A crude, mocking voice rang out arrogantly on the public frequency: "Filthy Rangdan whelps, did you miss me?"
Following the provocative greeting, ripples stirred in the Warp at the Mandeville Point. A ship's prow pierced the veil of the Real Universe as the fleet returned from the immaterial realm.
With shields raised, the Hrafnkel led the fleet in a breakthrough posture, re-entering the Real Universe, ready to smash through the Rangdan blockade.
"Leman Russ! Space Wolves!" A bizarre synthetic voice crackled. The Rangdan Warlord responded with hatred, his tone dripping with icy killing intent. The wounds inflicted on the Rangdan fleet by the Space Wolves during the first war between humanity and Rangdan were etched into the memory of every Rangdan kin.
Rangdan spies, having infiltrated the Imperium of Man, had relayed much crucial intelligence through secret channels.
The Space Wolves, the Doom Slayers, and the First Legion had been the main forces in the first war, naturally drawing the intense focus of Rangdan.
"It seems you haven't forgotten me." Russ continued to taunt Rangdan from the bridge of the Hrafnkel, though his hand had left the command console.
He had prepared for a sudden assault, planning to use the Space Wolves Fleet to tear open the Mandeville Point blockade, creating a favorable entry point for the following fleets.
He just hadn't expected another Legion to join the battle ahead of him, arriving even faster.
"Brother." Russ connected to the comm channel, grinning widely. Though they had never met, their shared blood carried an innate sense of kinship. The Wolf King extended a friendly demeanor towards his counterpart.
From the hololithic projection, he saw a brother with an upright posture, white hair, and purple eyes. This brother had also inherited the Emperor's radiant countenance, his face resolute yet stern.
Instinctively, Russ felt this brother might be somewhat difficult to get along with—he was too serious.
"Brother." Dorn nodded, looking at his brother through the hololithic image, his gaze slightly scrutinizing as he studied Russ seriously.
Leman Russ. Master of the Sixth Legion, his Legion's sequence being closest to the Seventh. Primarch of the Space Wolves, known as the "Great Wolf" and the "Wolf King."
His blond hair was not meticulously groomed, casually tied into a high ponytail atop his head. His sideburns were long, and his cheeks bore a wolf's mane. His pair of golden eyes, like those of a beast, gleamed with a dangerous light.
Russ grinned broadly, revealing two coarse canines with shreds of meat still stuck between them, giving the Wolf King an unkempt appearance.
The Great Wolf wore frost-colored power armor etched with mysterious runes. In his hand, he held a rune-etched Chainsword, clearly prepared for battle.
"You are late." Dorn's mouth turned down slightly. After a brief greeting, he stiffly voiced his meticulous strategic deduction: "According to my calculations, the Space Wolves were in the Firewheel Sector. They should have arrived before the Imperial Fists."
"Leman Russ, Master of the Space Wolves, why are you late?"
In Dorn's view, this was not an accusation or interrogation, merely a simple inquiry about an anomaly in his deductions.
But he had chosen the wrong time. The question was too serious and ill-timed, transforming it into a different context.
Sure enough, upon hearing the 'interrogation'—the inquiry—Russ's brow furrowed slightly. He didn't offer a clear explanation, but a flicker of displeasure rose in his heart.
On the bridge of the Hrafnkel, standing outside the hololithic display, several Great Company Captains exchanged glances, somewhat baffled.
An interrogation? Had the Legion arrived too late? Had the Imperial Fists suffered heavy losses, and was the Primarch venting his frustration?
Or was it simply dissatisfaction with the Space Wolves' tardy arrival?
Russ sensed the confusion in his 'little wolves.' He didn't overthink it, nor did he detect any malice from his brother.
Instead, he felt that this Primarch brother of his might harbor no ill will; he was perhaps just missing a certain sensitivity.
In the parlance of Ancient Terra—low emotional intelligence, speaking too directly.
What Dorn said was exactly what he thought, and what he was about to do.
Words reflect thoughts, and thoughts dictate actions.
But Russ wouldn't explain to his brother that the Space Wolves Fleet could indeed have arrived earlier. They had intentionally reduced their Warp speed, traveling slower than normal.
Argent Nur had refitted the fleet. This was a minor secret, and keeping one's true strength hidden was naturally necessary.
"Orks are hard to eradicate, sprouting like spring grass from ashes. I had to stay and observe to ensure they were completely purged."
Russ pursed his lips, adopting a helpless expression to explain his lateness.
He secretly tagged Dorn with a label, warning himself to avoid deep conversations with this brother in the future.
Dorn's low emotional intelligence meant he completely lacked perspective-taking; his answers were straightforward statements of his own viewpoint.
A man with low emotional intelligence, somewhat stubborn, who didn't consider the appropriateness of his words—
Among the many brothers, Dorn might be very upright, but he likely wouldn't have many friends—no one would dare get too close to him.
Hearing his brother's explanation, Dorn nodded in silence, provisionally accepting the answer.
Regardless, the Space Wolves had made it to the battle, not leaving the Imperial Fists to fight alone.
"I will depart from the Mandeville Point, advance along the orbit of the system's fourth planet, and attack the Rangdan support fleet."
Russ planned remotely, marking the attack route on the hololithic tactical display. After a nod to Dorn, he hastily terminated the hololithic communication.
"Hmph!" Once the connection was severed, Russ snorted, grumbling as he turned to his Gene-sons: "Unless absolutely necessary, minimize contact with the Imperial Fists in the future."
"They'll inherit Dorn's low emotional intelligence, which will then evolve into a kind of stubbornness."
As he spoke, a trace of sorrow welled up in Russ's heart, recalling Blazkowicz's predictions for the future of the Imperium of Man.
A great deal of it had become reality.
The Emperor's intention for mortals to govern was becoming increasingly evident as the Great Crusade progressed.
The power of the mortal councils grew daily, while the power of the Astartes Legions was gradually stripped away, isolating them from other Imperial systems.
And the Primarch brothers—brothers of vastly different temperaments. Their return did not bring unity and brotherly love. Instead, due to the differing personalities of the Primarchs, the Astartes Legions were diverging.
Perhaps one day in the future, conflicts rooted in the Primarchs' personalities would spread through their bloodlines, accumulating into Legion-wide hatred.
By that time—
Russ shook his head, dispelling thoughts that extended into dark margins, not daring to dwell on it further.
He cleared his mind of extraneous thoughts, his gaze returning to the hololithic display. Pointing at the system overview depicted by the advanced augurs, he commanded: "The Legion will form large formations, employ pack tactics, and tear apart the xenos defense nodes."
"Besides us, other Legions should be on their way. As the vanguard, the Space Wolves have an obligation to maintain the battle situation for the Legions that follow."
With no outsiders present, Russ shed his barbaric facade. Like a sage, he pointed at the hololithic display, making strategic deployments. His rough voice lost three parts of its wildness, gaining seven parts of wisdom: "The Forge World Shana, this place is about to become the eye of the storm. Both the Imperium of Man and the Rangdan xenos will center their efforts here, vying for the ultimate victory."
He lowered his voice, his golden eyes shifting in thought once more, before curling his lips into a smile: "Unleash the warships' performance a bit, about ten percent higher than the Imperial Fists."
"My Lord." A Captain stepped forward, cautiously reminding him: "You ordered us to conceal our capabilities. Unleashing the ships' performance will expose us to the eyes of other Legions."
"No need to worry." Russ waved a dismissive hand, a mischievous grin appearing: "This battle concerns the life and death of the Imperium of Man. My good brother will definitely come."
"The formidable performance of Argent Nur's warships will attract the attention of the other Legions, providing cover for us."
Without a hint of hesitation or burden, Russ unhesitatingly held up Blazkowicz as a shield.
"My Lord is wise!"
The Legion's high command unanimously praised, all giving thumbs up, moved by the wisdom displayed by their Primarch.
"Now!" Russ's expression sharpened. His large hand covered the hololithic display as a fierce wolf's howl erupted from his throat: "All forces, attack!"
"For Russ and the Allfather!" The Space Wolves let out savage roars. The war machine operated at high speed, launching another assault against Rangdan.
"Awooo~ Awooo~ Awooo~"
Wolf howls echoed back and forth across the comm channels. Warriors inheriting the blood of wolves sounded the battle horn in their unique way.
Just as Russ had planned, the Space Wolves Fleet broke into groups. With the Hrafnkel as the "alpha," they transformed into a hunting pack, pouncing towards the Rangdan fleet.
"Monitor the Space Wolves' movements. Fleet, prepare to occupy the defense nodes." As the Space Wolves took action, Dorn waved his hand, pinpointing key nodes on the system's tactical display.
The Space Wolves Legion was particularly adept at large-scale wars of attrition, preferring boarding actions and close-quarters combat to shatter enemy morale.
Where the wolf pack passed, someone needed to hold the gains. The Imperial Fists would not shirk this duty!
The real battle was just beginning!
Within the Shana System, two full Legions with their Primarchs present, plus two half-strength Legions, assembled. The number of capital ships approached a thousand.
The Space Wolves' objective was clear. Using the fourth planet as their breakthrough point, the plasma glow from their warship engines blazing, they charged towards the xenos invading from the edge of the system.
"My Lord," the Legion Warrior turned and reported his findings to the Gene-Father. "The Space Wolves' ships are ten percent faster than the standard speed."
Dorn nodded in silence. Ship modifications were not surprising; after all, Legion combat styles differed, and it was normal for warships to undergo specialized modifications after entering service.
Except for the members of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
Those red-robes always clung to dogma, believing machinery to be sacred and inviolable, and that the incarnations of the Omnissiah should remain in their original form.
The most contradictory point was that while lower-level Adeptus Mechanicus members believed this, many high-level Mechanicus Sages frequently modified machinery in pursuit of breakthroughs.
"Record it." Dorn didn't pay much mind, recording certain anomalies as usual.
The longships tore through the void, the wolves of the void galloping amidst starlight. Their engine lights were more dazzling than the starry sky as they pounced upon the Rangdan fleet in a hunting posture.
Rogal Dorn stared intently at the Holographic Sand Table, waiting for a tactical opportunity, ready to launch a supreme strike at any moment.
Within the Imperial Fists' void fleet, three sub-fleets were entangled with the Rangdan, mostly for defensive containment, having not yet launched a final attack.
The Primarch was waiting, using the fleet to build a high wall of defense, waiting for the moment the enemy revealed a flaw.
If the battlefield were compared to a boxing match, the Imperial Fists were pulling their arms in, guarding their vitals, and peering at their opponent through the gaps, waiting for the Rangdan to show a weakness.
Dorn remained silent, his clenched fists indicating that his heart was far from calm.
The interior of the Phalanx had been completely purged. Alarms blared from many functional zones; the Rangdan elite warriors were all dead.
But this also indicated that the Battle Moon had stopped sending boarding reinforcements, causing the pressure on the Boarding Forces to multiply.
Of the two thousand Boarding Warriors, casualties had reached one-third in just half an hour—a devastating loss.
"Phalanx, cease suppressive fire. Reorganize weapon arrays for a supporting salvo."
After long consideration, Dorn issued the order to the Phalanx. This giant warship needed a brief respite to gather its strength for a single, decisive blow to crush the enemy.
For the first time, the Primarch felt things were very difficult, gaining a clear understanding of the Rangdan's strength.
A single Battle Moon, coordinated with an appropriate fleet, could stall an entire full-strength Legion.
And before the destruction of the Morse Solar System, Warden Urian had sent a message: he had witnessed dozens of such weapons.
That number weighed as heavily as lead on the Primarch's heart.
In the battle against the Rangdan, the entire Imperium must be committed to stand a chance!
Inside the Battle Moon, the Templar Knights were still charging. Of the hundred sharpest warriors in the Legion, only the final thirty remained, still pushing forward.
Their path led directly to the command room, where resistance was greatest. They had encountered dozens of waves of enemies, with more and more Rangdan Overlords appearing.
The Legion brothers who had made it this far had power armor covered in scars. The outer layer of ceramite was pitted with plasma burns, exposing the lining and Electro-muscle Bundles.
Their Boarding Shields had long since shattered; they had casually cut off steel plates to use as shields, holding them in front for some meager protection.
The Terminators had long run out of ammunition, swinging their Power Fists as they held the very front of the formation.
Another battle ended. A Terminator blew apart a Rangdan Overlord with a punch, panting heavily; he could no longer continue forward with his brothers.
A Rangdan Overlord launched a suicide attack, embracing the Terminator. Biological tentacles spun monomolecular blades, piercing the Terminator's armor and shredding the Astartes' two hearts.
"Keep moving!" Sigismund had no time for grief. Panting heavily, he wiped the foul blood from his blade and cut off a piece of Rangdan biological armor to use as a shield.
Almost there! After paying a tragic price, the Rangdan command hall was just ahead.
The boarding team had come all this way, evading countless traps, withstanding sentry autocannon fire, and crushing the Rangdan defensive lines.
Finally, living up to the Primarch's expectations, they reached the enemy's command center.
The Techmarine stepped forward to plant Melta Bombs on the sealed door, breaking through the final line of defense.
The members of the Templar Knights did not rest. Suppressing the grief in their hearts, they lifted the corpses of the Rangdan and their brothers to block the path they had come from.
"Here." Sigismund took a Teleport Homer from the fallen Terminator and handed it to the Apothecary. "If we die, activate it and leave this place with the gene seeds."
The Apothecary said nothing, silently taking the Teleport Homer and nodding to his brother.
Along the way, the Cryogenic Stasis Box hanging from his waist had gradually filled. It carried the Legion's legacy; such a heavy burden had to be handled with extreme caution.
"Take cover. Detonation in three seconds."
The Techmarine finished his work and hid to one side of the door, signaling his teammates to take cover.
With a bang, the Melta Bomb blasted open the iron door, signaling the start of a new battle.
At that very moment, on the vast external battlefield, Rogal Dorn spotted a tactical opportunity. Some Rangdan ships were reacting significantly slower.
"Attack!" he roared, knowing the boarding team had reached the Rangdan command room and disrupted the fleet's command.
After waiting so long, it was time to throw the iron fist of accumulated strength and let the xenos experience the power of the Imperial Fists!
In the Imperial Fists' fleet, the Trident containment fleets followed their orders, abandoning defensive containment to shift to a fierce offensive.
The relationship between offense and defense shifted instantly. Facing the aggressive counterattack, the Rangdan fleet contacted their flagship but received no further instructions.
"Stabilize the situation."
In the communication channel, the flagship's instructions were brief and hurried. A screen flickered past, accompanied by the sound of heavy gunfire—the humans had stormed the command room!
Stabilize the situation? The fleet captain received the order, asking anxiously in his heart, how was he supposed to stabilize the situation?
Without unified dispatch, how were the vassal fleets to be allocated? They were resources, lacking independent thought, and would follow every single instruction.
Having lost the dispatch center, it was instead harder for the Rangdan fleet to issue orders to the vassal fleets.
They lacked autonomy and could only blindly execute orders, becoming a burden to the fleet in the chaos.
The Imperial Fists seized the opportunity and threw their iron fist. The fleet charged into the Rangdan formation, heading straight for the core warships.
In the midst of the chaos, the Rangdan fleet suffered heavy losses.
Inside the command room, Sigismund and the others charged in. The thirty men were like wolves and tigers. Using high-temperature smoke as cover, they fired their remaining Bolts, shattering the central command console.
Bang—!
With the roar of the Bolts, the base of the command hub exploded. Information could hardly be sent out, and they completely lost control over the outside world.
"Humans!" many Rangdan Overlords shrieked, raising their Plasma Guns to gun down the human warriors.
"Do not fire!" the Warmaster ordered through mental waves. "The command room is too important; Plasma Guns will cause secondary damage."
It was still fantasizing that after killing the Space Marines, it could quickly repair the command room and continue directing the fleet's battle.
The Rangdan Overlords responsible for guarding had no choice but to drop their Plasma Guns. They extended Disruption Claws and lit azure Plasma Blades, charging at the human warriors.
They naturally knew the importance of the command room, but in this state, they could have completely abandoned the main command room, destroyed the humans, and then moved to the auxiliary command room—enough to save the fleet battle.
The Legion Warriors used the equipment as cover, forming a line to resist the Rangdan Overlords' assault.
Their mission was complete. After destroying the command room, the void counterattack had already begun.
At this moment, the Legion Warriors were unrestrained; their mission objective shifted once again to killing more enemies.
"Death to the xenos!" a Templar Knight roared. Under the encirclement of three Overlords, Plasma Blades shredded his body. In his final moment, he pulled the xenos into his embrace and triggered the Melta Grenade at his waist.
Another loud explosion occurred as the Melta Grenade blasted a large crater in the floor, exposing various conduits.
The sounds of secondary explosions rose one after another. The Rangdan Overlords in the command room were the elite of the elite and numerous; the Astartes had no advantage under such encirclement.
"Cover me!" A warrior cast off his helmet and threw it at an incoming xeno Overlord. His Power Sword was disabled and dim, yet he charged into the embrace of a Rangdan Overlord without hesitation, pushing the xeno toward the central command console.
Biological tentacles pierced him repeatedly. His two hearts were shattered, and not a single internal organ remained intact. Blood gushed from his mouth. What sustained the warrior's progress was the tenacious vitality of an Astartes and the absolute will to exterminate the xenos.
The shoved xeno Overlord struggled. Its lower back slammed into the command console, and biological simulation signals were transmitted directly to its brain, bringing waves of pain.
Crack~
The sound was crisp. Before his life faded, the human warrior embracing it triggered his Glory Bomb.
Plasma burst forth. Using his own body as a shield, the warrior broke through the line and completely destroyed the Rangdan command console.
"My Lord," as the Warmaster gnashed its teeth, an Artificial Intelligence called out from within its biological armor. "A message from cross-galaxy communications: the reinforcement fleet has been intercepted by the Imperium of Man."
"The first invasion fleet has encountered the Iron Hands' vanguard fleet. The second fleet is eight systems away, engaging the Ultramarines' fleet."
"It is predicted that at least three more fleets from the Imperium of Man are on their way, and the Nur Stars will also mobilize soon."
After hearing the Artificial Intelligence's report, the Rangdan Warlord sighed helplessly. "Plan a safe route. I need to go to the auxiliary command room."