pulse-beam carved a layer of terrain clean off the face of Medrengard. The surface melted, slagged to a depth of several meters, leaving behind seas of roiling, white-hot magma. The defense shields that should have held for hours didn't even last a second before collapsing into ruin. Half the planet's surface was plunged into a hellscape of fire.
The Iron Warriors' fleet, still tasked with the command to capture the Imperial ships, found themselves in an even more desperate plight. They were caught fast in the Void Sword's gravitational-tethering arrays, held as if pinned in the grip of a singularity.
As the seconds ticked by, the Chaos fleet, having finally completed their turn, was forced to confront an agonizing truth: they were being forcibly dragged toward the colossal ship. Even with their plasma reactors pushed to the red-line, and the surge of their sub-light engines straining their hulls until the iron groaned in protest, it was all for naught. Their ships were effectively dead in the water.
For Axion, this was an unexpected hurdle. According to the data, the Iron Warriors were much like the Iron Hands, tending toward the mechanization of their own flesh. Their vessels were highly automated. The Inquisition had long suspected the Iron Hands of dabbling in forbidden sapient machine technology, though no evidence was ever found. The traitorous Iron Warriors, however, had long since abandoned all restraint.
Forbidden tech was used with reckless abandon, leading to widespread systemic abuse. Yet, when Axion attempted a data-intrusion, he found these Iron Warriors unexpectedly troublesome. Unlike other traitors who turned to daemons or fused with them to create engine-bound warriors, the Iron Warriors' equipment was saturated with a chaotic system that lacked any discernible logic.
Axion was intimately familiar with this pattern: it was identical to the Dark Mechanicus, who were foolish enough to treat daemons as Machine Spirits. Every byte of data operated in a disordered, corrupted state. It was chaotic, messy, so fractured that it could not be fully compromised by standard data-intrusion.
This left Axion with no choice but to open fire and dismantle the resistance.
Of course, these "pseudo-natives" still held unique value. Otherwise, a single volley from the Titan-class ship's "minor armaments" would have been more than sufficient to tear the entire planet asunder.
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