Realizing the severity of the situation, the veteran Victrix Guard signaled his battle-brothers to retreat along their original path. However, a pack of Genestealers, emerging from unseen crawlspaces, launched a sudden, violent ambush.
In the cramped corridors of the void-ship, complicated by an entirely alien architecture, these lithe Tyranid bio-forms struck from the darkness of ventilation shafts. Whether from overhead ducting or lateral vents, the infiltrating xenos leapt forth with predatory grace, forcing the Ultramarines into tight defensive formations to repel the assault.
In such confined quarters, an attack from the rear or above was often fatal; the creatures' rending claws sought the vulnerable joints of the Mark X power armor, capable of inflicting catastrophic wounds that even the transhuman physiology of an Adeptus Astartes could not endure. Among the frenzied swarm were larger, elite organisms whose talons crackled with disruption fields. The deep, jagged gouges etched into the veteran's Storm Shield bore silent testament to the lethality of these specialized bio-forms.
The roar of bolters intermingled with the lethal hiss of power blades carving through the air. The screeching cries of the xenos echoed through the passageways until the last of the brood was hacked apart.
Peace returned, but only briefly, as a more dire realization set in.
They were lost.
The surrounding bulkheads shifted into an Aeldari aesthetic, adorned with strange gemstones and pale, wraithbone-like curvatures. Yet, a nearby junction displayed distinct Imperial markings, while from the depths of a distant corridor, a gutteral, bestial roar vibrated through the floor plates, a sound that instilled a profound sense of unease. The ship's structure was a chaotic patchwork of clashing civilizations.
Fortunately, the warriors accompanying the Bladeguard were veterans of the Dawn of Fire. Unlike neophytes who might falter in the face of such spatial anomalies, these warriors, with an average of two centuries of combat service, remained unshakable.
"My brother," one Astartes suggested, "I propose we navigate through the Imperial-style compartments. The outer hull we boarded possessed clear Imperial characteristics. Choosing the familiar path may be vital to our survival."
The Bladeguard Veteran surveyed the dissonant surroundings before offering a slow, grim nod.
"May the Emperor watch over us. Move out."
The squad fell into a tactical column. The veteran led with his Storm Shield raised, while his brothers maintained interlocking fields of fire, their eyes scanning not just the intersecting corridors, but every vent and shadow. The previous ambush had honed their vigilance to a razor's edge.
…
Staring out into the cold void through a jagged hull breach, Axion felt a flicker of irritation.
The primary mass of the Mecha-parasitic Nematodes had been severed here; only the residual, "living" conduits remained active in this section. Behind him, the dismembered Security Automata and the Aegis Protector stood in silent mechanical attendance, though they could detect the fluctuations in Axion's emotional state through his shifting quantum signatures.
Slightly dejected, Axion turned to retreat toward the transport ship's remains. He intended to salvage the massive Super Quantum Reactor Core; even if it could not be restored to full function, its exotic components would provide ample raw materials for fabricating smaller autonomous units.
He had barely traversed a hundred meters when his sensors spiked.
"Warning: Object approaching at high velocity."
Axion stepped aside with fluid precision. The Aegis Protector lunged forward, bracing itself to block the corridor.
THOOM!
A silhouette spiraled through the air like a discarded kinetic shell, slamming into the Automata's waiting grip.
Axion glanced at the object through the shared sensor feed, his logic processors momentarily stalling in confusion.
The "object" caught by the Protector was the Bladeguard Veteran. His Storm Shield was shattered into fragments, his power armor was buckled, and his golden laurel-wreathed helmet was a ruin—the aquila ornament had been sheared away, though the ceramite had miraculously held against total penetration.
Axion looked up at a jagged, diagonal hole in the ceiling. He performed a rapid scan before his form vanished in a flicker of displacement.
In the compartment above, a section composed of the same ancient alloys as the Sapient Machine transport, the rest of the Ultramarines squad was fighting for their lives.
They were facing three mechanical entities. Resembling metallic octopuses, these automata hovered in the center of the bay, lashing out with terrifying speed. Bolter shells detonated against their chassis in plumes of fire and smoke, leaving nothing but negligible dents. The Space Marines were forced into a desperate retreat, dodging sweeping mechanical limbs and searing red thermal beams.
Suddenly, a silver flash of teleportation flared. Axion appeared in the center of the fray. He projected a wide-band quantum signal, and his command protocols took hold instantly. The three mechanical "octopuses" ceased their slaughter. They retracted their limbs into a submissive, folded posture and drifted obediently to the side of the compartment.
The Ultramarines froze, stunned by the sudden cessation of hostilities.
They knew their mission. They knew their target was standing before them. But they also remembered the briefing delivered aboard the Thunderhawk: Conflict with Axion is strictly forbidden. This was Guilliman's direct command, a safeguard for his sons.
The Aegis Protector leapt up through the breach, carrying the unconscious Bladeguard in one hand and the limbless security bot in the other. It handed the injured veteran to his brothers as if delivering a piece of freight.
The Ultramarines scrambled to catch their leader, laying him on the deck and carefully removing his ruined helm. Beneath the ceramite was a rugged, square-jawed face lined with ancient scars. As the seal broke, the veteran coughed a spray of blood and briefly regained a hazy consciousness.
The squad's Apothecary knelt over him, his narthecium humming.
"My brother, I must commend your martial prowess, but your injuries are severe. I cannot provide the necessary restoration here."
The Bladeguard tried to speak, but consciousness slipped away once more.
The squad had blundered into this ancient compartment and immediately encountered the strange machines. To ensure the squad's safety, the veteran had led a charge, crying out for the glory of Guilliman and the Five Hundred Worlds.
In response, a massive mechanical claw had swat him aside with casual indifference. He had raised his Storm Shield just in time, but the sheer kinetic force had shattered his arm, crushed his thoracic plate, and pulverized his ribs. He had been punched straight through the weakened deck plating of the hull-junction, landing directly in front of Axion.
Axion could only marvel at the man's "luck." The Astartes did not recognize these machines, but Axion did.
These were Octopodal Construction Units, colloquially known as "Eight-Legs." Under standard gravity, four of these units could assemble a Titan, and Titan components typically weighed thousands of tons.
The torque of their motive systems was astronomical. That the Bladeguard had survived a blow from a machine designed to lift kilotons was entirely due to the environment. He had struck the weakened junction between two disparate ship hulls; the structure had buckled and broken, acting as a crumple zone that spared him from being instantly liquified against the deck.
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