Amidst the chaotic battlefield, Abaddon and Grey clashed fiercely, their battle now only two minutes old since the platforms first connected. As Grey, transformed into a blazing iron skeleton, lunged at Abaddon, Sorax attempted to swing his chain axe with full force at Swain, only to feel an agonizing pain in his waist, a sudden weakness overtaking him. In that dazed moment, Swain struck him down with a blow to the shoulder.
Sorax staggered back, reaching to touch the wound, and only upon seeing the blood on his hand did he realize he'd been stabbed. By whom, he didn't know, but the wound was unmistakably from a chainsword. Fueled by the Butcher's Nails, Sorax had been oblivious to the injury—until now, when the pain made itself brutally clear, weakening his movements at a crucial moment.
As Sorax winced from the agony, the Wolf Lord once more raised his axe, aiming not just to wound, but to sever Sorax's remaining arm. At his full strength, Swain was nearly unbeatable in close combat, forcing Sorax to struggle with desperate blocks and retreats, formulating a plan to take down the Wolf Lord.
"Look at what you've become—wolves, mere beasts," Sorax sneered, his eyes darting between Swain and his pack, quick as lightning. "You've turned yourselves into Empire-tamed monsters."
Swain's rage flared, fueling his relentless assault. "Do you even know what a beastman is?" Sorax continued, taunting him further. "A cursed blend of man and beast, or perhaps demon—just like you."
His barbs provoked Swain further, who landed several deep wounds on Sorax in his fury. But that was exactly what Sorax wanted. As his chainsword shattered against Swain's axe, Sorax retreated three meters, daring Swain to charge and envisioning the Wolf Lord's warriors mourning their fallen leader.
Swain charged forward, yet with caution, sensing a trap. "Come on, Wolf," Sorax taunted.
Swain's rush accelerated—but just as he was about to close the distance, a massive figure sped past him, slamming Sorax aside as if struck by a speeding Leman Russ tank. Sorax's body crumpled, soaring across the battlefield before landing in a round pit on the platform's edge.
Swain turned to the "tank" and realized it was no Dreadnought, but an Ogryn clad in power armor. Five more Ogryns joined the fray, rampaging across the battlefield in reckless abandon, causing even more chaos. Bullets barely slowed them; even if they tore through armor, they only gouged flesh.
Swain saw that the Weepers seemed accustomed to fighting alongside the armored Ogryns, deftly maneuvering with them.
Fores, engaged in combat with Typhons, deflected a scythe and kicked away an Executioner lunging with an axe, only to see the unfortunate warrior struck by an oncoming Ogryn, pinned against a wall. Trapped in the Ogryn's path, he was slammed again with a sickening crunch as blood and flesh sprayed from the crushed armor.
"Watch out for the little Dreadnoughts!" Swain warned his packmates, hefting his axe to aid a favored cub.
...
"Did no one notice that guy who was knocked flying?" Grot yelled, fighting the mortal thralls of the Oathbreakers at the battlefield's edge. He shouted into his comms as well.
Grey, locked in a deadly duel with Abaddon, heard him but only glanced back to ensure Grot was unharmed before refocusing on his own struggle. His comrades, too, were engrossed in their battles.
Unfazed by the lack of response, Grot let the matter go—at first. But a second thought struck him. Before the platforms connected, Grot had noticed that the warrior who was hurled aside had been standing beside the enemy's commander, a green-armored warrior of obvious rank. Whoever he was, he held high status.
Realizing this, Grot sprinted toward the circular pit, diving into its depths.
...
Sorax tumbled through a pipe, rolling a great distance before finally emerging into a vast corridor. Along the walls, dormant and active transport drones ferried ores, their presence signaling safety. Sorax let his guard drop, leaning against a wall, catching his breath.
Without medical equipment, Sorax instinctively knew the extent of his injuries. Blood still trickled from his waist wound, the chainsword's damage resisting immediate healing. Swain's gashes, though deep, were less incapacitating. But the internal trauma was severe; he could feel splintered bone lodged between his organs, and a ceramite shard had punctured his chest, throbbing with each breath.
"I should never have come to this cursed place," he muttered. "Damn the Warmaster, damn Cadia."
Clutching the wall, Sorax trudged forward, attempting to hail *Conqueror* for an extraction.
"This is… Conqueror…" Static filled the channel as Sorax tried again, frustrated by the spotty communications since landing on Iron Planet.
"A bit rough, isn't it?" a voice sounded from behind.
Sorax spun, ripping the shard from his chest, clutching it like a blade. Facing him was no Space Marine, but a mere mortal in power armor, standing silently at the edge of the corridor.