The surviving soldiers of the Aeterna 5th "Flame of Freedom" Regiment huddled inside the last remaining bunker.
The battlefield was a sea of corpses. The living clung to life behind the bodies of their fallen comrades, using them as makeshift cover.
No one could count how many standard-bearers had died. But the banner of the Imperium Caelestis still flew, unwavering, above the bunker.
Of the ten million humans who had once stood proud on this world, only two million remained. Of those, barely half a million could still fight. Nearly nine hundred thousand medics, heavily guarded, were struggling to save what lives they could.
Outside the bunker, over ten million Orcs continued their relentless siege.
"For the Emperor!"
"For the God of Mankind!"
The battle cry echoed across the bloodstained ground.
James stood among the defenders, his eyes cold and steady as he stared down the tide of Orcs.
Grumak, the Orc warlord, believed victory was already his. But the cost had been steep—over fifty million of his kind had perished, and now less than ten million remained.
The Orc horde, uncountable and savage, surrounded the last human position. They feasted on the corpses of fallen soldiers, mocking the Emperor using the human tongue as they desecrated the dead.
The grizzled veteran who had once spoken to James had fallen, crushed beneath an Orc warship. But James would never forget his final words:
"If I die... you take command."
James understood. This was no longer just survival—it was duty. He would give his life to protect the banner of the Imperium Caelestis.
"Imperium Caelestis forces! Prepare to die as one!"
James roared the command, glancing at the wounded scattered around him and the Medtechs preparing for what was to come.
"Hahaha! Humans! You will all become our slaves! Submit to the Orcs!"
Grumak stared at the human soldiers and burst out laughing.
Suddenly, four black Thunderhawk transports appeared from the sky behind him, followed by thousands more—2,235 Thunderhawks in total.
"What's that?!" Grumak shouted, his eyes fixed on the Thunderhawk transports soaring overhead.
Boom! The sharp crack of sniper fire echoed through the air.
In the blink of an eye, four Thunderhawks descended beside the battered bunker. From one of them stepped a man with the swagger of a cowboy, clad in black Raynor-Class CMC Armor, gripping a "C-14S Gauss Sniper – Modified by Raynor."
Jim Raynor cocked his weapon and fired a massive round with a cool, cowboy flair, hitting an orc right next to Grumak.
"Hey, kid, need a hand?" he called out. "Hell, it's about time."
He jumped down from the Thunderhawk, followed by Captain Titus, Sergeant Sidonus, and Brother Leandros — 120 Space Marines clad in blue power armor.
"Nice work, kid! You didn't flinch when things got crazy. That's what I like!"
"Alright, listen up! We're here to get our people out — no one gets left behind. Stay sharp, cover each other, and move fast. Medtechs and the wounded are our priority. Let's make this quick and clean. Eyes open, guns ready!"
"Listen up, Marines! Those Orcs won't wait for us to get ready — they're coming, and they're coming hard. Your mission: wipe them out, clear the way for the evac. No mercy, no mistakes. Show them why we're the last line of defense. Move out!"
The Space Marines began to move in formation—120 of them on the ground, with an additional 6,585 still airborne and set to arrive in just two more minutes.
Captain Titus wore the distinctive shoulder guard of a commanding officer, marking him as a veteran of the First Tactical Team, Second Company of the Ultramarines. Beside him stood two other Space Marines from the same Legion, though their ranks were clearly lower than the Sergeant's.
"Human! Take off your helmet! I'll chop your damn head off myself!"
Grumak roared at the Space Marine standing before him.
Click.
The sound of the helmet being released echoed clearly.
The Space Marine removed his helmet, revealing four golden studs embedded in his forehead.
"Waaaaargh! Lok'tar ogar!"
Grumak bellowed and swung his cleaver down at the Space Marine.
The blade struck—but was caught mid-swing, blocked cleanly.
"Waaaaaargh!!!"
Grumak growled in frustration, but before he could react, a sharp, blinding pain tore through him.
He glanced down—his third leg had been blasted apart by the Space Marine's bolt pistol in his off-hand. Then, before he could even scream, a shot pierced his third head clean through.
"Bastard!!!"
Grumak howled in agony and tried to counterattack, but to the eyes of a Space Marine, his movements were sluggish and predictable.
Boom!
A clean, high-impact shot from a bolt gun struck Grumak squarely in the chest. The explosive payload shattered his body's balance and locked his limbs.
The Space Marine stepped forward with cold precision, gripped Grumak's middle head, and ripped it from his shoulders—like pulling weeds from a field.