The Dark Angels' fleet cleaved through layer after layer of defensive lines, built from steel and engines, carving a bloody path through the tide of the Rangdan army.
This scene was not the first, nor the last, nor even a particularly special one.
In the past five Terra standard years, this scene had been repeatedly replayed over countless star sectors, countless star systems, and even countless worlds. Either the First Legion's sturdy ships and powerful guns tore open another
blasphemous shell of the xenos empire, or the massive Rangdan army rumbled over human defensive lines, burying hundreds of thousands of Dark Angels in the most desolate void with indescribable electronic pulses and dark matter weapons.
In the desolate, empty, lifeless star systems of the northern galactic northeast, the forces of the First Legion and the Rangdan continuously exchanged roles of attacker and defender, writing the progress of the war with billions of skeletons and dirges.
This was but another small step.
At the forefront was the Blade of Purity, a trophy captured by the First Legion in some forgotten war. Aside from the Primarch himself and the Captain commanding this colossal battleship, no one remembered when or where it joined the Dark Angels' host.
Yet, this did not hinder its fight for the will of the Human Emperor. The flames spewing from its unfamiliar muzzles were even more terrifying than those of ordinary battleships, effortlessly melting the Rangdan lines.
Behind it followed the Pride of Caliban, the Sanctum Knight, the Bane of Hrud...
Each battleship represented a great tradition, a glorious victory, or a firepower powerful enough to kill Legions and worlds. The First Legion's forces were overwhelming, even eclipsing the light of the stars, casting shadows of death from the heavens upon countless worlds.
Squadrons of First Legion battleships advanced along this bloody path, ensuring that every inch of territory seized by the Dark Angels would not be retaken by the Rangdan. Frigates and drones weaved between the largest war engines, filling the last gaps in the dense curtain of fire.
And after layer upon layer of interwoven death, came the immense shadow of the Indomitable Truth, capable of stripping all suspense from a war. The Primarch's flagship was like a glorious queen on the battlefield. It needed not act personally; countless Iron Knights and Servitors swarmed around it, vying to crush any daring opponent into dust.
Since the outbreak of this battle, it had never struck, never tasted blood, and never stopped its advance. This most powerful battleship bore a task far more important than personally killing enemies: following its direction and rhythm,
countless Imperial battleships also changed their course and firepower, and the changes of those closer affected battleships further away, until the entire grand fleet collectively shifted with a single movement of the Indomitable Truth.
From one end of the system to the other, the First Legion's fleet was dispersed among the shadows of a dozen worlds. The Rangdan's frantic electronic jamming never ceased, making complete communication difficult even between adjacent battleships. But relying on the silent command of the Gloriana-class, the Imperial grand fleet maintained a slow but effective rhythm.
And when the Primarch then issued the command for the Indomitable Truth to point its spearhead directly at the most important fortress world, the once slow rhythm began to dance wildly with the Gloriana-class's sudden acceleration. The entire Imperial fleet, in the blink of an eye, condensed into a system-spanning greatsword, irresistibly clearing all obstacles for Jonson towards his target.
One Terra standard hour later, the last Rangdan battleship blocking their path shattered under artillery fire. The First Legion's vanguard arrived at the fortress world, but their
mission was far from over: countless colossal sky fortresses and numerous Rangdan warships still remained above the fortress world. They had no intention of relinquishing control of the skies.
The First Legion was like a spear. It had now deeply pierced this star system, thrusting into the Rangdan army's softest core region. But this was not enough to kill this overly massive prey. The spear's shaft had pierced its heart, but every layer of outer shell and every piece of flesh it had pierced had not completely died; they were still frantically struggling.
From the Mandeville Point, to the left and right of the star, and then to the Rangdan's most core fortress world, everywhere was a battle, everywhere was burning. More war engines appeared one after another from the shadows, frantically throwing themselves into the endless vortex of death.
Even on the front lines where the Indomitable Truth was present, the war continued. More Rangdan battleships noticed the gap opened by the Dark Angels. They surged from all directions, eager to expel the Dark Angels' spearhead from this deadly region. But before the roaring fury of the Gloriana-class finally erupted, all resistance and counterattacks merely added more scattered steel debris to the void.
But even so, these powerful, insane, blasphemous, and respectable xenos still did not retreat in the slightest, just as happened in every past war, just as the Cenobite Conclave concluded: until their leaders were beheaded, the Rangdan armies would only charge with incomparable fanaticism into the bloody, deathly meat grinder.
[The more fiercely the beast struggles, the more it means we have truly struck a vital point.]
As more and more blasphemous Rangdan battleships appeared in his emerald pupils, Jonson involuntarily thought of this sentence.
She did understand some hunting.
The Primarch gazed blankly as yet another Rangdan capital ship vanished under the Indomitable Truth's artillery fire. He narrowed his eyes, watching the projection of the Six-World displayed perfectly on the electronic screen. He was certain that the Rangdan's command structure was on this world.
This was not a difficult deduction. Ever since the Indomitable Truth, under his command, sailed into this star system, he had driven this battleship, entangling the entire First Legion fleet, continuously launching probing attacks and incursions along the Rangdan front line, all to find this most critical target: the Rangdan's command center.
When he discovered that, when the Indomitable Truth's bow pointed towards the seemingly unremarkable Six-World, the Rangdan battleships' assembly and defense became noticeably more agitated, impulsive, and even reckless. Their firepower also significantly increased.
He knew he had found his target.
This was not a complex technique. When he hunted in the deep forests of Caliban, he had already learned it instinctively: beasts might be cunning, they might conceal their intentions through posturing and roaring, but a few swift feints would expose their most vulnerable points.
And xenos were nothing more than beasts.
Jonson silently watched as the last obstacle to the surface was cleared. The Rangdan battleships were still counterattacking, but the Dark Angels' fleet had firmly secured an area above the Six-World, an area sufficient for a planetary assault to be launched.
And at this moment, two distinct sets of footsteps sounded behind Jonson.
Everything was just right.
——————
[Corswain, you will take over my command.]
[Alajos, gather your Chapter's Knight-Brothers. Prepare to conduct a planetary assault with me.]
Jonson's orders were executed with utmost thoroughness. All members of the Ninth Chapter and the Five Hundred began to appear and move through the battleship's corridors, assembling before the drop pods in the blink of an eye.
As each warrior of slaughter entered, these iron cages, filled with deadly reapers, listened as the battleship's hatches opened uniformly. The pure black light of the void began to caress these silent conveyers of death. Within it, silent, reddish-yellow ripples intermingled—the ongoing struggle for aerial supremacy.
Giant iron claws gripped these deadly iron coffins, lifting them one by one from the battleship and arranging them around the port and starboard railings, placed in the shadows of the void, as if a god was displaying the swords in his hand.
And Jonson stood before his exclusive drop pod, frowning, but fortunately, before he completely lost his patience, he heard those unique footsteps.
This time, these footsteps seemed somewhat flustered, having lost their former leisurely rhythm.
[You are late.]
Looking at the swiftly approaching silver figure, the Primarch's voice was as cold as ever.
Then, he slightly raised his eyebrow, sensing the turbulent aura in the air. That chaotic aura came from Morgan's side. He recognized it as a form of psychic energy.
[What happened?]
[The recent observation mission somewhat disturbed my psychic thought network, but it's under control now and won't affect the next mission.]
She spoke quickly. The Primarch could see a few beads of sweat hanging at her temples.
Jonson nodded, not asking further.
With his command, the restraints retracted, and the blazing flames of the thrusters lit up the desolate void, trailing long plumes of smoke like meteors. Countless gunships closely followed these plumes of smoke,
flying out from the shadow of the Indomitable Truth, protecting the drop pods on both sides. And behind them, the Indomitable Truth and other battleships' hundreds of laser weapon arrays and gun barrels fired in an all-out volley, doing their utmost to suppress all anti-aircraft fire from the Rangdan xenos on the ground.
The first wave of dozens of drop pods quickly tore through the outermost void gas of the Six-World. Their outer armor glowed with dazzling, changing colors as they entered the
atmosphere: from red flames to orange combustion, and finally, balls of pure white miniature suns streaked across the sky like a violent meteor shower. The fierce tropospheric hurricanes and strong friction forces made these multi-ton metal constructs shake violently.
But the greatest threat was not these. Ever since these pure white meteors began to appear from the sky, the Rangdan warriors' fortress clusters on the ground instantly erupted with terrifying fire tongues capable of incinerating worlds.
Tens of millions of firelights and shells rushed towards these falling reapers. Most of them were reduced to nothingness by the equally roaring Stormbird gunships, while the rest struck the invisible shields around all the drop pods, like a downpour on a pond, creating countless ripples.
——————
Inside the drop pod, Morgan frowned.
She sat on the second seat to Jonson's left, next to Grand Master Alajos of the Ninth Chapter. On the other side was a Chapter Master named Astoran.
This was a carefully chosen position, because Jonson's greatsword was always held in his right hand. That is to say, with a slight lift of the Primarch's hand, his sword's edge would perfectly point to Morgan's neck.
But Morgan's annoyance wasn't about this, nor was it about the Rangdan anti-aircraft fire raging outside the drop pod: as long as she wasn't directly hit by a main cannon of a battleship, the psychic shield she had placed outside all the drop pods was impregnable.
She was annoyed by other things.
Sweat, sweat gathered at her temples again. She felt a slight headache, and an emotion called irritability stirred within her heart like an awakening volcano.
And all of this stemmed from within her. Her sea of souls, her thought-realm that had been completely divided by the three evil gods, was at this very moment a tangled mess. Countless xenos souls roamed wantonly on the ground and in mid-air, disturbing her thoughts.
For five years, Morgan herself didn't know how many xenos souls she had devoured, but undoubtedly, the twin desires of craving and greed had driven her to join every grueling battle against the Rangdan, to devour and plunder more.
And this excessive greed had its own consequences.
Loss of control.
The situation was somewhat out of control.
But it wasn't completely out of control. She still held everything firmly and could come up with remedies.
In fact, very early on, Morgan had realized this point. She had devoured too many souls, so many that she couldn't calm down and truly digest them. These bewildered lost souls were casually thrown into her thought-realm. Although they themselves posed no threat, when their numbers reached such a colossal level, they indeed caused trouble.
This occasional headache, irritability, and lack of concentration were merely the mildest symptoms. But Morgan's inherently cautious yet mad personality made her immediately notice this point. She did not intend to delay this problem, because she could not determine her own limits. Perhaps devouring even one more soul would completely crush her thought-realm.
She had to find a solution.
As this thought germinated, an intense shock suddenly struck. The drop pod seemed to have slammed heavily into something, sending vibrations through the ground.
Clearly, they had landed.
Bolts loosened, hatches peeled off, and the restraint cages also simultaneously cracked open with these movements. A tremendous roar and merciless blast of air pierced everyone's ears. And the pale night, illuminated by the firelight, took the opportunity to cast its glow back into the area.
But before Morgan's eyes could adjust to the light, a swift, colossal shadow flashed past her vision.
Lion El'Jonson, he was like a true lion, hungry for days, rushing into the night with impatience. He desperately raised his firearm and brandished his sword, clearing the most basic foothold in the blink of an eye.
Morgan took deep breaths. She stood up, and after all the Astartes had successively charged out, she slowly exhaled onto her palm, then gradually walked into the night.
And at her fingertips, countless faint shrieks echoed. If one listened carefully, one would realize that they were thousands of souls letting out bone-chilling wails.
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