Two regiments of Baneblade and Leman Russ Battle Tanks formed a wall of reinforced steel, utilizing the Planetary Defense Force bastions as anchors. They unleashed a relentless storm of battle cannon shells and heavy stubber fire.
Rat Ogres, bellowing in a frenzied gallop, were blasted apart, their upper torsos reduced to red mist, yet the tide remained undeterred. Enveloped by the high-pitched skittering and screeching of countless Skaven underfoot, these verminous monstrosities grew only more cold and manic in their advance.
Rising over ten meters tall, the Hell Pit Abominations resembled mountainous heaps of necrotic flesh. Upon their primary necks were grafted the skulls of massive beasts, flanked by dozens of chattering, twitching rat heads of varying sizes. Though these dozen titans of the battlefield had not yet reached the scale of true God-Machines, their presence was no less harrowing. The sheer psychological weight of these undulating mounds of meat, shrieking in a cacophony of alien voices and crushing everything beneath their shifting, mutated limbs, was absolute.
"Quickly! Concentrate fire! Bring them down!"
The Commissar screamed, waving his power sword toward the xenos horrors drowning the horizon.
Several Leman Russ main cannons swiveled toward a Hell Pit Abomination. Though the meat-mountain was covered in a chitinous carapace reminiscent of a Tyranid bio-titan, the armor was not impenetrable to high-velocity munitions.
A volley of shells found their mark. Multiple explosions tore through the Abomination's bulk, obliterating vast sections of its hide to reveal the foul, dark-crimson meat and the sickening, baleful glow of warpstone within.
Yet, the beast did not fall. Amidst the discordant squeals of its many heads, it continued to haul itself forward, its feet churning the earth as the ruined flesh began to knit back together with unnatural, visible speed.
A wave of dread washed over the defenders. Even against the Tyranids, a kill was a kill, even if they were reborn, their corpses remained as grim trophies of defiance. But this supernatural regeneration defied all reason.
"Impossible! By the Golden Throne, I will not believe in an unkillable xenos! Level the Hydras! Aim for the heads!"
The order rippled through the vox. The Hydra Flak Tanks, previously engaged with the bat-winged rat-fiends swarming the skies, lowered their quad-autocannons. They opened fire on the bleached, bone-like skull of the Abomination.
Thump-thump-thump-thump—
A rhythmic succession of heavy flak rounds shredded the beast's colossal form, finally shattering the monstrous primary skull into white splinters. The fire did not cease until the creature's interior buckled, erupting in a tide of squealing, lesser rats as it finally collapsed.
The monsters could be slain.
The defenders felt a surge of desperate hope, but it was short-lived. The Skaven were already upon the ramparts. Emaciated Slave-rats brandishing warp-pistols suppressed the PDF with a disorganized but overwhelming volume of fire.
Then, the vermin began to scale the walls, forming living ladders of fur and claw. The Rat Ogres followed suit. Some bore warp-claws in place of hands; others possessed chitinous talons that looked like bloated, stolen Gene-stealer appendages. These beasts reached the summits and began to rake the concrete fortifications, punching through the reinforced walls and hurling squirming Slave-rats into the gaps like living grenades.
As more Skaven flooded the interior, the PDF was forced into a brutal, claustrophobic melee. Overhead, the winged bat-rats descended upon the Basilisk batteries and Hydra emplacements, tying down the heavy support and stripping the Imperial lines of their teeth.
Stripped of suppression fire, the remaining Hell Pit Abominations launched their full assault. Equipped with warp-flayer gauntlets and warp-drills, their massive claws tore through the shell-resistant walls as if they were parchment, and the meat-tide surged through the breach.
Seeing the slaughter, elements of the PDF broke. The Commissar, however, showed no mercy, executing several cowards with his plasma pistol. He roared a prayer to the Emperor and led the remaining tanks and infantry in a desperate combined-arms counter-charge.
With the roar of tracks and the thunder of point-blank cannonades, two tank regiments collided head-on with the Moulder monstrosities. Though shells claimed dozens of Rat Ogres, there were always more to take their place.
Packs of these gorilla-strong beasts swarmed the tanks, prying them to a halt. Warp-claws tore through ceramite plating to reach the terrified crews inside. It was a massacre. The counter-charge was swallowed like a pebble in a crashing wave. The PDF lines collapsed utterly, the survivors fleeing into the wilderness without direction.
They were hunted. Wolf-rats, possessing the agility of vermin and the predatory speed of lupines, chased down the stragglers. In less than a standard day, the moon had fallen.
At that moment, Vespator could spare no thought for its satellite. To defend this capital of the Eastern Reach of Ultramar, the surrounding systems had already bled their garrisons dry. Even the artificial moon of Ironward III had been emptied.
The surface of Vespator had been transformed into a jagged, interlocking network of fortified lines. The Ultramar Auxilia, among the finest mortal soldiers in the Imperium, held the ground. Disciplined and elite, far exceeding the standard Astra Militarum, they had rapidly turned the urban centers into bastions.
Clad in their lobster-patterned plate and resembling the legioneers of ancient Roma, the Auxilia held the line with lasguns and plasma fire.
But this was merely the prelude. Ammentar shifted his tactics.
The Skorpekh Destroyers, with their hyperphase blades, withdrew. In their place, vast numbers of Lokhust Destroyers, bearing Gauss Destructors and Enmitic Exterminators, glided forward on anti-gravitic sleds. They engaged the humans in a lethal long-range duel.
It is a grim truth that before Gauss weaponry, there is no armor, only a countdown to extinction. Under the concentrated fire of the Destroyers, the bunkers the mortals had labored so hard to fortify began to disintegrate into green-tinged ash.
Simultaneously, Ophydian Destroyers, masters of subterranean infiltration, phased from their pocket dimensions into reality. They struck the mortal lines from the rear, turning every trench into a killing box where the defenders were caught between the hammer and the anvil.
The mortals were driven back, yielding ground kilometer by bloody kilometer, until they were reinforced by the Astartes of Decimus's 11th Company.
"Do not falter!" Decimus's voice boomed over the vox, steeling the resolve of the mortals. "The Master of Ultramar has not forgotten us. The new Captain of the Second Company and Titus, Master of the Watch, are en route with a grand host. Victory shall be ours once more! These faithless metallic xenos shall be scoured from existence!"
Decimus spoke with conviction to preserve the morale of his troops, but in his twin hearts, the shadow of doubt lingered.
The host of Destroyers arrayed against them was far too vast.