Aboard the Peak Obsidian, Raynor witnessed the entire scene.
He saw the ten-thousand-meter phantom deliver a world-shattering stomp and the near-instant annihilation of the frigate. Standing by the viewport, he couldn't help but marvel.
"Damn, that big foot really has some kick to it."
"Alpha-level psyker. At least Alpha-level," he muttered to himself.
A psyker of this caliber was a mobile natural disaster on the battlefield. A wave of a hand could vaporize an entire company; a single move could turn a tank into scrap metal. Without effective countermeasures, any number of troops would simply be sent to their deaths.
Sarah's voice echoed in his mind, carrying a trace of weakness and guilt. Raynor... I'm sorry. I failed to kill him.
Raynor shook his head. "It's not your fault," he said. "I didn't calculate for every variable."
He hadn't expected Luna's rumor campaign to actually yield such a physical manifestation, but combined with the purple paint on that massive ship, Raynor had a good idea of what had transpired. He stroked a Ripper, his expression calm.
"It doesn't matter. We still have other cards to play..."
Elsewhere, inside the Captain's quarters of the Steel Radiance, a blue light slowly coalesced. Luna's figure stepped out from the glow, staggering and leaning against the wall for support. Her face was deathly pale, and her body felt frail enough to fall apart at any moment.
This was her final "Recorded Reflection." She looked at the massive space station outside the window, her eyes filled with resentment.
So close. It had been so close.
But she couldn't afford to take such risks anymore. This was her last reflection; if she died once more, it would be the end for her. Subsequently, she commanded the fleet to coordinate with Raynor's forces to mop up the remaining Greenskins. Seeing Raynor's fleet maintaining a cautious distance from her own, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.
"Retreat," Luna ordered. She knew that in her current state, she could accomplish nothing. "Take the wreckage of the Measure of Discipline back with us."
A cold light flashed in her eyes. "Next time, I will return with my full strength."
Raynor's fleet began to redeploy. The Peak Obsidian led the frigate groups in establishing a blockade around the outskirts of Karl-2. They didn't attack; they simply stood guard. Like hunters patiently waiting for their prey to take the bait.
He didn't launch a general offensive while Karl-2 was at its weakest. It wasn't time yet.
Although Sarah had severely wounded Chandler, the Alpha-level psyker remained. The overall defensive strength of Karl-2 hadn't dropped significantly, and there were still hundreds of millions of Greenskins inside waiting for him. A direct assault would be a grueling, thankless task.
He had to wait. Wait for an opportunity to collapse the opposition from within. He looked at the massive space station outside and said softly, "Take it slow. No rush."
Behind him, Sarah's mini-Ripper crawled out of the shadows. It climbed onto his shoulder and nuzzled his face as a response.
As early as when the Purple Crystal first arrived at Karl-2, Raynor had begun his infiltration plan. Back when Luna's fleet was still "loitering" at Brevis and the Greenskins of Karl-2 were still fretting over Tyranid harassment, Raynor was already thinking ahead: a decapitation strike.
This required precise locations. Without a target, even the strongest assassin would be ineffective. Therefore, he needed to plant some "eyes."
Using the vast amount of Greenskin genetic samples collected at Brevis, Sarah had synthesized the first batch of "Sarah-Greenskins." These creatures looked almost exactly like ordinary Ork Boyz—green skin, terrifying tusks, and a suitably dim-witted expression. When they stood before Raynor, he could find no flaws.
In theory, the plan was viable. The Greenskin "Waaagh!" energy was a metaphysical force. If enough Greenskins "believed" these fakes were their kin, they would become true Greenskins under the effect of the field. Even if their physiology and souls weren't Orkish, they would be treated as "one of us" by other Greenskins from the bottom of their hearts.
Raynor's plan was sound: have these infiltrators blend in, gain the trust of the Orks around them, and "become" true Greenskins. From there, they would slowly climb the ranks, eventually infiltrating the core zone to find Chandler's lair. When the expedition fleet launched the final assault, they would strike from the inside or provide the coordinates for a direct assassination, causing Karl-2 to collapse on itself.
But he had underestimated one thing: the difficulty of integrating into Greenskin society.
The first batch of Sarah-Greenskins successfully blended into the outer regions of Karl-2. The "unintelligent" Boyz sensed a slight anomaly in these "kin," but their limited brain capacity prevented them from overthinking it. They only knew some new brothers had arrived to grab food, curse at the Nobs, and brag about becoming Bosses.
Everything went smoothly until the first time they fought.
It was the nature of an Ork to fight. An Ork who didn't love fighting wasn't a good Ork; a Boy who didn't want to be Boss wasn't a good Boy. They fought to grab food, and then they fought after eating to digest. They fought for a place to sleep, and when they woke up grumpy, they fought to vent their frustration! Fighting was their social life and their only form of entertainment.
One day, the Boyz in the area where the Sarah-Greenskin was stationed got into a brawl over a fresh pot of stew. Sarah hadn't wanted the infiltrator to get involved, but Raynor had told her to fit in. So, the fake Ork walked over blankly. A Boy wearing scrap armor targeted her.
"C'mon den, new lad! Have a go wiv me!" The Boy waved his fists, a confident grin on his face. To him, an armored Ork taking down this dazed-looking newcomer was an easy feat.
Sarah wasted no time, controlling the Ork to move efficiently. She opened with a rising elbow to the chest followed by a series of lethal strikes. Within five moves, the Boy was knocked unconscious on the ground.
Precise. Efficient. Lethal. It was Sarah's signature style.
The problem was that throughout the entire process, the Sarah-Greenskin hadn't let out a single roar. There was no joy of victory after winning, nor any of the emotions an Ork should possess. It just stood there, looking coldly at the unconscious Boy on the ground like a machine that had completed a task.
The eyes of the surrounding Boyz began to change. They didn't know what had happened, but instinct told them something was wrong. Dis lad ain't one of us.
As they began to "fancy" this thought, the outline of the Sarah-Greenskin began to distort. The green skin slowly faded, revealing the purple carapace beneath. The dim-witted face morphed, revealing Tyranid compound eyes. In the eyes of the surrounding Boyz, she manifested as she truly was in her heart.
"It's a bug!!!" someone screamed, and every Boy pounced.
Before the Sarah-Greenskin could react, she was submerged in a sea of green. Fists, choppas, teeth—every available weapon was used. She struggled and fought back, killing several Boyz, but there were too many. They were like madmen, intent on tearing this "outsider" to pieces.
Minutes later, only a pile of shattered purple remains was left on the ground.