The Orcs would soon experience the "tender care" of the Night Lords Space Marines.
"Help! Help! I surrender! Why do you torture prisoners like this?"
An Orc screamed, its own claw lodged deep in its eye socket, trembling in unbearable pain.
"You are aliens," Sarthos Kryne replied coldly, preparing his torturing device. A few Space Marines approached, ready to execute.
The reinforcements came from the World Bearers Legion, Death Guard, and Alpha Legion—each more depraved than the last.
"No mission left here. Contact the Astra Militarum and other Legions. Let them send reinforcements," said a Space Marine from Death Guard.
Meanwhile, the others began interrogating prisoners or praying quietly. Some took time to clean their weapons while Sarthos Kryne continued his merciless slaughter of Orcs.
"I have no form, yet I am in every corner.
You cannot see me, but you feel my presence.
I whisper promises, but I always lie.
What am I?"
A trembling alien child answered:
"Lies…"
Sarthos Kryne smiled coldly.
"Correct, little one. Lies are my weapon."
He raised his hand, and a small explosion rocked the square, sending up dust and screams.
"You live in lies, and these lies will slowly kill you."
Then he posed another riddle, aimed at the civilians:
"I come uninvited, and I leave without permission.
I can make you forget everything, or make you remember with pain.
What am I?"
An old alien woman hesitated, then said:
"Wounds?"
Sarthos Kryne shook his head, his voice echoing.
"Close, but no."
"The correct answer is: Trauma."
He held up a small device that emitted waves silencing the crowd, their faces turning blank and fearful.
"I am inside you, but you cannot hold me.
I can be hope, or destruction.
I can unite, or divide.
What am I?"
Whispers arose.
"Love?" some murmured.
Others were too afraid to answer.
Sarthos Kryne's voice turned icy:
"Wrong."
He activated an electro-magnetic device that made one answerer's head throb in pain.
Another tried:
"Trust."
Kryne chuckled darkly.
"Wrong again. Trust? It has long vanished from this world. Only lies remain."
A low rumble of small explosions shook the city ruins; some civilians collapsed unconscious.
"I am... Fear."
"Fear is the seed of destruction. It grows in every heart here—unbidden and merciless."
Dozens of Orc corpses lay strewn across the ground, their innards spilled like gutted fish. Some of the taller Orcs hung lifeless from the rafters of the outpost, swinging like puppets under a clear, uncaring sky.
Soon after, a full regiment arrived—three infantry battalions totaling approximately 2,400 soldiers, supported by:
One platoon of main battle tanks: 10 Leman Russ Battle Tanks
One company of armored transport vehicles: 20 Chimera APCs
Heavy artillery support: two batteries of Sentinel Rocket Launchers and one Mantlet Laser Battery
Special reconnaissance company: 50 elite scouts
Combat engineering squad: 40 personnel
Field medical unit: 60 medics
Along with full logistical and field communications support.
"In the name of the Emperor's Angels," declared the Colonel of the Krieg Regiment, saluting a green-armored Death Guard Space Marine.
"There are survivors inside. Go. Retrieve them."
The Colonel nodded once, then marched forward, leading his troops into the heart of the fertility factory turned nightmare.
---
Elsewhere, across the battlefield…
"Where do we go next?" asked one of the dozen former traitor Astartes. The group glanced around uncertainly, caught in a moment of hesitation.
A red-armored World Eater, his chain-axe caked in black blood, stepped forward and roared:
"Sever their heads! Offer the skulls of these xenos to the Emperor!"
The twelve Space Marines exchanged silent glances. After a brief pause, they gave in to the call of violence.
Sarthos Kryne, meanwhile, was already crafting new tools—instruments of pain designed not just to kill Orcs, but to make them suffer.
"To the enemy's port!" someone growled.
And the killing continued.!