The warp was like a shredded dreamscape, and within this twisted realm, the fleet of the Iron Warriors was tearing through dimensional barriers at speed. The engines of their warships left trailing streaks of ghostly blue in the void, like a string of spectral pearls strung together by invisible threads.
Turbulent energy flows of the Immaterium crashed relentlessly against their shields, forming ripples across their surfaces, as though billions of icy eyes were peering through the warp fissures, watching these unwelcome guests.
The colossal silhouette of the Carthage-class supercarrier Hammer of Fearlessness cast a vast shadow in the void. Its eight plasma propulsion arrays burned long trails of blue-violet flame, like the mythical forges of Hephaestus blazing within the warp.
At the prow, a massive ramming beak bore the vow etched in Hanzi: "Let steel bear witness to truth."
Four Valor-class super-heavy cruisers flanked its wings, six Kingfisher-class cruisers orbited like alert hunting hounds, and beyond them, twelve escort frigates formed a defensive matrix. Two Phoenix-class supply ships sailed silently at the rear, securing the fleet's long-term combat capabilities.
Approximately five minutes remained before the battalion fleet emerged from warp strata.
Aboard the bridge of the Hammer of Fearlessness, the air was so still it seemed frozen in time.
Beyond the towering observation windows stretched the undulating indigo sea of the warp, with occasional fragment-like lights bursting in the distance—brief and eerie flashes illuminating the darkness.
A Terminator-armored Iron Warrior stood silently before the viewport. His pauldrons bore the emblem of the Iron Warriors—he was the First Company Captain, Barabas Dantioch.
"Captain."
A firm but gentle female voice echoed across the bridge. Accompanied by a low hum, a beam of prismatic light burst from a nearby holoprojector. A tall silver-robed female figure coalesced, her visage both regal and coldly beautiful.
Her image combined traits of ancient sages and valkyries. Golden circuit-like patterns flowed across her robe. Around her holographic edges, fragmented data snowed down, dissipating before ever touching the floor.
Her hands folded gracefully in front of her—this was Hestia, the Cognition AI of Iron Warriors First Company.
"The Word Bearers have relayed updated intelligence," Hestia reported crisply. "One of their preachers confirmed via psychic observation that Fular is under assault by the World Eaters. The situation… is not favorable."
Dantioch turned slightly. His icy blue eyes darkened with focus as the message registered.
He did not speak at once. Instead, he gazed deeper into warpspace, watching the undulating light—an omen of the storm to come.
Moments later, he turned and spoke in a deep voice: "Fleetwide alert. Level One combat status. Upon emergence, immediately deploy into attack formation and prepare for contact."
The bridge lit up with confirmation echoes. Alarm lights began flashing a low-frequency red. The crew moved with mechanical precision—each step rehearsed countless times.
Dantioch stood steady behind the viewport, his black cloak fluttering faintly in the bridge's ventilated air.
His gaze fixed on the countdown display.
In four minutes and thirty seconds, they would confront those who were once their "brothers"—now maddened by Chaos.
His power fist clenched with a low growl of energy. The internal field generator hummed menacingly.
The Iron Warriors never cared for so-called "glory." They only cared about placing the most precise weight on the scales of war.
Outside the window, the veil of the warp thinned. Starlight from realspace pierced through the dimensional wall like needles.
The fleet was about to return to physical laws—to the battlefield soaked in blood and fire.
No matter what "hell" awaited them over Fular, the Iron Warriors would draw a hard line with formulaic precision and cold logic, ending this chaotic farce with blood and steel—to protect humanity's future.
Meanwhile, on Fular's sunward surface, in the port city of Koseran—
This once-bustling trade hub had become a slaughterhouse.
The frenzy of Khorne swept through every street. The war cries of the World Eaters mixed with the roar of chainswords in a symphony of death.
Yet even amid this, some refused to yield.
A handful of shock troopers entrenched themselves around an anti-air battery and barricades between buildings, firing their last energy cells at the advancing World Eaters.
Their commander—a grizzled veteran whose left eye had been shattered by shrapnel—still bellowed orders despite his hoarse voice.
"Hold the line! Don't let these monsters get close!"
Green beams burst against the World Eaters' power armor, leaving only scorched marks.
One trooper swapped in his last energy cartridge, but the moment he pulled the trigger, a flying chainsword axe cleaved him in two.
Elsewhere, insurgent agents who had infiltrated Fular abandoned their original missions and focused on evacuating civilians.
They blew open sewer grates, guiding people into underground tunnels, then collapsed passages behind them with stolen explosives to slow their pursuers.
"Go! Don't look back!"
One masked agent shoved the last child into a tunnel, turned, and emptied his blaster pistol at an approaching berserker before being beheaded.
Though this collapse delayed the World Eaters' massacre and sacrifice efforts, it was nowhere near enough to stop Koseran's fall.
In the spaceport, three frigates, undergoing maintenance, had launched to provide fire support. But their fate was sealed.
"Enemy lock! We're locked on!"
Sirens screamed on their bridges.
A scarlet beam from orbit sliced one frigate in half. Its explosion lit the lower atmosphere, and flaming wreckage crashed into the port, setting off a chain of blasts.
The remaining two tried evasive maneuvers—
FWOOM—BOOM!
Both were torn apart mid-air. Wreckage rained from the skies.
Air superiority—gone.
Inside one control tower, the last functioning AA crew made a desperate stand.
"Load proton rounds! Aim at those drop pods!" the gun captain shouted.
The four-barreled turret turned slowly, locking onto descending "coffins."
With a deafening roar, they managed to hit three pods, incinerating them mid-air.
But more were still falling—like a rain of death.
Suddenly—
BOOOOM!
The blast door shuddered violently. The frame buckled.
"They're here! Get rea—"
The door exploded open.
A two-point-seven-meter-tall World Eater berserker stormed in. His armor was soaked in blood, helmet vents spewing searing steam.
Before the crew could react, the shriek of a chainsword filled the control room.
In the warehouse district, hundreds of civilians scrambled to board an escape ship.
"Women and children first!"
A middle-aged engineer tried to organize the chaos.
Suddenly, two burning drop pod remnants slammed into a nearby landing pad. The blast knocked people flying.
As the smoke cleared, five World Eaters climbed from the wreckage—flames licking their armor harmlessly. Blood sizzled on their axes.
"Blood for the Blood God!!!"
Screams erupted anew in Koseran.
In the noble warehouse zone in the north—the situation was no better.
This walled-off sector had once stored the "special cargo" of the governor's inner circle.
Now, twenty-plus warehouses had gone dark. Drone cameras crashed into walls. Private guards fought over hovercrafts.
"Screw the orders!"
A gold-trimmed officer ripped off his uniform and shoved a vault of credit chits into his speeder. "Even the governor's done for!"
Thousands of armed security guards staged a chaotic exodus.
Some rammed gates with freight bikes. Others climbed walls. Some opened fire on rivals for escape rides.
No one cared about guarding the warehouses. Not when Chaos was here.
Inside a golden storage unit, 500+ slaves awoke to chaos.
These were the "premium" stock—
Twi'lek dancers with sapphire skin, muscle-bound Zabrak gladiators, even a few secretly captured Force-sensitives.
Their shock collars failed. Containment fields flickered—then vanished.
"Are we under attack?"
"I don't know…"
Through high ventilation slits, smoke from the port and streaks of crimson energy filled the sky.
In the VIP cell at the back, a figure silently flexed her wrists.
She was a Twi'lek with deep indigo skin. Her lekku were longer and more elegant than usual. Her features were exquisite—her "value" had been 300,000 credits.
But now, danger gleamed in her eyes.
The collar lock snapped. She rubbed bruised wrists, pulled a small vibroblade from beneath synthetic skin on her thigh.
"Mother's little trick still works."
With practiced efficiency, she broke into a guard locker and grabbed a blaster and ammo.
When she opened the cell, the slaves were in chaos.
Some bashed at the warehouse doors. Others wept in corners. A few Zabraks fashioned crude weapons from pipes.
Anxi Seikurt, the Twi'lek woman, sighed and looked out at the burning city.
She was once a freelance mercenary. After honing her skills, she infiltrated Fular disguised as a slave, hoping to reach the governor and avenge her mother.
But the Blood God's sigil now burned atop distant towers—her years-long plan shattered.
She ignored the others' cries. She didn't need companions. She didn't need burdens.
Vengeance was hers alone. For now, survival came first.
With a flick of her vibroblade, she sliced through the ventilation grate, slid out like a cat, and landed in a narrow alley.
The air reeked of smoke and blood. Buildings crumbled in the distance. The city burned.
She looked up—
And froze.
Fular's skies had been torn open by crimson beams. Massive drop pods fell like meteors, smashing into every district.
And in the distance—she saw them.
The monsters.
World Eaters, over two meters tall, clad in brutal armor. Their chainswords growled like death.
A trooper fired frantically at them. Plasma blasts scorched their armor, but did nothing. A second later—he was cleaved in half, blood splattering across the street.
Worse still were the things with them—skinless Flesh Hounds, blood-soaked Bloodletters.
They leapt from shadows, tearing fleeing civilians apart.
A mother and child tried to run. A Flesh Hound pounced. Screams ended abruptly.
Anxi's throat tightened. She gripped her weapons.
She'd seen war. Seen death. But never… this.
This was not battle. This was desecration.
She forced herself calm. Turned to flee.
Then—
BOOM—!!!
The sky lit with searing light.
In low orbit above Fular, the veil of the warp was momentarily driven back.
The Iron Warriors fleet emerged like a flood of real steel.
"Target locked," Dantioch's voice echoed across the comms. "All ships—open fire."
In the next instant, the entire fleet's main batteries roared.
Macrocannon shells rained toward the World Eaters' warships. Plasma missiles trailed indigo flames, slamming into engine arrays with surgical precision.
One Chaos raider ship exploded, its wreckage blazing through Fular's atmosphere like crimson meteors.
The World Eaters fleet returned fire with brutal intensity.
Two Paris-class frigates saw their shields collapse under heavy barrages. Outer armor shredded, hulls crippled—but the Iron Warriors formation held steady.
"Maintain fire suppression," Dantioch ordered coldly. "Deploy first wave strike teams. Intervene on the surface."
The true war for Fular's low orbit had just begun. And though hell still raged below, the arrival of the first Iron Warriors drop pods was about to plunge the entire battle into even deeper chaos.
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