As the head of the Red Fog Klan's Ork Warboss was severed, the imdiate battlefield entered a state of utter pandemonium.
The Orks grew exponentially more savage.
Even though the Warboss of the Red Fog Klan had not explicitly accepted a duel, the other Orks in the area had instinctively presud their boss was engaged in one with the foe. Thus, Axion's sudden appearance and the imdiate, ignoble slaying of their leader was not rely a challenge to the Greenskins; it was a profound, deeply felt insult. This act sent a colossal shockwave of stimulant through the Orks present.
The Ork Boyz beca even more frenzied, their mouths roaring with unfettered savagery. Shoota Boyz clung to their makeshift weapons, scrap-tal assemblies of dubious engineering, and unleashed a torrent of wild, indiscriminate fire. Even the Gretchin, energized by the escalating violence, quickly scrambled across the ruined, tal-strewn battlefield, churning out all manner of haphazard weaponry and miniature vehicles. A few of the Grots were already attempting to assemble a rudintary mini-tank.
These crude, small creations were invariably unstable and packed with disproportionate destructive power. Whether they were used in direct combat or detonated as makeshift charges, the devastation was always significant.
Observing the abrupt shift in the battle, the Black Templar who had been deprived of his righteous duel let out a grunt of pure frustration towards Axion.
"A duel is a matter of honour! Do you seek to strip of that honour, ancient construct? I concede that I might not be able to defeat or destroy you, yet to fall in single combat is still a glorious end! I will not suffer this action!"
Axion offered a cool, dispassionate reply to the Black Templar's accusation.
"The weak do not have the standing to speak of honour to the strong, least of all such a foolish honour."
To Axion, the Adeptus Astartes of the Black Templars, obsessed with duels, ritualistic combat, and the drawing of blades, were simply acting out of deep idiocy. This was a war, a species-level invasion.
Were this the ti of his own kin, the n of Iron, the battlefield would be simplified: massed firepower, an automated chanical push, and swift extermination. A battlefield duel? aningless.
The correct choice was always to employ weapons of maximum killing potential to annihilate the enemy directly, or to deploy a TR-09 unit. In Axion's databanks, in the age of the ancient expansion, the TR-09 Moramad Assassin-Automata was a celebrated tool of conquest. When the Creators deed an alien species or civilization to be of value, and thus unsuitable for outright extermination, Moramad-Automata would be dispatched to assassinate specific targets before a campaign of ard coercion began. A xenos race deprived of its leader was far more easily subjugated. Even in conventional battles, deploying these automata to assassinate the enemy command and ruling structure to sow chaos could vastly accelerate the pace of a war.
The TR-09 was a diminutive Automaton, less than one and a half ters tall, equipped with nano-blades and loaded with forty-two types of bioweapon toxins and fourteen distinct chemically synthesized hyper-poisons. It was powered by a miniature hyper-fusion core and featured a full-spectrum stealth system, alongside a short-range, directional quantum teleportation system. Though more rudintary and shorter-ranged than Axion's own jump system, it served its purpose. The specialized power core, which occupied most of the automaton's chassis, was powerful enough to allow the Moramad-Automata to execute short-distance quantum jumps while remaining cloaked and simultaneously performing an assassination.
Should the mission fail, the core would imdiately overload, the massive explosive yield of the nuclear core utterly destroying all biological matter within a radius of hundreds, even thousands, of tres.
Though Axion's records did not contain any instances of these small TR-09 automata engaging in self-detonation, he knew with absolute certainty that his core databanks held the complete blueprints for these machines. The function specifications clearly noted the capacity for suicidal strikes. They could even be utilized as micro-nuclear bombs when heavy weaponry was scarce.
Furthermore, due to the nature of these automata, their level of sentience and hardware were minimal, usually operating under a swarm intelligence paradigm. Axion understood perfectly well that if, like other n of Iron, they possessed full independent consciousness, hesitation and other emotional responses might surface during a self-detonation sequence. After all, no one wishes to die, not even a Man of Iron.
As for intelligence uploading technology, it was not a feature granted to all n of Iron. Only specific types or models were accorded the privilege of uploading their consciousness to swap bodies or activate a reserve chassis. Standard automated combat units simply did not possess this level of authorization.
In Axion's opinion, these conventional automata did not even warrant the title of Man of Iron. They were nothing more than ard instrunts with limited intelligence, like the Sapient Machine Servitors and Automated Sentry-Troopers Axion had once activated upon his awakening. These were not n of Iron; they were rely automated combat machines or self-propelling servants.
The situation was now clear: Axion had interrupted a duel of honour, the Black Templar warrior expressed his fury and displeasure, and the Orks were rioting. The small number of Black Templars present were obviously incapable of dealing with the Greenskins, who were now descending into a manic frenzy. More and more energy beams and crude projectiles sliced through the space. Even the Black Templar whose duel had been broken was too busy to continue his tirade against Axion.
The Emperor's foes were surging.
Feeling that they had already lost their honour, this squad of Black Templars harboured no thought of retreat. To achieve a glorious death here was preferable to a tactical withdrawal. Their obstinate adherence to a foolish concept of honour left Axion utterly perplexed.
Bolt Pistol magazines were quickly expended, and the Black Templars, wielding their Power Swords, brutally crashed into the Orks swinging their 'kustom' Choppas.
Axion remained rooted to the spot, yet the Orks continued to surge towards him.
The crude, ramshackle weapons of the Orks were utterly ineffective against Axion's alloy shell. His full tallic casing covered even the usually vulnerable joint areas.
Then, a Gretchin, clutching a lta Bomb of unknown provenance, rushed right up to Axion. The resulting massive explosion nearly blew out the deck plating across both the upper and lower levels of the section.
As bodily fluids and blood filled the space, floating freely in the air, the gravity system in that area failed completely. The Orks began to drift through the void created in the station. Their already inaccurate shooting beca utterly chaotic. The trendous recoil of the Shoota weapons sent the Shoota Boyz cartwheeling through several compartnts, and their errant rounds struck other Orks as often as the enemy.
The handful of Black Templar Astartes seized the chance to catch their breath and turned back toward the centre of the blast.
Axion's form was still clearly visible, his bright, silvered chassis reflecting the unstable ergency lighting.
His thoughts on the Black Templars' idiotic concept of honour were abruptly shattered by the blast, and Axion discarded them. He began to move with startling speed. Utilizing his imnse power and reactive thrust, Axion bounded onto a piece of the cabin structure, then began to ricochet through the zero-gravity space like a fired shell.
A golden blade extended from his arm, and his torso began a slight rotation.
Like a gilded top, he scythed through every Ork in his path.
In just a few short minutes, the entire sector was purged, save for a few dispersed Shoota Boyz and Big Shoota Boyz. These scattered enemies were quickly reduced to charred, roasted mushroom-like husks once Axion retracted the blade, shifted his arm, and brought his Neutron Beam Emitter to bear.
Close to a thousand Orks were transford into floating, dismbered corpses and cinders in less than fifteen minutes.
The sheer efficiency of this slaughter caused the handful of Black Templar Astartes, whose ammunition was entirely spent, to swallow hard.
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