Mortarion was deeply puzzled.
He looked up. It was not just that one defense platform. Nearly every defense platform along the Martian blockade line had the same giant red word painted across it.
And that was not all. There were also plenty of red banners drifting through space, each with different slogans.
For example -
Friendly reminder: Loyalty is a tree, and construction is fertile soil.
Unsafe work practices will be criticized. Safe construction must be remembered.
Fully implement the Savior's foundational engineering policy: safety first, prevention first.
Danger: Demolition zone. Unauthorized personnel keep away.
Everywhere he looked, there were huge crimson marks, red banners, and warning lights.
Even the Death Lord and the daemons hesitated for a moment. The sight somehow suppressed their arrogance.
"By Grandfather, what in the world happened here? Is this really Mars's blockade line?!"
A Death Guard captain stared at the scene with a deep frown.
Ten thousand years ago, during the Siege of Terra, he had landed on these platforms himself. During the Great Rift era, he had tried to invade them again. He knew this line inside and out.
That was one of the reasons Horus, the Dark Emperor, had assigned the Death Guard to attack the Martian blockade line.
And yet what lay before his eyes was completely outside his expectations. Something about it felt very wrong.
The original formation of cold, gigantic steel fortress-platforms, under the contrast of all that red lettering and those banners, actually carried a weird trace of festivity.
Somewhere in the distance, there was even a rousing tune drifting through the void. Hearing it made his blood stir, as though he had endless strength and suddenly wanted to swing a giant hammer with all his might.
"Our intelligence was off. The Martian blockade line has undergone new changes. Perhaps the Savior intends to abandon this place?"
That was Mortarion's conclusion.
He was not used to it. He hated this kind of change and the vitality it suggested.
Part of that came from the influence of Grandfather Nurgle's power, and part of it came from his unease whenever anything slipped beyond his control.
As beloved sons of Grandfather, they delighted in the Imperium's endless rot and foul stench. It granted the plague-born more strength.
In truth, the Imperium had barely changed in ten thousand years. It was like a delicious corpse, and both humanity and the creatures of Chaos had grown used to it.
But ever since the Savior had appeared, new things were emerging every single day, and they found themselves increasingly unable to understand any of it.
"Abandon it?
The Savior certainly picked a good time for that. It would mean the Martian blockade line is weaker than it has ever been..."
Heavy footsteps sounded.
Nurgle's second favored one, Rotigus Rainfather, lumbered over, filthy rainwater streaming from his body. Rotigus is a Great Unclean One also known as Rotigus Rainfather. (Lexicanum)
The runoff pooled at his feet, spreading a choking stench, while swollen and twisted plants sprouted around him.
"Grandfather above.
The Sevenfold Plague will completely corrode this disgusting line."
Rotigus's belly rippled. The enormous mouth stretched across it, packed with teeth, burst into booming laughter, and the Nurglings joined in with shrill cackling.
Nurgle's second favored son longed to break through Mars and then Terra itself, earning Grandfather's complete and undivided favor.
When that happened, that cowardly first favorite, Barag the Glutton, who had avoided battle, would be no match for him anymore.
"The situation is changing."
A long hiss of filtered breath escaped Mortarion's respirator, and there was the faintest trace of worry in it.
"Seven. It must be seven. We must reach Terra's outer perimeter in the seventh hour.
The number is everything. That way, nothing will go wrong."
The Death Lord became more cautious. He decided to attack the defense platform array before him in a steadier, more deliberate fashion, then arrive at the final defensive line together with the allied host in the seventh hour.
As he spoke, the black defense platforms, vast as a wall across the void, entered full combat readiness. The macro-cannon batteries rose and shifted like mountain ridges, slowly turning toward them.
Then the lance arrays rotated into place, like ignited bayonets poised to strike.
More sectors lit up with rows of dark cannon mouths.
Faced with the threat of the platforms' firepower, the plague host did not immediately attack. Instead, they set themselves in defense, spreading vast vine-shield walls through space. Within them, a corner of the Plague Garden could faintly be seen.
Because Terra's second seven-hour mark had not yet arrived.
They had to wait for that moment. They had to wait for the Sevenfold Plague ritual to erupt and for Grandfather's blessing to descend before they could launch the full assault.
Boom!
Hundreds of massive macro-cannon turrets roared. Their gun barrels were so wide that a Thunderhawk could have flown straight through them vertically. Shells weighing thousands of tons blasted free trailing arcs of electricity, carving spiraling vacuum tunnels through the void.
Then the black canopy of space flashed with a cold gleam, as though it had been sliced open. Then came a second, a third, and countless more beams -
A lance volley.
Energy beams in the tens of terawatts poured down electromagnetic rails and surged outward.
As the sky was lit by the lance barrage, still more torpedo swarms flooded from their launch silos, darting toward that withered yellow firmament like schools of silver fish.
But the plague-favored had already finished constructing their defenses. Curtain after curtain of warp-tainted veils infused with Plague Garden poison gas spread into place.
As the macro-shells, lances, and torpedoes passed through that rotting reality, visible unreal corruption crawled over them. Rust and decay bloomed across their surfaces.
By the time they slammed into the plague line, less than a tenth of their original force remained. Then the pustule-vines and the layered slabs of void-whale rotten flesh absorbed the rest, further weakening the damage.
Of course, some Imperial fire still struck home, blasting foul-smelling fluids across the void.
The Death Guard and daemons took casualties.
The fiercest strike came from the God-Scourge fortress main gun mounted on the Wall of Arat. At the instant that ancient macro-battery fired -
The entire defense platform dimmed first, nearly all system power drained away in an instant. Even the lights went out.
At the center of the pitch-black barrel, a pinprick of white light appeared. Over the course of a few seconds, it swelled into a blazing sphere several kilometers wide, like a small asteroid forcibly set ablaze.
Then the barrel shook with a stellar wind. Vacuum itself tore into a ring-shaped shock disc, and the searing fireball blasted outward at sub-light speed, forming a shocking crimson tunnel in its wake.
One of the nearest rotten void-whales was hit. Its abdomen and the rear half of its tail-fins vanished instantly in the heat, along with the plague-favored within.
That decayed giant beast, blessed by Nurgle and suspended somewhere between corpse and living thing, let out a low, endless sigh, like a dying star exhaling its last breath.
It died.
Even with the plague host on the defensive, they were still taking losses.
The Imperial guns mounted on those blockade-line platforms were far more numerous than they had expected.
"Grandfather above, the Martian blockade line hasn't been abandoned. Its guns are even fiercer than they were ten thousand years ago!"
That was the Death Guard captain's judgment. He knew the firepower of this line well.
What abandoned defense-platform fortress was this?
This was clearly a steel wall in space, heavily manned by the Imperium, even stronger than it had been ten thousand years ago.
"Heh. I knew the Savior wouldn't be that reckless. Or perhaps this is only a trick meant to mislead us.
That man never exposes his true weakness."
Mortarion drew in a deep breath, his respirator issuing a harsh, grating filter-hiss. His caution deepened further.
He had fought the Savior before. He knew exactly how difficult the man was, especially when it came to building defensive lines.
Perhaps the Savior really was planning to dismantle this line of platforms. But he had still left a large force stationed inside, just in case.
And the interior of the platforms was far too clean and orderly. There was no foul ground to anchor plague sorcery on, which greatly increased the difficulty of the assault.
Still, that was not too serious a problem. The Death Lord glanced at the great mechanical clock beside him, and a smile tugged at his lips.
Grandfather's blessing had arrived.
In an instant, the phantom of the Plague Garden became clearer than ever before. Accompanied by the laughter of Nurglings, thick yellow mist spread outward, laden with countless varieties of plague poison.
"Praise Grandfather."
Mortarion raised Silence and pointed it toward the defense platform array tens of thousands of kilometers away, issuing his order. Silence is Mortarion's personal scythe. (Lexicanum)
"Execute the Seventh Command. Turn that place into a paradise of plague!"
The moment the order left his lips, his moth-wings rose high and he drew upon the power bestowed by Grandfather to cast plague sorcery.
From the rifts in the warp, endless swarms of rotting giant flies poured forth, forming a yellow vortex in the void as they rushed at the defense platforms.
"Ah, endless rain, the bountiful harvest-rain gifted by the Generous One -
The first drop ends the drought. The second births boils. The third... swells and rots!"
Rotigus Rainfather raised the branch of a boxwood tree in his hand and capered wildly, looking utterly ridiculous.
His voice was full of eerie warmth, yet drenched in corruption and sin, like a funeral hymn.
"Let the rain begin."
The great daemon of Nurgle froze in that absurd posture. After a moment of silence came the patter of drizzle.
Then the curtain of rain exploded outward all at once.
At his summons, unnatural rain appeared in the airless vacuum of the cosmos, where no moisture should exist at all. A diseased storm had been born.
That wet, slick rain splashed across the defense platforms, spreading varying degrees of rot among the outer gun batteries.
The servitors tending the guns were drenched by the rain. Twisted branches burst from their stomachs and mouths, and with rasping, grinding motions of their machine-parts, they became walking corpses.
At the same time, more great daemons of Nurgle joined the attack. The seven rotten void-whales endured the bombardment and drifted toward the defense platforms.
The entire plague host charged the Martian blockade line.
From a distance, it looked as though a sea of yellow miasma was drowning out the wall of fire.
From above the void, across a span of tens of thousands of kilometers, the Imperial firepower was being compressed bit by bit. Millions of shells lost their momentum and floated uselessly in the air, corroding into rusted junk speckled with fungus.
The defense platform array of Mars's line was losing its advantage.
It was nearly unable to fight back.
Standing atop a rotten void-whale, Mortarion watched the scene and felt his unease finally fade away.
At most, within half an hour, the platforms' guns would be completely crippled, and the relevant defensive armor would decay into useless rust.
It was a little slower than expected, but they would still break this important defensive line without issue.
It could not be helped. The Imperial defenders inside the platforms were even more tenacious than expected. They might well be the Savior's elite forces.
As if struck by a thought, Mortarion's eyes flashed with malice.
"Savior, no matter how many elite troops you stationed on that line, they cannot withstand the corrosion of plague. Those favored soldiers of yours will all become plague-thralls!"
The Death Lord was already imagining the Savior's expression when he returned to find Terra fully fallen and the False Emperor stripped of the Throne.
Perhaps the fallen primarchs could even join forces and properly toy with that arrogant so-called Emperor of the Imperium, repaying his humiliations a hundredfold.
...
Mars line, primary defense platform: Wall of Arat.
The deep blackness of plague was closing in.
The fortress's point-defense batteries all opened fire at once. Las-beams and autocannon shells wove a net of death, intercepting the endless swarms of giant rotten flies, but the diseased storm was steadily snuffing them out.
The outer orbital rings rolled away toward the endless dark side like broken bones, slowly tumbling as they fell.
"Even this level of firepower cannot withstand the love of the Lord of Plagues!"
A Death Guard captain, standing waist-deep in floodwater, tore apart a combat automaton and summoned toxic mist to corrode the gate before him.
This plague host of theirs had only recently returned from the battlefield of the Empyrean. Hundreds of years ago, they had butchered their way across the Imperium and had never known defeat.
Still, the Imperial firepower inside this core fortress really was vicious, and it was equipped with special combat automata.
Those were likely products of Mars's forge world, and they had inflicted significant losses on his plague troops.
But such attacks still could not stop the plague host's advance.
As the outer defenses collapsed, vast numbers of Chaos daemons surged into the fortress interior along with the slick floodwaters, crashing against the internal defensive lines.
Even worse, the seven rotten void-whales were drawing closer and closer. Each one was larger than a battleship, enough to make a man's heart seize in terror and drown him in despair.
Command center.
The officer in charge of this defensive line, Oris Will, stared at the abominable beasts in the void and felt his whole body go cold.
He was overwhelmed by helplessness, and shouted into the comm-channel with a trembling voice:
"Our line is collapsing! Where's the regular army?! When are Terra's defensive forces getting here?!"
Oris was completely numb.
He was not military personnel at all.
He was a member of the logistics department, a contractor specializing in military demolition and structural recovery, basically an outside worker attached to a core state enterprise.
The Will family had risen through mining. Under his grandfather Will's leadership, it had grown stronger and stronger until it became a well-known rogue trader family in the Imperium.
Legend said that back when Grandfather Will had still been a miner, he had received support from the Savior himself.
During the difficult years on Urth, that great man had even given Grandfather one of his own pastries to encourage him in his hard work for the Imperium.
As a member of the Will family, Oris had graduated with excellent marks from the Schola Progenium and gone on to build his own career.
His main business was construction salvage and recovery.
He had started with hive-city demolition waste and worked his way upward step by step.
He had also set his sights on a technological gap in the Imperium and poured huge amounts of effort and capital into developing extraction and refining techniques, allowing Imperial resources to be recycled and reused more efficiently.
That had earned him commendations from the relevant departments and eventually made him one of the logistics bureau's official partners.
After many years of accumulation, Oris had finally secured a large-scale Imperial fortress recovery contract: reclaiming the materials from the entire Martian blockade-line defense platform array.
What a glorious project that had been. It would have taken his business to the next level.
And he could already imagine that, as the Savior modernized more Imperial defenses, there would be countless similar contracts to come.
His earlier prediction had been right.
For the sake of this important business, Oris had poured nearly his entire fortune into it, pulled in the Will family as well, and even taken out loans from the Mechanicus to lease a massive batch of low-grade automata built using Iron Men-derived technology, all to handle demolition and recovery work in hazardous zones.
But when he arrived at the Martian defense platform array with millions of workers and more than a hundred thousand low-grade automata, right in the middle of the groundbreaking ceremony and praying to the Machine Goddess -
The sky of the Solar System went dark, and giant scars opened across the void.
The Chaos host arrived before Terra's distant defensive lines by an utterly inconceivable method.
And those rotten void-whales appeared directly in the demolition work zone and attacked the site.
"By the Savior, the glory of the Will family has arrived!"
That had been Oris's first thought when he saw the plague host.
The glory of defending the Imperium was enough to push the Will family one step higher.
That was military merit.
And not just him. Even the logistics workers were fired up. In the past, when had it ever been their turn to fight a war?
The time for advancement had come.
So Oris had immediately organized the worker militia and the low-grade Iron Men automata to defend the demolition site.
Fortunately, they had not actually started dismantling yet. Residual troops were still left inside the platform array, along with huge stores of near-expired ammunition. The relevant departments had simply told them to recycle the ammunition too, so as not to waste transport capacity hauling it back.
The automata could also operate the platform guns, and they did so more efficiently than the former Imperial garrison.
As for the logistics workers, they had all received relevant military training and possessed at least some combat ability.
They had no choice but to stay and fight, whether for Terra or for their own property and livelihood.
Every Imperial citizen had a duty to defend the Imperium.
Especially personnel attached to key departments.
Originally, Oris had assumed this demolition site would only need to hold out for a short while, fire a few symbolic volleys, and then receive support from the Imperial military.
After that, they would simply provide auxiliary artillery support.
But for some reason, reinforcements from the Imperial defenders never came.
No communications came either.
There was no evacuation plan.
The instant the Chaos host and the warp rifts appeared, all surrounding shipping lanes were cut off by the rifts.
That left the Mars defense-platform demolition site in an incredibly awkward position.
And on the other side, the plague host was getting increasingly baffled as the battle went on. This ragged, makeshift Imperial garrison seemed even more stubborn than the human troops from centuries ago.
"Savior, where the hell did the regular army go?
We're just a bunch of people doing recovery and demolition work. We're supposed to fight Chaos's regular army?!"
That was the conclusion Oris reached after organizing his people and using the defense platforms to hold the line for less than half an hour.
His face had gone green.
"The Will family is probably going bankrupt. And we're going to die for the Imperium too..."
Oris muttered to himself.
He could not think of any way to survive.
All he could do was helplessly pray to the Savior.
(End of Chapter)
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