Clouds of blood red boiled overhead. The daemons swarmed, battering the guardsmen stationed at the redoubt. They were the last. If they fell, there would be nobody left to keep Forman from falling. Lasfire stitched out in great bright red swathes, lancing into daemonic flesh. But for every bloodletter felled, there was another to take its place.
The drop pods broke through the clouds like great drops of steel rain. Their distinct grey heraldry proclaimed their allegiance before they even hit the ground. When they impacted, they smashed giant holes in the daemonic front line. Their ramps blew open with the crack of disengaging locks. Almost instantly, titans armored in silver and grey plowed into the Khornate hordes, their blades rising and falling as they glowed with psychic energy.
At their head was a figure clad in artificer armor of black and silver. His halberd, finely crafted even above normal standards for Nemesis weapons, cut a great path through the howling daemons.
There was a sudden burst of static over the vox before Kera could discern a familiar voice. “A fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Kera,” Radcliffe said.