A colossal beam of energy raked across the surface of Medrengard, incinerating a vast swathe of the mountain-spanning bastions. As the dust settled, the invasion began in earnest.
This was the first time Axion had observed the peculiar mechanics of a Warp-teleportation relay. Guided by specialized dimensional-induction arrays, the mechanical units aboard the Void Sword visibly distorted, flickering like ghosts before vanishing into points of light that seemed to bleed through the ship's own heavy armor. Countless shimmering pinpricks of light cascaded from the hull, raining down toward the burning planet below, a silent, mechanical deluge that transfixed all who witnessed it.
Some of these light-points dissolved as they merged with the retreating Iron Warriors fleet, but the majority swarmed toward the surface of Medrengard.
Within a gargantuan fortress that had miraculously survived the initial barrage, Perturabo stood stunned. He had built his reputation on saturation firepower and relentless, grinding advances. Yet, for the first time, he was witnessing the true definition of the term. Over half of his prized fortifications had been erased in a single heartbeat; his defensive arrays had not merely failed, they had been atomized before they could even achieve lock-on.
As the points of light struck the ground, mechanical entities manifested instantly. The superheated surface, still flowing with the molten remains of the fortress's armor, instantly vaporized the mortal slaves caught in the wake. The sudden death of so many souls acted as a beacon, drawing forth a tide of Warp-spawned entities that manifested in the wake of the devastation.
"Master," a Warsmith hurried into the grand hall, his voice tinged with frantic desperation as he addressed the Primarch on his throne. "We have suffered catastrophic losses. Over eleven grand companies, nine bastion-clusters, and thirty-one orbital platforms have been completely obliterated by the long-range strike."
The scale of the carnage made Perturabo's eyes blaze with fury.
Clang!
An Armored Warden, its particle oscillation blade carving through the heavy bulkhead with contemptuous ease, ripped the great blast doors from their hinges using its six-legged chassis.
Perturabo's pupils narrowed as he stared at the automaton. He had heard rumors of these mechanical units that stalked the galaxy alongside the Imperial fleet, but this was his first direct confrontation.
"High-value target detected. Identity analysis complete: Traitor Iron Warriors Primarch, Perturabo. Capture priority: Extreme."
The Warden's cold, synthetic tone turned Perturabo's shock into a boiling rage. Did these "Iron Men" mistake him for some lamb to be led to the slaughter?
In that fleeting instant, Axion had already attempted a data-intrusion. However, the systems utilized by the Iron Circle automata behind Perturabo lacked any discernible logic. Axion suspected that the Primarch had fused daemonic souls into his constructs. Their internal architecture was utterly chaotic, laced with bizarre, non-Euclidean psychic structures that rendered conventional digital subversion useless. The same held true for the power armor worn by Perturabo and his Warsmiths.
Before Perturabo could act, the Warsmith who had brought the report lunged forward. Even though the Iron Men's overwhelming bombardment had shattered the morale of his subordinates, as a fallen demigod, he dared not show weakness before his gene-father. To do so would invite a fate far more agonizing than death, a reality he knew all too well.
With blurring speed, the Warsmith drew a plasma pistol and leveled it at the Armored Warden. A searing bolt of cobalt energy erupted, screaming toward the intruder. The Warden didn't bother to evade; the shot detonated against its localized void-shield, which flickered briefly before the energy was dissipated.
The traitors present frowned. The Warsmith immediately switched tactics, drawing a thunder hammer and charging. His heavily modified body hummed with the whine of countless mechanical augmetics. The hammer whistled through the air, gathering the force of a thunderclap as he swung it toward the Warden, whose movement was slightly constrained by the frame of the doorway.
CRACK!
With a sound like tearing air, the Warden's particle oscillation blade whipped out, precisely shearing through the shaft of the Warsmith's weapon. The electrified hammer-head flew off, carried away by its own momentum. The Warden's massive leg surged forward, stabbing into the Warsmith's torso.
SQUELCH!
The sound of rending metal filled the hall. The Warsmith's body was torn nearly in half, his mechanical augmetics and power armor shredded as his ruined form was tossed aside like discarded scrap.
"Hmph."
Perturabo let out a cold grunt at the sight of his fallen son. He raised a hand, and the Iron Circle automata roared into action. Two of them leveled their mechanical arms, the meltaguns mounted upon them already primed. A pair of blinding, orange-hued beams lashed out, scoring the Warden's shield and nearly piercing through. The intense flare of the melta-burst temporarily blinded the automaton's sensor suite.
Two more Iron Circle automata lunged simultaneously, slamming their power fists into the joints of the Warden's six-legged chassis.
BOOM! BOOM!
The twin impacts resonated through the hall, crippling two of the Warden's limbs. Though these were far more powerful than the standard power fists carried by Astartes, the Warden simply adjusted. As the flare faded, it spared a momentary, cold-processed look at the automata before raising its particle blade once more.
Despite losing two points of support, the remaining four legs adjusted with perfect equilibrium. Internal balancing arrays dynamically recalculated its posture, maintaining its combat effectiveness.
The two Iron Circle automata adjusted their assault, one hammering at the leg joints, the other striking toward the Warden's head.
However, the Warden's four arms moved in a blur. A pale, golden light traced through the air, carving deep gashes into the bodies of the Iron Circle automata. Beneath the plating, one could faintly discern the gruesome, fleshy implants fused within them.
CLANG!
As the Warden parried both automata, Perturabo surged forward with terrifying velocity. He swung his massive power hammer, wreathed in snarling arcs of electricity, in a vicious upward arc. The sheer kinetic force lifted the Warden from the floor, sending it crashing into the debris with a screech of tortured metal.
Perturabo stared at the prone machine, then looked down at his own hammer with a flicker of inexplicable dissatisfaction. Ever since the Forgebreaker had been lost, he had never found a weapon that truly satisfied him, unaware that the ancient, terrifying relic now lay dormant within the vaults of the Blood Ravens Chapter.
BOOM!
SKREEE!
From outside the hall, a colossal mechanical claw gripped the remaining blast doors, crumpling the reinforced adamantium as if it were soft clay, tearing the gate wide open.