The Intercessor squad blasted their way into the next ruin. Plague Marines exited soon after, still disoriented by whatever foul ritual was conducted within.
'Captain...'
'Gun them down! Keep firing!'
'Captain...'
'What is it, Jeraiah?'
'We are... out of time...'
Ahead and to the left, the two remaining ritual sites sent final pulses of green light into the sky, then went dark.
'What was that?'
'I do not know, Brother-Captain, only that whatever they were doing inside there... they are finished.'
A rumble sounded across the ruined hive. No, not a rumble... a buzzing sound. From the two remaining sites, thick clouds of flies rose out, spreading across the horizon. Mounds of bloated flesh and corrugated metal born aloft on rusty propellers followed them. Finally, winged forms - each larger than a man - crawled to the tops of the ruins, holding their weapons up and roaring their triumph.
All around the Fists, the dead cultists began to twitch.
---
It was almost 24 hours later when the Imperial Fists officer cadre convened in council aboard the Sacrum Pugnus. Captain Lexandro had led a fighting retreat from the ruins of Hive Gimel, making the horde of risen dead and clumsy daemon engines pay with blood and ichor, meter by bloody meter. No marine was untouched by combat. Bloodied and bruised, having eked out what may be called a victory, they now stood deep in thought around the holo-field of the war room. Around them, the pict-casters played on repeat the data scavenged by Techmarine Mason.
---
Ulpia Tertius had endured rough times in the past, but never as bloody or as hopeless as now. The fragmented data pieced together a concerted planetary invasion of renegade Astartes, as well as elements of two traitor legions: the Death Guard and the Word Bearers. It seemed that after the initial success, the renegades were cast aside to act as screen and border guard. They were well rewarded, entire units receiving either the Butcher's Nails or Nurgle's gifts, emerging from the ordeal as Khorne Berzerkers or Plague Marines.
The recordings then showed most of the traitor legionnaires pulling back to the three main hives: Gimel, Bet and Aleph. All over the planet, construction work began, the surviving population enslaved to build the blasphemous structures blocking auguries and psychic sight. The slaves were then herded into the three main hives, where additional work began - although the sensors no longer recorded what. The machine spirits must have shut themselves off from the terrible heresy, preserving their sanity and loyalty to Emperor and Omnissiah.
At least in Hive Gimel, the Fists had already encountered and partially stopped the rituals enacted by the Death Guard. Had they not, the planet would have been overrun by living dead and monstrous daemon engines. Their end goal was clear: the heretics must be stopped. Their course of action, less so.
---
Apothecary Kristov worked around the clock putting injured battle-brothers back on their feet, as Captain Lexandro and Rogan rotated the Fists in lightning raids around the planet. Their scouting parties and armored columns struck at the traitors, then pulled back, often baiting them beyond their protective clouds, right into the orbital bombardments unleashed by the strike cruiser above.
The raids must have unnerved the renegades, for they let their guard down. The Fists made forays into Hive Bet, encountering massive manufactorums producing humongous daemon engines for an unknown purpose. Their incursions into Hive Aleph soon revealed the use of the monstrous machines: they were building immense ziggurats around the hive.
The heretic Astartes then changed tactics, pulling all of their forces back into Hive Aleph. The Fists obliged them, hounding their retreat. It looked as if the unholy energies also concentrated into the primary hive, as the sorcerous clouds festering all over the planet dissipated. Many traitors who had not hurried enough met their ends in the unending orbital strikes that the Sacrum Pugnus could now unleash with great precision.
The Imperial Fists prepared for the final steps of their campaign: a massive strike at the construction sites of Hive Aleph itself.
---
Chunks of rockcrete ground to dust beneath the threads of tanks. The ground shook in rhythm with the heavy footfalls of the Redemptor Dreadnought. Captain Lexandro veered his bike to a stop, and allowed himself a smile. Weeks of intensive fighting have led to this point. The traitors will be crushed. There will be no escape.
Behind him, in the distance, a baleful ziggurat rose towards the whirling sky.
Lexandro shifted his focus back to his strike force. They were the tip of the spear. The Imperial Fists were launching a concerted offensive across Hive Aleph, but this was all that counted. Bruised and battered, but still alive. Still fighting.
'Brother-Captain.'
The strain was audible in the voice of the Techmarine even over the crackle of the vox. Space Marines could go a long time without sleep, but even they had their limits. And Mason had worked continuously to have the chapter armory reach full capacity for this assault.
'I have re-sanctified the power coils of the Last Light. She is ready to do battle once more.'
'Can you be sure we can count on her, Brother Mason?'
'The machine spirit has been appeased, Brother-Captain. She is eager to bring death to the enemies of the Emperor today. I will oversee the maintenance rituals myself when we get back to the cruiser. But for now, she will hold up. I vouch for her.'
Lexandro considered questioning the Techmarine further, but had to divert his attention once more.
'Brother-Captain.'
'Epistolary. Tell me there's good news.'
'I'm afraid not, Lexandro. The clouds may have receded from most of the planet... but they are now concentrated on this hive city. I will arrive at your position shortly, before you enter the thick of it. We cannot risk the lives of any brothers by teleporting them directly into the city.'
Lexandro nodded. He had hoped that the first company elite - veterans in Terminator armor or equipped with jump packs - could land amidst and behind the traitors once his strike force had begun the frontal assault. However, he did not count on it. This campaign had presented its share of surprises. By now, he was prepared for anything.
'Very well, Jeraiah. The Emperor protects.'
Lexandro had barely cut off the vox when it crackled again.
'Sergeant Aaron, reporting. Cultists spotted. Engaging. Pattern Omicron-9.'
At the sound of distant bolter shots, Lexandro drew his combi-plasma and gunned his bike. It has begun.
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