"It's a Gargant?"
Inside the cramped command cupola of the Baneblade, Yarrick heard Rowan's words and narrowed his eyes.
"This seismic footprint... a standard Ork Gargant shouldn't be generating tremors of this magnitude."
Drawing upon his extensive combat experience against the Greenskins, he rapidly asked, "Can you provide a volutric estimation of this chanical behemoth?"
"See for yourself."
Rowan raised his hand, engaging his reality-bending dominion. Submitting to his absolute will, the dim ambient light within the command cupola was instantaneously reconfigured.
A perfectly rendered, hyper-realistic holographic projection materialized within the tank's interior. A miniature model of the swaggering, heavily ard Ork Gargant appeared directly before Yarrick's eyes.
Rapidly sweeping his gaze over the Gargant and the accompanying Ork armored vanguard, and calculating the scale based on the surrounding terrain, Yarrick's expression darkened significantly.
"The tactical situation is deteriorating. The Greenskins have evidently constructed sothing massive. The volutric displacent of this Gargant... it appears to exceed the paraters of a Warhound-class Scout Titan."
This was highly abnormal.
It was common knowledge within the Astra Militarum that standard Ork Gargants were generally classified as equivalent threats to Imperial Knights (a colloquial term for super-heavy walker constructs), fundantally lacking the mass to rival true Titans of the Collegia Titanica.
However, it was also universally acknowledged that expecting Ork engineering to adhere to any logical paraters was an exercise in futility. Depending entirely on the quality of scrap tal looted and the chaotic, incomprehensible musings within a kboy's brain, their creations exhibited catastrophic variance. They frequently delivered horrifying "surprises" to Imperial commanders who attempted to combat them using conventional logic.
And now, it was the Armageddon Steel Legion's turn to taste this particular surprise.
"Regrettable. Our current operational roster lacks Shadowsword super-heavy tanks, which are specifically designed for Titan-hunting."
Yarrick imdiately rendered a tactical judgnt. "However, it is not an insurmountable obstacle. A Titan-class asset is not fundantally invincible, especially given the sheer volu of super-heavy armor currently at our disposal."
"Our previous offensive proceeded with exceptional efficiency, aning a significant portion of our armored reserves remain uncommitted. Now is the ti to expend them for the greater tactical objective."
Relying on the cold, calculating logic ingrained in an Imperial Commissar, Yarrick's tactical mind raced, rapidly formulating an engagent strategy: "I will imdiately order our lighter armored assets, those lacking sufficient anti-armor penetration capabilities, to initiate a screening charge. They will engage and neutralize the escorting Ork armor, sacrificing themselves to clear firing lanes."
"Once the exchange is complete and the escort screen is stripped away, we will mass all remaining super-heavy assets—specifically the Stormswords and Hellhamrs—and execute a concentrated, synchronized fire-mission against the Gargant to achieve a catastrophic structural kill."
"This operation will undoubtedly incur severe casualties, but the strategic exchange is fundantally sound."
However, upon hearing this plan, Rowan rely shook his head.
"Sacrifice once again... This is the quintessential Imperial mindset."
Yarrick blinked. "Excuse ?"
Rowan continued, "You are not entirely wrong. Sacrifice is the bloody mortar that binds the foundation of the Imperium. However, it should never be the primary stratagem; it should be the absolute last resort."
"And our current situation is far, far from dire enough to warrant a desperate last stand."
In the modern Imperium of Man, heavily influenced by the dogmatic teachings of the Ministorum, fanatical sacrifice and martyrdom had beco the prevailing cultural mainstream. Countless trillions believed that dying in the Emperor's na and returning to His side beside the Golden Throne was the highest achievable honor.
Rowan did not deny the Ministorum's contribution; it successfully provided a singular, unifying cultural narrative that bound together millions of culturally distinct human worlds across a dark, fragnted galaxy, preventing humanity from shattering into scattered, isolated dust.
But as for the drawbacks... its stagnating, fatalistic dogma violently strangled almost all subjective initiative. Everyone was perpetually locked in a state of blind fanaticism, utterly unwilling to employ the rational, overarching strategic calculations that defined the Great Crusade era.
Rowan fundantally believed this was a catastrophic regression.
"Do not panic. I have a solution."
He offered a brief reassurance, then engaged his telepathic link, directly contacting his elite retinue operating elsewhere in the Hive City.
Whether it was Inquisitor Cybia, Living Saint Lucia, or Custodian Leonardo—representing the absolute pinnacle of Rowan's martial assets—they certainly hadn't been sitting idle while the Armageddon Steel Legion executed their armored blitzkrieg.
"Status report. Has the objective been successfully neutralized?" Rowan inquired through the psychic tether.
"Lord Rowan, the objective has been achieved."
On the opposite side of the Hive City, Cybia scanned her surroundings and nodded in satisfaction.
The tallic deck surrounding her was littered with a chaotic jumble of Greenskin corpses, their bodies bearing the unmistakable, grisly hallmarks of localized psychic trauma.
Cybia tilted her head upwards. Reflected in her azure pupils was a towering, unimaginably massive plasma macro-cannon, its cavernous muzzle pointed directly toward the heavens.
This was the Hive City's primary Plasma Orbital Defense Cannon.
However, a cursory glance confird that this highly prized strategic asset was currently in a catastrophic state of disrepair. Searing electrical sparks cascaded across its chassis, and thick, black smoke billowed from its internal capacitors. It had clearly been subjected to devastating sabotage.
At the base of the macro-cannon, heavy blast doors slowly groaned open, and two figures clad in auric armor strode out.
It was Leonardo and Lucia.
They offered Cybia a curt nod, silently confirming the absolute completion of their sabotage mission.
"We have successfully crippled the primary plasma containnt coils. Confird: the macro-cannon is fundantally incapable of discharging."
"The orbital trajectory is secure."
Receiving this final confirmation, Rowan nodded in satisfaction and drew the Ceremonial Sword of Solomon.
"Since that is the case, let us begin."
The invisible, esoteric tether was re-established, and he imdiately issued a silent summons to the machine spirit of the strike cruiser lingering in orbit.
High above the planet's atmosphere, colossal plasma drives violently flared, burning with brilliant blue exhaust. The massive vessel slowly ca about, adjusting its vector to assu a geostationary position directly above the Hive City.
"Wot da zog?!"
Sitting inside the command throne of the Gargant, roaring with maniacal excitent and preparing to unleash absolute devastation, Warboss Hakk Fang's eyes suddenly bulged to their absolute limits.
The brilliant light of the local star was abruptly eclipsed. A colossal, suffocating shadow fell over the battlefield, causing every single fanatical Ork Boy to freeze mid-stride and involuntarily crane their necks upward.
An apocalyptic strike cruiser, forged entirely of adamantium, hung suspended in the upper atmosphere like the Sword of Damocles, staring down with cold, absolute apathy at the microscopic Greenskin insects scrambling below.
Uh...
Wot're we supposed to do about dat?
Witnessing this apocalyptic spectacle, the Ork horde instantly devolved into terrified chaos.
It wasn't that Greenskins inherently feared death... but getting vaporized from orbit by a humie voidship was definitively not a proppa, Waaagh!-worthy way to die!
"Wot're you runts panickin' for?!"
A screeching, static-laced loudhailer array mounted on the Gargant broadcast Hakk Fang's roaring voice directly into the ears of every single Greenskin.
"Use yer zoggin' brains for once! Dat big humie ship is just tryna scare us! Don't you gits forget, dis city's Void Shield is still workin' perfectly!"
As Hakk Fang's voice echoed, the Boyz finally noticed the faint, shimring blue do of energy still completely encompassing the Hive City, acting as an impenetrable barrier between them and the terrifying humie voidship.
Oh, right! Da Boss is da kunningest!
The Orks imdiately ceased their panic, their terror rapidly transforming into ecstatic, mocking cheers. Several Boyz even began performing crude, provocative dances aid directly at the voidship above.
However, deep within Hakk Fang's chest, a cold knot of dread began to tighten.
Dem kunning humies... would dey really just park a massive voidship up dere... and do absolutely nuffin'?
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