Steel & Oil: Warhammer 32K

The Frateris Templar were still advancing. Their augmetics compelled them forward even as morale collapsed, the final 'advance' order issued by the Deputy Forge Director still driving them like a whip across dead flesh.

But an offensive bled dry of fighting spirit is no offensive at all. The Frateris Templar were supposed to be among the most morale-resistant soldiers in the Imperium — yet even they were not immune once stripped of their Magos to command them.

This was exactly what Lin had wanted. He had timed the Deputy Forge Director's execution with deliberate precision, engineered for precisely this effect.

Though the battle had been treacherous even for him.

Every step of the engagement had been accounted for in Lin's plan. Even if the Felynes had failed to hammer the Death-Bound Warriors down, he could have launched a remote intrusion via an electronic virus loaded into the paralysis trap, strangling their machine-spirits from afar.

But having a plan was no guarantee of smooth sailing. The Deputy Forge Director's confidence had not been baseless. Those Death-Bound Warriors — the ones Lin had never anticipated — had come within a hair's breadth of tearing him to shreds with their ferocious firepower.

Yet he was the last man standing. That was enough.

Lin stood tall and swept his gaze across the chamber. He caught the gleam of relief breaking across Kurande's face, and Sergeant Arlo exhaling a long breath he'd clearly been holding.

Most striking of all was Christina. She jogged over, her expression unreadable as ever — but Lin could feel the undisguised curiosity radiating off her all the same.

"You look like something that's already died," she said by way of greeting, then tilted her head with just a trace of disbelief. "But you actually won?"

"I think you ought to be a little more pleased about my victory, rather than standing here asking me to confirm it repeatedly," Lin said, gesturing to the scattered fragments of the Deputy Forge Director's skull at his feet. "Isn't the answer obvious enough?"

"Is he completely dead?"

"Who knows. Magi always have tricks up their sleeves. I can confirm his consciousness-code was never uploaded — but he might have already copied a version of his own personality beforehand, ready to have a Ship of Theseus step in and replace him."

Lin kicked the skull fragments apart. "At least for now, I've won. That much is beyond question."

"You can even guarantee whether he uploaded his consciousness-code or not?" Christina pressed. "How did you manage that?"

No one had believed in Lin's plan — luring the Deputy Forge Director into a duel with the Titan as bait. Kurande's instinct had been classic Imperial Fists: layered, grinding defence. Sergeant Arlo had proposed leading a decapitation strike team. Only Christina had backed Lin at the time — though it was less that she believed in him and more that she simply wanted to see what cards he was holding.

"If you're serious about deepening our cooperation, you'll find out eventually."

Lin had no intention of satisfying her curiosity just yet.

He signalled to the Felynes to begin collecting the fallen Death-Bound Warriors, then jerked a thumb back at the Titan looming behind him. "Now is the time for you to show that commitment, isn't it?"

Lin watched Christina give a very visible curl of her lip — but she didn't resist. Under her lead, the Warlord-class Titan's crew fell in beside him, and together they filed into the cockpit.

The moment her neural link meshed with the Titan, its head — hanging low in standby — slowly rose, filling the chamber with a resonant hum that sent a shiver through every enemy still standing.

"Strange." Christina opened a comm-channel to Lin from within the amniotic tank. "The Titan's machine-spirit seems... afraid of you. What exactly did you do down there?"

"Nothing but ordinary fighting. The same as what you're doing now."

Unlike the cramped lower elevator platform that had given the Titan no room to manoeuvre, the upper level of the underground facility offered a proper stage for it to perform.

Christina raised the Titan's right arm. Two Vulcan Mega-Bolter barrels — each barrel roughly the size of a human skull — began cycling. The crisp mechanical ratcheting was the sound of death counting down.

The Titan merely opened fire, yet bolts of that immense calibre were no different from artillery shells to light infantry. Searing blast-waves laced with blinding detonations swallowed the Frateris Templar still pressing their advance.

The explosions didn't even need to find their marks — the shockwaves alone were enough to tear the Frateris Templar apart. And the Vulcan Mega-Bolter's rate of fire — three hundred rounds per minute — ensured that any poor soul struggling to survive the heat and pressure would find not a single moment of respite.

Hundreds of specially-crafted bolts cascaded down like a steel monsoon. Severed limbs traced grim arcs through the air; a crimson mist of blood and shattered augmetics painted the killing ground red.

In the blink of an eye, the Frateris Templar's attacking advantage was reversed entirely. This was the might of the god-engine made manifest.

The tech-priests fighting on Lin's side erupted in cheers. The Titan had barely flexed its strength, and already it had shored up a battle line that thousands of them could not hold on their own.

The god-engine's staggering display set every one of them ablaze. They threw themselves into the counter-attack without hesitation, plunging headlong into the great feast of retribution against the Frateris Templar.

The screen went dark as the Frateris Templar soldier who had been serving as a camera was shot down. Far away in orbit, the Forge Director lowered his hand, assumed command of the remaining Frateris Templar forces, and issued a single new order:

"Withdraw."

The Frateris Templar, who had been holding the line through sheer willpower alone, collapsed instantly. Without the support of the Magos network, their logic processors and augur arrays had long since been overwhelmed — unable to process the tidal wave of tactical data flooding in from a battlefield this chaotic. All tactical logic and coherence ceased to exist. Only rout and slaughter remained.

Lin even watched one tech-priest catch a fleeing Frateris Templar soldier, wrench off his head, and hold it aloft alongside a cog-symbol he had torn from the enemy's body. The priest screamed with manic exultation:

"Teeth to the Cog, skull to the Machine! Blessed be the Omnissiah!"

Lin filed that particular priest away in his memory and resolved to put him through a thorough loyalty assessment at the earliest opportunity. But regardless — the counter-attack had acquired a momentum that could no longer be stopped. The tech-priests pressed their advantage and drove the Frateris Templar out of the underground facility entirely.

Given that two cruisers still held orbit above them, Lin — with the Titan at his back — chose not to order a reckless pursuit. He took the moment to let the troops regroup. Kurande found him during the lull.

"We can't afford to waste time reorganising," said Kurande. Lin's earlier mention of nine hours was still lodged in the back of his mind — for some reason he couldn't shake it.

"There's still time before the nine hours are up, and reinforcements aren't guaranteed to arrive the moment that window closes. We should consolidate our defences and prepare for the enemy's next push."

"There won't be a next push." Lin shook his head. "Didn't you say you wanted to reach the Starwhisper relay station? The main force with the Titan can't accompany you, but you can put together a squad capable of seizing the relay station and move out ahead of us."

"...By conventional military doctrine..."

"But this is the Adeptus Mechanicus. The internal workings of the Machine Cult are far more complicated than you're imagining."

Lin spread his hands, deciding to offer this Imperial Fists Chapter Master — who had placed his trust in him — a brief explanation. "The Forge Director is the lord of a Forge World. The Deputy Forge Director is, in theory, his deputy — but he holds direct command over the Frateris Templar of this Forge World. The position therefore typically goes to a Magos or Archmagos with a strong command background."

"Under normal circumstances, the Deputy Forge Director wields immense power. But when they choose to abandon their own Forge World — unless they intend to found an entirely new one — whatever Forge World takes them in will never share its most vital military authority with someone who used to hold that role elsewhere."

Kurande grasped it immediately. "So this Deputy Forge Director was actually using his last reserves of command authority to seize a Titan Legion — enough to guarantee his standing wherever he ends up next?"

"Exactly. And on that score, the members of the Forge Council who fled with him were never fully aligned with his interests. They may have been unable to openly oppose him — but the Machine Cult never runs short of people willing to sit on their hands and wait, or to give a drowning man an extra push."

"So there's no need to worry about another offensive..."

"Correct. But more importantly — their opponent is me."

It was not exactly a witty line. Yet it landed, unexpectedly, with one of Dorn's sons — who was equally unencumbered by a sense of humour. Kurande, finally grasping that this war to claim an entire Forge World had genuinely entered its final chapter, allowed himself to relax and laugh.

They walked out of the underground facility side by side and climbed to the high ground near the entrance, gazing out across the planet — a world blanketed in rust-red dust and rock.

"We've finally won this broken Forge World," Kurande said quietly.

"No, Kurande."

Lin shook his head. He stepped in front of Kurande and turned to face him.

His silhouette merged with the ruined sun half-smothered behind drifting smoke. The light was cold — and yet, in that moment, Kurande had the strange, fleeting sense that Lin's figure shone like the sun itself.

"What we've won... is our future."

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