"For the Emperor!"
The three Ultramarines surged through the vacuum of space, their blue armor dimly gleaming under the distant starlight. Without hesitation or doubt, they struck the hull of the Orc warship with incredible speed and precision.
"Breach point open."
Captain Titus, a veteran from Forge World Graia, swung his chainsword. The roar of the whirring teeth tore through the enemy ship's steel plating, ripping a large hole in seconds. They immediately poured inside in a tight combat formation.
Inside, chaos erupted instantly. Atmosphere vented out; the sudden pressure drop slammed the brutal, savage Orcs, flinging them into the void.
"Execute per protocol," Titus said, voice cold and steady.
His chainsword moved fast, slicing down the first creature, then the second. His strikes were emotionless, efficient, and deadly.
"Light contact. Minimal resistance," reported Brother Gadriel, raising his bolter still smoking.
Titus surveyed the lifeless xeno bodies drifting in the air.
"Mission not complete. Eradicate all threats."
Suddenly, a heavy voice echoed from the dark corridor.
"Humans! Your foe is Grotch the Cutter!"
A figure larger than a typical Orc appeared. Dark brown skin, glowing red eyes, his body covered with rough metal scraps and leaking gas canisters. Unlike the other Orcs, he wore an emergency helmet that allowed him to fight briefly in the vacuum.
"Brother Gadriel, Chairon. Hold positions."
Without waiting, Grotch raised two makeshift light rifles and fired wildly.
"Tak! Tak! Tak!"
Bullets struck Titus's armor, sparking small flames but failing to penetrate the sturdy ceramite plating.
Titus stepped forward without a word. One hand grabbed Grotch's neck and lifted him off the ground. The creature struggled, clawing and spitting, but the Power Armor's servo strength was overwhelming.
"Xenos. You have been evaluated."
With a brutal slam, Titus smashed Grotch's body against the ship's bulkhead, crushing his helmet and skull in one fierce impact.
"Threat eliminated."
Seeing their leader fall, the remaining Orcs panicked and fled. But their escape was futile. The second fleet's gunfire and Hyperion's warships were waiting, pulverizing them before they could vanish.
Ultramarine Chairon approached the surviving humans, eyes scanning their bandaged wounds. His voice was soft but firm.
"You are safe now. The Imperium Caelestis will protect you."
Under Jim Raynor's command, the second fleet wiped out all remaining Orc forces. They quickly evacuated the survivors—women and children—to the safe haven of Vortex Primus.
--------
The remnants of the Orc forces that had escaped orbital annihilation fled to the nearest jungle planet—Sylvaterra. A wild world filled with skyscraper-tall trees, dense, damp fog, and endemic beasts so dangerous that even the Imperium rarely dared to set foot on it.
But on that day, Sylvaterra did not welcome new wildlings.
From a sky torn apart by a burning atmosphere, a massive armada descended slowly.
From the Supremacy–Mega-Class Star Dreadnought of the First Order, two Executor–Super Star Destroyers—relics of the Galactic Empire—and three Terran Imperium Caelestis battlecruisers, hundreds of dropships and tactical transports were deployed.
Mission: Total Extermination.
Jim Raynor stood tall on the observation deck of the main battleship, watching wave after wave of combat units being deployed to the planet's surface.
> "Wipe them out. Don't give them time to grow back."
His order was cold. Firm. Without compromise.
---
The Assault Begins
Dozens of colossal AT-ATs landed first, their metal groaning as their tower-sized legs crushed the towering jungle canopy beneath them. Tree trunks as thick as massive pillars snapped like twigs under the weight of iron feet.
AT-STs circled them, forming a defensive perimeter. Their blaster cannons were online, rotating and locking onto targets. Behind them, rows of Vulture mechs, Hellions, and Goliaths flooded the jungle floor, their automated weapons ready to shred anything in their sights.
Then came the infantry.
Medivacs deployed unit after unit: Marines, Marauders, Reapers, Hellbats, and Viking Stormtroopers in perfect combat formation. They descended on automatic ropes, landing swiftly and taking up positions while aiming at every hostile movement.
Hellbats and Hellions darted through the trees, unleashing gouts of flame that set the forest ablaze and ignited the screams of Orcs burning alive. Fire danced through the mist, casting the silhouettes of humanity's soldiers in the middle of the inferno.
Reapers, with their speed and mobility, vaulted over hills and boulders, blowing up Orc defensive points from above, one after another.
AT-AT: The Giant Iron Harbinger of Death
The AT-AT was more than just a walking tank—it was a mobile fortress. Each unit carried 40 fully armed Stormtroopers and 5 speeder bikes. When it knelt, the rear hatch swung open, dropping troops directly onto the front lines. Some units even lowered climbing ropes to enable rapid flanking assaults from the sides.
The heavy laser cannon mounted on the AT-AT's chin roared with a deafening blast, slicing through massive Orcs like they were mere toys. On its cheeks, twin particle launchers swept the area with high-energy explosions, creating craters and scattering chunks of green flesh everywhere.
AT-STs at their flanks were equally active. Armed with twin blaster cannons and shock grenade launchers, they cleared out bushes and dropped small packs of Orcs attempting ambushes from the undergrowth.
---
Technology Differences and Synergy
Though their weaponry came from two distinct worlds—Star Wars and StarCraft—their cooperation was devastatingly effective. The plasma and laser arms of the Stormtroopers and Star Wars walkers pierced the Orcs' biological defenses with ease, while the Terran Marines and Marauders brought brutal firepower and area damage with their gunpowder, fragmentation rounds, and hybrid weapons.
Together, they formed a storm of death.
The Orcs didn't even get a chance to form ranks. They were slaughtered one by one, whether hiding, fleeing, or fighting fiercely. The advanced weaponry and tactical discipline of the human forces far surpassed the wild instincts of their foes.
Sylvaterra, a lush planet teeming with life, was quickly turned into a sea of fire.
---
TIE Fighter pilots, X-Wings, and Banshee air units finally pinpointed the Orcs' hidden nest deep within Sylvaterra's dense forests. Without delay, they relayed the coordinates to the Imperium Caelestis ground command.
The Orc race was notorious for its brutal fertility—given time and space, they would quickly rebuild, reorganize, and strike back. But the Imperium Caelestis was determined to deny them any second chance.
---
Within minutes, Banshee bombardments and explosive strikes rained down on the Orc positions. Thunderous blasts and towering infernos lit the sky. The massive green bodies were shredded into mincemeat—hasty crude defenses erected by the Orcs were crushed under the pounding steps of the colossal AT-ATs. Many were trampled to death before they could fight back.
---
"Easier than drinking water, huh?" muttered one AT-AT pilot boredly, his voice heavy with fatigue and barely awake.
A nearby Stormtrooper grinned faintly. "They're way easier than the rebels in our galaxy. But hey, do you believe in that 'machine spirit' nonsense the Adeptus Mechanicus feudal lords swear by?"
"Machine spirit? What ghost? A machine's a machine. No way it has a soul."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the mechanical locker above them popped open on its own. A set of heavy tools, screws, and parts tumbled down right onto the face of the Stormtrooper who'd just mocked the Tech-Priests.
"Still don't believe now?" his companion chuckled.
"Just... coincidence," he muttered, rubbing his temple.
Before he could get up, an automated mechanical arm beside him suddenly fell and slammed into his shoulder. Direct hit. Again.
"THIS isn't a coincidence, hahaha!" someone shouted, laughter erupting among the crew inside the control room.
"Enough! If this machine is alive, I'm finding a new job ASAP!" he cursed, annoyed.
-----
In the heart of the towering gothic citadel that loomed over Concordia IX—the frontline expeditionary headquarters of the Imperium Caelestis—Emperor Kenthelion sat upon his throne, clad in golden armor that radiated an aura of divine authority and unshakable dominance. Beside him, a massive golden sword was embedded into the marble floor, a silent testament to his resolve and absolute power.
Suddenly, a holographic screen flickered to life before him, projecting the image of the Supreme Commander, Castellan Ursarkar E. Creed.
"Your Majesty," Creed spoke firmly, his voice unwavering. "This group of individuals was rescued by General Jim Raynor. What are your orders concerning them?"
Before Kenthelion could reply, the Archbishop standing beside the throne stepped forward, his voice deep and laden with doctrinal weight.
"Castellan, before they are brought back to the Imperium Caelestis, I want you to test their worthiness. We do not require heretics among us."
Creed studied their projections for a moment, his expression cold and unreadable.
"Understood. I will dispatch someone to evaluate their loyalty to the Imperium Caelestis."
Without another word, the transmission ended.
Kenthelion turned his gaze toward the massive holographic star map displayed before his throne. Countless luminous dots marked the systems that had been explored, occupied, or conquered by the warriors of the Imperium Caelestis.
"What is the next destination of our expedition?" he asked, his tone calm but commanding.
Before an answer could be given, one of his military advisors stepped forward and offered a formal salute.
"Your Majesty, with your permission, I bring urgent news."
Kenthelion gave a subtle nod. "Speak."
"Today, the Minister of Justice, alongside agents of the Inquisition, apprehended over 20,000 aliens disguised as humans. Half of them were identified as personnel from the Tuskborn Federation—a Durmoth species, physically resembling elephants. Interrogations revealed that their territory holds vital resources essential for maintaining our warships."
Kenthelion narrowed his eyes as the holographic map zoomed in on the territories controlled by the Tuskborn Federation. Their military strength was considerable—nearly on par with the Orc warbands. Initially, Kenthelion had intended to pursue the scattered remnants of the Orc forces, but the Archbishop's revelation about the strategic value of the Durmoth resources gave him pause.
Resources to maintain a war fleet were everything. The Imperium Caelestis was already running low on critical supplies. But if these aliens possessed what he needed…
"Is that all?" Kenthelion asked calmly, though his eyes had begun to gleam with a fire of ambition.
His mind wandered—was this not a divine windfall? Instead of chasing down fragmented Orc bands, he could decimate the Durmoth and seize their vast resource caches in one sweeping strike. A cold smile crept across his lips as another thought emerged:
I wonder… does elephant-shaped alien meat taste good?
He rose from his throne, his golden cloak flowing with regal grace. His voice thundered across the grand chamber as he issued his command:
"Relay this to Castellan Creed. Deploy the Speyer Armada along with General Wallfield and Alexis Stukov. They are to launch a full-scale assault on the Tuskborn Federation and their Durmoth species. Their technology and resources are wasted in the hands of such abominations. How can we allow these repulsive xenos to defile our divine legacy?"
His tone was sharp, unwavering. His eyes locked onto the outer sector projection on the holographic screen, radiating an aura of absolute authority. Even seated, clad in radiant gold, with the sacred blade at his side, Kenthelion exuded power that could not be questioned.
"Understood, Your Majesty," the Archbishop finally bowed deeply, the image of utter obedience.
Once the order reached Castellan Ursarkar E. Creed, he immediately activated the high command channel. The Speyer Armada, alongside Generals Wallfield and Alexis Stukov, were mobilized without delay. The orbital docks above Concordia IX burst into frenzied activity: troops moving in tight formations, logistics convoys hauling munitions and fuel, and warships roaring to life as their warp engines began their startup sequence.
This grand armada was no ordinary fleet. It was the pinnacle of Imperium Caelestis' might—a fusion of cutting-edge technology from Warhammer, Star Wars, StarCraft, HALO, the Gundam Series, Mass Effect, and Stellaris. Within its ranks were specialized units of all kinds, from colossal superdreadnoughts armed with planet-cracking plasma cannons to mechanized infantry battalions wielding antimatter weapons.
New warships, freshly completed at Terra Aeterna as part of a massive military procurement project, now bolstered the offensive force. With this overwhelming combination, the generals were confident—no alien civilization in the outer sectors could stand against the unified strength of Imperium Caelestis.
For Generals Wallfield, Speyer, and Stukov, this mission wasn't just an invasion. It was a declaration. A holy expedition to cleanse the sector of "xeno filth" and reaffirm the supremacy of humanity—now evolved and assimilated across countless universes.