Warhammer 40,000: Echoes of Divinity

After half a standard day of relentless combat, Venomfang's forces were in complete disarray.

The psykers coordinating battlefield communications relayed fragmented, panicked reports from the front lines, while Venomfang himself processed the incoherent flood of information within his mind, attempting to weave together a coherent picture of the warzone.

Yet one truth became painfully clear: Chaos. Utter, unrelenting chaos.

The retreating forces' attempt at mutual support had been a catastrophic failure.

The enemy, the First Legion was everywhere and nowhere all at once, a phantom force that struck with surgical precision.

Entire regiments fell into disarray, unable to organize even the simplest counterattacks.

Some units fled in the wrong direction, running straight into blocked Hive gates, trapping themselves like cornered vermin.

Venomfang tried to form last-ditch defensive lines, desperate to carve out an escape corridor for his most valuable officers.

But that was impossible.

The enemy materialized unpredictably; striking from ahead, behind, and even from within their own ranks.

Firing one devastating volley, then vanishing before retaliation was possible.

Some squads even teleported directly into the heart of multiple regiments, sowing chaos and confusion before disappearing once more.

There was no way to establish a stable or meaningful defensive perimeter.

And now, an even graver crisis was emerging.

"My lord!"

A psyker reeled, his gaunt features contorted with panic, blood trickling from his nose.

"We must silence the enemy artillery immediately! Thousands have already been annihilated!"

Venomfang gritted his teeth, fingers pressing against his temples as if he could physically suppress his own surging fury and desperation.

The First Legion's artillery was tearing his forces apart.

Their positions were being systematically obliterated, one after another, relentless and unceasing.

He had to act. Now.

Snatching the vox-comms, he issued a direct command:

"Eirin! Take your mechanized detachment and immediately neutralize the enemy artillery! Their position is exactly 1,000 meters north of your current location!"

Eirin, commander of the Talon II Planetary Defense Force's elite mobile corps, responded swiftly.

Unlike standard infantry regiments, his unit utilized Centaur APCs for rapid deployment, a rare luxury in Hive warfare.

In truth, the Planetary Defense Force never had a formal "mobile corps".

But Venomfang and the Governor preferred unconventional tactics.

Thus, they heavily invested in a fast-response force to execute their more… devious strategies.

Now, that force would be put to the ultimate test.

....

Eirin's APCs roared forward, their treads grinding across fractured ferrocrete, kicking up clouds of dust, smoke, and the stench of death as they weaved through the corpse-choked ruins of the Hive.

Through his augmented optics, Eirin spotted the enemy artillery positions and what he saw made his blood run cold.

No crew.

No operators.

Yet they fired without pause.

Automated artillery.

Eirin clenched his jaw.

"My lord... there's something wrong. The enemy artillery is automated. No crew, yet it fires nonstop."

Venomfang's voice crackled through the vox, cold, clipped, and merciless.

"I don't care what it is. Just destroy them. I'm watching you."

And it wasn't a mere threat.

With the blessing of the Architect of Fate, Venomfang could observe Eirin's every move in real-time, his mind's eye drifting far beyond the confines of flesh.

Eirin had no intention of disobeying.

Pushing his forces forward at full speed, he closed the 1,000-meter gap in under a minute.

His troopers, however, couldn't help but glance toward the distant explosions.

Blinding flashes and thick plumes of smoke filled the battlefield.

Even from this distance, the devastation was unmistakable.

Venomfang, calculating the artillery's kill count, made a grim estimation, each salvo was erasing at least half a regiment.

And in this chaotic warzone, where proper cover was nonexistent, the kill rate was even higher.

As Eirin's APCs reached optimal attack range, he muttered under his breath:

"Don't teleport… don't teleport away…"

Clearly, he had dealt with teleporting enemies before and knew the frustration of attacking, only for the target to vanish before impact.

Luck was on his side.

The artillery did not move.

Eirin took a deep breath.

"OPEN FIRE!"

"BOOOOM∼!"

His Centaur APC detonated in a fireball, the force of the blast flipping nearby vehicles like toys.

A direct hit.

His troopers spun around and froze in horror.

An entire enemy regiment had materialized right behind them. 

Not marching.

Not deploying from transports.

But APPEARING in full battle formation.

Weapons already raised. 

At the forefront a regal officer, standing atop a Leman Russ, bolt pistol in hand, barking commands.

Above them, a mysterious drone hovered, its sensors scanning the battlefield.

Eirin's forces, caught mid-charge, had no choice but to abandon their artillery objective, turning their guns toward the sudden new threat.

But it was too late.

The slaughter began.

Leman Russ tanks unleashed a relentless fusillade, reducing APCs to smoldering wrecks.

Troopers scrambled out of burning vehicles, only to be cut down by precise volleys of lasgun fire.

Some desperate drivers swerved their APCs, trying to angle their mounted weapons toward the enemy.

But it was futile.

The mysterious drone hovering above emitted an invisible field, shredding physical projectiles before they could even reach their targets.

Eirin knew.

It was over.

And Venomfang saw it all.

....

Through the telepathic link, , Venomfang witnessed the massacre as if standing among them; the screams, the smoke, the instant, merciless annihilation.

And yet, his face remained eerily blank.

Another unit, gone. Just like that. 

A psyker aide hesitantly spoke up:

"My lord… the mobile corps has been… eradicated."

Venomfang did not react.

Instead, he muttered to himself.

"I was wrong from the start… I should never have ordered the retreat…

No… No, that wouldn't have worked either. Even if we had stayed, they could have simply flanked us from both sides. This was a doomed battle from the beginning… This entire war is a mistake. I never should have listened to the Governor's orders to attack. No… maybe this was necessary. Now, at least, we understand how they fight. Without these sacrifices, we wouldn't even have a chance to counter them…"

The psyker entourage around him burst into laughter, reveling in his frustration.

They did not respect his command.

To them, he was just another pawn of the Great Game.

Just as despair threatened to tighten its grip around his thoughts, a messenger rushed in, bowing deeply.

"My lord, the ritual is prepared."

Venomfang's eyes lit up.

Finally, a chance to turn the tide.

Wordlessly, he rose from his seat and strode toward the altar.

It was time.

For the final gamble.

And the true battle had only just begun.