The thick jungle of Throne of Galat clung to the landscape like a suffocating vine, the air heavy with humidity and the distant rumble of Ork machinery. In the shadow of the dense foliage, a squad of Scout Marines moved silently, their black carapace armor blending seamlessly into the dark underbrush.
Ahead of them, hidden in the murk, the looming silhouette of an Ork stronghold could be seen, its crude watchtowers and barricades cast in the faint light of distant fires.
Sergeant Ra, the veteran Scout commander, raised a hand to halt the squad. His piercing eyes, visible through the green-tinted lens of his helmet, surveyed the stronghold. The Orks were entrenched here, but their defenses were haphazard, more focused on keeping their rowdy ranks in than keeping intruders out. The stench of their crude feasting fires, laden with burnt flesh, drifted through the air.
"Hold here," Ra whispered, his voice barely a breath over the comms. "We need to get a clearer picture before we call in the others, Delta Cover our left flack, Omega you take the right."
Flanking him were two newly inducted Primaris neophytes, *Siprian* and *Voras*, each still feeling the lingering effects of their transformation.
Their bodies were now larger, and more powerful, but their minds were still adjusting to the enhanced reflexes and instincts gifted by their surgeries. Siprian’s breathing was measured, though his heart raced with the excitement of battle.
Siprian gripped his combat knife tightly, the weight of the weapon feeling natural now in his hands, but the thought of battle—the raw, brutal experience of combat as a Primaris Marine—loomed large in his mind. Voras crouched beside him, silent but tense, the smell of Ork's blood already on his thoughts.
"I’ve never seen so many in one place," Voras muttered, his eyes scanning the encampment. Orks of various sizes were gathered around bonfires, shoveling chunks of roasted meat into their mouths. Some fought amongst themselves, brutal contests of strength and stupidity playing out as they cracked their fists and fangs.
Ra’s vox clicked softly as he relayed the situation to the rest of the scouting force. "Commander Gaven, we have eyes on the stronghold. The works are entrenched but poorly organized. They’ve been feasting for some time—likely worn from previous skirmishes. Recommend a swift, surgical strike before they regroup. We’ll relay coordinates for heavy support."
A crackle of static, then Commander Gaven’s calm voice. "Understood, Sergeant. Mark the targets and pull back to the perimeter for now. I’ll send in our brothers at your signal Sergeant."
Ra nodded, even though the commander couldn't see. His attention snapped back to the neophytes. "This is a test, brothers," he said quietly. "Your first engagement as blooded Primaris. We'll strike hard, but we must move with precision. Follow my lead, and do not falter. The Orks are brutish, but their numbers can overwhelm the unprepared."
Siprian swallowed hard but nodded, his grip tightening on his bolter. "By the Emperor will I follow, By Sanguinius I bleed”
“We hold the line, Sergeant," Voras spoke up and echoed his brother.
"Good," Ra said, his voice a low growl. "These Xenos have no discipline, no strategy. There are beasts, but beasts can still bite." He scanned the Ork stronghold again, his eyes narrowing. "We’ll mark the heavy guns first, then the transports. If we take those out, the rest will scatter."
Voras, quieter but eager, adjusted his grip on his bolt pistol. "What about the Warboss, Sergeant? I see one in the center, near the biggest fire. He’s directing the others, or what passes for direction with these greenskins."
Ra followed Voras’s gaze, spotting the hulking figure clad in makeshift armor, towering over the other Orks. The Warboss barked orders, occasionally smashing one of his underlings for what seemed like no reason at all.
"He’ll fall in due time," Ra said, his voice hard. "But we strike the foundation first. Take out their guns, cripple their mobility, and the Warboss will be nothing more than a cornered animal."
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The squad began to move again, creeping silently through the jungle, nearing the edge of the Ork encampment. The ground here was thick with mud and discarded debris—rusted weapons, shattered armor plates, the remnants of fallen Orks, and scavenged vehicles.
Siprian felt the weight of the mission press down on him. This was more than a test of his body; it was a test of his mind, his spirit. The legacy of Sanguinius flowed in his veins now, and the responsibility of that legacy felt like a mountain on his shoulders. But a desire to prove himself, to be more than just a neophyte.
As they reached the final outcropping of rocks before the camp, Ra motioned for them to stop once more. They had a clear view of the Orks’ artillery positions—ramshackle cannons built from scraps of Imperial technology, aimed haphazardly into the jungle. Beyond them, crude Ork Trukks lined the perimeter, their engines idling as if the greenskins were preparing for some kind of raid.
"Mark those guns," Ra ordered his voice a low rasp over the comms. " Siprian, Voras—this is one moment of many. Choose what the emperor will see. Fingers steady and Breathing even."
Siprian exhaled, his finger resting on the trigger of his bolter. He steadied himself, aiming down the sight at the nearest artillery piece. The Orks were close, but unaware—laughing and brawling around their fires, their guttural voices echoing in the night.
"For The Blood Phoenix," he whispered to himself, as his finger squeezed the trigger.
Gaven and Tytus of the 10th and 5th descended on the stronghold.
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Allteranius Nix stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his towering figure cast in the dim, flickering light of the war map before him. The map—constantly shifting and updating—showed the mountainous terrain and deep jungle of Throne of Galat.
Red indicators highlighted the locations of known Ork encampments, while blue markers represented his forces.
The newly captured base was little more than a fortified ruin they had seized from the Orks, but it provided a defensible location from which to plan their next strikes.
Now, he stood at the heart of it, contemplating their next moves. His mind was calm and focused, but the weight of the mission loomed. They were still in the dark about much, and the Warp storms had isolated them from the greater Imperium.
A faint sound of footsteps echoed behind him. A serf, dressed in simple robes but bearing the sigil of the Chapter, approached cautiously. The serf knelt and bowed his head low before speaking.
"Lord Master" the serf began, his voice tremulous with respect. "I bring news from the front lines. The Ork stronghold has fallen to our forces. Commander Gaven Acastus sends word that resistance was fierce, but the greenskins have been driven from their position."
Nix nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the map. He had expected as much. The Orks, though brutish, had no true discipline. They could put up a fight, but not a strategic defense. Still, he knew better than to underestimate them it all seemed too easy he thought.
“The Entry was difficult but taking the base and crushing a stronghold it was all coming too smoothly”. He thought to himself.
"Good," Nix replied, his voice deep and commanding. "Tell Commander Acastus to consolidate his position. We’ll need to use that stronghold as a staging point for further operations. The Orks will likely counterattack when they regroup."
"At once, my lord," the serf replied, bowing again before retreating.
Before Nix could fully turn his attention back to the war map, another figure entered the room—this one moving with the mechanical precision of a being less human than a machine. Magos Toté, his lower body an intricate mass of mechadendrites and augmentations, approached swiftly. His red robes of the Adeptus Mechanicus swirled as he advanced, his eyes gleaming behind his optical implants.
"Chapter Master Nix," Toté began, his voice a blend of human speech and mechanical tones, "I bring important news. Through the holy algorithms and the blessings of the Omnissiah, I have been able to pierce the veil of the Warp. A message has been sent communication has been reestablished with Bitter Hold and your brothers in orbit."
Nix turned fully to face the Magos, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. This was no small matter.
"You’ve made contact?" Nix asked, his voice tinged with both relief and caution. "What did you transmit, and have we received any word in return?"
Magos Toté inclined his head, his mechadendrites twitching slightly as he responded. "I transmitted a full report on our current situation—our victories, the Ork presence, and our strategic goals. As of yet, we have not received a reply. The Warp remains unstable, but I am confident our signal reached its destination."
Nix nodded, though his thoughts remained clouded. The Warp storms had been a constant barrier, and even with this breakthrough, there was no guarantee they would hear back anytime soon. Still, it was progress.
"Very well, Magos," Nix said, his tone measured. "Continue monitoring the channels. Any word from Bitter Hold or the *Sorrow’s Way* could change the course of this campaign. We need to know if the storms have calmed—or if the situation back home has worsened."
Toté bowed slightly, the movement more mechanical than organic. "It shall be done, Chapter Master. The Omnissiah’s light guides us."
As the Magos departed, Nix turned his gaze once more to the war map. The Orks on Throne of Galat were a plague—one that needed to be eradicated. But the looming silence from the greater Imperium gnawed at him. Time moved differently here on this forsaken world, and for all he knew, the galaxy had shifted in ways they could not yet comprehend.
His grip tightened on the hilt of *Valour’s Edge* as a thought surfaced. He had faith in his Chapter, in their ability to adapt and overcome. But this war was far from over, and something deep inside him whispered that larger challenges lay ahead.
He turned to Felix, his Chapter’s Champion, who had entered quietly behind him.
"Prepare the men for a counterattack," Nix ordered his voice firm. "We’ve taken ground and we won’t let up, but the Orks won’t stay down for long. I want defenses shored up and all scouts sent out to find the next stronghold. We take this world, one piece at a time, and we leave no xeno standing."
Felix saluted sharply. "At your command, Chapter Master."
As Felix left to carry out his orders, Nix remained standing before the map. The battle was far from over.