Thor's armored form shifted, the massive bulk of the Terminator plate moving with surprising fluidity as he turned his attention from Nolan to the wreckage looming before them. Even through the helmet's filters, his voice carried genuine curiosity mixed with confusion.
"Brother Nolan, where did you acquire this... space junk pile?" The diamond-shaped helmet tilted, studying the massive hulk. "I recall you mentioning that this demon doesn't connect to Midgard?"
Nolan was still processing his own suspicions about the Uru metal skeleton, wondering if Thor's divine nature was somehow resonating with the legendary material in ways that amplified his already considerable powers. He shook off the speculation and focused on the immediate situation.
"Consider it my superpower." Nolan's tone was matter-of-fact, offering no further explanation for the impossible. "This wreckage was summoned from another dimension entirely. It contains technology far beyond Earth's capabilities." He paused, letting that sink in. "Potentially beyond even Asgard's, in certain applications. And somewhere inside are the metal creatures I described to you. The Necrons."
His gauntleted hand tightened around the precision bolter's grip, the weapon's weight familiar and reassuring. He raised his other arm in a broad gesture.
The Scyllax-class Guardian-automata surged forward like a metallic tide, their serpentine bodies flowing across the uneven ground with predatory grace. Three hundred strong, they converged on the wreckage's shattered hull, finding gaps and breaches, slithering through rents in the armor plating.
Some disappeared immediately into the darkness beyond, their forms swallowed by shadows that emergency lighting couldn't penetrate. Others remained at the entry points, mechanical tentacles gripping structural supports as they established defensive positions. A third group activated their chainswords, the weapons' teeth spinning up to operational speed with rising whines. They began carving into the torn metal, widening openings, creating proper entrances where only ragged holes existed.
The sound of ripping metal, chainsaw teeth chewing through ceramite and plasteel, echoed across the crater floor.
Thor approached with heavy, deliberate steps, each footfall accompanied by the whir of servo-motors and the hiss of hydraulics. He stopped beside Nolan, his increased height making the difference between them almost comical. The diamond-shaped helmet angled downward, regard focusing on his comparatively smaller companion.
"Brother, who takes point?" Thor's voice carried eagerness despite the muffled quality. "Shall I lead? You mentioned the Terminator armor's defensive capabilities far exceed standard power armor..."
"Neither of us rushes to our deaths." Nolan's response was immediate and firm. "The most dangerous work belongs to the Intelligent Control Corps. That's why they exist."
He turned slightly, ensuring Thor's attention remained fixed on him. "You'll follow behind me as support. You lack experience fighting Necrons. You don't know how your lightning affects them, what damage it might cause, whether it's effective or wasted energy. Treat yourself as a mobile fire platform. The helmet's targeting systems will assist with aim and fire control. Trust them."
"Understood. All my actions follow your command."
Nolan nodded once, satisfied. He reached back, fingers finding the C'tan Phase Sword's hilt where it mag-locked to his power pack. The weapon came free with a soft click, and he brought it around, holding it in a ready position. The blade seemed to hum, not audibly but in some way that resonated through the armor and into his bones.
He began walking toward the expanding entrance, armor servos singing their mechanical song with each step.
Thor fell into position behind him without complaint, his earlier enthusiasm channeled into focused professionalism. The transformation was subtle but complete. The jovial prince had become the warrior, every movement economical and purposeful.
Minutes passed as the Scyllax-class Guardian-automata worked, their chainsaws carving through thick structural members, clearing debris, creating an opening large enough for Terminator-sized armor to pass through comfortably.
Finally, the work was complete.
Nolan stood at the threshold, peering into darkness that the external lighting couldn't penetrate. His helmet's sensors painted the space in false colors, thermal imaging showing cool metal, no heat signatures, no obvious threats. He issued rapid commands through the comm-net, organizing the servo-robots and machine guards into proper combat formation.
The Intelligent Control Corps moved with mechanical precision, forming columns that could advance while maintaining overlapping fields of fire. Servo-robots with heavy stubbers took positions that allowed them to cover advancing machine guards. The guards themselves spread into a loose net, ready to swarm any threat from multiple angles.
Nolan placed himself and Thor at the column's rear, the safest position and the one that allowed maximum tactical awareness.
They entered the wreckage.
The interior was a landscape of violence frozen in metal. Corridors twisted at wrong angles, deck plating buckled and torn, ceiling panels hanging like broken teeth. Emergency lighting strips still functioned in patches, casting pools of sickly red illumination that did more to create shadows than dispel them. The air, what little remained, tasted of burnt insulation and ozone, filtered through their armor's recyclers into something breathable but deeply unpleasant.
Thor's helmet swiveled constantly, taking in the devastation. His gaze caught on something embedded in a wall, and he stopped walking.
The body of a crew member, or what remained of one, was fused into the metal bulkhead. The forces that had put him there defied easy explanation. Explosive decompression, perhaps, or the catastrophic failure of internal gravity systems during battle. The corpse was desiccated, moisture long since lost to vacuum, skin drawn tight over bones.
"Odin..." Thor's voice carried genuine sorrow. "The battle this ship endured must have been truly horrific."
Nolan's own survey of their surroundings yielded similar sights. More bodies. Blast scarring that painted story of desperate fighting. Structural damage that spoke to weapons designed to crack open armored vessels like eggs.
His voice, when he spoke, emerged low and focused. "We're currently in what I believe is a section of the mid-deck. But because this is wreckage from multiple ships fused together, I cannot determine our exact position relative to the original layout."
He paused, ensuring Thor was paying attention. "Our primary objective is the ship machine spirit chamber. The Machine Spirit core. Secondary objective: recover any vehicles or technological items that can be salvaged and repaired."
The C'tan Phase Sword shifted in his grip, blade angling slightly downward in a ready guard. "Thor, if we become separated during combat, don't concern yourself with my safety. Protect yourself first. The Intelligent Control Corps will guide you to evacuate the wreckage. Understood?"
Thor didn't respond verbally. He simply raised Mjolnir, the hammer small in his armored grip, and waved it once in acknowledgment. The gesture was clear enough.
Nolan accepted it and pressed forward.
Time lost meaning in the wreckage's interior. Without natural light, without any reference to the outside world, minutes and hours blurred together. The advance continued at measured pace, each chamber and corridor cleared methodically before the column moved forward.
They found more bodies. Mortal crew members in torn void suits, their final moments written in the positions of their corpses. Some had died fighting. Others fleeing. A few had clearly tried to seal themselves in storage compartments, hoping to survive until rescue arrived. Rescue that never came.
Then they found the Space Marines.
More than a dozen bodies, each one wearing power armor painted iron-grey with the heraldry of the Astral Knights Chapter. The armor bore catastrophic damage, ceramite cracked and melted, the warriors inside killed by weapons that treated even trans-human physiology as merely mortal.
Nolan stopped, studying the fallen Astartes. His comm clicked active. "Servo-robot team three, priority task. Remove these remains carefully. Transport them outside the wreckage."
The designated robots broke from the column, moving to comply. Their mechanical limbs lifted the armored corpses with surprising gentleness, cradling them as they began the long journey back to the entrance.
"The armor and the gene-seed they carry are valuable," Nolan explained quietly, aware Thor might question the decision. "But more than that..." His voice took on a harder edge. "When this is finished, a monument will stand on Primogenitor Isle. For the Astral Knights and the Tempestus's crew. To commemorate their sacrifice for humanity's Imperium."
Thor said nothing, but his posture shifted slightly. Understanding. Respect.
They moved on.
Several hours deeper into the wreckage, the column emerged into a wider space.
The deck area had once been something important, though its original purpose was lost to damage. Support columns rose at regular intervals, some intact, others sheared off at various heights. Debris littered the floor, creating a treacherous landscape of twisted metal and shattered equipment.
The exploration thus far had been eerily smooth. No contacts. No threats. Not even a hint of the Necrons that should have been here.
Thor maintained his vigilance without complaint, covering angles, staying alert. But Nolan found himself growing concerned for different reasons.
Could it be possible? Had the Imperial fleet's sustained bombardment, combined with the wreckage's violent collisions and the stress of trans-dimensional transport, actually destroyed all the Necrons? Were they searching a tomb that held only the truly dead?
The thought had barely formed when the silence shattered.
The roar of heavy stubbers erupted from somewhere ahead, multiple weapons firing in synchronized bursts. Chainsaws screamed as they bit into resistant material, their characteristic buzz-saw whine unmistakable even at distance.
Nolan's entire body snapped to full alertness. His hearts, both of them, kicked into combat rhythm. Finally. Confirmation. The Necrons were here, and they were active.
"Thor!" His voice cracked like a whip through the comm. "Be careful of their beams! Avoid direct hits if possible!"
He didn't wait for acknowledgment. The C'tan Phase Sword came up in a two-handed grip, and he drove his armor forward at maximum speed, servos screaming protest at the demands he placed on them.
The battlefield revealed itself as he rounded a massive piece of wreckage, the corpse of a Thunderhawk gunship that had somehow ended up embedded in the deck plating. Its wings were torn off, fuselage crushed, but it still bore the Astral Knights' heraldry in faded paint.
Beyond it, the Necrons had emerged.
Dozens of them, their metal forms covered in rust and verdigris, corrosion eating at surfaces that should have been eternal. They moved with stuttering gaits, limbs jerking in sequences that suggested damaged motor functions. The millennia inside a warp-corrupted hulk had not been kind to them.
But they were still deadly. Gauss flayers came up, barrels glowing with building charge. Green beams, slightly dimmer than they should have been but no less lethal, lanced out toward the machine guards.
Nolan's bolter rose in his left hand, the C'tan Phase Sword held ready in his right. His finger found the trigger and squeezed.
The precision weapon roared, bucking against his armor's strength-enhanced grip. Bolt after bolt screamed across the intervening distance, each one a miniature missile that penetrated deep before detonating. The Necrons, already weakened by time and damage, went down under the assault. Metal bodies collapsed, limbs separating, power cores guttering and dying.
The Scyllax-class Guardian-automata surged forward with mechanical bloodlust, their serpentine forms coiling and striking. Chainswords carved through necrodermis that had lost its ability to properly self-repair. The Guardian-automata showed no fear, no hesitation, throwing themselves into close combat where their numbers and ferocity could overwhelm individual targets.
Metal shrieked against metal. Gauss beams carved scorching lines through the air, some finding targets, others missing entirely as damaged targeting systems failed. The Necrons fought back, but they were shadows of what they should have been, warriors reduced to shambling mockeries by entropy and violence.
Thor arrived like a walking apocalypse.
The Terminator armor's bulk crashed through a pile of debris, scattering metal fragments in all directions. The four servo-arms mounted on his power pack extended with hydraulic hisses, each one bringing a weapon to bear.
Multi-meltas opened fire, thermal beams hot enough to vaporize steel turning the Necrons' corroded forms into molten slag. The Gauss blaster, captured Necron technology repurposed and improved, added its own green fury to the assault. Bolt rounds from the storm bolters created a wall of explosive death that no weakened Necron could survive.
And through it all, held high in Thor's primary grip, Mjolnir blazed with lightning.