Kael of the Dark Angels Legion propelled himself forward with his jetpack, fighting his way toward the shield generator core on Concordia IX. Behind him, another Space Marine from the same Legion provided backup.
"For the Emperor!" they shouted in unison.
Kael charged down the corridor, brandishing his power sword. The Orcs inside saw him and hastily opened fire with whatever scrap weapons they had.
A barrage of gunfire was unleashed, but not a single bullet penetrated Kael's powered armor. In the blink of an eye, Kael was right in front of them.
A dozen Orc warriors fell lifeless across the corridor.
Witnessing this, the remaining Orcs panicked. They chose to fight and retreat, but it only delayed their death by mere seconds.
Inside the command room, Snaggletoof had already lost consciousness. Just moments before, Brok'Mer wondered how the battle at Concordia IX could be unfolding so quickly. Within moments, their command room was breached.
Snaggletoof sprinted down the narrow corridor, which ended in a dead end.
Desperate, Snaggletoof realized that every elite Orc who had followed him was slain beneath the towering human warrior's sword. Not a single Orc had survived more than two strikes from that human.
Kael raised his Power Sword, its cold light glinting off the corridor walls, and slowly advanced toward Snaggletoof.
"Don't come any closer! No! I surrender! I surrender!" Snaggletoof screamed in panic.
"Surrender? Aliens don't surrender," Kael replied coldly.
For the first time in his miserable life as a Grot, Snaggletoof felt true fear—fear of a human.
"No! No! Aaaagh!"
With a single brutal strike, Kael cut him down without hesitation.
"This is Karl. The enemy headquarters has been destroyed. We're shutting down the shield launcher system now."
"Copy that. Continue the assault," came the calm response.
Kahn, holding his massive chain axe in one hand, had grabbed an Orc a head taller than himself by the throat with the other. He had been enjoying the carnage, but Kael's report shifted his focus.
"Filthy alien," Kahn muttered.
Without effort, he crushed the Orc's neck and resumed his rampage, tearing through the green horde with roaring steel and blood.
With the planetary shield offline, a wave of landing craft descended onto Concordia IX.
The Death Korps of Krieg battalions were deployed across the war-torn fields.
"Stop wasting time killing them. Finish the mission," Kahn barked coldly.
He glanced at the young Night Lords Space Marines tearing into the Orcs like feral bats of war.
Some of the Night Lords paused their slaughter and began systematically purging the remaining Orcs.
The Night Lords were infamous for their grim and terrifying decorations—fanged skulls, bat-like wings, and red-glowing eyes carved into their armor and weapons. The terror they instilled was almost as deadly as their bolters.
Among them stalked Sarthos Kryne, a terrifying figure who had found a twisted pleasure in torture—ripping out Orc fingernails one by one, stuffing them into their ears, and watching them die in agony.
Moving like a shadow with his chain sword in hand, Sarthos Kryne hunted the Orc birthing pits with a clear objective.
"The Emperor watches us," he whispered.
He emerged from the darkness at the gate like a ghost.
And there it was.
Hundreds of human women chained together like cattle, with thousands of hulking Orcs leering behind them—mocking, jeering, exercising dominance.
"O Glorious Emperor… Glorious Gene-Father…" Kryne growled, his eyes burning with vengeance.
Like a specter of death, Kryne stormed into the breeding factory. He swept through the hordes of Orcs, his chainblade singing a brutal tune. Wherever the blade danced, limbs were severed, torsos were split, and green blood sprayed across the walls.
A hulking Orc Breeding Overseer—twice the size of a man—charged at Kryne, wielding a warhammer taller than a child. But to Kryne, the creature's movements were laughably slow.
Slash!
One of the Orc's legs was torn clean off, the mono-molecular teeth of Kryne's chainblade shrieking as they tore through muscle and bone.
"Die, alien filth."
With a cold, precise strike, Kryne brought the chainblade down on the Orc's skull—not to kill it instantly, but to savor the moment. He deliberately avoided delivering a fatal blow. Killing it too quickly would rob him of the satisfaction.
The chainblade roared again.
This time, the teeth chewed into the Orc's skull, splattering gray matter like paste against the floor and walls. The Overseer convulsed violently before collapsing into a heap of twitching limbs.
Seeing their strongest fall so swiftly, the remaining Orcs panicked. Terror overcame them, and they threw down their weapons, shouting their surrender. But they had made a fatal mistake.
They didn't know—surrendering to a Night Lord is the worst decision one can make.
To them, mercy was an illusion. And now, the real horror would begin.