Captain Mawborn Raiders stood frozen as his comrades exploded like fireworks in the dark void of space—a sure sign that the same fate awaited him. Now, with every ship outside the base obliterated, nothing could stop the forces of the Imperium Caelestis from crushing those who remained hidden inside.
"Raise all energy shields to maximum capacity! We must hold our ground at all costs!" he bellowed, his voice trembling but resolute, eyes fixed on the massive silhouette dominating his tactical display.
Before him hovered a colossal warship of the Imperium Caelestis, an embodiment of celestial terror. Its armored walls resembled a grand cathedral—adorned with sacred statues and ornate church carvings that proclaimed the absolute power of the Holy Emperor. Hundreds of heavy-caliber cannons bristled from every point on its hull, radiating a suffocating aura of religious dominance. Flanking it were several sleek Imperial Star Destroyers, their triangular hulls stripped of decoration, bristling with small hangars, anti-air laser turrets, and rows of relentless turbo lasers—an impeccable, chilling design that offered no weakness.
Before Captain Mawborn could fully comprehend his fear, a scarlet bolt of energy flashed across space—Yamato Cannon fire from the Terran fleet—launching a gigantic plasma sphere that struck the enemy ship's shields with a deafening boom, as though ripping reality apart. Two Terran battlecruisers slipped out on either side of the Imperium vessel, joining the deadly silence. Mawborn swallowed hard, eyes widening in disbelief as the plasma explosion shredded a massive asteroid behind his base, sending shockwaves that rattled the entire pirate defense system.
He scarcely had time to register his awe before a perfectly symmetric triangular formation appeared on his radar—slipping forward from the abyss of space: slim, winged vessels bearing strange domes and the unmistakable crest of the Systems Alliance. One silhouette flickered on-screen, then vanished—like a shadow holding its breath, disappearing into the void. "Stealth frigates?! They can vanish?!" Tanto, his radar officer, gasped in shock.
Barely a moment passed before two elongated warships slipped in from the opposite side: their bowss mounted with colossal barrels—UNSC Magnetic Accelerator Cannons. A sonic boom rocked Mawborn's radar before the projectiles shattered the silence of space, obliterating the asteroid behind his base and unleashing a shockwave that tore through every defensive matrix. "Those ships… but why are they so small?" Mawborn stammered, craning his neck to make out the retro silhouettes of a Salamis-class cruiser and a Musai-class light cruiser—ancient designs in stark contrast to the modern armada around them.
But that was only the beginning. Suddenly, a battalion of mobile suits thundered out from the hangar of the flagship: dark-green Zaku IIs of Zeon, their mono-eyes glowing red as they hefted bazookas and heat hawks, moving in lockstep with white-and-blue RGM-79 GMs of the Federation—each equipped with beam spray guns and energy shields. "Why are they appearing one by one? They're just robots!" one pirate scoffed, attempting to dismiss them. His jest ended abruptly when a Zaku skidded low, hurling a fragmentation grenade at the forward energy module. A cataclysmic explosion tore through, setting off fires that spread like wildfire.
External cameras showed ranks of GMs storming the base's walls, their beam sabers slicing through steel like knives through butter. The control room disintegrated, power conduits erupting in bursts of plasma, sparks flying everywhere. "Efficiency… terrifying," Captain Mawborn whispered, his face frozen in horror as he watched the human forces act with ruthless precision—every move calculated, every strike cold-blooded, as if they were unfeeling pawns wielded by some unseen hand.
The sight was more horrific than any towering dreadnought: their numbers, their relentless discipline, and the pilots' willingness to sacrifice themselves for victory—like a swarm of emotionless ants. The sky outside the base had turned into a close-quarters battlefield: not a duel of starships, but a frigid, bloody clash of machines. Amid the chaos, the Federation and Zeon carriers glided forward with unhurried calm, as though the battle's outcome was already written before the first blow could fall.
Captain Mawborn swallowed hard, suddenly aware of a deeper reality: no hope remained for those facing the tidal wave of depraved humanity before them.
He watched, powerless, as a colossal warship emerged from subspace without firing a single shot. Unlike the rest of the armada, this vessel advanced steadily, exhibiting no aggression. A chill crawled through Mawborn's knees up to his skull—an invisible whisper of death drawing near.
"Something's wrong," he murmured.
"Launch all carrier-based fighters and maximize lance battery output!" he ordered, voice shaking yet firm.
That "Emperor" class warship served as the flagship of the Imperium Caelestis' rival naval forces. The number of carrier-based fighters docked on that imperial vessel far outnumbered any other battleship.
Inside the command bridge, Angron gave an order to his Tech-Priests:
"Prepare the Gloriana-class Nova Cannons!"
With solemn reverence, the Tech-Priests began chanting prayers to the Machine God. A lead Magos Mechanicus raised his hand, voice echoing throughout the deck:
"Great Omnissiah, pour Your mercy upon this warship, Warhound's Oath. Let Your sacred energy ignite its engines, let Your eternal shield fortify its generators, and let Your fury blaze within its lasers, plasmaguns, and missiles. Breathe life into the conduits of power and the revolutions of the sacred cores embedded in this fortress of steel."
Accompanied by their holy invocation, the Nova Cannons—lances of pure light capable of world-ending devastation—hummed to life. With a single, blinding flash, searing beams tore through the base.
"Fire! Fire! FIRE!" the crew shouted in unison.
The enemy's energy shields overloaded instantly. Shield projectors erupted in violent flares, engulfing nearly the entire compound in infernal fire that consumed countless lives. The Nova Cannons' lances breached the base's outer plating like paper—leaving ruin and smoldering wreckage in their wake. How fragile their defenses truly were, when the Emperor's Wrath rained down merciless devastation.
"FIRE!" boomed the reverberation that drowned nearly all life within the base. Many pirates were vaporized in an instant, scattered into ashes by the unstoppable energy streams. As the brightness intensified, the remaining structures collapsed into flames, and those trapped inside succumbed to suffocating heat and poisoned air.
Captain Mawborn Raiders watched the carnage with a gaping wound in his chest—an unmistakable mark that hope had finally died. His only remaining choice was to await death with grim composure.
"Begin evacuation! All personnel, fall back to designated rally points!" he barked.
The pirate towers still standing made a last, desperate stand, but it was futile. This battle was so fierce that it left no opening whatsoever for retaliation. Not a single surface vessel managed to strike down an Imperium war machine.
"Fire… booms… booms…" those sounds echoed, marking the final fall of the Mawborn Raiders' stronghold—a place that once terrorized entire sectors. Now, only ash and wreckage remained as a bitter lesson: before the might of the Imperium Caelestis, there was no sanctuary for those who defied it.
Scores of Kraken Strike Claws plunged down, their fiery talons rending the pirate base. The Kraken Strike Claw was a rare pod, an ancient relic from the Great Crusade and the Horus Heresy. Its cavernous hold could transport hundreds of troops at once and packed enough firepower to tear through light warships.
As its talons sank into the base's walls, massive apertures were scorched open by divine flame, pouring searing heat into the enemy's fortifications.
"Hurry! Prepare yourselves!" the remaining pirates yelled, seeking to muster what pitiful resistance they could. But their makeshift formations—fragile piles of splintered wood—collapsed the moment they faced the Space Marines.
"Rat-tat! Rat-tat!" the thunder of cordite cannons rang out as a handful of pirates crouched behind concrete pillars were cut down. Bullets slammed into the defenses, creating a nonstop barrage of fiery explosions. The raiders scrambled to return fire with their auto rifles, but their rounds either ricocheted harmlessly or clanged off Marine power armor without inflicting so much as a scratch.
The incessant ping of ricochets—"ding, ding, ding…"—briefly filled the air, but the Space Marines merely frowned and tightened their grips on their bolters. Each head exposed to their laser sights was split open immediately—a cold, merciless cry of victory.
"Boom!" a pirate huddled behind a concrete pillar was shredded by a fragmentation grenade. This flimsy structure stood no chance against the onslaught of high-energy projectiles and explosive power.
One by one, the pirates fell. Their once-fierce confidence faded, replaced by abject terror as they witnessed how effortlessly the Space Marines crushed them.
"It's time to end this—these pests are infuriating," a World Eater muttered, setting aside his bayonet and reaching for a roaring chainsaw sword.
"For the Emperor!" rang the chilling battle cry, drowning out the pirates' agony.
Captain Mawborn Raiders—the sole survivor—grabbed the nearest weapon and slunk into a dark corridor. His body shook, but he steeled himself against terror for one final, sliver of hope.
"Humans! You don't dare face me one-on-one? Come on! Face me one-on-one!" he taunted into the void, challenging the darkness. But only silence answered back, a void that twisted his soul with despair.
"Bastards!" he hissed, swallowing a thick wad of saliva as he crept deeper into the labyrinth.
Suddenly, a piercing scream echoed from the opposite hallway. A jet-black figure lunged— and in an instant, Mawborn's head was severed by Angron's chainaxe.
Unflinching, Angron gazed at the decapitated corpse, spat to the side, and strode onward to hunt his next prey. Unbeknownst to him, he had just slain the most feared executioner on the Outer Rim—a man whose very name struck terror into neighboring sectors. Now, that dread figure lay defeated before the razor-sharp blade of a Primarch.