Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 591: Signal for help
The Forge Council's rotunda was bathed in a deep and solemn blue light, as if the entire will of Medusa's core was condensed there.

On the curved wall forged from refined gold, dozens of data screens, like silent and loyal sentinels, are embedded in the heavy structure, constantly flowing with endless training data, resource allocation reports, and battlefield assessment information.

The cold, mechanical hum echoed eternally, like the heartbeat of this hall—regular, yet utterly devoid of warmth.

Suddenly, all the screens simultaneously burst into a blinding crimson red.

Like being splashed with scalding blood by an invisible hand, the red color spread rapidly, covering all data streams.

A piercing alarm ripped through the air, its priority code forcefully severing all non-core communication channels. Only a desperate cry for help from a distant star system remained—the final signal from the frontier forging world "Vulcan's Hammer," like the roar of a dying beast, washing over the central main screen again and again.
[…Large-scale WAAAGH!!! energy field detected…The main Greenskin swarm has breached Kel'Kadan Canyon! The outer defensive ring has completely fallen! The structural integrity of the Main Forging Temple has dropped to 41%…Repeating, 41%! The STC Fragment Template Library (Gamma-7 sequence) is under direct attack! Requesting immediate tactical support! In the name of Om Messiah and the God of All Machines! In the name of the Holy Emperor!…]

[...casualties...cannot be accurately calculated...the remaining units of the Guardian Legion and the Cleric are putting up a final resistance in the core furnace area...the final hold is expected to last no more than...]

The signal was intermittent and distorted, every byte imbued with despair.

Beneath the screen, a tech sergeant belonging to the Skree clan—number 73-Zed—stood indifferently in front of the control panel.

His heavily modified face was almost entirely replaced by a metallic coating and optical lenses, revealing no trace of emotion.

Fingers covered in matte alloy moved swiftly across the mirror-like control panel, recalling one strategic simulation protocol after another.

The cold formulas calculate on their own, and the cruel probabilities, like inscriptions on a tombstone, are presented one by one on the auxiliary screen.

"Based on the current combat strength ratio between the enemy and ourselves, the WAAAGH!!! energy level reading, and the rate of collapse of the fortress structure, we are performing multivariate logic calculations," his voice transmitter emitted a smooth, almost inorganic synthesized tone, without the slightest pause or fluctuation, "Calculate the probability of successful reinforcement: less than 7.8 percent."

The tactical fall of Vulcan's Hammer has become a high-probability event.

Optimal solution recommendation: Immediately mobilize orbital strike forces to carry out saturation torpedo bombardment of the Greenskin main force's gathering area and the coordinates of STC facilities that may have fallen into enemy hands.

This will completely purify the alien spore contamination and prevent any STC templates from falling into the hands of the Orcs.

This plan complies with the principles of efficiency and logic, and can minimize unnecessary combat losses to our forces due to pointless rescue efforts.

"veto!"

A furious roar, like a forging hammer crashing into the furnace, intense and heavy.

The newly appointed former company commander, Kyle, suddenly stood up.

The left hand, covered by a dark adamantine prosthetic body, slammed heavily onto the control panel, producing a muffled thud that made one's teeth chatter—the power contained within even caused the reinforced adamantine surface to dent and deform slightly.

On his power armor shoulder armor, beneath the Legion crest of Medusa serpents coiled with lightning, a new mark symbolizing his original identity appeared, now faintly glowing with his surging emotions.

"The tragedy of the Orpheus Sector began with this twisted logic that places 'cold efficiency' above 'the oath of protection'!" Kyle's voice carried an unprecedented power, a newfound will gained after renewing the oath before the Earth's core furnace, a belief conveyed by the prosthetic hand that had been reforged through technology and faith, and had once again learned to sense temperature and tremors.

"We must never again abandon our loyal servants who are still holding on and waiting for the support of the Empire in the name of 'acceptable losses'!"

While the STC template is undoubtedly a priceless treasure, to erase it along with the lives of the Guardians in order to destroy the Xenomorphs is a double betrayal of the Emperor's and Om Messiah's beliefs!
"This is absolutely not the path we will take after our rebuilding!" His words, like a warhammer striking an anvil, reverberated through the wailing hall, openly challenging the cold traditions that had lasted for centuries.

The electronic eyes of several clan representatives suddenly flashed, and the internal data streams clashed and collided at an unprecedented rate.

At that very moment, the towering figure of Primarch Feralus Manus, as imposing as a mountain, silently descended upon the main screen like a mobile fortress.

She didn't look at the Tech Soldier, nor did she glance at Kyle; instead, she raised her silver-gray right arm, covered by the slowly flowing, liquid-metal-like "Gorgon Skin"—not flesh and blood, nor ordinary iron, but a creation from ancient mythology.

Her fingertips traced across the massive main screen surface.

An invisible ripple of power spread outwards, and the constantly flashing, desperate cry for help on the verge of collapse was forcibly anchored by an irresistible will, permanently and irreversibly imprinted on the top layer of the display core.

Its scarlet light no longer flickered, but instead shone brightly and steadily, like an inextinguishable crimson star.

The light illuminated her resolute and icy face, as cold as Medusa's frozen stone, and clearly revealed the Gorgon emblem on her power armor chest, symbolizing the Tenth Legion's supreme authority and immortal legacy.

"What Company Commander Kyle said is the new voice of the Forge Council from this day forward," her voice was like the collision of ten thousand pieces of refined gold, clear and cold, yet containing the immense power of the core of a furnace, easily piercing through all the shrill alarms, "and is also the core will after the Iron Hand has been reforged!"

Cold calculations cannot measure the conviction to protect; the optimal solution derived from logical deduction is by no means the only answer on the battlefield!

She abruptly turned to the clan representatives and warband commanders standing solemnly around the strategy table, her gaze sweeping across each highly modified, cold face and each optical lens gleaming with inorganic light like a bullet.

"The Lakuan Clan!"

"The Valan clan!" Her command was like a powered sword drawn from its sheath, sharp and precise, directly targeting the two most powerful clan teams that were also the first to embrace the new ideas, entrusting them with the main assault mission.

"All combat companies that can be deployed, immediately complete the highest level of combat readiness assembly!"
Ammunition and supplies are being distributed according to the maximum standards!
Three standard hours later, I will carry out an emergency tactical jump with my flagship 'Iron Will'!
Target—Vulcan's Hammer!

"The remaining clans shall garrison Medusa, raise the planetary defense level to the highest level, and immediately make all preparations for a second wave of deployment or intergalactic support."

Her commands still followed the ancient tradition of the Steel Hand's clan-based combat system, but were infused with an unprecedented sense of urgency and uncompromising determination.

“Tell those orc scum entrenched there,” Feralus’s voice suddenly rose, no longer a simple command, but a manifestation of the Primarch’s boundless rage, as if the roar of the Forge’s core was resounding throughout the hall through her mouth, “The reforged Hand of Steel not only holds an indestructible will, but also burns with a burning determination to protect the people of the Empire!”
Their so-called WAAAGH!!! frenzy will be utterly shattered and extinguished before true steel, fire, and the will to protect!

"For the Emperor!"
"For Medusa!" Captain Kyle roared, resonating with the Primarch's will. His newly formed left fist clenched tightly, his adamantite knuckles making a heavy, powerful grinding sound.

"For the Emperor!"
"For Medusa!" Inside the Forge Council Hall, more chapter leaders and clan representatives let out a deep battle cry. Their servo systems were collectively running at high speed due to the surging battle intent. The buzzing sound merged into a heart-palpitating wave of steel, as if the entire hall itself had transformed into a huge weapon ready to be unleashed.

The alarms were still blaring, and the distress signals were still glaringly red, but the chilling despair that had previously permeated the air had been completely dispelled by a burning determination.

The reforged steel hand, this Gorgon warhammer that has just undergone tempering and forging, is about to announce its return to the entire galaxy—and the scorching heat of its iron-blooded oath of protection—using the corpses of aliens and the flames of destruction as ink.

(End of this chapter)