melta

Before the echoes had died, the Iron Warrior with the multi-melta rose from his concealment and charged forwards to fire. The gun’s discharge built to a deafening screech before erupting from the barrels in a searing hiss. The warrior’s aim was true and the air within the bunker ignited with atomic fury, spurts of vaporized flesh and super-heated oxygen blasting from the weapon slits.
He leapt over the Marauder’s fuselage and sprinted towards the molten hell of the wrecked bunker, its walls now flowing like wax across the ground.
Honsou leapt onto the remains of the bunker, his iron-shod boots sinking into the molten rock. The heat scorched his leg armour, but it held firm as he pushed off and dropped into the heart of the defense.
Scorched and blackened limbs lay strewn about, all that remained of those stationed too close to the bunker, the backwash of the melta had burned flesh and bone to cinders in an instant.

Storm of Iron