The main assault began with thunder.
Macro-shells from the Predators screamed over the ruins, ripping entire ork mobs into burning heaps. Captain Marius led the frontal charge, his voice roaring through the vox-net:
> "By ferrum and wrath! Clear me a path to the Manufactorum! Advance!"
The Iron Wrath tanks thundered forward, guns spitting flame. Orks bellowed in return, their crude artillery booming back. Amid the chaos, Catalin and his strike team peeled off from the main formation, taking the eastern access roads that wound between collapsed hab-blocks and slag pits.
Dust hung thick in the air. The road was narrow — too tight for armor, just wide enough for men in power armor to move two abreast.
Beside him marched Brother Silvius, a veteran of a hundred campaigns. His armor bore old scrapes and faded purity seals, one reading "Praetoria Secundus — Never Yield." He gripped his bolter in one hand, chainsword in the other, his voice steady:
> "Feels like a trap, brother. Too quiet for orks."
Catalin's helm lenses scanned the darkness ahead.
> "They're never quiet. They're waiting."
Behind them, Brother Daniel moved in silence, the glow of his plasma pistol flickering against the walls. The heavy bolter slung to his shoulder looked almost too small in his massive grip. Two centuries of service hadn't slowed him; his calm was that of an old killer who had seen empires burn.
The road bent sharply around a half-collapsed manufactorum storage bay — and that's when the shadows erupted.
> "Contact!" Silvius barked, firing first.
Bolter fire roared, echoing down the corridor. Dozens of ork boyz spilled from the wreckage — howling, crude blades raised, shootas chattering wildly. The Iron Wrath line held firm, their guns speaking in thunder.
Catalin stepped forward, plasma repeater hissing as it spat bolts of searing light into green flesh.
> "Hold formation! Tighten the line!"
An ork Nob twice his height crashed through the rubble, roaring, swinging a cleaver the size of a man. The impact sent shards of ferrocrete flying. Catalin caught the blow with his power fist, twisting the weapon aside before driving his chainsword up under the Nob's ribs. The chainteeth screamed — and the ork fell in two.
Daniel moved up beside him, setting his heavy bolter down on a broken barricade. The gun's thunder filled the street, mowing through ranks of charging xenos.
> "Catalin, they're massing behind the wrecks — more coming!"
> "Then we push forward," Catalin growled. "We break through before they block the route."