"The fires of war I've ignited are now consuming this iron world!"
Abaddon, standing far from the frontline atop a massive, square structure known as the Cooling Vault, overlooked the battlefield with unrestrained satisfaction. Observing the armies clashing across the metallic plains, a surge of pride arose within him.
This campaign had begun with a sudden arc discharge from the Iron World that forced a retreat from the fleet. Yet, from that initial clash until now, the fires of war had finally reached the Iron World's very surface.
Abaddon did not consider himself invincible, but he knew one truth: he was a man who would rise again from every fall.
"We still have two more Iron Worlds to ignite; let's pick up the pace," Typhus remarked, turning his back and breaking the atmosphere as he strode off.
"Don't celebrate too soon; the enemy also has a Titan Legion," Sorlax added, following Typhus.
Though irritated, Abaddon had to acknowledge their point. This was not the time to spectate or fight; the priority was to cripple the Iron World they now stood upon.
To execute this plan, Typhus enlisted his sorcerer, who prepared a Divining Device—a grotesque artifact, pulsating with pustules and tentacles. It was among Typhus's prized possessions, possessing an extraordinary ability: by simply voicing an objective into its fleshy horn, the device would reveal the path.
"I wish to bring this Iron World to its knees—cripple its power system or halt its rotation until it shatters from within," Typhus commanded.
The device's fleshy tendrils flickered briefly before a light appeared on its mechanical display, along with a route to the target.
Typhus, Sorlax, and their retinues set off immediately.
Accompanying Sorlax's twenty elite soldiers, Abaddon and Typhus each led over a hundred battle-hardened veterans and all of their trusted adjutants. Guided by the device, they entered the Cooling Vault, navigating swiftly through its depths toward a passage leading below the satellite's surface.
"Noticed the absence of guards on this Iron World?" Sorlax remarked as they proceeded.
"Excluding the forces engaged above, there are indeed no defenders," Abaddon replied.
Typhus remained silent, entirely focused on the device as he led the way.
"This presents us with an advantage," Abaddon continued. "While the enemy is preoccupied above, we can sabotage this Iron World quietly, then move on to the next… or perhaps, we could attempt something bolder."
Sorlax glanced at him. "Something bolder?"
"We could find a way to crash this Iron World into Cadia." Abaddon's gaze shifted to the entourage behind him. Amidst the two hundred Astartes, two Tech Priests of the Dark Mechanicus were protected in the center.
"Or take control of the Iron World itself," Sorlax suggested.
"Even better." Abaddon nodded, a smile playing on his lips.
---
"Keep dreaming," muttered Grey, his attention diverted from the projected feed in his visor.
Unbeknownst to Abaddon and his men, their stealth was a mere illusion. Surveillance devices laced every part of the celestial engine—from walls to floors to machinery—allowing Grey to observe Abaddon's movements in complete transparency.
"If you know their location, why didn't you intercept them sooner?" asked Grot, now commanding the 44th Regiment.
Only minutes ago, Creed had dispatched Cadia's 44th Regiment to the satellite's battleground. Upon arriving, they had been caught in the crossfire between two warring Titan legions, and from the deadly crossfire of hellfire cannons, magma projectiles, and missiles, the regiment was decimated, leaving only Grot and his hundred-man guard alive. Chaos Space Marines swiftly besieged them… until Grey, on a covert assassination mission, intervened and rescued them.
Now, Grot was accompanying Grey on a counter-operation against the enemy's command.
"Until now, the enemy commander was flanked by his Titan Legion. Should I have charged headlong into that barrage?" Grey scoffed, his tone exasperated.
Grot smirked, showing his teeth. "Thought the augmented Custodes could manage anything."
Grey merely shook his head and advanced, motioning for the others to follow.
Their path resembled a corridor, yet it was no ordinary hallway but a heat-dissipation channel lined with cooling vents. The channel siphoned excess heat from the weapon arrays, releasing it through vents after each barrage.
As they marched, Grot glanced to his left through the vents, glimpsing the ground level, and above, the intense combat. The Omnissiah's Blade Legion had just decimated two enemy Warlord Titans, advancing their lines directly above him.
Grot watched as a colossal object crashed down from above, followed closely by another impact, shaking the ground with deafening force. Peering up, he recognized the massive legs of a Warmaster Titan striding forward like a moving mountain, blasting destructive beams in every direction.
More Titans marched overhead, followed by a speeding Venomblade tank that slammed into the energy shield of a Reaver Titan with a resonant thud.
"For the Throne! For Cadia!"
"For the Omnissiah!"
A flood of Protectorate forces and Cadia's infantry surged above, but a Knight's missile silenced their rallying cries.
Grot was struck by the surreal proximity to the war. Here, beneath mere inches of metal flooring, lay protection from the mayhem above, even from its tremors.
After traversing some distance, Grey led them to a turn descending deeper underground. He spoke a few words before entering, but his voice was drowned out by the resonant bellow of a Titan's horn.