With a deafening roar, the Fear Claw drop pods descended upon the fortress. Under the watchful eyes of Vic and Saiwen, the pods ignited retro-rockets to slow their descent. Some were destroyed mid-air, but the majority penetrated the void shield.
A pod crashed into the western wall, another into the heart of the fortress, burrowing deep underground, while others landed farther away, out of sight. Though Vic marveled at Saiwen's precision in calculating the landing points and organizing defenses, he knew it would be futile.
The pods were Fear Claw drop pods, marked by blood-red plating with brass embellishments. Upon impact, they erupted in flames and searing molten weaponry. The awaiting soldiers of the Cultist Guard suffered under the fiery assault, while heavy machinery and armor were obliterated by the molten barrage. Only the fortress's heavy weapons could respond.
Chaos cultists poured from the pods, falling in waves.
"Blood for the Blood God!" A horrifying roar echoed as Executioners and Berserkers charged forth, tearing through the lines with terrifying speed. Rangers and Vanguard units fell, decapitated en masse by the Executioners' mighty axes, while Berserkers shattered formations. Only the Rust Stalkers could withstand their fury, but they too succumbed.
The warriors of the Oathbreakers spared none—not even the mechanical soldiers.
Vic withdrew his gaze, surveying other parts of the battlefield. The fight he'd just witnessed was tolerable compared to the carnage unfolding elsewhere.
The drop pods that had crashed into walls or structures seized tactical advantage, remaining shielded from the fortress's heavy guns.
"Some of the enemy are attacking the void shield," Saiwen reported, his eyes glowing as he surveyed the situation across the fortress. "If they disable it, we're as good as lost."
Saiwen continued to issue orders, marshaling troops to guard the shield. Through the eyes of a Cultist Guard scout, he saw an immense Chaos Marine armed with an axe, cutting a bloody swath through a corridor, with blood pooling in unnatural streams at his feet.
Vic and Saiwen locked eyes. "You've seen it. They're coming."
In a wordless exchange, Saiwen shared his observations with Vic, who instantly understood the gravity of the situation. Realizing the high tower was no longer safe, they made their way towards the hidden chamber below.
"We can take him out," Vic muttered, producing a melta bomb from beneath his robe.
"Not necessary." Saiwen pushed the bomb back under Vic's cloak, giving his back a firm pat. "With all the modifications I've made, I can kill that ax-wielding brute."
It wasn't mere bravado; Saiwen had confidence born of relentless cybernetic augmentation, even exchanging an STC for a mechanical body part. Killing a Space Marine wasn't beyond him.
But just as he calculated his odds, Saiwen noticed another problem.
Five Executioners prowled a corridor, heading their way.
"This complicates things." He frowned.
With six Chaos Marines to face, their chances were slim, and the fortress's scattered forces were already embroiled in battles throughout, leaving no reinforcements for this isolated tower.
Determined, Saiwen resigned himself and continued with Vic towards the chamber in silence.
"We might not stay hidden there for long," Vic warned.
"The chamber has a near-impenetrable door. Inside, I can continue directing the Cultist Guard commanders and hold them to our cause—at least until my task is complete." Saiwen replied, contemplating a strategy to organize the southern Cultist Guard into a final resistance.
At last, they reached the chamber. Saiwen entered and locked the door.
Vic remained outside, raising a mechanical arm bristling with weapons, all aimed down the hallway.
Inside, Saiwen began his final preparations, while Vic waited stoically at the door.
Blood pooled ominously in the corridor's bend, leading the hunters directly toward him.
Vic detected six hostile signals drawing closer. He braced himself for the inevitable clash, aware of the brutal fate awaiting him.
He imagined his head struck from his shoulders or suffering unspeakable torment. A tremor ran through him—a visceral fear—before he remembered to disable the appropriate biological functions.
Fear extinguished, Vic stood calmly, ready for the onslaught and his end.
As the footfalls and breaths grew louder, he remembered something vital. Reaching into his chest compartment, he drew out the STC template acquired from the Talon System.
The thought of this sacred artifact falling into enemy hands chilled him more than death. He would sooner destroy it than let it be defiled by their hands.