Supersonic gauss rounds ripped through the air, shrieking with the piercing howl of electromagnetic acceleration.
The barrage streaked toward the massive head protruding from the ventilation shaft.
The Primus reacted instantly.
All four powerful arms contracted at once, hauling its enormous body another half meter upward.
Sparks exploded across the metal ductwork.
Several armor-piercing spikes scraped across its chitinous shell, tearing away chunks of armor and spraying green ichor.
The creature let out a piercing screech as it dragged the heavy mining laser cutter back into the depths of the ventilation network.
Broken pieces of chitin crashed onto the tiled floor with dull, heavy thuds.
Leon Drake kept his eyes fixed on the dark opening overhead.
His mind raced.
The prey had retreated.
That alien commander was almost certainly one of the Genestealer Cult’s elite organisms.
A Primus.
Powerful in close combat.
Capable of tactical thinking.
Even smart enough to wield Imperial industrial mining equipment.
This wasn’t disposable cannon fodder.
Holding the line with Marines and Firebats alone had become too dangerous.
If the creature stayed hidden above and began picking off targets one by one with that mining laser, casualties were only a matter of time.
Marine combat armor could withstand shrapnel.
It could shrug off explosive rounds.
But it could not survive an industrial cutting beam capable of reaching several thousand degrees.
His current firepower lacked both range and margin for error.
It was time to deploy real heavy armor.
A deep metallic groan echoed from the rear of the hall.
The SCV’s plasma welder had already sliced through the half-meter-thick Adeptus Arbites tungsten blast door.
Molten red steel flowed down the frame.
Its treads crushed scattered rubble as the SCV rolled directly into the abandoned warehouse.
The interior was dark and damp.
Fungus coated every wall.
But beneath the SCV’s floodlights…
Everything inside was nothing but resources waiting to be harvested.
The mechanical arm casually swept aside more than a dozen empty Promethium fuel drums.
Beneath them lay an entire row of abandoned Planetary Defense Force armored chassis.
They were relics from a suppression campaign decades ago, left here to rust ever since.
The SCV’s high-frequency cutting claw snapped shut.
Crunch.
A titanium-alloy chassis nearly half a meter thick was sheared clean in two.
The plasma torch swept across it.
The metal liquefied almost instantly before flowing into the recycling chamber.
The yellow SCV carved.
Cut.
And dismantled.
One piece after another.
Decades of Imperial industrial scrap disappeared into the StarCraft recycling chain.
Green numbers began climbing across Leon’s HUD.
Recovered High-Density Tungsten Alloy.
Minerals +150 Recovered Obsolete Armored Chassis.
Minerals +200 Current Resources Minerals: 350 Vespene Gas: 890 Ada’s calm voice sounded.
Commander, I feel obligated to point something out.
These abandoned armored vehicles contain approximately seventy-four percent impurities.
The SCV required an additional 2.1 seconds to remove decorative skull ornaments and engraved prayer scriptures that provided no measurable defensive value.
Leon couldn’t help twitching at the corner of his mouth.
“As long as they can be exchanged for resources, that’s all that matters.” “It’s the Warhammer universe.” “Even scrap metal comes with scripture carved into it.” Entry recorded.
Local specialty: Low-value decorative redundancy.
“…Hey.” “Don’t actually save that.” The resource shortage was gone.
Leon quickly swept his fingers across the holographic command panel.
He had enough gas.
He had enough minerals.
Time to bring out the heavy firepower.
The Hellion was inexpensive and highly mobile.
Perfect for sealing narrow tunnels.
The Goliath Walker carried thick armor, twin autocannons, and a missile battery.
Exactly what he needed to eliminate enemies hiding overhead.
Heavy Factory Production Queue Activated.
Producing: Hellion ×2 Producing: Goliath Walker ×1 Resources Consumed Minerals: 350 Vespene Gas: 50 The order was issued.
Inside the Heavy Factory, deafening machinery roared to life.
Massive gear assemblies began turning.
Twin exhaust stacks blasted columns of white steam toward the ceiling.
The armored blast doors slowly lifted.
The rumble of engines echoed from deep within the production line.
Two four-wheeled combat vehicles burst from the factory one after the other.
Their oversized all-terrain tires rolled across waterlogged concrete, leaving behind the smell of scorched rubber.
Both vehicles drifted sideways before stopping perfectly beside Leon.
Hellions.
Their bodies were painted in deep navy blue and matte black.
Mounted at the front were massive dual plasma flame projectors.
Their design was simple.
Their purpose even simpler.
Drive in.
Burn everything.
Still kneeling in the muddy water, Rufus slowly turned his stiff neck.
Only moments ago…
He had watched an entire factory rise from nothing.
Now…
That same factory had simply produced two brand-new combat vehicles.
From command…
To deployment…
Barely more than ten seconds had passed.
The wealthiest nobles in the upper hive often waited years for a custom grav-car.
Departmento Munitorum approval alone could drive a man to despair.
But here…
An order was given.
The vehicles rolled out.
Done.
Helena tightened her grip around the Aquila badge.
Her breathing quickened.
She had long since abandoned any attempt to explain what she was witnessing through Imperial industrial logic.
Resources entered the factory.
Combat machines emerged.
This wasn’t Mechanicus manufacturing.
This was the kind of wartime production line humanity should have possessed during the Golden Age of Technology.
Leon paid no attention to their stunned expressions.
“Suppress the ventilation network.” He pointed toward the maze of ducts overhead.
The Hellions’ cockpit canopies popped open.
Beneath their fully enclosed helmets, both drivers flashed confident thumbs-up.
The two vehicles surged forward simultaneously.
Their front wheels lifted briefly off the ground.
The dual flamethrowers tilted upward toward the crisscrossing ventilation ducts.
Brilliant blue plasma flames erupted.
The inferno surged into the tunnels overhead, igniting entire sections of the ventilation network.
The smell of burning flesh mixed with the screams of dying mutants.
The intense heat raced through the ducts.
The metal walls glowed cherry red.
Several first and second-generation hybrid Genestealers hiding inside never even had the chance to flee.
They were reduced to blackened ash.
The temperature throughout the underground hall soared.
But that was merely the opening act.
A much heavier metallic impact echoed from inside the Heavy Factory.
The ground trembled beneath everyone’s feet.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Rufus and every Enforcer stared toward the darkness beyond the blast doors.
Something enormous…
Was walking out.
A five-meter-tall bipedal combat machine.
Its massive reverse-jointed mechanical legs cracked the stone floor with every step.
Heavy navy-blue armor covered its entire body.
It had no head.
At the center of its torso sat a fully enclosed reinforced-glass cockpit.
Mounted on its right arm was a twin-linked thirty-millimeter autocannon.
Its left arm and shoulders carried a full Hellfire missile battery.
A Goliath Walker.
The moment the towering machine entered the underground lighting…
Every ordinary Imperial present froze.
Helena instinctively stood up.
Her knees nearly buckled beneath her.
Her first thought was…
A Dreadnought.
But she dismissed the idea almost immediately.
Among the Adeptus Astartes, a Dreadnought was a walking shrine.
A shattered veteran, stripped of his limbs and sealed inside a life-support sarcophagus, fighting through pain for eternity.
Sacred.
Slow.
Cruel.
This machine was completely different.
Its movements were smooth.
Every step was instantly corrected by countless hydraulic systems.
The greatest shock of all…
Inside the cockpit sat an ordinary human pilot.
Four healthy limbs.
No neural cables.
No life-support coffin.
He was even wearing sunglasses…
Chewing gum as though he were out for a leisurely drive.
Ada’s voice sounded again.
Warning, Commander.
Heart rates among nearby indigenous personnel have exceeded one hundred eighty beats per minute.
Assessment: They face a significant risk of acute cardiac failure due to excessive psychological shock.
Leon sighed.
“They’re fine.” “This is just what happens when your faith collapses.” “They won’t die.” From a humanitarian perspective…
If they do suffer sudden cardiac arrest, approximately 4.5 square meters of standing room will become available.
Would you like me to prepare body bags in advance?
“…Ada.” “Please.” “Be quiet.” Leon looked toward the ceiling.
“Keep tracking that bug.” Helena’s thoughts were still in turmoil.
No legendary Space Marine had to be sacrificed.
No broken body needed to be fused into a machine.
An ordinary human.
Without psychic powers.
Without genetic enhancement.
Could pilot a weapon platform of this caliber.
Only then did she realize something.
The technology Leon Drake had brought wasn’t merely superior.
It had removed the suffering the Imperium relied upon to preserve its sense of sacredness.
To the Imperium…
That might be even more terrifying than overwhelming military power.
Rufus’ mechanical eye emitted an ear-piercing overload alarm.
The Goliath’s missile battery adjusted its firing angle automatically.
The pilot wasn’t aiming by sight.
An invisible radar system was scanning the entire chamber.
“My…
my lord…” Rufus swallowed hard.
His throat had gone completely dry.
“What…
what class of creation is that?” Leon answered without hesitation.
“A garbage disposal tool.” On the far side of the underground hall…
The Primus slowly emerged from an untouched drainage tunnel hidden in the rock wall.
Every instinct granted by the Hive Mind screamed at it.
That five-meter-tall steel beast represented overwhelming danger.
No biological signature.
Impossible to infect.
Impossible to consume.
Approaching it meant certain annihilation beneath its guns.
The Hive Mind had only one answer for enemies that could not be assimilated.
Destroy them.
The Primus dug all four limbs into the rock wall and raised the glowing heavy mining laser cutter once again.
Its barrel locked directly onto the Goliath’s cockpit.
Standing beneath the towering steel legs of the Goliath, Leon looked calmly up at the four-armed monster.
The omnidirectional fire-control radar had already illuminated the entire battlefield.
There was nowhere left for it to hide.
“Ada.” High-threat target locked.
“Missile battery.” “Release the safeties.” The Goliath’s missile pods snapped open instantly.
Inside the cockpit, the pilot spat out his chewing gum and slammed his hand onto the firing switch.
Twelve Hellfire missiles burst skyward in a fan-shaped volley, trailing blazing exhaust.
They arced through the air before diving toward the four-armed monster crouching inside the drainage tunnel.
At the exact same moment…
The twin autocannons mounted on the Goliath’s right arm spun to life.
Their thunderous roar drowned out every other sound in the underground hall.