"The main obstacle has been cleared."
The notification flashed across the visors of the Catachan commandos the moment Marbo hurled a melta bomb into the rebel's heavy firepower bunker, detonating it from within.
Without hesitation, the assault team surged forward, hauling out heavy machine guns from their packs and unleashing a saturation barrage. The hail of bullets raked across the Predator tanks, each impact detonating in brilliant flashes. Dirt and shattered ceramite sprayed skyward, and soon, the thunderous sound of tanks exploding echoed through the ruins.
The concentrated gunfire pierced the tanks' armor plating, setting off catastrophic explosions within the ammunition racks. Blazing tank barrels, torn loose by internal blasts, were hurled through the smoke-filled air, embedding themselves deep into the stone walls of distant Gothic towers.
In moments, all fifteen Predator tanks guarding the rebel firing point were reduced to smoldering, twisted husks of steel.
Marbo pressed on, sprinting alone through the burning wreckage, weaving between the fortress debris, black smoke, and crackling electric discharges.
Boom! An explosion thundered overhead.
Marbo instinctively looked up. An Imperial Thunderbird fighter soared skyward, leaving a trail of flame behind it.
Below, in the crumbling ruins, the flaming wreckage of a rebel aircraft spiraled downward, a testament to the Thunderbird's recent victory in the high-altitude dogfight.
Under the protective umbrella of Imperial air cover, Marbo rapidly approached the primary target: the reactor energy plant.
As a strategic stronghold, the energy plant was heavily fortified. Its defense installations had undergone secondary reinforcement, and the inner walls were sheathed in thick layers of alloy plating. Several colossal bunkers, bristling with heavy weapons, guarded the core.
The reactor's void shield engines were active around the clock, casting a faint shimmer in the air. Marbo recognized the telltale signs — this was a shield generator manufactured on Vigilus, famed across the Imperium for its resilience.
Breaking through such a shield by force would be nearly impossible. Even a direct, concentrated bombardment would result in little more than a ripple across its surface.
Clustered at the edge of the shield perimeter stood a full squad of Imperial Knights.
"The Red Knights, backed by an artillery company, ten Rust tanks, and four automated macro-cannons."
The voice of the assault team captain crackled in their comms.
"The traitors guard this place with zeal. It is exactly where we must strike. In the name of the Supreme Warmaster, we will break the enemy's strongest bastion."
Crouched in the ruins, the Catachans observed the enemy's firepower network, whispering over tactical channels as they planned their assault.
Among the rebel defenses, it wasn't the tanks or cannons that concerned them most — it was the patrolling Red Knights.
The Red Knight pattern was one of the most common classes of Imperial Knight suits. "Common" did not mean weak — far from it. Their reliability and formidable performance had made them a staple across countless Knight Houses.
Standing nine meters tall, the Red Knight's armor was painted a deep, blood-red hue — a striking color suited to its battlefield role. This Knight type prioritized firepower and speed over sheer armor.
Standard Red Knight armaments included two main weapon systems: one for ranged devastation and one for brutal close-quarters combat.
Their left arm mounted either a heavy revolver cannon, a Gatling laser, or a logging autocannon, capable of shredding enemy formations. The right arm wielded either a power lance, a titanic chainsword, or a lightning fist capable of unleashing thunderous shockwaves.
The lightning fist, in particular, was feared across battlefields — its energized strikes could pulverize anything within reach, tearing through even Titan armor with focused kinetic shocks.
Mounted on the Red Knight's carapace were Storm-pattern micro-missile launchers and guided rocket pods, allowing for sustained pressure during advance or defense.
Defensively, the Red Knight deployed a deflector field — ancient technology that shimmered around them, bending incoming rounds and explosive blasts away. Unlike a void shield, the deflector field didn't absorb kinetic energy, but instead diverted it, demanding the pilot's skill to maintain maximum battlefield effectiveness.
Every Red Knight pilot was a scion of a Knight House — fiery in temperament, unmatched in martial prowess, and among the brightest talents of their generation.
Their speed, precision, and burning spirit — all reflected in the vivid crimson of their machines — made them nightmares incarnate for enemy forces.
Even Marbo, a legend among the Catachans, dared not underestimate them.
The Catachan assault team, concealed among the ruins, finalized their battle plan.
In the annals of past campaigns, a single squad of Red Knights could obliterate a regiment of mortal infantry without breaking stride.
Even an elite force like the Catachans would normally be overwhelmed.
Yet today, facing this impossible task, the assault team exuded absolute confidence.
Their advanced armor gave them the audacity to face Imperial Knights head-on — and the presence of Marbo, the Empire's living legend, filled them with an unshakable courage.
Their strategy complete, the signal was given.
Without waiting, Marbo surged forward, a flamethrower in one hand and a grenade launcher in the other, charging directly into the rebel lines.
Gouts of fire and explosions tore through the enemy ranks. Rebel soldiers, caught off-guard, were reduced to ash and shattered flesh before they could even return fire.
The green flak armor they wore offered little more protection than paper before Marbo's relentless assault.
Through the display built into his helmet, Marbo watched as wave after wave of rebels armed with lasguns collapsed, their bodies strewn across the blackened battlefield.
It was then that Marbo noticed something that made his blood boil.
Many of the rebels were still wearing the standard-issue helmets of the Imperial Astra Militarum. The proud Sky Eagle insignia had been crudely scraped off, replaced with the sigil of the so-called High King's house.
"!!!"
Fury twisted Marbo's face. His eyes blazed behind his visor as he stared down the traitors. Sensing his wrath, the machine spirit of his grenade launcher responded, surging with an overloaded firing rate.
The weapon roared like a beast unleashed, tearing apart the enemy ranks with relentless fire.
He stormed the outer defensive lines alone, leaving devastation in his wake.
Explosions blossomed around him—pillars of black smoke stabbing the sky, each blast shaking the very earth beneath his boots.
When the shockwaves finally ebbed, a rain of shredded limbs and blood followed, painting the battlefield with grisly testimony.
The Catachan assault team, still crouched behind cover, stared in stunned disbelief.
How had Marbo achieved this?
Then again, when it came to Marbo—the legendary ghost of Catachan—no miracle was too outrageous to believe.
They recovered quickly. They were Catachan-born, after all—warriors forged on one of the most lethal death worlds in the entire galaxy.
Catachan, lying near the fringes of the Ultima Segmentum, was a place where everything—the flora, the fauna, even the very air—conspired to kill.
A planet of endless, lethal jungles where even Space Marines tread carefully, and where the only true resource of value was its human survivors.
It was said that even daemons hesitated to set foot on Catachan's soil.
When the Great Rift split the galaxy in two, Catachan had needed no Imperial reinforcements. They repelled the daemonic incursions on their own—and, after securing their world, sent forces to aid others.
Thus was the legend of the Catachan Jungle Fighters born.
Elsewhere, children learned to walk. On Catachan, children learned to fight and kill.
Now, armed with the Imperium's most advanced infantry support mecha, the Catachan assault team advanced through Darok's burning ruins.
The enemy's artillery thundered, but it was little more than background noise to these hardened warriors.
Their speed and agility, paired with the devastating cover fire from the Thunderhawk overhead, gave them total battlefield dominance.
The rebels of Darok were no cowards. Proximity to the Eye of Terror ensured only the strong survived here.
Had they been weak, Chaos would have consumed them long ago.
But against the Catachans, even these hardened traitors faltered.
"For the glory of the High King!" roared one of the enemy Red Knights.
Three towering Red Knight-class war engines charged, Gatling cannons spinning and hurling a storm of fire.
Marbo surged forward without hesitation. Though dwarfed by the knights, he showed no fear.
A plasma-kinetic blade snapped free from his vambrace, humming with a coruscating red energy field.
In a blur, he leapt and slashed through a Knight's mechanical leg. Sparks and molten metal erupted.
With a howl of tortured servos, the colossal war engine toppled, crashing into the rubble like a falling mountain.
The other Red Knights pressed the assault, but the Catachans countered without missing a beat.
With the aid of their Destroyer-class support mechs, they harried and pinned the enemy.
Victory seemed within reach—until the unexpected struck.
Without warning, several enemy knights pulled back, abandoning their charge.
The Catachans readied to pursue—only for the world around them to erupt.
A deafening BOOM shattered the air.
The ground heaved, throwing soldiers and mechs alike into the air as a chain of high-intensity explosions ripped across the battlefield.
A towering mushroom cloud climbed into the sky, casting a shadow over the ruined landscape.
The Destroyer-class mechs absorbed the worst of the blasts, their energy shields flaring brilliantly—only to shatter under the relentless assault.
Marbo and the assault team were hurled like broken dolls, their systems screaming damage warnings before cutting to black.
Most of them were knocked unconscious by the brutal concussive force.
When the dust finally began to settle, the Red Knights returned, stalking among the wreckage.
"You cannot defeat the knights," one of them declared, voice crackling through external vox-speakers.
"We are not like the others. I will personally grant you an honorable death."
The knight-class war engine approached with thunderous steps, each footfall sending tremors through the battlefield.
It raised its massive blade high, preparing to execute the unconscious Catachan warrior sprawled at its feet.
Marbo clung to the last shreds of consciousness.
His mind swam with dizziness, and even standing felt impossible, let alone fighting.
Helplessly, he watched the blade descend toward his fallen comrade.
"AAAAAAAAA!!!"
The roar tore from Marbo's lips—a cry no one else could hear, a sound forged from pure, desperate will.
It erupted into an unstoppable force that defied his broken body.
In that moment of unleashed fury, the world twisted.
Through the haze of pain and rage, Marbo saw visions beyond understanding:
A colossal ring-shaped corona appeared high above, bathing the battlefield in radiant golden light.
The ever-changing chaos of war was pierced, shattered, as if the sun itself had burned away all complexity.
And beyond the firmament—
A burning titan loomed.
A monstrous presence of wheels within wheels, gazing down with a single, planet-sized eye.
The entire world was caught in its unblinking stare.
Marbo could no longer tell if what he saw was real.
He wasn't even sure if he was still alive.
Across the battlefield, the Catachan commandos stirred back to life.
One by one, they regained consciousness, blinking away the fog of the explosion that had nearly ended them.
There was no fear in their hearts—only the stark amazement that they were still breathing.
When they looked up, their stunned eyes locked onto a scene that would be seared into their memories forever.
Marbo stood alone amidst the wreckage.
At his feet, the shattered remains of Red Knight mecha were piled into a grisly mound.
In one hand, he casually held aloft the severed head of a Red Knight pilot—still attached to a length of spine and shredded organs.
Around the heap of twisted metal and broken bodies, the rebel forces lay scattered like fallen leaves.
Each corpse bore a single, devastating wound—swift, clean, fatal.
The blood of traitors pooled into rivers across the scorched ground.
In the face of such horror and awe—
Even the iron-hearted sons of Catachan could only stare in silent admiration.
Their legendary hero had once again worked a miracle.
And yet... no one, not even Marbo himself, could say exactly how it had been done.
...
TN:
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