They were colossal iron giants that looked generally similar from afar, yet were entirely different upon closer inspection—seemingly cobbled together by sheer force from a chaotic assortment of spare parts.
They were bristling with insanely oversized cannons and brandished gigantic chainsaws.
From a distance, they looked like oversized, heavily armored Ork Nobz.
The Ork Titan units: Gargants and Stompas.
They had finally arrived, albeit late.
The appearance of the Gargants and Stompas forced the Imperial Titans to shift their primary attention to the enemy’s Titan-class units.
Consequently, the various walking tin-can mechs that emerged alongside them caused the pressure on the Space Marines and mortal armored divisions—who were now deprived of heavy fire support—to skyrocket.
Overall, however, they continued to make steady progress toward the fortified stronghold where the Ork leader was holed up.
This was undoubtedly a grueling battle.
Even if the Imperium emerged victorious in the end, the price they would pay would be catastrophic.
However, they still possessed a massive wildcard: the Cybrex Warforms.
The impact of Titan units on a battlefield was unquestionable, let alone extremely specialized, high-output Titans like the Cybrex Warforms.
Moreover, there were eighteen of these units deployed all at once.
If utilized correctly, such a force could sway the tide of an Apocalypse-level war.
The Ork Stompas were as fragile as biscuits before their devastating firepower.
Even with the protection of Waaagh! fields, they could not withstand the comprehensive, overwhelming strikes of the Warforms for long.
Aboard the Fire of Penance, the naval officers and psyker advisors couldn’t help but marvel: where on earth had the Fayans unearthed so many functional ancient relics?
Unfortunately, they still couldn’t contact Faya’s Planetary Governor, who seemed to have vanished into thin air.
With the support of the Warform units, this ground war on the Battle Moon was a rare instance for the Imperial military where the winds of victory were at their backs.
If this advantage persisted, victory would be only a matter of time.
Unfortunately, there were no “ifs” in war.
As the battle progressed, the Librarians of the various Space Marine Chapters began to sense something amiss hidden within the green tide.
The Martyrs Legion had fought their way through the green tide sweeping across the galaxy to finally board the Battle Moon and participate in this decisive campaign.
Every member of the Legion was a resilient warrior chosen from tens of thousands.
They had slowly developed their own tactical approaches against these brutal, bloodthirsty, and irrational xenos, and overall, they had been fighting increasingly smoothly once they found their rhythm.
But now, the practical techniques they had honed through countless battles to deal with ordinary Orks seemed to have lost their efficacy.
The Orks on this Battle Moon possessed some “essential” differences from those in other parts of the galaxy.
Their movements seemed somewhat sluggish, and their bodies were relatively fragile—a single bolt shell could easily tear away half of their torsos.
Yet at the same time, their regenerative capabilities were even more terrifying—even considering that normal Orks already possessed remarkable healing.
—A massive Ork whose abdominal cavity had been blown open by high-caliber high-explosive rounds could still pick up a firearm and continue fighting using only its upper body, even with a severed spine.
It could even aim.
—The severed remnants of an Ork hacked to pieces by a chainsword would not die immediately.
Instead, they would crawl and squirm haphazardly on the ground, cobbling themselves together into bizarre individuals whose hands, feet, heads, and bodies belonged to five or six different Orks.
Only heavy flamer fire and high explosives could reduce them utterly to ash.
Although the Imperium of Man had long known that greenskin Orks were essentially psyker mushrooms sharing traits of fungi, plants, and animals, the mushrooms on this Battle Moon… seemed exceptionally fungal.
Aboard the Seeker station, Grey Wind, who was remotely controlling the Warform units via sub-processes, also noticed something unusual.
The Warforms’ weapons remained sharp, and their destructive power remained devastating.
However, whenever she steered these giants forward, a subtle, indescribable sense of sluggishness constantly nagged at Grey Wind’s consciousness.
At first, she thought it was due to some sort of restraining magnetic field inside the Battle Moon.
But as the Imperial Titans entered the fray, she noticed that the movements of the Monarch of Night and its accompanying Titan Legion were completely agile.
Out of all the Titan-class units on this battlefield, only the Cybrex Warforms exhibited this strange, labored movement—walking felt oddly slimy, as if they were trudging through a swamp.
The Nanite Repair Systems integrated into the units were still faithfully performing their repair duties.
But amidst the ceaseless combat, Grey Wind discovered that certain parts of the Warforms—such as the ankle joints and shins housing the energy shield generators—could no longer be repaired.
The data returned by the sub-processes onboard the chassis read: [No mechanical structures suitable for repair by the Nanite Repair System exist in these locations. These areas consist entirely of organic matter.]
Organic matter…?
Grey Wind recalled some terrifying concepts, things her Grand Marshal often mentioned during their nightly bedtime stories:
Loyal metal gradually turning into grotesque, living flesh—this was one of the symptoms of corruption by the malevolent forces of the Warp.
There was a specific term used to describe this phenomenon of infected machinery: the Geller Iron-Plague.
If the truth was as Grey Wind suspected, then the bizarre phenomena on the Battle Moon made perfect sense.
Sacred binary code and the Emperor’s holy scripture were written all over the Imperial Titans.
Before stepping onto the battlefield bearing the Imperial aquila, they had priests of the Ecclesiarchy and Tech-Priests line up to take turns chanting scriptures and kowtowing.
They had spent three days and three nights performing ritualistic dances just to appease the Machine Spirit, making them naturally resilient to ordinary malevolent defilement.
The Cybrex Warforms enjoyed no such treatment.
To be precise, mass-produced machines like them, assembled straight off industrialized assembly lines, had no Machine Spirits whatsoever.
“But why would there be Chaos contamination on a Battle Moon?”
Grey Wind could not comprehend this.
Orks were a psychic gestalt species that was virtually impossible to corrupt with Chaos.
Their Waaagh! energy was entirely distinct from any Warp power.
Believing that Orks could be corrupted by Chaos was about as absurd as believing they would don blue armor and declare themselves Ultramarines.
“What if the corrupted entities aren’t the Orks, but something else coexisting with them?”
Suddenly, a voice rang out from a communication channel that had been silent for a long time.
“Grand Marshal!”
Grey Wind was overjoyed.
“Grand Marshal! Where on earth have you been? I… I don’t know what to do… tentacles are actually growing inside the Warforms’ armor…”
Russell’s voice was exceptionally calm, almost to the point of cold indifference.
“Your judgment is correct. There is indeed Chaos contamination deep within the Battle Moon. It is not surprising that Warforms lacking psychic protection would become infected after fighting in such an environment for so long.”
Hearing that her Grand Marshal was unfazed, Grey Wind felt a bit more reassured.
“But theoretically, the Orks shouldn’t be susceptible to Chaos contamination…”
“Theoretically, yes,” Russell sighed softly.
“But, Grey Wind, surely you must already know what the Imperium of Man is actually chasing these Orks for?”