The sound of leaves rustling filled the air as one by one the drop pods slammed into the surface of the planet.
The impact kicked up violent plumes of dirt and silver-tinged dust, shockwaves rippling through the surrounding forest — only to settle far too quickly. The thunder of metal on soil was soon drowned beneath the deafening roar of war cries and the revving snarl of chainaxes as the warriors of the World Eaters made landfall.
Ramps crashed down.
Boots hit earth.
And the night was torn apart.
Hyppolita stepped from her own drop pod last.
The air that greeted her was cool — almost sweet — carrying the faint scent of untouched rain and living wood.
Khârn fell into step behind her as she surveyed the clearing.
Her sons had already begun their work.
Trees splintered beneath roaring blades. Stone outcroppings shattered under ceramite boots. The once-silent night filled with the familiar symphony of destruction — metal grinding, wood cracking, warriors howling their rage to the sky.
It was a sound she knew well.
A sound that steadied her.
"…Claim this land by dawn," she ordered without looking back.
"Yes, Mistress!" Khârn replied instantly, saluting before surging forward, his warriors rallying behind him like a living tide of blue and silver.
Hyppolita clicked her tongue softly in annoyance.
She still did not understand why the Empress had seen fit to dispatch her entire Legion for something so… barren.
She rolled her shoulders once more, feeling the faint bite of the Butcher's Nails against her thoughts, and reached for her axe.
That was when she noticed it.
The ground beneath the drop pods.
Untouched.
Where the massive engines had scorched earth and displaced soil, the silver blades of grass now stood upright once more, swaying gently in the breeze as though nothing had disturbed them at all.
No burn marks.
No crater.
Just pristine earth.
A low, disgruntled growl escaped her tightening throat.
She unclasped her chainaxe and revved it, the weapon's hungry snarl ripping through the forest. The Nails pulsed harder now, rewarding the spike of irritation with sharp relief.
Anger rose.
Frustration followed.
With a sudden battle cry, she swung her axe into the nearest grove. The silver trunks split effortlessly beneath the blow, collapsing in splintered ruin around her.
She exhaled sharply.
" Better. "
Turning, she searched for her Legion — for the glorious trail of devastation they should have carved across the landscape.
The war cries were still there.
But distant.
Too distant.
She strained slightly, head tilting as she listened.
Had they advanced that quickly?
Her gaze lifted then, drawn upward by something she could not name.
The moon hung low in the sky.
Unnaturally bright.
Its surface shimmered with a faint blue-silver glow that bathed the forest in ethereal light, turning every leaf into polished metal and every shadow into something deeper than it should have been.
It was… beautiful.
!
The thought irritated her immediately.
Rage flooded her veins at the implication — that this entire campaign was nothing more than a personal indulgence of the Empress. That this world was to be collected like a jewel, not conquered for necessity but for her own selfish desires.
Another roar tore from her throat.
She surged forward, chainaxe howling as it carved through the silver trunks before her. Splinters and leaves rained down as she charged deeper into the forest, pursuing the fading echoes of her sons, following the narrow path of destruction they had carved through the forest, her axe swinging lazily at her side as she cut down the remaining trunks left standing in their wake.
The Butcher's Nails pulsed again, soothing the irritation scratching at her thoughts.
She failed to understand it.
How had her Legion not reduced this grove to splinters?
"Pathetic," she snarled under her breath as her eyes swept over the terrain.
This was not like them.
She despised her sons — their weakness, their lack of control — but none could deny the devastation they wrought. And yet…
there were no uprooted trees. No churned soil. No scattered debris. The silver grass stood tall and pristine.
Only the stumps remained as though the forest had been trimmed.
"Mistress."
Khârn's voice reached her from behind.
She grunted in response, not bothering to look at him.
"I've lost contact with the First Assault Company… all the way up to the Fifth."
Her steps did not slow.
!
"…Do your job, Captain. Do not report such useless drivel to me," she scoffed.
It was not unusual for her sons to lose themselves in slaughter. Vox silence meant nothing. The Nails pulsed again, a wave of sharp pain lancing through her skull, but it was quickly drowned beneath the steady rhythm of her racing pulse.
"And tell those useless men of yours to—"
She spun with a growl, ready to lash out.
The words died in her throat.
No one stood behind her.
Not Khârn.
Not a single legionary.
And worse—
The path she had walked moments before was gone.
In its place stood a wall of silver trees, unbroken and gleaming beneath the moonlight, their leaves whispering softly in the wind.
Another surge of pain assaulted her, sharper this time.
A low, disgruntled sound tore from her throat as she scanned the forest.
It was quiet now.
Too quiet.
No war cries.
No marching.
No revving chainaxes.
Not even birds.
She could not hear her sons.
She could not feel them.
Her teeth ground together as she pivoted sharply—
—and froze.
The grove she had just carved through had vanished.
In its place stretched a vast field of silver grass, swaying gently beneath the moon's pale glow. The breeze carried that same sweet scent of pine and rainwater, cool and clean as it filled her lungs.
It brought no comfort.
"…What in the world," she whispered, fury threading through the words.
Cold sweat formed along her brow.
Then she felt it.
A presence.
Behind her.
Slowly, deliberately, she turned her head toward the shadow stretching across the silver field.
There, standing atop a lone tree that should not have existed in the open plain, was a bronze-skinned man.
He stood effortlessly upon the highest branch, as though gravity itself had chosen not to inconvenience him. The moon loomed behind him — vast, luminous, casting him in a halo of cold light.
His expression was calm.
Almost amused.
A frenzied smile tugged at his lips as his eyes met hers.
"This world…" he began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the empty field, echoing without resistance.
"…doesn't welcome conquerors."