Thirty minutes later.
A starship tore its way out of a Dimensional corridor into high orbit above the second world of System #4. The moment 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' assessment of the Talon Sector's military capabilities, he would've received only two words in reply: "Highly efficient."
Merely thirty minutes prior, Phoros had exited the fortress only to find an entire regiment 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 some unknown mechanism 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 merely 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 understatement.
Across from Phoros sat Grey, the sole member of the Thunderborns accompanying this mission. Unlike the armored mass of the Astartes, Grey's presence seemed quiet, understated, yet an aura of confidence radiated from him. His armor, unlike theirs, gleamed 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 involvement in this mission truly necessary?"
"Truthfully? No," Grey replied with a shrug. "This mission is primarily an experiment. 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 meters 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 regiment wore power armor customized for mortal physiology, the same kind he'd seen throughout Talon.
It was not crude plating nor ill-fitted shells, but armor designed with elegance and intent: segmented plates, integrated HUDs, sealed environmental systems, all woven seamlessly with weapons that gleamed 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 immediately identified them: Ogryns and Ratlings.
Both abhuman subspecies were common enough in the Astra Militarum, each adapted from baseline humanity under extreme environmental 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 seemed intrigued but didn't press. Now wasn't the time for lectures.
He climbed a nearby boulder for a better vantage point.
Before them sprawled a vast settlement, cobbled together with scrap metal and various salvaged debris. Its walls leaned precariously, watchtowers crafted from half-melted hab-stacks and the carcasses of downed ships. Smoke curled from chimneys and broken manufactorum vents, painting the sky with toxic streaks.
To the settlement'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 some 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 mean earlier? About this being an experiment?" 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 Regiment 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' time?" one Ogryn asked eagerly, lips twisting into a wide grin beneath his helmet.
"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 settlement.
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 regiment.
"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 perimeter of the settlement, 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 helmet 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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